Things the Eye Can't See. Penny Joelson

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      When he speaks his voice is low, bitter, emphatic. ‘Stuff . . . life . . . y’know?’ he says. ‘Things happen.’

      ‘I guess,’ I say.

      ‘And you,’ he says. ‘You got a dog now!’

      ‘Yeah – this is Samson,’ I tell him.

      ‘He’s lovely. You’re lovely, boy!’ he says to Samson. ‘I like dogs.’ He sounds sad now, wistful.

      ‘What happened, Charlie? Can’t you tell me?’

      ‘Na. But . . . I want to ask you something – a favour.’

      My heart speeds up, wondering what he could possibly want. Perhaps I should have ignored him. I’ve always felt nervous around Charlie. He got excluded from school for fighting – more than once. He was sent to a referral unit for a while, for kids who can’t cope in school. Then he came back – only for about a month – and then he disappeared. No one knew where he’d gone. The truth is, no one cared all that much. School was calmer; there was far less tension without him.

      ‘What?’ I ask nervously.

      ‘D’you think you can take a message for me – give it to someone?’

      ‘Can’t you just DM them? Or text or something?’ I ask.

      ‘Nah. This is too sensitive. Top secret – and I can’t trust most people, but I trust you. I can, can’t I? Right?’

      ‘I guess . . . What’s this all about, Charlie?’

      ‘And you mustn’t tell anyone you’ve seen me,’ he goes on. ‘You get that?’

      ‘Are you serious? Why?’ I wish I could see his face, but I’d need to get too close to really see his eyes.

      ‘You gotta swear – this is dead serious,’ he says.

      I can hear the desperation in the raspy tone of his voice. My mind slips back to one time at school when he was kind and helped me out. It was last year, before I got Samson. I was walking down the stairs with my cane and some impatient boy kicked it out of the way. I nearly fell – but Charlie was there and he caught me and gave the boy a right earful. I was a bit shaky and he was really sweet. I’d never seen that side of him before.

      ‘Please,’ he begs.

      ‘OK. I swear I won’t tell anyone.’ I say it – though I’m not sure I should, or if I mean it. ‘What’s the message?’

      ‘Here.’ He touches my arm, presses something into my hand. A small envelope. I hold it – at arm’s length initially, as if it might explode.

      ‘Put it away – in your pocket,’ he tells me.

      I feel for my skirt pocket and slip the envelope in.

      ‘That’s right,’ he tells me. ‘Now give it to Kyle at school tomorrow, OK?’

      ‘Kyle?’ I repeat.

      ‘Yeah, don’t tell him you saw me or that I gave it you. Just give it to him quiet, like. You got it?’

      Kyle’s the tallest boy in our year. Even I can generally pick him out.

      ‘OK,’ I tell him.

      ‘I knew I could trust you,’ he says. ‘I knew you’d help.’

      ‘Charlie . . .’ I start, but the blur of him is moving away and in an instant he’s gone from my vision.

      I finger the straight edges of the envelope in my pocket. I’m anxious. I wish I’d said no – but part of me also feels chuffed that he’s chosen me for this task. He’s not seeing me as ‘the blind girl’ like most people do – but as someone who can help him, someone he can trust. It’s nice, in a weird sort of way.

      I want to go home. ‘Forward,’ I tell Samson and he walks on eagerly, but my legs don’t seem to want to move and I stop. Samson stops too and nudges me in confusion as if to say, ‘Come on!’

      I can hardly believe what just happened. My friend Madz is going to lose it when I tell her. But I shouldn’t tell her, should I? I promised Charlie. I wish I hadn’t promised that.

      The flowers in the long grass are swaying, the dots of colour catching my eye as if beckoning me. I’m still holding my camera, so I lean over and take a few more close-ups, breathing deeply, calming myself until I feel ready to move.

      ‘OK, Samson,’ I tell him. ‘Forward. Yes – we’re going home.’

      Samson’s up instantly and guiding me towards home. It’s a bright, warm day in early June, but something makes me shiver. I’m still thinking about Charlie. Why did he turn up here today? And what is in the note for Kyle?

2

      When we get home, I ring the doorbell because I know Gran will be there and it’s easier than fiddling around with my key. My brother Joe should be home too.

      ‘Hi Libby!’ says Gran, opening the door. ‘You’re late. I was getting worried.’

      ‘Only a couple of minutes!’ I come in and take off Samson’s harness. ‘Good dog. Well done,’ I tell him, rubbing his head. Samson wags his tail against me and then pads off to the kitchen for a drink.

      ‘How was your day?’ says Gran, her voice softening. ‘D’you want a cup of tea?’

      ‘Ok, Gran – just a quick one,’ I tell her. ‘I’ve got tons of homework.’

      I don’t mind a short natter with Gran, but sometimes it’s hard to get away. I’ve tried to tell Mum and Dad that I don’t need her here every day after school – and neither does Joe. I’m fifteen and he’s thirteen. We’re fine on our own. Mum works long hours, but Dad teaches at a primary school so he’s not back that late.

      Mum gets it. She’s always wanted me to be as independent as possible. She said it was fine for Gran to stop coming – but then Dad got involved and he said he feels happier knowing Gran’s here. I was cross because I don’t want to be treated differently just because I’m visually impaired – but Dad explained that Gran is lonely and likes to feel useful. He said she’d be gutted if he told her we didn’t need her any more.

      I can hear water gushing from the tap as Gran fills the kettle in the kitchen. I take the note from my skirt pocket and zip it into the front pocket of my school rucksack, before putting that on the bench by the front door where it lives. Everything has its place. I can’t be tripping over things all the time, or hunting them down because I can’t remember where I put them.

      ‘Here you go, love,’ says Gran, as I come into the kitchen. I reach for my usual chair and sit down at the kitchen table. I can hear Samson lapping water noisily from his bowl in the corner. Gran pushes a mug towards me and guides my hand to it.

      ‘Be careful, that’s hot,’ she says, as if I might not know. ‘Want СКАЧАТЬ