Emma

27: Luke

I've been hiding in my bedroom for the past half hour. There is nothing I can do to distract myself, because, if I did, I wouldn't be able to hear if Emma tried to come upstairs, so I'm sitting on my bed, staring at the posters on my wall, trying not to worry too much. Trying not to cry. Occasionally, I'd run to the window and look out to see if Mummy was back yet. She's still out with her friends, though, and I have to face the fact that she probably won't be back for hours. And why does that matter, anyway? I'm fine. I'm completely fine.

I wonder what she's doing, if she's even thinking of me. Probably not. She'll be having a great time, a lovely break from seeing little, miserable Luke. To be honest, at the moment, I've begun to believe that she cares more about Emma than me. Or, at least, she seems to believe what she says more.

Maybe Emma's just easier than me, in her eyes. I'm just the kid who's always grumpy.

Daddy. He has to be back soon, surely? He's only taken Bella to the vets, which can't take more than an hour. Unless he decides to stay out because Granny is here. Oh no. Of course he will.

Please let him be back soon I pray. Or Mummy, or anyone who can control Emma, who isn't soft and sleepy like Granny.

But still nobody comes. Not in the next minute, or even the next twenty. What if nobody ever comes at all?

There is a noise.

I jump up from my sitting position on the bed, my eyes darting around the room, my ears straining to hear which direction it came from, before I realize that it was a bird. Just a bird, but my heart is racing.

This has been happening for the last forty, no fifty, minutes. If there is any kind of bang, a voice or even a tweet from a bird, I'm on edge, my hands sweating, my forehead clammy. It's always nothing. Every time.

And it will always be nothing, because I've done everything Emma has asked of me, so she has no reason to come upstairs.

Emma. Her name makes me shudder, so I try not to think it. Instead, I plan. I think about a day when she'll be gone, when I'll have my house, my family, my happiness and my old life back, but that only makes me feel worse, knowing that things might never be the same again, than Emma might never leave.

Emma might never leave.

Imagine that.

I begin to cry. I've been doing a lot of that lately. I cry because I miss Mummy, and Daddy too, and Barney - even after all this time - and because I'm scared. I'm terrified.

I'm petrified of Emma.

Then there is a noise. A real noise.

I missed it through my tears.

Emma has been climbing the stairs, and I've been too busy crying to notice. The worst thing is I can hear she has already reached the top.

I have no time.

What should I do? There's no time to hide.

Can I escape? She'll see me run.

Omygod, what do I do? I frantically dive under the bedcovers.

"Lukey?" Her voice sounds so near, but I can tell she's not in the room yet.

Breathe slowly. In and out and in and out, just like you do when you're nervous.

This is beyond feeling nervous.

I'm too loud. I can hear every breath, so she must be able to, yet I can't breathe any quieter.