Chapter eleven
Golborne, London
Jan 11, 1996
Harrison
“Happy birthday, sweetheart,” my mother says, her mouth drawn wide into a bright smile.
“Eight today, where has my little boy gone?”
She wraps her arms around me as I sit at the shaky kitchen table.
There are ten beer mats placed under one leg to stop it from wobbling.
A single cupcake with no icing sits in front of me, a lonely blue candle almost burnt out on top. “Make a wish,” she tells me.
I close my eyes and wish with all my heart that when I open them, we will be somewhere else. That the big purple bruise surrounding her eye will have disappeared and the house will be warm. My lungs fill with air, and I blow out hard between my lips. She claps her hands, cheering loudly.
When I open my eyes, everything is still the same. Devastation fills my chest. I used to believe in magic, but with each day that passes, I’m beginning to think it’s all a lie.
Our room in the shared house is miniscule.
There is a single bed stuffed into the corner, and I sleep on an old mattress on the floor with an ancient red cover stained from years of use.
It’s winter, and ice lines the windows both inside and out.
Food is rationed between all who live here.
We receive three small meals a day made from scraps collected either from restaurants or rubbish bins.
It’s one of the jobs we children are given while our mothers work.
They call us a family, but we’re not. I’m sure families don’t live like we do.
The men visit at all times of the day and night.
My mother has a lot of regular visitors, the same people.
The same men. I don’t know their names, but I recognize their faces.
She never tells me what she does—just that she spends time with them, they’re her friends.
If I’m not playing outside with the other children, I need to stay in the living room.
I’m not to go upstairs, as children are not allowed in the bedrooms when their mothers are working.
Once, I forgot my toy truck. I went to our room, but the door was locked. I could hear my mother talking on the other side of the door, then the sound the springs make when I jump on the bed. I’d gone back downstairs without my toy.
Our house is home to eight ladies and five children.
There are no daddies here. Only Jeff, our owner.
He keeps us. He’s tall, as big as a skyscraper.
When he stands in front of me, I have to crane my head back to see his eyes.
A tattoo that looks like barbed wire runs down the side of his face and across his cheek.
His knuckles have words on them, but I can’t read, so I don’t know what they say.
He always wears dirty jeans that are ripped at the knees with a black t-shirt.
Normally, there is a picture of a skull or a naked lady on his chest.
If we all do everything he asks and follow the house rules, we get chocolate sometimes.
The rules are…
Don’t speak unless spoken to.
Don’t go to your bedroom when your mum is working.
Never take food from the kitchen.
Always tell him if you see a policeman near the house.
The rules are easy to follow, most of the time.
But on the days I’m ravenous, it’s hard not to steal something from the kitchen.
There are packets of biscuits in the cupboard and chocolate in the fridge.
Often, I stand in the doorway and watch Jeff eat biscuit after biscuit.
He stuffs them into his mouth, one by one, and chews slowly.
He knows I watch him—his eyes dance as he eats, never looking at me directly but enjoying the teasing.
“What did you wish for?” my mother asks, interrupting my memories.
“A bike,” I lie as I look at her. The joy on her face disappears for a moment, then reappears when she realizes.
“Maybe one day,” she says softly. “One day, you will get out of this place and have everything you wish for.”
“You’ll be with me,” I argue. She only smiles sadly in response.
That evening, the children are all sent to the living room to watch a film.
It is a story about a magic lamp and a genie who gives you three wishes.
We all watch the tiny screen, our eyes glued to the miracle being portrayed.
A scream resonates through the house—a woman’s voice, one I know. The most important person in my world.
“For fuck’s sake,” Jeff yells as a man wearing nothing runs down the stairs, stopping in the hallway. We all run to the door to watch the chaos.
“The whore is dead,” the naked man growls. “She shot up when I was getting busy then she passed out. She won’t fucking wake up.”
Jeff grabs the man by the shoulders, wrestling him to the front door then throws him out onto the street.
“I’m naked, you dickhead!” the man shouts, furious as he batters the door. Jeff pulls a woman’s coat from a hook, opens the door, and tosses the garment outside. He slams the door shut. Jeff bounds up the stairs, and I follow behind him, my eyes frantically searching for my mum.
When I reach our bedroom door, Jeff is standing over the bed looking down at something. He leans down and shakes it violently. “Mummy!” I shout as I realize who it is. He spins to face me, then snatches my shoulders as I run into the room.
“Fuck off, you stupid boy,” he snarls. “She’s fucking dead.” I scream, and he hits me hard across the face. “Shut the fuck up.”
“Mummy!” I wail, trying to wrestle from his grasp as he throws me over his shoulder. I grab for the small blue teddy bear on the shelf as we pass, then stuff it into my t-shirt. As we turn out of the room, my head cracks off the doorframe and everything goes black.
When I wake, I’m wrapped in a blanket. The motion of the car makes me feel sick.
It’s dark. I try to move my fingers, but my hands are tied behind my back.
Too frightened to shout, I lie still until we pull to a stop.
The car turns off, and I hear the door close.
The trunk opens above me; soft light filters through the sheet to my eyes.
I stay silent. I am picked up and then thrown into the air.
I hit the ground with force, water and mud surrounding me.
I hear the car door once more, the sound of the engine, then tires screeching against the pavement.
Cold and wet, I lie motionless, too frightened to move.
It’s nighttime. I hear the hoot of an owl in the distance, but the light from what I think must be a lamppost flickers above me.
After a while, I wriggle in my bindings—my hands are secured fast.
It’s then I hear the sound of voices, young voices—boys I think.
“Russ,” one of them shouts, “look here. That pile of trash is moving.”
“Shut up, Connor. We better hurry up. We’re late. Mum and Dad will ground us…again.” The voice that responds sounds older, more forceful.
“I’m telling you, bro. There’s someone down there.” The sound of metal hitting the ground tells me they’ve stopped and dropped what I assume are their bikes. “You go take a look.”
“Me? Why me? You’re the one who wanted to stop. Maybe it’s a monster.” He cackles with laughter, then I hear the sound of footsteps in mud. Something kicks at my leg, and I pull it away. Two screams echo in my ears.
“It’s alive!” the younger boy shouts. “Run.”
“Wait a minute,” the older voice replies. He prods me again with his foot. “Hello, are you human? If you’re a vampire, please don’t bite us.”
I don’t speak. I can’t. Feeling like I do, I want them to go away.
To leave me here to rot in the mud, wherever I am.
My eyes are tightly screwed shut, but I blink them open as I feel him crouch next to me.
Something moves the cover at my face, and I look up into the eyes of a boy with dark hair, older than me but not grown up.
“Connor,” he says, “ride home as fast as you can and get Dad. Tell him we found someone. He needs help.”