Page 115 of Tears of Ink

“What do you dream of, Lewis?”

A heart-breaking silence floats around us until a small voice, owned by a lost little boy says, “My mum.”

I nudge his shoulder with mine. “I get that. Are you angry with her?”

He nods his head and I watch, silently, as a tear rolls down his cheek. “I’m angry that she didn’t fight. Didn’t stay with us.”

My mind skims back to Eli’s words last night. “Sometimes fighting is the hardest thing to consider.”

“What do you know about it?”

“Everything. I run from everything and everyone.” I stare at the vibrant splashes of green above us in the trees. Birds are chirping, summer lengthening and holding on to its glory before autumn comes to steal it. What am I going to do when this is over? What am I going to do when I repack my small bag and leave Eli and this place?

“Once,” I continue. “Someone hurt me, real bad. I didn’t tell anyone for the longest time, until the truth was living like a monster inside me: on my skin, in every molecule that makes me what I am.”

Lewis’ bloodshot eyes land on me. “What happened?”

My head shakes. “It’s in the past now.”

“What are you going to do?”

I stand from the dirt and hold my hand out to him. He uses it to pull himself up, but then drops it quickly as he watches me expectantly. “I’m going to stop running.”

I fill my lungs with air. I’m going to stop running, and it’s going to start right now.

“Are you ready to go back? I know a girl who’s pretty worried about you.”

He nods, and I point to the path I took to find him.

It’s time.

C H A P T E R T H I R T Y - F O U R

First things first, I called Eli and told him I’d found Lewis and there was no need to drive back. I also told him about Lewis and Tabitha—call me a wimp but it was much easier on the phone than face-to-face. I’m not sure whether my art leader/teenage babysitter role was supposed to prevent that happening, but if so I failed.

After I’d done that I told Gerard I needed to go and get my stuff ready for the ball and that I’d be leaving straight after the afternoon session. Then I asked Jennifer is she could fit me in with Saskia. I didn’t want the Fairclough’s to pay for a damn thing towards my outfit for the ball, but some help in finding the perfect dress would be fun.

I get to Knightsbridge just after six. Lucky for me it’s late night shopping. I can see Saskia from the other end of the street—not that I know what she looks like. I can just tell it’s her. She’s six foot, and skinny as a clothes rail, with choppy and stylish ink-coloured hair.

Her eyes fall on my tattoos with no effort to disguise her reaction. “Wowee.” She steps closer, her hand reaching for my arm like she expects to be able to feel the ink not just see them.

“Hi, I’m Faith.” I cough awkwardly.

“Oh yeah, sorry. I’m Saskia.”

We shake hands and she seems genuine enough. I try to relax a little. “I’m hoping you will help me find something for the Fairclough Ball, only Connie wants my tattoos covered up.”

Saskia shakes her head. “Connie’s a bitch, and no way, these are gorgeous.” She meets my gaze with an impish smile. “I reckon we can find the perfect dress, though, in there.”

I look at the shop behind her, the green and gold window shades are legendary. “I don’t think they approve of my sort in Harrods.”

“Believe me, darling, they let everyone in if you can afford it. Let’s get champagne and then go dress shopping.” She links her hand though my arm. Apart from Tabitha, she’s the friendliest person I’ve met in weeks. “You aren’t driving, are you?”

I grimace a little. “No, I drove down, but I’ll go back in the morning. I’ve got my college lecturer helping me now, so I don’t have to rush back.”

“We can make that a bottle of champagne then. Come on, this is going to be fun.” We are at the door where the doorman—wearing his long coat and hat—opens up for us, although right until I’m through the door I’m expecting to get bounced straight back out again. People look at us, but Saskia doesn’t even give them a second glance as she glides towards the food hall. “Do you like oysters, Faith?”

“Never had one.” I don’t add I’ve never had one because in my humble opinion oysters look like alien brains.