Читать книгу 99 Red Balloons: A chillingly clever psychological thriller with a stomach-flipping twist - Elisabeth Carpenter, Elisabeth Carpenter, Libby Carpenter - Страница 10

Before I open my eyes I feel that I’m rocking. Where was I before? With George, the man wearing the woolly hat. We were in his car. ‘Ninety-Nine Red Balloons’ was on the radio.

I open my eyelids just a little bit, so I can look around without him noticing I’m awake. It worked last week when Mummy came into my bedroom at night to put a coin under my pillow. She couldn’t tell that I waited up until she went to bed. I knew the tooth fairy wasn’t real anyway, so I wasn’t that sad.

I’m lying on an orange seat and there’s a table near my head. I can see his legs under it. He’s wearing the same trousers as before: grey with multi-coloured bits on them – like little dots of rainbow.

‘Ah, you’re awake, little one,’ he says.

I must have opened my eyes properly by accident. I pretend to yawn and sit up.

‘Where are we?’

‘Change of plan. Your mum is planning an even bigger surprise. We’re on the ferry.’

He looks around. I do too, but I can’t see Mummy. There’s hardly anyone here.

‘Are you hungry?’ he says. ‘I picked you up a few things from the café.’ He puts some food in front of me: a bread roll, Jacob’s crackers, and a Mars Bar. I shouldn’t eat the Mars Bar as I’ll get hyper. I’ve never eaten a whole one before – not this size.

I look around again. It’s the biggest café I’ve ever seen, but no one else is eating. I can see other people now, lying on the sofas under the tables like I was. They must be sleeping. I don’t think there are any bedrooms on this boat. Through the windows is blackness – the only thing I can see is the moon.

‘How did you get me here from the car? Did I sleepwalk?’

He laughs. ‘Well aren’t you a clever little thing – thinking about logistics.’

I don’t like him calling me a little thing. My teacher, Mrs Wilson, says that people can’t be things; only objects are things.

‘I pushed you in this.’

He reaches behind the pillar next to him and pulls out a buggy. It has red and white stripes like the one in my gran’s shed. My face feels hot. Everyone must think I’m a big baby. Mummy used to call me that when I couldn’t walk all the way home from the shops without whining.

‘But it doesn’t matter,’ he says, leaning closer. ‘I’ve seen at least four big girls in buggies. It’s night-time you see – how else are they meant to sleep?’

I shrug and swing my legs off the seat. I pull the Mars Bar closer. I slowly unwrap it, looking at George, wondering when he’s going to stop me.

He doesn’t.

He just shakes his head, smiles and goes back to reading the paper.

I take a bite of the chocolate bar and it’s delish – that’s what Mummy says.

There’ll be no sleeping for me tonight.