The Book of Rapture by Nikki Gemmell

thou wearest thyself away with grief because thou believe not.

58
    ‘Why are you doing this, B?’ Mouse’s suspicion is now ransacking everything.
    ‘I love striding off into the great unknown. Don’t you, Mr?’
    ‘Um, well, we’re not striding.’
    B knocks on his head. No response. Tickles under the arms. No response. Mouse’s fencing himself off, he’s had enough. He’s now got the measure of this Peter Pan man who’s always distracting them with some new trick. Your kids are now wound up as tight as tin toys and the only magic that’s going to work any more is getting them out. And parents back.
    B squats in front of your flinty scowly boy. Holds him firmly by the shoulders and whispers, adult to adult, that whoever saves one life saves the world entire and runs his finger down his face then leaves, shutting them away like a coat no longer needed for warmth. Mouse bangs frustratedly on the door behind him. You bite your lip. ‘A face that’s incapable of cruelty,’ Motl insisted, yes, but your babies are now being cemented into this room and of all the hiding places in the world they shouldn’t be here, in this place.
    You had to obey your husband, had to surrender to this. Because you had no way of saving them, no ally, no plan. He did. And even though you have a totally different perception of B you had to relinquish control to Motl. Because he lovesthese children as much as you do. And you are the liability here.
Tranquil sage is he who, steadfast, walks alone, unmoved by blame and by praise.

59
    A low butter moon pulls Mouse from sleep and he stands at the window and a prickling comes over him. ‘Mummy?’ he whispers. He takes out his notebook, breathing fast.
         She’s close .
        He looks across to his brother, to his face tight and troubled in restless sleep.
         Perhaps she’s RIGHT HERE. In this building. AND Dad .
        Mouse gasps, Tidge wakes. Mouse jumps under the covers. ‘I don’t trust B,’ he says firmly, matter-of-fact.
    ‘Me too, dude,’ his brother replies and Mouse looks at him in wonder: perhaps his cynicism is finally rubbing off.
    The cover’s furiously yanked. ‘He could be just amazingly clever, guys.’ Soli. Irritable. ‘He never gets questioned, or disappeared, or detained. Have you ever noticed that?’
    ‘I just hate all the silliness,’ Mouse wails.
    Their sister holds up her hands in mock prayer. ‘Well, may he never grow up.’
    ‘Soli’s got a boyfriend, Soli’s got a boyfriend,’ both boys chant.
    She grabs her pillow with a hrumph and curls like a carpet beetle on the floor. ‘It’s really hard being the only grown-up in this place,’ she wails. Shivering.
    Mouse gets out of bed.
    Walks to the cupboard.
    Finds the spare blanket and throws it over his sister.
    She looks up in disbelief. Smiles.
    And now it is the turn of your own eyes to blink like a semaphore signal. Because as a parent generosity is the most important lesson you can teach your children, because from generosity springs everything else.
A soul waking up.

60
    But Mouse. Still unable to catch on to sleep. Staring out at the clouds racing and the moon watching, as if the sky is fleeing. Finally falling into a dirty, scrappy, dishwater slumber and tossing and turning, his notebook splayed beside him.
         Soli says we’re here for our safety Right. That Mum and Dad couldn’t tell us because we never would have gone with B, never would have left them. But too huge in my head is Mum’s watery ‘mmm’ when I asked her once if B was our friend. ‘Your father thinks so, yes.’ Too huge in my head is Mum saying, then again perhaps he’s an angel; what does she know? Perhaps he’s cleaving into our family for warmth because he doesn’t have any family himself. Too huge in my head is Dad chattering on about how we should always be kind to other people because we never know when we’re entertaining angels unaware. Too huge in my head is Mum spinning Tidge