Penny Joelson - Things the Eye Can't See

‘He’s good-looking,’ she comments, ‘but he’s a bit brooding. You never quite know what’s going on in his head.’

‘You never know what’s going on in anyone’s head,’ I point out. ‘Someone can act like they’re really happy when they’re a mess inside.’

‘True,’ says Madz.

‘Kyle’s got a nice voice,’ I comment.

‘So you do like him!’ she exclaims.

‘Can we talk about something else?’ I beg, laughing.

6

At the time Kyle should be meeting Charlie, I’m trying to concentrate on my maths homework, but failing. It’s frustrating – maths is one of my best subjects. I keep stopping and checking my phone for messages, though I know it will beep if one comes. I barely know Kyle and I’ve not thought about Charlie in the last six months, yet I feel anxious. I pause and lean down to stroke Samson, who’s lying by my feet next to the desk.

Finally, I get so fed up with waiting that I text Kyle using Voiceover, which translates my voice into text and reads texts out to me. ‘Did you meet?’

There’s no reply.

It’s not until I’m getting ready for bed that a message comes through.

‘He wasn’t there.’

My phone speaks the words of Kyle’s message aloud. I had been imagining all sorts of things: Charlie running for his life, someone after him, wanting Kyle to hide him somewhere or wanting money to pay someone off. Somehow I never thought that he might not show at all.

‘No way!’ I reply.

‘I waited for two hours – just in case.’

‘Two hours!’

‘Can we meet? I’m not sure what to do.’

I feel immediately pleased, and then knock myself for feeling it. Surely it would be better if Kyle had met Charlie, sorted out whatever it was, and it was over? I don’t want to get involved – or do I? I can’t help feeling worried about Charlie, and I feel sorry for Kyle. He didn’t ask to be involved either. But maybe we can help Charlie together.

‘OK,’ I text back. Am I actually arranging to meet a boy? This feels weird.

‘Tomorrow morning? Where’s good for you?’

I’m glad he’s asking, as it needs to be somewhere I know. ‘How about the park? By the Roman Street gate?’ I suggest. Samson loves it there so at least he’ll get a walk too.

‘Great. Around 11am?’

‘Fine.’

*

Saturday breakfast is one of the few times we’re all together as a family. We all like a lie-in on a Saturday so it is more of a brunch really, at about ten.

Today we’re having pancakes. I’ve made the batter with Dad’s guidance – he’s the pancake expert – and Joe is responsible for tossing them.

‘Is something up, Libby?’ Mum asks.

Considering she’s not around as much as Dad, Mum can be very perceptive. Sometimes I wish she wasn’t.

‘Just a crazy week,’ I tell her. ‘Madz has been busy so I’m doing more without her. I’m getting around the school more on my own.’

‘You’re doing so well,’ says Mum.

‘She certainly is,’ Dad agrees.

‘Keep challenging yourself,’ says Mum. ‘You and Samson will be charging all over town on your own before you know it.’

‘Steady on,’ says Dad. ‘There’s no need to rush things. In your own time, Libby.’

Mum doesn’t answer, but I can tell she’s irritated.

‘I’m going to take Samson to the park this morning,’ I tell them. ‘I’ll do some more homework this afternoon.’

Samson huffs with delight at the word park and wags his tail against my legs. The smell of pancake batter cooking wafts around the room and my stomach rumbles.

‘And what are you up to today, Joe?’ Mum asks.

‘What?’ says Joe. ‘Oh, Mum! Now I’ve dropped one. That’s you, distracting me! Oh . . . Samson! Libby!’

‘What?’ I say.

‘He’s wolfed it down already.’

‘He ate the pancake you dropped?’ I ask.

‘Yes – he was so fast.’ Joe laughs. Mum and Dad are laughing too.

‘Oh Samson!’ I exclaim. ‘I think he thought you dropped it there specially for him,’ I tell Joe. ‘At least it saves you cleaning up.’

‘Right. This next one’s for you, Libby,’ says Joe.

‘Don’t talk to Joe, Mum,’ I warn. ‘I don’t want you distracting him again.’

It’s a lovely day, but I feel suddenly nervous as Samson guides me eagerly towards the park. This is one of the routes we practised with Gina, my guide dog mobility instructor, when I first got Samson, so we’re very familiar with it. I’m deliberately a couple of minutes late in the hope that Kyle will be waiting for me, but he isn’t there yet. I stand by the gate and tell Samson to sit. Doubts start to rattle through my head. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea.

‘Excuse me,’ someone says, making me jump. ‘Do you need any help?’

‘I’m fine. Thanks for asking,’ I reply.

When someone sees me standing still, alone with Samson, they seem to think I must need help. At least this person asked politely. Sometimes people grab my arm and try to take me across a road that I don’t even want to cross.

‘Hi Libby!’

I’m so relieved that Kyle is here.

‘Hi you!’ I say.

‘And hi Samson,’ says Kyle. ‘Shall we walk? Do you . . . do you need me to help you or do anything? You’ll have to tell me. I just don’t want to do the wrong thing . . .’

‘I’m fine. I know the park well and Samson can guide me,’ I say.

The path around the park is as familiar as an old friend, so I don’t need to concentrate much. I’m relieved at last to be able to talk about everything that’s been going round in my head.

‘What do you think’s going on with Charlie?’ I ask. ‘I can’t believe he didn’t show.’

‘Me neither,’ Kyle says as we walk towards the lake. ‘I’m really worried. He says someone wants to kill him and he doesn’t show. What am I meant to think?’

‘You’re not . . . you’re not saying it’s already happened?’ I say, swallowing. I don’t want to use the word ‘dead’. I don’t even want to think it. ‘I mean, it would have been on the news or something, wouldn’t it?’

‘Only if . . . if he was found.’ He pauses. I find I’m holding my breath. ‘But it isn’t likely,’ Kyle continues. My breath flows once again with relief. ‘Maybe it just wasn’t safe for him, so he stayed away.’

‘Should we go to the police?’ I wonder aloud.

‘He said no police, remember,’ says Kyle.

‘You’re right,’ I say. ‘We don’t want to put him in more danger. But what else can we do?’

‘I’m glad you’re saying we , Libby. I feel kind of scared, and it’s good I can talk to you about all this.’

‘I feel the same,’ I tell him – and I get this slight fluttering feeling in my tummy. ‘Can we sit down on a bench?’ I suggest. ‘Then I can take Samson’s harness off and he can have a run around.’

‘There’s a bench,’ says Kyle. ‘Do I need to watch him? How do you know where he is?’

‘He’s trained not to go far – and he has a bell so I can hear him too,’ I explain. ‘It’d still be good if you can keep an eye out. I prefer to know someone can see him.’

‘Sure thing,’ says Kyle.

‘Off you go, Samson!’ I tell him, once we’re sat down. He nuzzles me gratefully and then he’s gone. I breathe in the smell of newly mown grass and listen, aware of the distant laughter of children in the playground where Joe and I used to go when we were younger, and the cheerful birdsong in the trees close by.

‘He’s having a sniff in the bushes,’ Kyle tells me. ‘His tail’s wagging – he looks very happy.’

‘Good,’ I say. ‘What do you know about Charlie, Kyle? Do you have any idea what he’s been up to since he stopped coming to school?’