‘I want to change,’ Leaf whispers.
‘Don’t,’ Adam says. ‘You’re perfect.’ He winces inwardly. He understands all those songs on the radio now, all those movies he made fun of when Christie made him watch them. Love makes you say ridiculous things.
‘Lonely people get into bad habits,’ Leaf says. ‘But I want to break them.’
Adam’s feelings are so strong they resemble terror.
‘How long can you hold your breath?’ Leaf asks.
‘What?’ Adam laughs. ‘I don’t know.’
‘You could time it,’ Leaf says. ‘I want to know.’
‘I don’t understand.’ To Adam the conversation feels surreal, like joke or a story, not a real person talking to another.
‘It doesn’t matter. Time for you to go.’
Adam feels a cold wash of fear. ‘What did I do?’
‘Nothing.’ Leaf’s crooked smile makes Adam’s heart fit to break. ‘I get bad dreams.’
‘What dreams?’ Adam has a need in him, to drink Leaf in like water.
Leaf shakes his head.
‘Please,’ Adam says. ‘I want to know.’
Leaf breathes. ‘Fine,’ he says. ‘In the worst one I’m a Russian doll. I’m inside myself. I’m trapped, screaming to get out. It’s dark inside all those layers, weird versions of me, keeping the real me inside.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Adam says.
‘I know you are,’ Leaf says gently and pushes Adam out of the bedroom. The door closes behind him with a click.
Back in his room Adam feels elated and lonely. He sits on his bed and stares at the wardrobe. Before he can change his mind he goes over and flings open the door. Shuddering, he pushes the mirrormen’s clothes as far down the rail as he can. Adam hangs his Fred Perry shirt carefully on the end of the rail.
Is he ready for this? But it’s done, now. The die is cast.
For a moment Adam could swear he hears someone crying. A child. But it’s gone; it was the wind, maybe, whistling its mournful way through the valley.
He looks at the centre of the rose where the spy hole is hidden. He smiles a little and waves, in case Leaf is watching.
The next couple of days are happy. Adam and Leaf take long runs together. Leaf is encouraging Adam to get fitter. They swim in the lake at the head of the valley. It is shockingly cold but they have to, Leaf says. Cold is good for you.
‘You have a heated pool,’ Adam complains, teeth clicking together.
‘Just because youcanhave something doesn’t mean you always need it,’ he says. ‘It’s good to deprive yourself occasionally.’
‘Only rich people say stuff like that.’ Adam tosses water at him.
They swim in icy water, shouting. They make out at the top of the Ferris wheel. Ross operates it from the booth below. They pass him oneach revolution – he stares at the controls, deliberately not looking up. It’s strange at first, this intimacy before strangers. But Adam gets used to it surprisingly quickly. The people who work here are part of Nowhere – the land, the house. There’s no need to feel anything about their opinions. But the attitude of the staff towards Adam shifts subtly, too. They are more attentive. He has stopped being one of them.
Leaf pulls Adam underwater and kisses him there. The romantic parts go well. They are working on the rest. Adam wants to accept Leaf as he is, he really does. He knows how hard it is to escape childhood. But he feels so lonely sometimes when they’re together. He feels furthest away from Leaf when their bodies are closest.
He puts his hand on the back of Leaf’s head, on the place where the seam of the scar rises from his skull. It’s an old scar, maybe very old. Adam has seen it through the shining golden hair. Leaf doesn’t talk about how he got that.
‘What can I do for you?’ Adam asks. ‘I want to make you happy. Tell me what I don’t know.’
Leaf’s face closes in thought. It’s unnerving, his ability to become blank, untenanted. It’s an acting thing, Adam supposes. Leaf can show feeling so he knows how to hide it too. Leaf strokes Adam’s shoulder, slick and cold. This is something Adam has asked him to do, when he vanishes. ‘Let me know you’re still in there somewhere.’ Now Adam wishes he hadn’t. It’s like being stroked by a machine.
