I get in the front of the car next to Adam; Zoey sits in the back.
We wait for a minute, then Adam says, ‘Well, what do you think?’
But I’m not telling him any of that.
I notice how careful he is as he reaches for the steering wheel, as if tempting some rare animal to feed from his hand.
He says, ‘I love this car.’
I know what he means. Being in here is like sitting inside a fine watch.
‘It was my dad’s. My mum doesn’t like me driving it.’
‘Perhaps we should just stay here then!’ Zoey calls from the back. ‘Won’t that be fun!’
Adam turns round to look at her. He speaks very slowly. ‘I’m going to take you somewhere,’ he says. ‘I’m just saying she won’t be very happy about it.’
Zoey flings herself down across the back seat and shakes her head at the roof in disbelief.
‘Watch out with your shoes!’ he yells.
She sits up again very quickly and thrusts a finger at him.
‘Look at you!’ she says. ‘You look like a dog that’s about to shit itself somewhere it shouldn’t!’
‘Shut up,’ he says, and it’s completely shocking to me, because I didn’t know that voice was in him.
Zoey sinks back away from him. ‘Just drive the car, man,’ she mutters.
I don’t even realize he’s started the engine. It’s so quiet and expensive in here, you can’t hear it at all. But as we glide down the driveway and out of the gate, the houses and gardens in our street slide by, and I’m glad. This trip will open doors for me. My dad says musicians write all their best songs when they’re high. I’m going to discover something amazing. I know I will. I’ll bring it back with me too. Like the Holy Grail.
I open the window and hang out, my arms as well, the whole top half of me dangling. Zoey does the same in the back. Air rushes at me. I feel so awake. I see things I’ve never seen before, my fingers drawing in other lives – the pretty girl gazing at her boyfriend and wanting so much from him. The man at the bus stop raking his hair, each flake of skin shimmering as it falls to the ground, leaving pieces of himself all over this earth. The baby crying up at him, understanding the brevity and hopelessness of it all.
‘Look, Zoey,’ I say.
I point to a house with its door open, a glimpse of hallway, a mother kissing her daughter. The girl hesitates on the doorstep. I know you, I think. Don’t be afraid.
Zoey has pulled herself almost out of the car by heaving on the roof. Her feet are on the back seat, and her face has appeared alongside my window. She looks like a mermaid on the prow of a ship.
‘Get back in the bloody car!’ Adam shouts. ‘And get your feet off the bloody seat!’
She sinks back inside, hooting with laughter.
They call this stretch of road Mugger Mile. My dad’s always reading bits out of the local paper about it. It’s a place of random acts of violence, of poverty and despair. But as we pick up speed and other lives whip by, I see how beautiful the people are. I will die first, I know, but they’ll all join me one by one.
We cut through the back streets. The plan, Adam says, is to go to the woods. There’s a café and a park and no one will know us.
‘You can go crazy there and not be recognized,’ he says. ‘It’s not too far either, so we’ll be back in time for tea.’
‘Are you insane?’ Zoey yells from the back. ‘You sound like Enid Blyton! I want everyone to know I’m high and I don’t want any bloody tea!’
She heaves herself out of the window again, blowing kisses at every passing stranger. She looks like Rapunzel escaping, her hair snapping in the wind. But then Adam slams on the brakes and Zoey bangs her head hard against the roof.
‘Jesus!’ she screams. ‘You did that on purpose!’
She slumps down in the back seat, rubbing her head and moaning softly.
‘Sorry,’ Adam says. ‘We need petrol.’
‘Wanker,’ she says.
He gets out of the car, walks round the back to the nozzles and pumps. Zoey appears to be suddenly asleep, slumped in the back sucking her thumb. Maybe she’s got a concussion.
‘You OK?’ I ask.
‘He’s after you!’ she hisses. ‘He’s trying to get rid of me so he can have you all to himself. You mustn’t let him!’
‘I don’t think that’s true.’
‘Like you’d notice!’
She stuffs her thumb back in her mouth and turns her head from me. I leave her to it, get out of the car and walk over to speak to the man at the window. He has a scar like a silver river running from his hairline all the way down his forehead to the bridge of his nose. He looks like my dead uncle Bill.
He leans forward over his little desk. ‘Number?’ he says.
‘Eight.’
He looks confused. ‘No, not eight.’
‘OK, I’ll be three.’
‘Where’s your car?’
‘Over there.’
‘The Jag?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You don’t know?’
‘I don’t know its name.’
‘Jesus Christ!’
The glass between us warps to accommodate his anger. I back away in amazement and awe.
‘I think he’s a magician,’ I tell Adam as he approaches from behind and puts his hand on my shoulder.
‘I think you’re right,’ he whispers. ‘Best get back in the car.’
Later, I wake up in a wood. The car has stopped and Adam isn’t there. Zoey is asleep, spread out on the back seat like a child. Through the car window, the light filtering through the trees is ghostly and thin. I can’t tell if it’s day or night. I feel very peaceful as I open the door and step outside.
There are plenty of trees, all different kinds, deciduous and evergreen. It’s so cold it must be Scotland.
I walk about for a bit, touching the bark, greeting the leaves. I realize that I’m hungry, really, dangerously hungry. If a bear turns up, I’ll wrestle it to the ground and bite off its head. Maybe I should build a fire. I’ll lay traps and dig holes and the next animal that comes by will end up on a spit. I’ll make a shelter with sticks and leaves, and live here for ever. There are no microwaves or pesticides. No fluorescent pyjamas or clocks that glow in the dark. No TV, nothing made of plastic. No hairspray or hair dye or cigarettes. The petrochemical factory is far away. In this wood I’m safe. I laugh quietly to myself. I can’t believe I didn’t think of this before. This is the secret I came for.
Then I see Adam. He seems smaller and suddenly far away.
‘I’ve discovered something!’ I yell.
‘What are you doing?’ His voice is tiny and perfect.
I don’t answer, because it’s obvious and I don’t want him to look stupid. Why else would I be up here collecting twigs, leaves and so on?
‘Get down!’ he yells.
But the tree wraps its arms about me and begs me not to. I try to explain this to Adam, but I’m not sure he hears me. He’s taking off his coat. He starts to climb.
‘You need to get down!’ he shouts. He looks very religious coming up through the branches, higher and higher, like a sweet monk come to save me. ‘Your dad’s going to kill me if you break anything. Please, Tessa, come down now.’
He’s close, his face reduced to just the light behind his eyes. I bend down to lick the coldness from him. His skin is salty.
‘Please,’ he says.
It doesn’t hurt at all. We sail down together, catching great armfuls of air. At the bottom we sit in a nest of leaves and Adam holds me like a baby.
‘What were you doing?’ he says. ‘What the hell were you doing up there?’
‘Collecting materials for a shelter.’
‘I think your friend was right. I really wish I hadn’t given you so much.’
But he hasn’t given me anything. Apart from his name and the dirt under his fingernails, I barely know him at all. I wonder if I should trust him with my secret.