herself feel good by giving us some charity.”
Her mother smiled. “Who on earth is this Tessa? Have I met her?”
“She’s a friend from school — one of my only close ones. You remember, the girl with the big feet who keeps knocking stuff over.”
Mum smiled, but still she looked vaguely ill. “Ah, yes. The clumsy girl. She came round for dinner that time. Broke my bloody vase.”
Hailey laughed, which seemed to break the mood. “That’s her. She still feels bad about it.”
“You look tired, honey. Are you sure you want to go to school? You’ve had a… well, a rough time.”
Hailey stood up and approached the mirror above her dressing table. She combed her hair and tied it up in a loose ponytail. “What’s wrong with me? What happened last night? I’m so hungry I could eat a scabby horse, but if I did try to eat anything I know I’d be sick.”
“You really should have some breakfast. I’ve made toast. Just try and eat a slice. If you really insist on going to school, we’ll talk properly when you get home.” Her mother folded her arms across her chest. “There are still things we need to talk about.” She scanned the room, as if looking for something specific. “Have you been having strange dreams?”
Hailey watched her mother in the mirror. Nodded.
“Me too, baby. Scary ones. But I think they’re more than just dreams. Last night… things happened last night, when I left you here. Stuff we need to discuss.”
Hailey kept her eyes on her mother’s reflection in the mirror. “I’m ill, aren’t I? There’s something seriously wrong with me.” Did she have a brain tumour, was that it?
“I think there was something wrong,” said Mum. “But now I think you might be getting better.” The ghost of a smile crossed her face and then she turned away, heading back to the kitchen. “Come and have some toast.”
Hailey finished getting ready. She packed her school bag and made sure that she had all of her books and her pencil case. Giving herself one final glance in the mirror — she didn’t look too bad now that she’d made a bit of an effort — she left her room and went to the kitchen.
“Would you like some fruit juice? I could pop out and get some from the shop. Or maybe a cup of tea?”
Hailey sat down opposite her mum. “No. I’m fine. I’ll just try a bit of that toast.” She reached out and picked a slice off the serving plate. The butter had melted and the toast wilted. When she bit into the toast it was cold. The texture of the limp bread almost made her gag.
“Just a few bites,” said her mother, trying to smile and almost making it.
“Where were you last night?” said Hailey, once she’d swallowed the mouthful of bread. “I remember waking up. It was late. Or early. Was that when you got home?”
Her mother looked away. Her eyes roamed over the kitchen surfaces. “Yes, that was me. We had a little chat and I put you back to bed.”
“So. Where did you go?”
“I had to go out and see a friend. Nothing you need to know about, not really. Just an errand I had to run.”
Hailey chewed the toast. The more she had the more she got used to it. Her stomach still felt empty but it no longer ached. “You’re not getting involved in anything crazy, are you?” Her eyes began to sting. The kitchen lights were too bright and they made her head throb.
“No,” said her mother. “It’s nothing like you think. But this is one of those things we need to talk about. I made a big mistake and it’s going to affect us both.”
Hailey’s ears were ringing. The sound was distant yet incessant, like an alarm. “Okay, we’ll sit down and talk tonight, when I get home from school.”
Her mother shuffled in her chair. “I might have to go out again later, so it’ll probably be late. Will you be okay on your own again, just until I get back?” She paused, not really waiting for an answer. “I promise not to be too long. We can talk then.”
“That’s fine.” Hailey put down the remains of the toast: the soggy piece of crust, with melted butter smeared along its length. “I can watch the TV now, can’t I?”
“Yeah, I suppose you can.”
Hailey saw the tears sparkling in her mother’s eyes, and for a moment she felt like going over there and throwing her arms around her, telling her that she loved her more than anything in the world. But something held her back. She heard a faint skittering noise from the other end of the flat, coming from the direction of her bedroom. Her mind was filled with images of tattered, flyblown shapes falling in tandem from the ceiling. She felt her nipples stiffen and fluid leaked from their tips.
The thought came to her from nowhere, and rather than summon memories it conjured a feeling, a sensation: then she felt an overpowering urge to protect. She had no idea what was happening — or what had happened last night — but she did know that this was not the time to talk about the situation. But they must discuss things soon, and try to fathom a way of solving their problems. Hailey had the idea that a possible way out had already presented itself, and if she could only remember what it was then she could bring up the subject with her mother.
Again, she felt like her thoughts were not her own, that somebody else was putting them inside her head. There was some kind of barrier between them, and she needed to wait until it came down before digging into this subject.
“I have to go, Mum. I’ll see you later.”
Her mother didn’t answer; she was staring into space, her eyes large and moist.
Hailey grabbed her things and left the flat, followed by the nagging suspicion that she was turning her back on something forever. This was not a rational thought, but somehow she felt that once she had walked out the door she would be unable to turn back. The world had altered too much; the fabric of their lives had been picked apart at the seams. Everything was too broken to be repaired, and the only way to change things was through further acts of destruction.
Out on the street there were very few pedestrians, apart from groups of kids on their way to school or to bunk off elsewhere, far enough away from the estate that they wouldn’t be seen. Hailey kept her head down. She didn’t want to make eye contact with anyone, even her few friends or the few other kids who gave her the time of day and didn’t tease or bully her. She wanted to be left alone. Her thoughts required sorting, sifting, putting in order.
Instead of heading along Grove End, in the direction of the school, she turned right and crossed the mini roundabout onto Grove Road. Then she cut through Grove Side and headed towards the centre of the estate.
She knew the man was following her. She had spotted him in his car immediately, waiting at the kerb opposite the old Grove End Primary School. The fat man behind the wheel had watched her intently as she left the block of flats. She had seen him before, many times; she suspected that he had been watching her for a couple of weeks now, always keeping his distance and never hanging around for too long. Today, though, he got out of the car and followed her conspicuously. He stayed a few yards behind, never straying too close, but it was obvious what he was up to. Even Hailey could see that he was purposefully trailing her through the estate.
She turned left onto Grove Crescent, and then used the nameless ginnel to access the Roundpath — the narrow dirt track which ran around the perimeter of the patch of land upon which stood the intimidating structure of the Needle. When she looked up at the tower she saw several phantom images reflected against the windows — those which had not been broken — on the upper floors: a dark, busy mass, a flurry of wings, distant trees that were not really there. Hailey closed her eyes. When she opened them again the few unbroken windows reflected only the blue-grey sky and the pale, slow-moving clouds.
The emptiness inside her reached out towards the Needle. For the first time she had an inkling of the reason why she was drawn here. She yearned for whatever was inside that old building, the secrets it kept within the fabric of its structure. Another world lay between the mortar joints and the connecting members of timber and steelwork, and all Hailey had to do now was find a way to get through to the other side.
She waited at the end of the ginnel, pressing her body flat against an old timber hoarding with a faded motif.
