God not take the twins? Why would He leave them?
The cellar is really just a small space half the size of the kitchen, where we store the coal for the house. As it’s summer it’s nearly empty, just full of dust, except in one corner where I find Peter lying on what’s left of the coal. Like his brother he’s filthy, but he’s fast asleep. Even when I pick him up he doesn’t wake. His head lolls back over my arm and he’s freezing cold. Since I’ve been away he’s got heavier and it’s a struggle to carry him back upstairs. He is so fast asleep he doesn’t even wake when I accidentally bang his head against the door frame.
‘He fell asleep!’ I say, trying to sound bright, as if it was a regular thing. I don’t know what else to do. But Alex is sitting at the kitchen table holding Paul in her lap, looking frightened.
‘He’s completely out of it,’ Alex says. ‘Someone’s given them drugs.’
I sit down next to her and look at Paul. Now she mentions it, his eyes are dozy and unfocused, and he looks like he too might fall asleep at any minute. ‘No. They’re just tired.’
Alex shrugs, ‘I’m telling you, they’ve been drugged. One foster home I went to, the woman used to give the kids nips of Jim Beam to make them sleep.’
‘Who’s Jim Beam?’
She sucks her teeth. ‘Whiskey, bourbon, alcohol . Don’t you know anything ?’
In the past I would have been proud not to know about the world; all I needed to know was about this island and of the earth. The way that seeds grow into plants, the turning of the seasons, the path to heaven clearly laid out before us, no distractions. But since I met Alex my mind is full of questions. I want to know what she knows, to see what she sees with my own eyes. She thinks I’m stupid, and more than anyone I’ve ever met I don’t want her to think that about me.
‘Whatever’s in that pan,’ Alex says, pointing at the pot on the kitchen table, ‘it doesn’t smell right to me.’
I hold Peter tight to my chest. He’s slightly smaller than his brother. They both have the same dark hair as their father and Mary’s strong features, but they are quiet, watchful boys. I shake him gently, ‘Peter? Peter? What happened?’
But he can’t answer me.
‘I told you,’ Alex says. ‘They’re totally out of it.’
Then a gust of wind blows through the kitchen, followed by heavy footsteps in the tack room. I think Father and Hannah must have come back, but they haven’t. The kitchen door swings open and it’s Jonathan, and he’s soaking wet, shivering like a dog, and his eyes are huge and black as marbles, like he’s just seen something he shouldn’t.
‘Light the fire, light the fire,’ he mutters, over and over. ‘I couldn’t take it any more. I couldn’t do it.’
He picks up a handful of kindling sticks, but he’s trembling so much he drops them on the floor. He hardly seems aware that we’re in the room. I lay Peter’s sleeping body on the table and pick the kindling up and lay it on the grate and set a match to it until there is a small fire. He hops from foot to foot, rubbing his arms, and trembles like a wet dog.
‘Jonathan, what’s happened?’ I say slowly. ‘Where is everyone? Why were the twins locked in the cellar?’
‘Mr Bevins has seen it! The gates of heaven! We’ve been praying for two days. He told me to watch for signs, but I was just so cold I couldn’t stay out there any more!’
I put a few lumps of coal on top of the kindling. We have to be careful not to use too much fuel. We will need all we can get our hands on in the winter. Jonathan radiates cold and wet and he smells of outdoors. Of soil and air. But more than that, he smells sharp like a spooked animal.
‘I won’t make it! What if I don’t make it?’ He babbles about heaven’s gate and auras and lights in the sky, but he’s not making any sense. Alex looks horrified. I don’t want her to see us like this; it isn’t what we’re about. This
The cellar is really just a small space half the size of the kitchen, where we store the coal for the house. As it’s summer it’s nearly empty, just full of dust, except in one corner where I find Peter lying on what’s left of the coal. Like his brother he’s filthy, but he’s fast asleep. Even when I pick him up he doesn’t wake. His head lolls back over my arm and he’s freezing cold. Since I’ve been away he’s got heavier and it’s a struggle to carry him back upstairs. He is so fast asleep he doesn’t even wake when I accidentally bang his head against the door frame.
‘He fell asleep!’ I say, trying to sound bright, as if it was a regular thing. I don’t know what else to do. But Alex is sitting at the kitchen table holding Paul in her lap, looking frightened.
‘He’s completely out of it,’ Alex says. ‘Someone’s given them drugs.’
I sit down next to her and look at Paul. Now she mentions it, his eyes are dozy and unfocused, and he looks like he too might fall asleep at any minute. ‘No. They’re just tired.’
Alex shrugs, ‘I’m telling you, they’ve been drugged. One foster home I went to, the woman used to give the kids nips of Jim Beam to make them sleep.’
‘Who’s Jim Beam?’
She sucks her teeth. ‘Whiskey, bourbon, alcohol . Don’t you know anything ?’
In the past I would have been proud not to know about the world; all I needed to know was about this island and of the earth. The way that seeds grow into plants, the turning of the seasons, the path to heaven clearly laid out before us, no distractions. But since I met Alex my mind is full of questions. I want to know what she knows, to see what she sees with my own eyes. She thinks I’m stupid, and more than anyone I’ve ever met I don’t want her to think that about me.
‘Whatever’s in that pan,’ Alex says, pointing at the pot on the kitchen table, ‘it doesn’t smell right to me.’
I hold Peter tight to my chest. He’s slightly smaller than his brother. They both have the same dark hair as their father and Mary’s strong features, but they are quiet, watchful boys. I shake him gently, ‘Peter? Peter? What happened?’
But he can’t answer me.
‘I told you,’ Alex says. ‘They’re totally out of it.’
Then a gust of wind blows through the kitchen, followed by heavy footsteps in the tack room. I think Father and Hannah must have come back, but they haven’t. The kitchen door swings open and it’s Jonathan, and he’s soaking wet, shivering like a dog, and his eyes are huge and black as marbles, like he’s just seen something he shouldn’t.
‘Light the fire, light the fire,’ he mutters, over and over. ‘I couldn’t take it any more. I couldn’t do it.’
He picks up a handful of kindling sticks, but he’s trembling so much he drops them on the floor. He hardly seems aware that we’re in the room. I lay Peter’s sleeping body on the table and pick the kindling up and lay it on the grate and set a match to it until there is a small fire. He hops from foot to foot, rubbing his arms, and trembles like a wet dog.
‘Jonathan, what’s happened?’ I say slowly. ‘Where is everyone? Why were the twins locked in the cellar?’
‘Mr Bevins has seen it! The gates of heaven! We’ve been praying for two days. He told me to watch for signs, but I was just so cold I couldn’t stay out there any more!’
I put a few lumps of coal on top of the kindling. We have to be careful not to use too much fuel. We will need all we can get our hands on in the winter. Jonathan radiates cold and wet and he smells of outdoors. Of soil and air. But more than that, he smells sharp like a spooked animal.
‘I won’t make it! What if I don’t make it?’ He babbles about heaven’s gate and auras and lights in the sky, but he’s not making any sense. Alex looks horrified. I don’t want her to see us like this; it isn’t what we’re about. This
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