“Did you know it’s almost Christmas? Ollie said December twentieth though he didn’t seem quite sure.”
Israel frowns. “I know. We don’t usually lose two months like that.”
I snort and sound just like Prue. “What’s two months in the grand scheme of things? We just lost a century and a half!”
“I know, but I still don’t like it.”
“Do you ever get the feeling we’re supposed to figure this out? This whole traveling, lost in time, sort of thing? Like it’s maybe really obvious and we just haven’t put the pieces together?”
“All the time, Sonnet, all the time. Share the blanket, would you?”
We walk the rest of the way in silence, huddled together under the woolen blanket. It makes for strange walking, trying to find our sync and not stumble around the way Dad unfortunately is doing. I match my steps to Israel’s and once we find a rhythm it starts to be successful in an ungraceful sort of lurching way.
I tell him his new clothes smell funny.
“What? I can’t hear a word you’re saying.”
I remove the blanket from where I have it wrapped around my face, only my eyes peeking through.
“I said you smell like pipe tobacco. I think whomever you stole these clothes from was a big smoker.”
“I didn’t steal them, I borrowed them.”
“Uh huh. Smells nice actually. Like cherry and smoke.”
I may imagine it, but it feels as though his arm around my waist tightens just a bit and the fingers of his hand move slightly, almost like an unexpected, strange caress.
“I’m glad you’re here,” I whisper from under the protection of the muffling blanket.
********************
We don’t have to go far to reach a different section of London altogether; seedy and teeming with people, either huddled in groups around fires built in iron trash containers or walking briskly. We are ignored for the most part other than the ladies of the night who call out or whisper out offers to Dad, which turns my stomach. Israel they only widen their eyes at and I don’t know if it’s out of fear or respect or curiosity. Maybe all three. There are children too, here and there, playing in the street or sleeping on their mother’s lap, but it’s mostly the prostitutes who are almost practically swarming about in numbers so large I can hardly fathom it. I think of the girls who used to come into the coffee shop, the ones with tight pants and low cut shirts and provocative eye liner – they were only playing silly children’s games, texting boys and flirting. I think of them paired up with these girls, these girls are old before their time and hardened, and think what a contrast they would be. The slums are so bad - worse than any I’ve seen in any other time - that I tell Israel I want to stop. It seems as though the farther we go, the worse it gets and I’m reticent to discover anymore. This is bad enough.
“Stay here,” Israel instructs, propping Dad up against a wall. “I’ll borrow a light.”
He is back in no time, with a torch made of garbage and lit up with the glowing warmth of blessed fire. I watch him as he makes a small bonfire in the metal circular bin that we are near. The flame lights up our faces, the three of us, making us seem ghoulish in the orange reflection. The yellow radiance that dances across Israel’s dark face makes for a Jack-o-lantern effect and I tell him so. He bares his teeth at me in good humor.
I laugh at the sight and therefore am unprepared when I am knocked to the ground by the force of a person jumping out of the shadows.
It’s Emme.
Chapter Twenty-One
“I can’t believe you’re here!” Emme squeals with such delight that I throw my arms back around and hug her for at least the fourth time since she knocked me to the ground.
Joe and Bea have come to join us and I am startled by the sight of my Dad now lying on the ground with his head on Bea’s lap. She even strokes his hair lightly and I wonder what I haven’t noticed when I’m too busy thinking of myself.
Joe has gleefully accepted the offer of my blanket and has mummified himself right by the fire and gone to sleep. Israel lays next to him, not out of the desire to be near a kicking, snoring seven year old all night I suspect,