‘This isn’t how I meant it to be,’ he said.
‘You’d thought about it?’
‘Of course. Hadn’t you?’
I nodded and said, ‘What was wrong with it?’
‘Nothing, G. Jesus. It was being here, that’s all, with all of them.’
I sat up and Adam leaned over, kissing my hip. He looked at my arms and said, ‘Did you injure yourself? What are all those cuts?’
‘They’re nothing,’ I said, ‘Just scratches from scrambling around on bombsites.’
I felt between my thighs, sticky with blood. I looked at my fingers and rubbed my thumb over them. I pressed my fingers on his lips, smearing them red. He smiled and flicked his tongue out, licking. I walked over to the window.
‘Someone will see you.’
‘I don’t care.’
He joined me as I opened the window. He pressed up against me and we leaned out, feeling the cool air on our skin. The city was cast in a strange blue light as the sun struggled up, obscured by the billowing smoke. In the distance, a barrage balloon was caught in the flames of a building. The fire circled it, as if gently stroking its skin.
‘James is sick,’ I said.
The balloon collapsed under an invisible weight, like a giant had squeezed its tail. The ripple of the impact spread through the body, transforming it into a fiery fish streaking through the sky.
‘His arm will heal,’ said Adam. ‘He’ll be alright.’
‘He’s different,’ I said. ‘He’s changed.’
As the balloon headed for the ground it exploded into flames, all form lost, shards bursting out and floating down after the fire ball. The flames were striking against the deep inky blue of the buildings and the black smoke. I looked out across the rooftops, smoke rising in pockets all across London. I could see tiny flickering flames in the distance. The landscape was breaking up, changing every night.
I crept into James and Mad’s bedroom one morning when Mad had left for work and LK was still snoring in the sitting room. It was one of those rare days when no one else was around.
James was still asleep. I opened the curtains a little and placed the worms next to James’ stump. I couldn’t sew them on, but hoped a prayer would do. I was nervous. I wasn’t sure the lizards would listen because I hadn’t given any blood to Monsta since I’d come to live here; I’d left Monsta tucked away in a box under my bed, forgotten.
I cut my arm and held it over the stump and the worms before closing my eyes and saying the lizard prayer. When I’d finished I opened my eyes and saw the worms were just lying there, covered in my blood. James was in the same position but he was awake, watching me.
‘I’m trying to give you a new arm,’ I said. ‘Like Monsta.’
He reached over and held my arm, his hand sliding a little in the blood. He didn’t move, just held me like that. When he let go he stared at the blood on his hand, flexing his fingers. I gathered the worms, holding the bloody bouquet. He got up and pulled his trousers on before placing his hand gently on my back.
‘We’ll get you bandaged up.’
He ushered me through to the kitchen and sat me down. He cleaned me up and tied a bandage round my arm.
‘It’s what I do,’ I said. ‘I mean, it’s what I did. To keep Monsta alive.’
He sat across the table from me and lit a cigarette. He exhaled and looked back at me.
‘I don’t need a new arm.’
‘But, I thought—’
‘You thought wrong.’
‘I’ll pack,’ I said.
‘What?’
‘I’ll leave.’
‘Why would you leave? I don’t want you to.’
I fiddled with a loose bit of bandage. I couldn’t look at him. He reached over and put his hand over mine.
‘We love you, you fool. We don’t want you to leave.’
He sighed, and leaned back in his chair. The cigarette dangled from his lips, dropping ash onto his chest. He didn’t seem to notice. It mingled with his chest hair and disappeared.
‘I’m a bit fucked up,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry.’
I squirmed in my seat.
‘It’s not about the arm, so much. And it’s not about you, or Mad.’
He scrunched up his eyes.
‘You’ve seen things you shouldn’t,’ he said. ‘You haven’t told us, but we know.’
I looked down at the table.
‘The world is fucked up, Goblin. We’ve got to make the best of it. Someone like you, you bring light.’
I started poking at the wound beneath the bandage without even realising. He reached over and stopped me.
‘Hey,’ he said. ‘I’ll sort myself out, okay? Look at me. Everything is going to be alright.’
I nodded. He got up and pulled some chocolate out of the cupboard and handed me a piece. He sat down next to me.
‘What happened to your family? Your old family.’
I squinted up at him.
‘David went to sea to fight the pirates. Or to be a pirate, I don’t know which. Da went to fight the Nazis, but he wasn’t just any ordinary soldier, but a spy. He was tortured but he didn’t give up anything and they shot him dead. Ma fell in love with a merman and drowned in the Thames.’
He didn’t look at me. He placed a new cigarette in his mouth and held a lighter, flicking it on and off, on and off. He stared at it.
‘Is that right?’ he said, really quiet, like he was talking to the lighter and not me.
‘That’s right,’ I said. ‘And David was supposed to take me with him. We were both going to go to the sea. To escape. David was a conchie so da hit him and David said, “Goblin, let’s go to the sea.” He left without me but he sends me letters in bottles. There’s hundreds of them floating in the sea, buried on beaches, framed in pubs above the bar, all the locals wondering who the mysterious Goblin is.’
‘How old are you now, Goblin?’
‘You know how old.’
‘Tell me.’
‘Almost fifteen.’
‘You’re growing up.’
‘I am.’
‘You’re a dreamer.’
I tensed and I waited, but he didn’t say it. He didn’t give me the speech about being a grown up, about responsibility. He just lit his cigarette finally and put away the lighter.
‘Don’t let anyone crush it out of you.’
He put his arm around me.
‘We’re your family now,’ he said. ‘Me and Mad. And all our friends, they’re your friends too.’
I lay my head on his shoulder.
‘What do you say to adoption, Goblin?’
‘Yessir,’ I said, my voice muffled.
‘What was that?’
‘Yessir!’
He placed his hand on the side of my head, holding me for a second before letting me go. He pointed at my bandaged arm.
‘But you need to leave that behind, Goblin. Leave it behind. You can’t save anyone with your blood, you’re no Jesus. Martyrs are boring, Goblin.’
He stroked the scars further up my arm, and I pulled away, embarrassed.
‘Yessir.’
‘You got any problems, you come to me and Mad. And no more running round London like a wild thing. No more helping at bombsites, you’ve seen enough. And you’ve got classes to go to.’
‘I don’t want to go to school,’ I said.
‘Circus school,’ he said. ‘When this war is over you’ll be travelling with us and you’ve got to pay your way. You’ve got to make yourself useful.’