Page 20 of The Two of Us at the End of the World

Maybe to make them stay put while he went hunting, said Cat equally quietly. Maybe it was a punishment…

I look at her.

He didn’t seem like the nicest guy, did he? she whispered. Come on.

I look down at the metal handcuffs. There’s a keyhole, but without the key I can’t see how to separate the girls. The other one has stopped staring at me like an animal waiting to bite me if I hurt her sister, and is now scanning the woodland all around us, looking back and forth as if expecting someone to burst out of the undergrowth at any moment. Someone she doesn’t want to see. Perhaps she thought there were more of us. Or maybe I’m wrong and she’s hoping for someone to come and rescue them from us…

That nasty, solid bubble begins to inflate at the base of my throat as I remember what the adrenaline has briefly flushed out of my mind. I’m going to have to tell them their father is dead. And how he got that way.

One thing at a time, says Cat, reading my expression. Do her shoulder first.

It’s a good decision. And I’m only too happy to put off the inevitable by doing something else. I explain what I want to do to the girls, who just listen, with no indication of whether they agree or even understand what I’m saying.

I don’t think they speak English, I say.

Or maybe they just don’t speak at all, says Cat. Maybe they’re mute.

By talking and sign language I finally get the injured girl to lie back. And then I gently push her sister out of the way as I sit down with one foot on the hurt girl’s side and her hand held in both of mine.

This will hurt a bit, says Cat. Just try and relax there. Relax?

And she goes all floppy, goofily pantomiming somebody relaxing. It’s so unexpected that I smile, but neither of the girls do.

The injured one really doesn’t like me touching her but there’s an odd kind of look in her face, in fact in her whole body language that’s doing opposite things at once – like she’s scared, and I mean really scared of me, but also doesn’t care about herself or what might happen to her. It’s creepy somehow, like two people are inside her but are having to share the same face, one definitely frightened, the other almost lifeless and uninterested. Perhaps if I’d seen more faces in my life I’d know what this mix of expressions means, but until now I’ve only seen Cat’s, and she never looks like this.

I’m going to pull as gently as I can, I say. I’m just going to hold on firmly really, just until you feel a sort of pop.

Cat points at her shoulder, makes a sad face, then does a pop noise with her mouth. And immediately smiles with relief.

Again, the girls are unimpressed with her pantomiming and just carry on looking at us both, stone-faced and distrustful. I pull gently but firmly, increasing the power as slowly and smoothly as I can. The girl screws up her face and groans in pain, but she doesn’t stop staring into my eyes and as her growling gets louder I hear Cat telling her again to relax, just relax.

The other sister who’s behind me starts hitting my back with her free hand to make me stop and Cat tells her not to. And then I feel something slip and settle in the arm I’m pulling and let up as the hurt girl tenses in reaction to what just happened. And then her eyes go wide and surprised. She looks at her sister, exhales, and nods. The sister stops hitting me.

Did it work? says Cat.

I try and remember what else First Aid and Safety for Dummies said.

Can you do this? I say, touching my left shoulder with my right hand. Do this?

The girl behind me shifts to give her sister enough freedom of movement to try. The injured one gingerly reaches across herself and touches her other shoulder.

It’s in, I smile. You’re okay. You’re going to be OK.

She doesn’t look relieved or grateful about any of this: she maybe looks a bit less scared but she’s just as flat and lacklustre as before.

It shouldn’t hurt now, says Cat. It might be sore for a bit, but it won’t really hurt.

She now pantomimes a smiling face and puts her thumb up.

Putting your thumb up is what people in the before time used to do, to say everything is good, without using words. Cat says that the last time she saw my mum was when she turned and looked back as she was carrying me away from the strangers and the coughing, and my mum was just standing in the yard watching us go. She gave Cat a thumbs up then and waved her on. And that was the last Cat saw of her, because that’s when she turned and went back into the building.

I don’t think the pale girls know about the thumbs up. The hurt one has retreated into herself, and the idea comes to me that the pain of the dislocated shoulder was pinning her in our world, but that now it’s gone she’s escaped and gone away. She doesn’t register us at all. The other one just stares at Cat like she’s a bit mad. Or frightening. Or annoying. All of which are things Cat can definitely be. And then we all get shakily back to our feet and look awkward.

Cat picks up her bow and bag, and I collect the ropes and quickly wind them back up. The girls are now both watching the woods behind us, eyes darting around, looking for someone else.

I try to swallow that bubble in my throat. This is the bit I don’t want to think about, the admitting what I’ve done to the person they’re clearly looking for.

I don’t know how to do this next bit, I say to Cat. They’re wondering where he is.