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CHAPTER EIGHT
THE HOUSE WAS IN DARKNESS as we approached.
“Here it is,” Paul said. “Follow me.”
An iron ladder was attached to the side of the house. We made our way over to it. The mud was
frozen beneath our feet, sculpted into hard ripples and ridges. Without waiting for me, Paul started climbing up.
It was getting colder by the minute. I was wondering if this was such a good idea. I followed him and gripped the first rung—icy and slippery. It was overgrown with some kind of climbing plant; ivy, perhaps.
I made my way up, rung by rung. By the time I reached the top, my fingers were numb and the wind was slashing my face. I climbed over, onto the roof. Paul was waiting for me, grinning in an excited, adolescent way. The razor-thin moon hung above us; the rest was darkness.
Suddenly Paul rushed at me, a strange expression on his face. I felt a flicker of panic as his arm reached out toward me—I swerved to avoid it, but he grabbed hold of me. For a terrifying second I thought he was going to throw me off the roof.
Instead he pulled me toward him. “You’re too close to the edge. Stay in the middle here. It’s safer.”
I nodded, catching my breath. This was a bad idea. I didn’t feel remotely safe around Paul. I was about to suggest climbing down again—then he pulled out his cigarettes and offered me one. I hesitated, then I accepted. My fingers were shaking as I took out my lighter and lit the cigarettes.
We stood there and smoked in silence for a moment.
“This is where we would sit. Alicia and me. Every day, pretty much.”
“How old were you?”
“I was about seven, maybe eight. Alicia couldn’t have been more than ten.”
“You were a bit young to be climbing ladders.”
“I suppose so. Seemed normal to us. When we were teenagers, we’d come up and smoke and
drink beers.”
I tried to picture a teenage Alicia, hiding from her father and her bullying aunt; Paul, her adoring
younger cousin, following up the ladder, pestering her when she’d much rather be silent, alone with her thoughts.
“It’s a good hiding place,” I said.
Paul nodded. “Uncle Vernon couldn’t make it up the ladder. He had a big build, like Mum.”
“I could barely make it up myself. That ivy is a death trap.”
“It’s not ivy, it’s jasmine.” Paul looked at the green vines that curled over the top of the ladder.
“No flowers yet—not until the spring. Smells like perfume then, when there’s a lot of it.” He seemed lost in a memory for a moment. “Funny that.”
“What?”
“Nothing.” He shrugged. “The things you remember ... I just was thinking about the jasmine—it