"You think it matters to Alex how she meant it? For all Katherine knew, Alex was barely cold in her grave, and she redecorates! She even has a man in to do it for her!"
"You don't know that, Niall. You're leaping to conclusions on precious little evidence."
"I know Katherine."
"Perhaps not as well as you think. It wasn't you having to walk past Alex's room every day, and you've had the comfort of knowing she was alive, even if you couldn't find her. Katherine hasn't had that luxury."
"Yeah, well. I bet it wasn't long before she was getting quotes for the job, picking out furnishings…"
"You're assuming the worst."
"Maybe."
"Either way, it doesn't help you find Alex."
"I know how to find her. I've done it before and I'll do it again."
I turned back to the mirror and placed my hand on it. "Alex? Where are you?"
Alex woke with the thought that there was someone in the room with her. She blinked against the harsh daylight spilling in through the tall bedroom windows but kept still, listening. She went back through her actions the night before. She was sure she'd put the chain across the door before she'd gone to bed. Surely she hadn't slept through them breaking in?
Under the city noise and hotel air-conditioning hum there was another sound, out of place. She lifted her head slowly and found the room undisturbed. She slid sideways from the quilt onto the deep-pile cream carpet and pulled her bra and top from the chair, slipping them on quickly. She crept to the door, scanning the sitting room beyond. It was empty. She went back, intending to slip into her knickers and skirt.
"Alex? Are you there?"
She nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of her father's voice. It was coming from inside the bedroom. She retreated, scanning the room, looking for the source. Above the dresser, the mirror was misted in the centre.
"Alex, I need to talk to you."
It was definitely her father, and his voice was coming through the mirror. How was he doing that? Come to that, how did he know she was here? Then she remembered, when she had first been at Porton Down she had heard his disembodied voice. With all the drugs and the treatment she had thought it was a dream, but maybe not.
She reached forward with a tentative finger to touch the mirror.
"I know you're there. Answer me."
She jumped back. There he went again, treating her like a two year-old, telling her what to do and how to think. No one told her what to do, not since Porton Down, not even him. She frowned at the mirror and its surface rippled under her gaze, but still his voice came through, jumpy and broken but intelligible.
"Alex? Speak to me! Where are you?"
She grabbed her bag and pulled out the red lipstick she had stolen the day before. She wrote 'NO' on the rippled surface of the mirror. It was a crude warding, but it sufficed. Her father's voice ceased.
"Alex, what are you doing? Answer me this instant!" His voice was coming from the sitting room now. She dashed through, searching for the mirror. The sound was coming through the full length mirror near the door. She scribbled 'NO' on that one too and then went through the apartment, writing 'NO' on every mirror, every picture, every window, until the room echoed with the word.
Finally there was silence. She looked around. The room looked like it had been vandalised, the word 'NO' repeated like some blood red deranged message all around the room. She dropped the lipstick like it was hot and it rolled across the carpet.
"I'm not crazy. I'm not!" She was breathless.
She ran into the bedroom and pulled on the discarded clothes from last night, stuffing her feet into her boots. She grabbed her bag and pulled on her cardie. As she ran back through the sitting room she stepped on the lipstick and it smeared across the carpet.
"Shit!"
She stared at the red smear across the cream pile, her hands bunched into tight fists. Her breathing came faster, she couldn't take her eyes off the streak of red. She screwed her eyes shut, biting her lip.
Then she ran for the exit, wrenched back the chain and threw open the door. She almost crashed into the trolley the chamber maid was wheeling down the corridor. The door to the suite slammed behind her and she flew down the stairs and out through the fire exit, banging the door open in front of startled pedestrians and swerving to avoid the car that swept past.
She kept running, taking random turns left and right until she was lost in the back streets with no idea which way to run next.
"She locked me out! How could she do that?" I stared at the silent mirror, no longer responding to my touch.
"If you paid more attention to our sessions and actually practiced what I taught you, you'd know," said Blackbird.
"No, I don't mean that. I'm her father. She's not supposed to… hang up on me?"
"What, you're still going into the bathroom with her, tying her shoe laces, helping her dress?"
"No, obviously not."
"So she does have some privacy."
"This isn't a matter of privacy, it's…"
"What? I think she let you know in no uncertain terms that she wanted some space, some time to think things through," said Blackbird. "She's growing up fast, if you would let her."
"But she's only fourteen."
"Fifteen, Niall."
"Fifteen, then. It's no age for a girl to be out on her own all night."
Blackbird smiled. "On the contrary, she seems to be managing extraordinarily well. She's certainly given you the brush off."
"This isn't funny, Blackbird."
"No, I don't suppose it is, but you're only going to make matters worse if you pursue her. I didn't help that you came over all Pater Familias with her."
"All what?"
"It means Head of the Family, with connotations of ownership of the estate and everything and everyone in it. It's Latin."
"I was just concerned, that's all. She's been gone all night. As her father…"
"That's just what I'm talking about. As her father you want to decide where she can go, what she can do, who she sees, where she lives."
"She's my daughter. It's my duty to look after her."
"She'll always be your daughter, no one can change that, but she's not a child any more. She's seen too much, done too much, to be comfortable living within the constraints of childhood. She was forced to grow up, too quickly and too harshly, that much I'll grant you, but she was. You can't undo what was done, Niall."
"So I should let her stay out all night, take drugs, get drunk, get pregnant?"
"You make those sound as if they're equivalent." There was a warning in Blackbird's tone.
"An unwanted pregnancy isn't what she needs, Blackbird. Even you must acknowledge that."
"She may not be able to get pregnant. Have you thought of that?"
"I'm not sure I want to find out just yet. I'm more worried that she'll be mugged — killed even."
"I think she can look after herself. She's proven extraordinarily resilient up until now. You brought her up well, and she's chosen her own path. Now it's up to her."
"She has no common sense. She'll do something rash. What if she's ill? What if she gets run over? She has no road sense at all."
"Listen to yourself. You're treating her like a four year-old. Have some respect for her. Did she sound like she was in trouble? Was she begging for assistance?"
"No, but…"
"You found her last time because she needed you. You rescued her when she couldn't help herself. This time she doesn't want to be rescued, especially by you."
"What do you mean, especially by me?"
"You're her father. You're the last person she wants to come to her aid. She wants a white knight on a charger, who'll tell her she's worth the slings and arrows that he faced to reach her. You have to face it, Niall. She's looking for a mate."
"A what!"
"Calm down. Not right away, and maybe not for some time, but eventually she's going to want to choose someone for herself, someone to be with."