Читать книгу Things the Eye Can't See - Penny Joelson - Страница 7

1

The voice startles me because it sounds like Charlie. I’m good at recognising voices, but it can’t be him, can it? Charlie used to be in my form group at school, but no one’s seen him for about six months. I’m down a quiet path – not far from my house. He’s calling my name.

I move my camera from my eye and stand upright. The poppy on the grassy verge, the one I was about to photograph with my macro lens, shape-shifts from perfect crimson petals around deep dark stamens to a slight fleck of red. I can only see clearly one or two centimetres in front of my eyes. My guide dog Samson shuffles beside me and stands as if expecting us to move on.

‘Wait, Samson,’ I say, pulling gently on his harness as I turn in the direction of the voice. Someone’s there, but he’s just a vague, dark blob.

‘Libby!’

He says it again – my name. His voice distinctive, gravelly, but sounding older than I remember. He’s coming nearer and the blur of him is familiar: the height, taller than me, light hair, the way he moves. It’s him – now I’m as sure as I can be. But I’m not sure if I want to talk to him – or if I ought to.

‘Charlie? Is it really you?’

I feel a pull as Samson turns too, his warm back nudging at my legs. ‘Sit, Samson,’ I tell him. ‘Sit.’ Samson sits obediently and I stroke his head.

‘Yeah . . .’ Charlie’s close now. He sounds nervous, awkward – and I’m not surprised.

‘Where’ve you been all this time?’ I demand. ‘You just dropped out of school. No one knew why.’

When he speaks his voice is low, bitter, emphatic. ‘Stuff . . . life . . . y’know?’ he says. ‘Things happen.’

‘I guess,’ I say.

‘And you,’ he says. ‘You got a dog now!’

‘Yeah – this is Samson,’ I tell him.

‘He’s lovely. You’re lovely, boy!’ he says to Samson. ‘I like dogs.’ He sounds sad now, wistful.

‘What happened, Charlie? Can’t you tell me?’

‘Na. But . . . I want to ask you something – a favour.’

My heart speeds up, wondering what he could possibly want. Perhaps I should have ignored him. I’ve always felt nervous around Charlie. He got excluded from school for fighting – more than once. He was sent to a referral unit for a while, for kids who can’t cope in school. Then he came back – only for about a month – and then he disappeared. No one knew where he’d gone. The truth is, no one cared all that much. School was calmer; there was far less tension without him.

‘What?’ I ask nervously.

‘D’you think you can take a message for me – give it to someone?’

‘Can’t you just DM them? Or text or something?’ I ask.

‘Nah. This is too sensitive. Top secret – and I can’t trust most people, but I trust you. I can, can’t I? Right?’

‘I guess . . . What’s this all about, Charlie?’

‘And you mustn’t tell anyone you’ve seen me,’ he goes on. ‘You get that?’

‘Are you serious? Why?’ I wish I could see his face, but I’d need to get too close to really see his eyes.

‘You gotta swear – this is dead serious,’ he says.

I can hear the desperation in the raspy tone of his voice. My mind slips back to one time at school when he was kind and helped me out. It was last year, before I got Samson. I was walking down the stairs with my cane and some impatient boy kicked it out of the way. I nearly fell – but Charlie was there and he caught me and gave the boy a right earful. I was a bit shaky and he was really sweet. I’d never seen that side of him before.

‘Please,’ he begs.

‘OK. I swear I won’t tell anyone.’ I say it – though I’m not sure I should, or if I mean it. ‘What’s the message?’

‘Here.’ He touches my arm, presses something into my hand. A small envelope. I hold it – at arm’s length initially, as if it might explode.

‘Put it away – in your pocket,’ he tells me.

I feel for my skirt pocket and slip the envelope in.

‘That’s right,’ he tells me. ‘Now give it to Kyle at school tomorrow, OK?’

‘Kyle?’ I repeat.

‘Yeah, don’t tell him you saw me or that I gave it you. Just give it to him quiet, like. You got it?’

Kyle’s the tallest boy in our year. Even I can generally pick him out.

‘OK,’ I tell him.

‘I knew I could trust you,’ he says. ‘I knew you’d help.’

‘Charlie . . .’ I start, but the blur of him is moving away and in an instant he’s gone from my vision.

I finger the straight edges of the envelope in my pocket. I’m anxious. I wish I’d said no – but part of me also feels chuffed that he’s chosen me for this task. He’s not seeing me as ‘the blind girl’ like most people do – but as someone who can help him, someone he can trust. It’s nice, in a weird sort of way.

I want to go home. ‘Forward,’ I tell Samson and he walks on eagerly, but my legs don’t seem to want to move and I stop. Samson stops too and nudges me in confusion as if to say, ‘Come on!’

I can hardly believe what just happened. My friend Madz is going to lose it when I tell her. But I shouldn’t tell her, should I? I promised Charlie. I wish I hadn’t promised that.

The flowers in the long grass are swaying, the dots of colour catching my eye as if beckoning me. I’m still holding my camera, so I lean over and take a few more close-ups, breathing deeply, calming myself until I feel ready to move.

‘OK, Samson,’ I tell him. ‘Forward. Yes – we’re going home.’

Samson’s up instantly and guiding me towards home. It’s a bright, warm day in early June, but something makes me shiver. I’m still thinking about Charlie. Why did he turn up here today? And what is in the note for Kyle?