The Imaginary (5 page)

‘Hmm.' Amanda huffed and crossed her arms. ‘Just so long as you remember that. Rudger is
not
my boyfriend.
And
you've not given him his two biscuits yet.'

Goldie reached into the biscuit barrel and pulled out two more. She looked at Amanda as if to say, ‘Where do I put these?'

Amanda said, ‘Anyway, Rudger don't much like biscuits, so I'd best look after them for him.'

She took the cookies and kept them safe. In her stomach.

Ten
minutes later Goldie stood in the hallway with her eyes shut. She was counting.

Upstairs Rudger sat in his wardrobe, the same wardrobe he'd appeared in. He knew it was the first place Amanda would've looked for him, but tonight she wasn't the one seeking.

Downstairs Amanda had tiptoed into the study and tucked herself into the space under the desk where her mother's legs normally went. She'd pulled the chair in behind her so she was almost completely hidden from sight. She sat with her knees up under her chin and her back to the wall like a subterranean gargoyle and waited.

‘Ninety-eight…ninety-nine…a hundred,' Goldie called from the hallway. ‘Coming ready or not!'

Amanda listened to the silence of the babysitter's thinking. She could picture the look on the teenager's face. Should she go upstairs or downstairs? Check the kitchen or the front room? Look under the lampshade or under the table? How to begin the search?

There was a buzz of excitement in Amanda's stomach. She listened to the kitchen cupboards being opened and closed one after another, then the under-the-stairs cupboard door gave its usual creak. Goldie was certainly being thorough. This was good.

After a moment's quiet Amanda heard the babysitter's footsteps come closer. Through the legs of her mum's chair she saw the silhouette of the girl in the doorway. Goldie reached out, flicked on the study light.

Amanda
resisted the urge to wriggle back further under the desk. Making a noise at this moment would be disastrous.
Keep still
, she told herself,
keep quiet
.

Goldie looked around at the bookcases and then pulled open the top drawer of Mrs Shuffleup's filing cabinet. Amanda wasn't in there. She took a step into the middle of the room.

Amanda could see her legs, and watched her turning in a slow circle. She thought about the study. There weren't any cupboards to hide in, there wasn't a laundry basket or a wing-backed armchair for a girl to crouch behind. In fact, she realised with a sinking feeling, the only hiding place in the room was the place where she was hiding. Even Goldie was bound to work it out any moment.

And then the doorbell rang.

And Goldie went to answer the front door.

There was a boom of thunder that rattled the windows and Amanda shifted underneath the desk. Her left leg had begun to go to sleep. This was a good opportunity to get comfortable, while the babysitter was distracted.

‘I'm sorry to bother you, young lady,' said a man's voice from the hallway, ‘but my car has broken down…there. It's a dreadful weathered evening tonight…my portable telephone is out of… be so kind as to let me borrow your telephone to call for…'

‘Um,' said Goldie, the uncertainty in her voice obvious. ‘Well, it's not my house. Mrs Shuffleup, she's out right now. I'm just the babysitter. I don't know if I…'

‘
Oh, I understand. Really I…been left in charge of an…and you feel troubled by a stranger knocking. But…will only take a moment. Really… Do be my saviour, young ma'am. What harm…'

Amanda didn't hear everything, because the rain was thudding loudly against the study window now, but she had the oddest feeling she recognised the voice. It wasn't a voice she knew, she was sure it wasn't one of her mum's friends and it wasn't one of the neighbours, but…

‘Well,' Goldie was saying. ‘It's not my house, I…'

‘Of course, of course, I understand. No harm… I see the light's on next door. I'll try there. Good evening.'

‘Yeah, 'kay. Night.'

The front door shut and the sound of the rain on the front path was hushed. Still, that voice was working its way round the inside of Amanda's brain. She couldn't
quite
place it. It was most annoying, but the man was gone now, so, she said to herself, never mind.

And
then the lights went out.

Two
minutes earlier, Rudger had crept out of the wardrobe. From Amanda's bedroom window you got a good view of the front garden. He climbed carefully, quietly up on to her bed and pressed his face against the cold glass.

It was amazing how dark it had got out there. It was as if night had fallen early, but it was just a covering of huge black clouds that were dumping their warm damp contents over the town.

He peered down. He could see the path and the light from the hallway spilling out of the house. There was a person-shaped shadow in the middle of it, but the caller himself was out of sight, tucked under cover by the front door. Rudger would need to open the window and lean out to be able to see who it was, but he didn't feel
that
inquisitive, especially not when a sudden gust of wind flung a vicious squall of rain right against the pane.

Rudger jumped with fright, bouncing on the bed. He stood there wobbling for a moment before he heard the front door bang shut downstairs.

He leant forward once again. Water was pouring down the window, but he could just make out the shape of someone walking back up the path. It was a big man, Rudger could see that much. He was underneath an umbrella and appeared to be wearing shorts.

When he reached the pavement he turned to face the house and just stood there, as if he were waiting for something.

That's odd
, Rudger thought.

And
then the lights went out.

Back downstairs Goldie was shouting in the dark hallway. ‘Hey, 'Manda! Don't panic. It's just a power cut. Nothing to worry about. Where are you?'

Power cut or no power cut, Amanda wasn't going to be tricked into giving away her hiding place. She sat quietly where she was and didn't say a thing.

‘Let me get my phone out. Use it like a torch,' Goldie said.

Amanda heard a
thunk
as something fell to the floor, presumably the mobile in question. The babysitter obviously had butterfingers. Amanda pretended not to hear the bad language that accompanied them.

‘Oh, where are you?' Goldie muttered frustratedly.

Amanda couldn't see round corners, or in the dark, but she could picture the scene as Goldie scrabbled around on her knees in the hall searching. Maybe she
should
disentangle herself from under the desk, and go and help her look. But then she'd lose the game and she didn't like losing. She decided to stay still and a second later was glad that she had.

A
flash of lightning lit the study and, through the wooden legs of the chair, she saw, illuminated in the split-second snap of light, a pair of thin pale human legs stood in the middle of the room.

Then
it was dark again.

Amanda
gasped at the unexpected sight and clapped her hand over her mouth. Her brain buzzed.
Keep quiet, keep still
, it whispered.

The rain lashed against the windows and Goldie was still shuffling around in the hall. (Amanda heard her bang into the little table on which the post was put.)

She waited for the next rumble of thunder and crack of lightning with bated breath. She dared not move. The one thing she knew from the glimpse she'd got was that they
weren't legs that she knew
. They weren't Goldie's, they weren't Rudger's, they weren't the cat's and they weren't her own. And there was no one else in the house. Or rather, there was
supposed to be
no one else in the house.

Of all the legs she'd considered, they looked most like hers. White socks under a black dress and black buckled girls' shoes. Not that Amanda wore buckled shoes, except for school. She wasn't wearing
any
shoes now.

‘Amanda! Come and help me look for my phone. I think it's fallen underneath something. Do you know where there's a torch?'

A startling flash of lightning lit the room at the same time as the house was shaken by a great cracking boom of thunder, the biggest yet, directly overhead.

Amanda was staring exactly where she thought the legs had been, but this time she didn't see the girl's legs. They'd vanished.

Instead,
between the legs of the chair hung a face. An ashen girl's face, curtained on either side by long straight black hair. It was a sad face, grim and small-mouthed, and it was looking straight at her.