The Tail of Emily Windsnap - Liz Kessler [6]
“This the one, is it?” a snarling voice growled behind my ear. Bob nodded.
I tried to wriggle free from the man’s clutches, but he was holding my shoulders too firmly. “What do you want?” my voice squeaked from my mouth.
“As if you didn’t know,” the snarly voice snapped at me. “You’re the freak.” He shook my shoulders.
“I’m not a freak,” I shouted. “I’m not!”
“Stop pretending,” a woman’s voice replied.
“I’m not pretending.” I wriggled under the hands holding my shoulders. “I’m not a freak!”
“Emily, for Pete’s sake,” the woman’s voice said. “I know you’re not really asleep.”
My eyes snapped open to see Mom’s face inches from mine, her hands on my shoulders, shaking me gently. I bolted upright in my bed. “What’s happening?”
Mom let go of me. “What’s happening, sleepyhead, is that you’re going to be late for school. Now get a move on.” She parted the curtain in the doorway. “And don’t forget to brush your teeth,” she said without turning round.
Over breakfast, I tried to remember my dream and the things I’d been shouting. It had felt so real: the capture, the voices. Had I said anything out loud? I didn’t dare ask, so I ate in silence.
It was on the third mouthful that things went seriously wrong.
Mom was fussing around as usual, shuffling through the huge pile of papers stuffed behind the mixer. “What did I do with it?”
“What is it this time?”
“My shopping list. I’m sure I put it down here somewhere.” She leaned across to a pile of papers on the table. “Aha, here it is.”
I looked up in horror as she picked up a piece of paper. Not just any piece of paper. A sheet of purple writing paper!
“NO-O-O-O-O-O!” I yelled, spitting half a mouthful of cereal across the table and leaping forward to grab the paper. Too late. She was unfolding it.
Her eyes narrowed as she scanned the sheet, and I held my breath.
“No, that’s not it.” Mom started to fold the paper up. I breathed out and swallowed the rest of my mouthful.
But then she opened it again. “Hang on a sec. That’s my name there.”
“No, no, it’s not. It’s someone else, it’s not you at all!” I snatched at the paper.
Mom kept it gripped tightly and ignored me. “Where are my reading glasses?” They were hanging around her neck — as they usually are when she’s looking for them.
“Why don’t I just read it to you?” I said in my very best Perfect Daughter voice. But as I was speaking, she found her glasses and put them on. She studied the note.
I tried to edge away from the table but she looked up on my second step. “Emily?”
“Hmm?”
She took her glasses off and waved the note in front of my face. “Want to explain this to me?”
“Um, well, hmm, er, let’s see now.” I examined the note with what I hoped was an I’ve-never-seen-it-before-in-my-life-but-I’ll-see-if-I-can-help kind of expression on my face.
She didn’t say anything, and I kept staring at the note, pretending I was reading it. Anything to avoid meeting her eyes while I waited for my lecture.
But then she did something even worse than lecture me. She put the piece of paper down, lifted my chin up with her hand, and said, “I understand, Emily. I know what it’s about.”
“You do?” I squeaked, terrified.
“All those things you were saying in your sleep about being a freak. I should have realized.”
“You should?”
She let go of my chin and shook her head sadly. “I’ve been an idiot not to realize before now.”
“You have?”
Then she took my hand between her palms and said, “You’re like me. You’re afraid of water.”
“I am?” I squealed. Then I cleared my throat and twisted my hair. “I mean, I am,” I said seriously. “Of course I am! I’m scared of water. That’s exactly what it is. That’s what all this has been about. Just that, nothing more than —”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
I looked down at my lap and closed my eyes tight, trying, if possible, to squeeze a bit of moisture out of them. “I was ashamed,” I said quietly. “I didn’t want to let you down.”
Mom pressed my hand harder between hers and looked into my eyes. Hers