her mum’s mobile phone which had been sitting on the arm onto the floor.
She reached down for it, but quickly snatched her hand back when her fingertips plunged into something soft and squishy. Terrified that it might be one of her dad’s eyes, or a piece of his brain, but unable to keep herself from looking closer, she leaned down and peered at it. As her vision began to sharpen she realised that it was actually a chocolate. There were several more scattered around, and she traced them to an upturned Dairy Milk box. She felt sad when she saw that, because she guessed that her dad must have bought them for her mum as a way of saying sorry for the argument – and the crazy bitch had thanked him by sticking a knife in his back.
Her gaze was drawn back to the blood now, and she shivered, wondering how her dad could possibly have survived losing so much.
Maybe he didn’t , a little voice in her head piped up. Maybe he’s dead, and the social worker just told you he was okay to shut you up.
On the verge of crying again, Skye snatched the phone off the floor and fled to her bedroom. All she wanted to do was climb beneath the quilt and go to sleep, but the police were bound to come back before too long so she needed to find somewhere to hide – somewhere where no one ever would think to look for her.
The attic !
The thought came to her in a flash, and it was perfect. The ceilings in this house were high and there was no ladder up to the attic, so no one would ever dream that she could have climbed up there. She had long ago discovered that she could haul herself up there by standing on the banister rail and holding onto one side of the hatch while throwing her legs up through the gap. Her mum and dad didn’t even know she could do that, so she’d be able to stay up there for ages without anyone realising she was even in the house.
As she stood up, her heel clipped the laptop that was sticking out from under her bed and she slid it out and wrapped it in her quilt along with her mum’s phone. Then she ran quickly down to the kitchen and grabbed whatever she could find in the cupboards that was edible and didn’t need cooking before going back upstairs and hauling her stash up into the attic.
There were no boards on the floor up there: just beams, between which lay wires and sorry-looking strips of glass wool that were so old they were crumbling to dust. Glad that she’d brought the quilt, because it was even colder up there than it was downstairs, Skye wrapped it around herself and perched on a beam with her back to the wall. She could hear the muffled sound of music and laughter filtering through from the students’ side and the whistle of the wind creeping through the gaps in the roof where several slates had been dislodged. Glad of the faint sliver of moonlight that was shining through those same gaps, Skye switched the laptop on, and then reached for her mum’s phone while she waited for the computer to boot up.
Tears burned her eyes when she pulled up her dad’s name, and she bit down hard on her lip to prevent them from spilling over as she stared at it for several long seconds before pressing the Call button. Disappointed to hear a recorded message informing her that there was insufficient credit on the phone to make outgoing calls, she sent him a text instead, reading: Dad, it’s me. Ring me if you can see this, I really need to talk to you.
She waited a few minutes for a reply, but when none came, she sent another, saying, Please come home, Dad. I’m scared xxx
Aware that there was nothing more she could do, and praying that her dad would answer soon, Skye turned her attention back to the laptop.
A few streets away, Hayley had just switched her own laptop on. This latest chest infection seemed to be easing, and she’d been looking forward to going back to school next week and catching up with Skye. But then the police had called round to ask if she had seen or heard from Skye, and she was unable
She reached down for it, but quickly snatched her hand back when her fingertips plunged into something soft and squishy. Terrified that it might be one of her dad’s eyes, or a piece of his brain, but unable to keep herself from looking closer, she leaned down and peered at it. As her vision began to sharpen she realised that it was actually a chocolate. There were several more scattered around, and she traced them to an upturned Dairy Milk box. She felt sad when she saw that, because she guessed that her dad must have bought them for her mum as a way of saying sorry for the argument – and the crazy bitch had thanked him by sticking a knife in his back.
Her gaze was drawn back to the blood now, and she shivered, wondering how her dad could possibly have survived losing so much.
Maybe he didn’t , a little voice in her head piped up. Maybe he’s dead, and the social worker just told you he was okay to shut you up.
On the verge of crying again, Skye snatched the phone off the floor and fled to her bedroom. All she wanted to do was climb beneath the quilt and go to sleep, but the police were bound to come back before too long so she needed to find somewhere to hide – somewhere where no one ever would think to look for her.
The attic !
The thought came to her in a flash, and it was perfect. The ceilings in this house were high and there was no ladder up to the attic, so no one would ever dream that she could have climbed up there. She had long ago discovered that she could haul herself up there by standing on the banister rail and holding onto one side of the hatch while throwing her legs up through the gap. Her mum and dad didn’t even know she could do that, so she’d be able to stay up there for ages without anyone realising she was even in the house.
As she stood up, her heel clipped the laptop that was sticking out from under her bed and she slid it out and wrapped it in her quilt along with her mum’s phone. Then she ran quickly down to the kitchen and grabbed whatever she could find in the cupboards that was edible and didn’t need cooking before going back upstairs and hauling her stash up into the attic.
There were no boards on the floor up there: just beams, between which lay wires and sorry-looking strips of glass wool that were so old they were crumbling to dust. Glad that she’d brought the quilt, because it was even colder up there than it was downstairs, Skye wrapped it around herself and perched on a beam with her back to the wall. She could hear the muffled sound of music and laughter filtering through from the students’ side and the whistle of the wind creeping through the gaps in the roof where several slates had been dislodged. Glad of the faint sliver of moonlight that was shining through those same gaps, Skye switched the laptop on, and then reached for her mum’s phone while she waited for the computer to boot up.
Tears burned her eyes when she pulled up her dad’s name, and she bit down hard on her lip to prevent them from spilling over as she stared at it for several long seconds before pressing the Call button. Disappointed to hear a recorded message informing her that there was insufficient credit on the phone to make outgoing calls, she sent him a text instead, reading: Dad, it’s me. Ring me if you can see this, I really need to talk to you.
She waited a few minutes for a reply, but when none came, she sent another, saying, Please come home, Dad. I’m scared xxx
Aware that there was nothing more she could do, and praying that her dad would answer soon, Skye turned her attention back to the laptop.
A few streets away, Hayley had just switched her own laptop on. This latest chest infection seemed to be easing, and she’d been looking forward to going back to school next week and catching up with Skye. But then the police had called round to ask if she had seen or heard from Skye, and she was unable
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