Chapter 76
When I wake up the next morning, Persephone is sitting on my bed. It wouldn’t have been odd had she stayed the night before, but she hadn’t. I have no idea how she got in.
“People at my school say I’m famous,” she says, the moment I open my eyes.
I yawn. “Is that right?”
“Because I live on the street with that crazy murderer-lady. You!” she says delightedly.
I rub my eyes.
“Will you give the kids in my class your autograph?”
“Which kids?”
“Rose. Lily. Ava. Ella. Delly.”
Interesting. She’s made a few more friends. I push myself up onto my elbows.
“Maybe you could come into my classroom for show-and-tell?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I say. “When?”
She giggles.
“How did you get in here, anyway?”
“My mum has a key,” she admits. “I took it.”
I’d given Roxanne a key a couple of weeks ago when she’d knocked and I hadn’t heard.
She’d panicked and thought I’d “done an Ishaan” (aka keeled over and was lying dead on the kitchen floor).
I’d agreed to give her a key so she could investigate under such circumstances, which this most certainly is not.
Lucky for Roxanne, I like this circumstance much more, not that I’ll ever admit it.
“Elsie,” Persephone says. “Why did you choose the name Daphne for your imaginary friend?”
I am impressed. “You’ve been reading the newspapers?”
“I watched the YouTube documentary,” she says.
“Did you?” I say. “Doesn’t seem like ideal viewing for a seven-year-old.”
“If you tell my mum, you’re not coming to my birthday party.”
Jeez. Kids can be so snotty sometimes.
“Fine,” I say. “I guess the damage is done anyway.”
“As I was saying,” Persephone says, “I think Daphne is a stupid name. I would have called her Daisy.”
“As would be your right,” I say, “if she was your friend.”
She looks thoughtful. “Why did you have an imaginary friend anyway?”
“Well,” I say, “when I was a child, I didn’t have any friends of my own. Not a single one.”
Persephone looks at me, her eyes wide and appalled. “Seriously?”
“Seriously,” I say. “And … I read a lot of books. I had a good imagination. So I made one up.”
Persephone is uncharacteristically impressed. “What a good idea.”
“I thought so.”
“Do you still talk to her?”
“Sometimes. Less and less, lately.”
I can see the cogs turning in her brain. “So … you don’t talk to her as much anymore because of me? Because I am your friend so you don’t need her anymore?”
I roll my eyes. The narcissism of children.
She flashes me a self-satisfied grin, and I feel something move in my chest. Looking at her now, the morning sun catching her hair, I can’t believe I never noticed how pretty she is. How precious.
“Off with you,” I say. “You’re going to be late for school.”
She glances at the clock on the wall and then scrambles off the bed. “Bye, Elsie. See you after school.”
“Not if I can help it,” I say.
On the way to the door, she pauses at my feet. “Cool socks,” she says, and runs outside.
I look down at my feet. They are lovely, it’s true. They’re maroon with gray diamonds. Pure wool.