“I’m eleven.” He sounded like he hated admitting it.
A pause.
“Do they come for you?” he asked.
She looked away. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Okay,” he said. “I don’t, either.”
She shifted again, still close but not touching the wall. “I have a book.”
He seemed to perk up. “Yeah?”
She nodded. “Five Go Down to the Sea. Famous Five.”
“Is it good?”
She nodded again before remembering he couldn’t see her. “I don’t know. I’ve just started reading it.”
Her eyes flickered to the dog-eared copy ofThe Wizard of Ozon the mattress before reaching for the book on the floor.
They didn’t say much else after that, but she didn’t move away from the wall.
She stayed close, like maybe the cracks between them would widen and let her crawl through like a centipede in the garden. A finger scratched the edges of the hole , slowly, absently making it bigger.
“Can you…read to me? Please?”
She startled at his voice. She had gone back into that place where she was alone again.
“We don’t have many books,” he continued.
Her little fingers curled tighter around the tattered cover in her lap. She didn’t know why her chest felt warm at the thought of sharing something.
She wanted to say no. Because she was a meanie?
She wanted to keep the words to herself. The words were like her friends, like they were hers alone, and she wanted to hold on to something that hadn’t yet been touched by hands that hurt.
But instead, she said, “Okay.”
Her voice wasn’t sure at first, but it was still a yes.
She slowly turned the page, the way she always did, tracing the faded words with her thumb. She cleared her throat and began to read:
‘Blow! I’ve got a puncture!’ said Dick. ‘My tyre’s going flat. Worst time it could possibly happen!’Julian glanced down at Dick’s back tyre. Then he looked at his watch. ‘You’ve just got time to pump it up and hope for the best,’ he said. ‘We’ve got seven minutes before the train goes.’
Dick jumped off and took his…
The boy on the other side of the wall went quiet. She imagined him lying down, chin propped on his arm, listening the way Callum and Cormac used to when she’d made up stories when Dad was drinking and Mom was off somewhere.
Her voice was a bit wobbly at first, but she kept going.
‘—going off to Cornwall, I see?’ said the porter. ‘And to Tremannon, too. You want to be careful of bathing there. That’s a fierce coast and a hungry sea—’
She didn’t read too fast, and he listened without interrupting. She hated it when they asked questions in between.
Her room didn’t feel quite as dark anymore as they lost themselves in the adventure. The blanket didn’t feel as thin beneath her. The quiet between them wasn’t as scary.
She hated to admit it, but when she turned the page and kept going, it wasn’t just for him.
