Half Lost (The Half Bad Trilogy #3) - Sally Green Page 0,2

next to Gabriel, who’s talking about a fucking climb and how he waded across the river to get to the start of it, and I’m thinking that I’ve eaten my own father and held him as he died and Annalise is wandering around free, and Gabriel is still talking about climbing, and how can that be normal and OK? And so I say to him as calmly as I can, “Gabriel, can you shut up about your fucking climb?” I say it really quietly because otherwise I’ll scream.

And he pauses and then says, “Of course. And do you think you can say a sentence without swearing?” He’s teasing, trying to keep it light, and I know he’s doing that but somehow that pisses me off even more, so I tell him to fuck off. Only I don’t just say the F-word but other words too and then I can hardly stop myself, well, I can’t stop myself at all, and I’m swearing at him again and again and he tries to hold me, to take my arm and I push him away and tell him he should go or I’ll hurt him and he goes then.

I calm down after he’s walked away. And then I feel a huge wave of relief because I’m alone and I can breathe better when I’m alone. I’m OK for a bit and then when I’m properly calm I hate myself because I want him to touch my arm and I want to hear his story. I want him to talk to me and I want to be normal. But I’m not normal. I can’t be normal. And it’s all because of her.

* * *

We’re sitting together looking at the fire. I’ve told myself that I’ve got to try harder and talk to Gabriel. Talk, like a normal person. And listen too. But I can’t think of anything to say. Gabriel hasn’t said much either. I think he’s annoyed about the stones. I haven’t told him about the two extra stones I added yesterday. I don’t want to tell him about that . . . about them. I scrape round my tin bowl even though I’ve scraped round it already and there’s nothing left. We’ve had cheese and soup from a packet; it was watery soup but better than nothing. I’m still hungry and I know Gabriel is too. He’s looking dead thin. Gaunt, that’s the word. Someone said I looked gaunt once. I remember I was really hungry then too.

I say, “We need meat.”

“Yes, that would make a nice change.”

“I’ll put out some rabbit traps tomorrow.”

“Do you want me to help?”

“No.”

He says nothing but pokes at the fire.

“I’m faster on my own,” I say.

“Yes, I know.”

Gabriel pokes the fire again and I scrape out my bowl again.

It was Trev who said I was gaunt. I try to remember when but it’s not coming back. I can remember him walking up the road in Liverpool, carrying a plastic bag. Then I remember the fain girl who was there too, and the Hunters who were chasing me, and it seems like a different world and a different lifetime.

I tell Gabriel, “There was this girl I met in Liverpool. A fain. She was tough. She had a brother and he had a gun . . . and dogs. Or maybe that wasn’t her brother. No, it was someone else with the dogs. Her brother had a gun. She told me that, but I never saw him. Anyway, I went to Liverpool to meet Trev. He was a strange bloke. Tall and . . . I don’t know . . . quiet and walked as if he was gliding along. White Witch. Good, though. He’d taken samples from my tattoo, the one on my ankle. Blood, skin, and bone. He was trying to work out what the tattoos did. Anyway, Hunters came and we ran off but I dropped the plastic bag that the samples were in and had to go back and this fain girl had found them. She gave them back to me and I burned them after.”

Gabriel looks at me, as if he’s waiting for the rest of the story. I’m not sure what the rest of the story is but then I remember.

“There were two Hunters. They nearly caught us, me and Trev. But the girl, the one with the brother, she was part of this fain gang. They caught the Hunters instead. I left. I don’t know what they did to them.” I