Page 90 of The Two of Us at the End of the World

My head wasn’t much straighter in the daylight as the itching of my hand had kept me awake most of the night. What had begun as a maddening irritation developed into something hotter and painful, like the itch was now sitting on top of a deep ache that seemed to throb in time with my pulse.

We both knew what to look out for from First Aid and Safety for Dummies – spreading redness, veins darkening, oozing, smell. And Cat’s mum with her one arm was definitely in both of our minds as the worst case that we were guarding against.

Cat unwrapped the dressing and we decided that the swelling hadn’t got bigger, and the wound was scabbed over and didn’t smell as if it was rotten or infected, so on went more honey and vinegar and then new boiled bandage strips. Cat said she was happy with the wound but thought we should put off going goat hunting for the day to give the healing a chance to really bed in.

The other thing that figured in our decision not to leave immediately was Freya. Her lifelessness shrouded everything, but it changed, filling out into an even more worrying, passive compliance.

The change of character was alarming, but her willingness to feed and comfort the babies took the pressure off Cat and me about having to go on our goat hunt before we were sure my hand wasn’t going to poison me. And Storm stayed even closer to Freya, closer than ever in fact. She was the most unsettled of the three of us about her sister’s change, but she only talked about it one time.

Storm caught me scratching at the itching under my bandage. I stopped, somehow guilty, as if I shouldn’t have been doing it.

Does it hurt? she said.

It’s just healing, I said.

She nodded and looked away as if she too was guilty for having intruded on my private moment.

I’m sorry I shot you, she said. And I didn’t really want to shoot the dog. I was just…

… Scared, I said. It was just a reflex. You didn’t have time to think. It’s OK.

Maybe it was easy to forgive her because I was remembering how I’d done the same thing, killing the Russian without time for thought, the moment he hit Cat.

I was terrified. She grinned. And if you had been taken prisoner by the Russian, you’d be scared of them.

I would, I said. I absolutely would. I understand.

Maybe, she said. Or maybe you’re just being Mouse.

Well, I said. I don’t have much choice about that.

I mean being tough and kind, she said. Not soft. I do know the difference, you know. Freya might not, but I do. I do know that.

And in the silence that followed I did believe that we both felt comfortable, maybe even comforted by each other just sitting quietly watching a hawk hang over the Tanglewood.

I need to give you something, she said. Something to thank you.

You don’t, I said.

I do, she said. I know you had a deal with Freya about the babies. I know you and Cat think she’s so broken in her head that she might not keep on feeding or looking after them.

She just needs rest, I said.

No, she said. She doesn’t just need rest. She just needs to go to the sea.

We don’t go to the sea, I said. Death comes from the sea.

It comes from the land too, Mouse, she said. But I know you and Cat will never go. So here’s my thank you: I give you my word that we will never harm the babies, never leave them to starve. None of this is their fault. If you and Cat want to go goat hunting, I swear we’ll be here when you get back.

And after? I said.

After, we will see if being able to stop feeding lets Freya mend and be herself again, she said. Maybe it’ll do her good.

I’d like that, I said.

Me too, she said. It’s what I hope for.

So believe it will happen, I said.