Blackbird. N.D. Gomes

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СКАЧАТЬ sister? Were they in their house right now, watching TV or taking a walk on the beach with their dog? Who is the monster? Whoever it is took my sister from me. Took her from the world, when she had so much to give back.

      No, no. She’s out there. I know she is, I feel it. Or do I?

      The bus jolts and I know we’re here. The side door pops open, and I’m relieved because I don’t have to talk to the driver again, and face his sympathies, his pity.

      ‘Thank you,’ I call back as I step off and my feet land on the icy road beneath. I start pounding the pavement up the street and slow down. That’s my dad’s car. It’s parked in Emily’s driveway. He’s here too.

      When I pull in closer, I see Emily at the front door talking to him. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but she looks a little scared, or maybe nervous.

      ‘Dad!’

      He turns around, but doesn’t look surprised. ‘I told you to stay in the house.’

      ‘You didn’t tell me you were coming here.’

      ‘You didn’t either.’

      ‘I stopped by James’s too.’

      ‘James?’ asks Emily.

      ‘Yeah, me too,’ my dad mumbles.

      I look at Emily, desperate. ‘Well, is she here?’

      My dad shakes his head.

      ‘I was telling your dad, I haven’t seen Olivia since the party on New Year’s Eve. Sorry. I would tell you if she was here. It’s all over the newspapers, I wouldn’t lie about that.’

      ‘Did you know she was going to a party on Hogmanay?’ my dad asks me.

      I don’t want to lie to him, but I don’t want him to think Olivia lied to him either. So I ignore his question and turn back to Emily. ‘But surely you must know where she could be if she’s not with you?’ I ask, taking another step towards her.

      ‘Honestly, lately I never know where she is. We haven’t been hanging out as much as we used to. So you’re asking the wrong person.’

      ‘Who should we be asking?’ my father says, his jaw tensing slightly.

      ‘Not me.’ She starts to close the door on us, but then stops. ‘Sorry, I wish I knew more, but I just don’t.’

      When the door clicks shut, I turn to my dad. His chin is down at his chest. I know how he feels. Another dead end.

      ‘Dad, we’ll find her. She’ll come home.’

      He nods his head gently, then walks back to his car. I slide in the passenger side and hear a crumpling beneath me. I’m sitting on papers. When I pull them out from underneath I’m faced with Olivia again. It’s a photo of her from her birthday dinner in Aberdeen two years ago. We had gone there for the weekend, stayed on Union Street. During the daytime, we shopped, walked along the River Don to watch the occasional salmon spring to the surface, and even visited Dunnottar Castle. It was mesmerizing. The long winding path down to the castle, the cliff drops on all sides.

      In the evening, we had eaten early because Dad likes his meals around half four or five, and walked around the city which really seemed to come to life at night. It was too much for me. Too many bright lights, too many big buildings, too many sounds. But Olivia loved it. I thought it too loud, but for her it wasn’t loud enough. That’s when she decided she wanted to move to London.

      Sometimes we could be so different.

      ‘Alex?’

      ‘Sorry, Dad. I was a million miles away. Did you say something?’

      ‘I want to get the flyers up before it gets dark. Will you help me?’

      ‘Of course.’

      We start at the academy, taping posters around the entrance beneath the sky-blue sign, under the letters of STROMNESS ACADEMY, on classroom windows, on lampposts on the streets that spill out. Then we drive to the beach, and attach posters to the sides of bins, on car windscreens. We get to the golf club, the tourist office for the Ring of Brodgar and Skara Brae, bus shelters, the ferry docks, and even a couple of hotels. But when we drive to Kirkwall, we have to split up to cover more ground.

      My dad takes his time in the pubs, asking revellers if they’ve seen anyone that looks like Olivia; while I stop by the cafés, The Shore Hotel, Helgis’, the iCentre, St Ola Community Centre, even the library. We meet back at the ferry docks, a small stack of flyers still gripped tight in our hands.

      It’s not enough.

      It’ll never be enough.

      By this time, the sun has almost set. Some lingering strips of amber and blush hover on the surface of the water.

      We leave the remaining flyers on a bench outside Julia’s Café where Olivia and I got hot chocolate and watched the tourists march down off the boats and head straight for the warmth of Stromness Inn. It’s always colder here than people imagine. The climate isn’t for everyone. But for those who manage, it’s home.

      My hands are red raw from the cold. I eventually had to take my gloves off because the tape kept sticking to the fluff, and I was afraid that the flyers wouldn’t stick right and fall off.

      My dad has several small scratches on his hands which look like paper cuts.

      We’ve been at this for hours now. But why do we feel like we’ve not accomplished anything at all?

      We get home to find the house in darkness and my mum sleeping on the sofa with the phone cradled in her arms. She doesn’t look like she’s moved much since I left her.

      Why is this happening to us?

      She stirs and slowly opens her eyes. They’re brown and shaped like almonds, like Olivia’s. Like mine.

      ‘You’re back. Did you put the posters up?’

      ‘Yeah, we did.’

      ‘Did anyone call?’ asks my dad, removing the phone from her grasp. He collapses into his armchair and lays the phone down in his lap, gently securing it with his fingers, as if it might fall and break.

      ‘Journalists,’ she mutters.

      ‘How did they bloody get our number?’ snaps my dad.

      ‘It’s a small island, Peter,’ she says.

      Mum even sounds like Olivia. I think that’s where she got her sense of adventure from. They’d gawk at photos in travel magazines together, and linger on Thomson Holidays adverts. I wouldn’t be surprised if Mum encouraged Olivia to move to London mainly so she’d have the chance to visit her there. But for my dad, the weekend in Aberdeen was enough. He got his taste of adventure and culture, and he wanted back on the island as soon as possible.

      We couldn’t afford to fly, so we’d gone on the NorthLink ferry from Kirkwall. It had taken several hours, which was torture for my dad. I remember standing outside, letting СКАЧАТЬ