He lays out the papers on the workbench: ID1: Verify Identity – Citizen. TR1: Transfer of Whole of registered title(s). OFFICIAL COPY: Register of Title.
“Very easy to give somebody a house, you know,” he remarks. “Just a couple of forms, nothing else. You could almost do it by accident if you weren’t careful.” The joke is so old he doesn’t even bother to wait for a reaction. He turns on the spot, scanning the bare brick of the garage. “Now … where should we put it?” He stops, his eyes alighting on a dark corner of the garage. “That’ll do.” He stacks the forms together and slides them into the space between the electricity cupboard and the wall. “I’m putting them up here, OK? Keep them safe.”
“Safe from what?”
He gives me a small, dogged sigh. “I won’t be around for ever, Kyle. And your Mum … well, you know what she’s like.” I nod. I know, but he’s going to tell me anyway. “She’s suggestible,” he says. “People take advantage of her.”
He’s talking about Dad again, I think. I never met Dad, but the story has come out in fragments over the years. A churchman – evidence that Mum was fond of the churches even before I came along – a youthful affair and that’s all … never to be seen again.
“I do what I can,” Grandad goes on, gesturing to the garage and, by implication, the house. “But I need you to step up, Kyle. Do you get it? I need you to look out for her.”
So that’s why he wanted me here today. I’d be pleased that he’s putting so much trust in me, except I can see in his face he doesn’t trust me in the slightest.
“She could shift the house without the papers,” he says. “But there’s no reason to make things easy for her, is there? Look out for her when I’m gone. She’s dangerous when she gets an idea in her head, you know that.” He gazes steadily at me, a pessimistic look. “Just do your best, son, OK?”
TWENTY-THREE
“Kyle.” Farah’s voice, low and urgent. “Kyle, wake up.”
My eyes open, my body drags itself out of sleep. “Farah?”
“It’s time,” Farah whispers.
Chiu is quietly pulling on his clothes nearby. I look up and the blackness of the skylights catches my eyes. “Are you sure about this?”
“You’d prefer to wait around until Jonah starts prising body parts off you?” Farah says.
I slip on my shoes. Jonah and the others are still sleeping, a little distance away on their roll mats. I watch Jonah for a few moments. I can’t shake the feeling that he’s not really asleep.
The slip-scrape of our footsteps as we creep away is terrifyingly loud in the silence.
Any minute, I think, Jonah will be on us.
But then we’re outside and the cool air and the darkness swallow us like we just dived into the ocean. No streetlights, but always just enough light to see by. The black, undecorated sky looks like eternity; the darkness rushes around us in a continuous swoop-and-return, devouring us, again and again. Farah holds the map in her hand but it’s clear she’s already made her plan.
“Across the bridge and down on to the motorway,” she whispers. “We’ve got one junction on the M25 and then we can get off the main roads. Even if he bothers to come after us, he’ll never be able to find us among all the side roads.”
She makes it sound too easy; I don’t trust her confidence. We’re about to start walking when there’s a movement behind us, a scrape of gravel. I spin round and find Ose standing in the doorway. Perfectly still, he looks like a tree that’s been struck by lightning.
“You can’t leave,” he says quietly.
“Please,” Farah hisses back. “Don’t try to stop us.”
Even in the dim light I can see the conflict in Ose’s face. He’s scared of Jonah, I think. But that doesn’t mean he’s going to help us.
“He won’t let you leave,” Ose says, stepping closer. “It’s better you don’t try.”
Farah flashes me a look. We’re both thinking the same thing: we could make a run for it. But we both know it would be hopeless. It plays out quickly in my mind: a clumsy, panicky bolt; Ose’s long, strong legs propelling him forward, scooping up Chiu under one arm, pushing Farah to the ground.
“He’s asleep,” I say, guardedly. “We’ll take the back streets; he’ll never find us.”
Ose shakes his head slightly. “He has the bikes. He’ll track you down.”
He’ll sniff you out.
“Why?” Chiu says. “What does he want with us?”
Ose hesitates. I’m sure his eyes flash briefly to me and then look away, but if there’s meaning in the look it’s lost on me. “He’ll find you,” Ose says again, refusing to be drawn. “And he’ll punish you.”
“And you would help, I suppose,” Farah says, bitterly.
Ose flinches but he doesn’t deny it. “I’ve hurt and killed many people to save my own skin. But you’re children … I don’t want that.”
“Then help us,” I say.
“I am helping,” Ose responds. “This is the best I can do.”
Jonah wakes in a furious good mood. He strides around the service station, kicking Levi awake and shaking Tongue into consciousness. “Right, right, come on, everyone – come on, busy day!” He calls over to us. “Sleep well, love birds? No disturbances, I hope?” He smirks, then leans closer to Tongue, his hand on his shoulder. “How are y’, Tongue? Feeling better?”
Tongue nods groggily.
“Can you ride?”
Tongue nods again, hauls himself to his feet. There are no bacteria in the Stillness. Seeing as Tongue is still alive, I guess there’s no traumatic shock, cardiac arrest, blood clot or sepsis, either. But there’s still pain, I think.
Jonah slaps me on the shoulder – rough, friendly, like he hasn’t twice come within a breath of murdering me. “Kyle, you’re with me.” He turns to Levi. “Levi, keep an eye on these two.”
