the window she could see it was pitch-black and wet outside. She switched on the lamp by her bed and drew the curtains to shut out the night. She smiled wistfully at the Sarah Kay design. Here the girl was cradling a puppy; there she was holding a basket of flowers. Everywhere she was carefree. The curtains had never been replaced even though they were faded from the sunlight and Emily had outgrown them long ago.
She thought about reading, and walked over to her bookcase. It was crammed with books, from the classics – Dickens, Austen, the Brontës – to modern bestsellers of different genres such as Jurassic Park, Diana: Her True Story, Captain Corelli’s Mandolin and The Silence of the Lambs. Her novels allowed her to escape. And she desperately needed to escape. But she couldn’t choose one. She wouldn’t be able to concentrate, anyway.
From the top row of her bookcase, at least a dozen teddy bears observed her bedroom through kind, beady eyes. She hadn’t played with her teddies for years, and they looked tatty, but she didn’t have the heart to get rid of them. Throwing them away would somehow have felt like giving up her childhood. Or giving up on it.
She turned around, imagining what the teddies could see from up there. They seemed to be looking at her double bed. Her parents had given it to her the previous year for her fourteenth birthday, although her mother hadn’t really been happy about it. Emily liked the colourful spiral patterns on the duvet cover, but the bed was too big for her.
She pulled on her nightie and climbed into bed. She could still hear the music faintly, although she couldn’t make out the song. Another one from the same album, no doubt. Out of Time. It occurred to her that her heart was beating too fast; it was out of time with the song. Lying on her side, she brought her knees up and hugged them to her chest. She felt cold in spite of the bedcover. She was wide awake. She looked at her watch on the bedside table. Ten o’clock. She felt sick with nerves.
She’d always been afraid at night-time, although when she was younger, her fears were unfounded. It was just that she was terrified of the dark. Amanda would make fun of her for that, but she’d often sung to her or stroked her head until she fell asleep. Sometimes they would even drag Amanda’s mattress along the corridor so she could sleep on Emily’s floor. In the end, their father said it was time Emily grew up and he forbade the girls to sleep in the same room.
The music stopped suddenly and a door banged. Emily’s throat felt tight and she couldn’t breathe. It’s too early. I’m not ready yet, she thought, alarmed.
Then she heard a floorboard creak on the landing, followed a few seconds later by the rattle of water pipes. She heaved a sigh of relief. It was only Amanda. There was the noise of the toilet flushing, then a gentle knock at her bedroom door.
‘I’m awake,’ she called out to her sister. She sat up in bed.
The door opened and Amanda came in and walked towards her. She was wearing tartan pyjamas. Her long, mousy hair was loose and wavy from the plaits she always let out at bedtime. ‘Night, Em,’ she said.
‘Goodnight.’
Amanda sat on the edge of the bed and Emily looked into her eyes. They were a murky brown, the same colour as their father’s. Emily had inherited their mother’s pale blue eyes. Amanda gave her a hug. Emily could feel herself trembling.
‘You’re cold,’ Amanda said, sounding concerned.
That wasn’t the only reason Emily was shaking, and she thought her sister probably knew that. But she didn’t contradict her. What could Amanda do anyway? She rubbed Emily’s arms as if to warm them. Neither of them spoke for a few seconds.
Canned laughter suddenly erupted from the sitting room below, breaking the silence.
‘Mum still in front of the TV?’
‘Yeah.’ Emily didn’t need to add that she was dead to the world.
After a while, Amanda pecked Emily’s cheek and got up.
‘Don’t go,’ Emily pleaded, but her elder sister had already left the room.
The door to Amanda’s bedroom along the hallway closed with a thud, and Emily glanced at her watch again. Half past ten. She became aware of the sound of her own breathing over the indistinct din of the sitcom. She could also hear the wind howling outside and the rain beating against the windowpane. She was alone and helpless. A sob welled up inside her but she fought to contain it. I have to stay strong, she thought. She needed to calm her nerves. She decided to read after all.
On her bedside table was a huge stack of books that looked like it would topple over at any minute. At the top of the pile was Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. Emily’s middle name was Alice. Her father’s mother, whose memory was getting bad due to Alzheimer’s, bought her a copy of Lewis Carroll’s novel every year for Christmas and she dutifully reread the book each time. It had always been her favourite story, and she never grew tired of it. Her grandmother had given her this edition – her sixth copy – just two days ago. When she was younger, Emily had traced and copied the illustrations, and after that she’d created her own sketches for each chapter.
She flicked through the blue leather-bound volume to the part she liked best in the whole book: the Hatter’s Tea-Party. She read the bit where Alice was told that they took tea all day long since Time had stood still at six o’clock, in other words, at teatime. If only time could stand still for me tonight, she wished silently. But it was nearly eleven now. Her stomach was heavy with dread. She was terrified she wouldn’t be able to go through with it.
It was hopeless. She couldn’t keep her mind on the book. She still felt cold even though the radiators hadn’t cooled yet. Shivering, she pulled the duvet up around her shoulders and contemplated getting out of bed to fetch some thick, woollen socks. Perhaps she should get up and hide. Somewhere he couldn’t find her this time.
It was too late. She could hear him swearing loudly from outside. The front door was directly beneath her bedroom window, and she imagined him fumbling with his key and then stumbling into the hall. There was a loud bang as the door was flung open against the wall.
Quickly, she replaced the book on her bedside table, switched off the lamp and lay down. She rolled over onto her side towards the wall, wrapping the quilt tightly around her. She pushed her hand under the pillow and groped around, holding her breath. Where is it? I know I put it here, she thought, panicking. Lifting her head slightly and sliding her hand further under the pillow, she found what she was looking for. Clutching it as if her life depended on it, she breathed out.
He’d turned off the television in the sitting room and for a moment there was an eerie silence in the house. She imagined him looking down at her mother disdainfully. He might even take a swig from her bottle of Jameson if there was any whiskey left.
But the silence was short-lived. She could hear his heavy footsteps making their unwieldy way up the stairs. Oh no, she thought. Please, no.
She sensed her bedroom door open. She heard him lurch into the room and flick the switch. The room was instantly flooded with light. Her heart began to hammer harder and faster. She huddled further into her covers, trying to gain a little more respite. Closing her eyes tight, she pretended to be fast asleep, although she’d tried that before and knew it wouldn’t work. She could visualise him looking at her from across the room. It made her skin crawl.
He weaved his way over to her bed, and practically collapsed on top of her. She lay still and tried to swallow down the lump in her throat even as the tears squeezed out from behind
