SOPHIE
They say going away is easy, that the hardest thing is coming home again. I read that somewhere, before I did it. I just didn’t think it would all be quite so concrete, in my case.
I can’t quite remember who came up with the idea in the first place. I felt like it was mine. Now, I’m not so sure. I knew people would be upset, of course. And I didn’t want that to happen. They’ll be OK, he’d tell me, you’ll leave a note. I know the kind of thing you can say. And it won’t be forever.
I didn’t have to worry about what to bring, it was just what I should leave: my phone, my bank cards: things that they could trace. And I cleared out my account, though I knew I wouldn’t need money. It had to look right.
Everything went to plan. I just got the bus from the station in Amberton and bought a ticket to London, on the coach coming from Manchester. And then three stops later, after the airport, I slipped off again with my bag, at the services, at the back of a group of students who wanted to smoke. I just didn’t get back on with them.
He picked me up, like we arranged.
He didn’t like it when he saw I’d turned up with my bag stuffed full, worried that someone might twig, just from that. ‘Relax,’ I said. ‘No one thought anything. I told Dad I was going to Holly’s.’
‘And did anyone see you leave school?’
‘I don’t think so. But even if they did, they’ll just think I’m skipping class. Don’t worry.’
I thought it was beautiful when I arrived, the late afternoon sun throwing long shadows across the carpeted floor. The whole place looked warm and cosy.
‘Oh look,’ I said. ‘It’s all ready for me!’
‘I didn’t do much.’ He looked tense. I thought he was worried whether I liked it.
‘I love it.’
A big floor lamp stood in the corner, leaning over a tired green sofa. There was a rug, a small chest of drawers, an upturned box. ‘For the TV,’ he said. ‘I’m going to sort that for you.’ I walked over to the wall and ran a hand over the low wood panelling, smooth and warm to my touch, then traced a flower carved into the wood. I didn’t know quite what to do, now I was here. Behind one of those old-fashioned screens was a mattress, made up with pillows, sheets and blanket. ‘Very posh.’ I smiled, wanting to show him I liked it all. There was even a fridge plugged in to the wall.
I peered inside: milk, eggs, orange juice. ‘What, no mini-bar?’
‘You’re too young.’
‘Duh, I’m joking.’ The smell of paint tickled my nose. I sneezed.
In another corner, behind flimsy partition walls, was a bare sink and toilet, one of those old ones with a pull flush. He followed me in, his head nearly hitting the bare bulb above us, and turned the tap on and off.
‘It all works. I checked it over.’
I touched one white wall – it was still tacky to the touch. ‘You’ve been working hard,’ I said. ‘You’ve thought of everything.’
‘Of course I did,’ he said. I could hear the note of reproach at my surprise.
‘It’s nice,’ I said, to cover my sudden nerves. ‘And now it’s all for me.’ I wanted to keep the mood light, for me as much as him; I wanted his excitement to match mine. ‘No bath,’ I added.
‘I can maybe do something about that,’ he said. ‘It shouldn’t be too difficult. For now, you’ll have to heat up water in the kettle, and use the plastic basin.’
‘Seriously?’ I laughed, and went to hug him. ‘Really, it’s fine, I promise. And it won’t be for that long.’ He stroked my hair.
Mum always said I was clever, and I try to tell myself the same, I do. But I feel so stupid.
That first night, he stayed with me. I felt OK, reassured.
In the morning, before he left, we’d talked again about what I’d do all day: read, make food, watch TV. I nodded. ‘Honestly, we talked about this – I understand. You can’t be everywhere.’
But it still shocked me when I tried the door, after him, and found it locked: the metal handle refusing to turn in my hand. We fought about that, when he came back that evening. He used to come a lot, back then.
‘It’s for your own good,’ he kept saying. ‘It’s not safe. For you, or me. Someone might see you, even here. It’s not like you can go outside. So why do you need it unlocked?’
‘But why do you need to lock me in?’ I was frustrated, hot tears starting. ‘That’s not fair!’
‘Sophie,’ he said, his expression grave. ‘You’ve got to be responsible. It’s my life at stake here, as well as yours.’
I pulled a face. ‘Your livelihood,’ I corrected. ‘Not our lives.’
‘And when I’ve seen that I can trust you in this,’ he continued, ‘well, we’ll see.’
‘But I won’t go out, I promise. Don’t you trust me?’
‘Of course I do,’ he soothed. ‘It’s just, you’re impulsive. It’s not fair to put that responsibility, for your safety and mine, on you. But you do understand, don’t you? If it’s locked, no one can get in, either. It’s much safer. You’re all alone in here. I’d hate to think, if you were asleep and …’
I hadn’t thought about that. ‘OK, I get it.’ I took a deep breath. ‘I understand.’
‘Good girl.’ He kissed me on my forehead, and I smiled.
He’s always made everything sound so reasonable. And he’s so good at making me feel like I’m in the wrong. In the end, I let it go. It wasn’t my first mistake.