‘How long have you been here?’ I say.
She doesn’t even have to think about it. ‘Enough to do this one hundred and eight times. One hundred and nine . . .’ Her eyes are puffy, her nose is red.
I sit on the top stair, squeezed against the wall so I’m not in her way. Sweat drips from the tips of her elbows, and her hair is matted around her face.
‘Why don’t you stop and we can have lunch together?’
‘Not until I reach two hundred. Every step burns a calorie.’
Starving. Exercising. Drugs. I’d like her to sit beside me and tell me why she does this to herself. I’m not sure I could bear to hear the answer. Because I know, even without asking, that love and family and hurt will be at the heart of her problem.
‘Can I get a hug, Daisy? I haven’t had a very good week.’
She places her head on my shoulder, one arm over my body. Her hand drifts to her head, and she wraps a finger around a strand of hair. Tugs at it. I loosen her grip, keep hold of her hand.
‘Just think about nice things,’ I whisper to her. ‘Think about the coming snow.’
We hold each other in silence on the fire exit staircase. Two lost souls. I wish more than anything that I could save Daisy. But it’s impossible. She’s sick and I’m too sick to fix her — a big part of me wants to work harder at myself, so I can.
I look out to Devil’s Thirst, and feel the chill in the air.
33
YOU
I WILL ONLY CHECK ONCE.
I’ve been making a conscious effort on limiting my checks, all week.
A few steps from the front door, I hear a shout behind me and I turn, startled. It’s Shepherd, coming up the stone path. He has a cobalt-blue blanket tossed over his shoulder and a bottle of whiskey in his hand.
‘Wait, Amy. I’ve got plans for you and me tonight.’
Time stands still. I wonder how I’m going to get away with checking the door with him there.
‘So — you coming or what?’ he says.
‘What, now?’
‘Yeah, now.’
‘I’m going to — er — ’
‘You’ve got nothing to do tonight, other than checking that damn door and watching shit on TV. Come on. Nothing bad’s gonna happen.’
I want to get into bed as quickly as possible. I still have a fever. This flu I’ve caught is getting worse.
Shepherd lets me check the door whilst he stands there. Watching, his eyes like an owl.
‘How long does it take to check it once?’ he says.
If he keeps talking to me, we’ll be here all night. ‘Let me do this, then I’ll come with you.’
When I just about finish the check, the door opens and Annabeth comes out.
‘Oh, hope I’m not interrupting . . . your therapy.’ She winks at me.
‘Yeah, you are. Don’t you have somewhere else to be?’ Shepherd says to Annabeth.
I feel like I’m dipping under Devil’s Thirst, unsure of what will happen next.
We all stand there for a moment, looking at each other.
‘No you’re right, I can’t stand here all day,’ Annabeth says at last. ‘Dr Richardson is waiting for me.’ She walks down the side path and vanishes from the awkward scene.
The door is unchecked. I need to start the whole thing again.
‘The door is locked,’ Shepherd says. ‘We can’t stand here all night, damn it. Let’s go.’
‘I can’t just leave it.’
‘Yeah, you can. Come on.’
‘Why are you in such a huge hurry all of a sudden?’
‘I’m not in a hurry.’
‘Why don’t you just go, and let me get on with it, then?’
‘I’m not gonna feed your OCD.’
I burst out laughing. ‘You won’t what?’
‘Amy, if I let you do your checking rituals, even by waiting for you to do them, you’re not ever gonna fix the fault.’
‘You’re such a psychologist.’
He rubs the back of his neck and sighs. ‘Yeah . . . sure, as you keep pointing out. But I’ve got something planned for you. And I’m done waiting.’
He drags me down the path. I look over my shoulder, back at the door. The need to go back and start checking is very strong. I stop walking.
‘Come on, Amy, don’t stop,’ he says.
‘I think I left the iron on,’ I lie.
‘Nice try.’ When I still don’t move, he says, ‘Your room is still secure from when you left it this morning. Isn’t it?’
Before I have time to consider this, he takes hold of my hand. After that, I can move.
Shepherd guides me into the woods, holding my hand at first and then where the terrain gets rough, hooks my fingers into the back of his belt. I follow awkwardly, unable to see anything but the vague shapes of trees.
We come out of the trees into a glade. It’s green and redolent with life, the grass rippling in the night breeze. Overhead, the stars shine like tiny distant wishes.
Shepherd stops, seemingly at random, and unfurls the blanket amid the night sounds of birds and insects. After he settles himself on it, I stand on the grass, watching the sky, waiting for his cruel intentions.
He takes a swig from his whiskey bottle. ‘Come lie down. You can see the stars better from here.’
I lie down on the blanket, and he puts his arm around my shoulders and draws me against his side. He’s hot, like a fire banked against the cold. Occasionally, he raises himself enough to drink from his bottle, but otherwise lies back and watches the stars.
‘What are we calling this?’ I say. ‘Romantic night out?’
‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘Puts me in the mood for romance.’
The silence between us is
