Doctor Who_ Deep Blue - Mark Morris [31]
She sighed, rolled over and opened her eyes. As she sat up, the weight of her anxieties sank like ballast inside her. Mum had gone to bed two hours ago, exhausted with weeping, but Charlotte had lain sleepless ever since. It felt as though her life was coming apart. What had she done to deserve it? Why was she being punished in this way?
She looked at her clock. It was five past two in the morning. For almost five hours her mother had wailed and clung to her, declaring that her life was over. Charlotte had done her best to console her, even though she too had felt like weeping. They had had no dinner, but even now Charlotte felt too sick to eat.
The evening had been punctuated by emergency sirens whooping outside, police cars and ambulances racing by.
Soon after, round about 11.30 p.m., they had heard Dad come back. He had been drunk, stumbling and muttering, making so much noise as he tripped up the stairs that Charlotte felt sure it would bring Mrs Macau swooping down on him like a vampire bat. It was the only time that night when her mother had stopped crying. She and Charlotte had clung to each other, staring fearfully at the closed door.
Thankfully he had blundered past, opening and then slamming the door of the room he was supposed to be sharing with Mum. After that they had heard nothing. He had probably collapsed on to the bed and instantly fallen into an alcohol-induced sleep.
At midnight, Mum had announced that she too was going to bed. Before turning in she had tearfully wondered about calling the police to report the fact that Chris still wasn‟t home. Charlotte, though, had managed to dissuade her.
„Don‟t worry, Mum, he‟ll come back when he‟s ready.‟
„But he‟s only a baby,‟ Imogen wailed.
„Don‟t let him hear you say that,‟ Charlotte said, trying to keep her voice light.
Mum clutched her hand and looked imploringly into her eyes. „He will be all right, won‟t he?‟
„Course he will.‟
„Promise me.‟
Charlotte licked her lips uneasily. „I promise.‟
Mum had seemed pacified by that, had kissed Charlotte goodnight and gone to bed. Charlotte had offered to let her have her bed and to sleep on the floor, but Mum had waved the offer away.
„ I’ll be all right. Your dad‟s too drunk to argue and I‟m too tired.‟
„Well, if you want anything I‟ll be here,‟ Charlotte had told her.
Mum‟s eyes had filled with tears. „I know you will, love. I don‟t know what I‟d do without you. Goodnight.‟
That had been two hours ago and it had not been a good night. It had not been a good night at all.
As far as she was aware, Chris had still not returned to the boarding house. She got out of bed and went to the window, sticking her face between the gap in the curtains. She couldn‟t see much. Aside from the nimbus of orange light emanating from each street lamp and pooling on the ground beneath it, the tarmacked road and stone-flagged pavements, and even the beach, looked not only black but composed of the same substance. Only the sea looked different, the shards of white moonlight on the waves giving it the appearance of rippling black plastic.
She shivered, despite the warm night air, and left the window. She crossed to her suitcase, which was sitting open on the floor beside the wardrobe, only partially unpacked.
Delving beneath her clothes she found a cardboard box, similar in size and shape to that which might contain a toothpaste tube.
She sat down on the bed, cross-legged, her back supported by a pillow jammed against the headboard, and stared at the words in blue on the box‟s white surface: