All The Lonely People - David Owen Page 0,56

Birds whistled from branches. Unseen creatures stirred amongst the leaves.

When she lifted a hand to clear her path she found her flesh stubbornly whole, the fade repealed. It was a shock, like finding an extra limb.

The forest was inside the boy . . . no, it was the boy, comprised of everything he felt: happiness at being surrounded by people just like him, pride at joining their number, lending him the confidence to strut between them and ask for their photos. She even heard the swirl of his thoughts, most of them centred on a boy he would meet later that day for a second date, who had sent him a gift basket of jams after a shared joke. Whose voice made his heart pirouette and his knees tremble.

Invisible antibodies, a familiar barrier force, were trying to push her out, but she had grip enough to push against it and walk further into the trees. Underneath this lushness, other feelings vied for attention. Whenever she tried to read them the colours of the canopy flashed brighter in distraction.

It made her feel dizzy. She had never felt anything so strongly as this, had never come close to being so happy or confident. Surely she never would.

The repelling force grew stronger, and in moments every step seemed like fighting hurricane winds. Those other feelings were so close. They hid in the underbrush ahead, just out of reach.

There. A box, sealed tight amid the decay of fallen leaves. It leaked, but just what was escaping she couldn’t identify, never mind how familiar it felt.

All at once the pressure became too much. It ripped her backwards, both the view through his eyes and the forest diminishing as the boy’s body rejected the invasion.

The world lurched and she landed hard on her back. The march’s cacophony battered her senses. Blinking, she found Safa crouched over her.

‘You’re back,’ she whispered, eyes brimming with tears. ‘How did you do that?’

Kat picked herself up and scrambled to the edge of the crowd, like they might realise what she’d done and turn against her. Looking back, she saw the boy had already slipped out of sight.

She lifted a hand, and found she could see through it again. Safa gripped her shoulder tight, as if scared she might try and escape with the secret. ‘Tell me.’

‘I just . . .’ There were hardly words. She felt drunk, the boy’s emotions still filling her up, swimming inside her skull. These feelings were everything she had ever wanted, but they didn’t belong to her. Soon they would ebb away and leave her, and then . . .

‘I thought of everything that’s gone wrong, and I reached for something that might fix it.’

Safa nodded as if she had never heard more perfect sense, and pulled away to delve back into the crowd. She stopped in the path of an older woman in a bright blue wig blowing a whistle and swinging a jumper around her head. The woman didn’t steer to avoid her. Safa closed her eyes in concentration, no doubt summoning all the things she kept private, all the real things Kat longed for her to share. When the woman almost blundered into her, Safa reached.

It was like a magic trick. The air blurred, and Safa was gone. The woman stopped and blinked, belched wetly, and then resumed her tuneless whistle work.

Kat ran to her. ‘Safa?’

The woman turned, almost as if she would answer to the name, and then Safa was beside her again. In that moment the woman saw her and glared, furious at the violation committed. And then forgot her again. Wandered away with the flow of the crowd.

‘I did it,’ said Safa dreamily.

The march carried them along. Kat felt lighter, as if only the weight of her shoes kept her on the ground.

‘I had no idea we could do it before the end!’ said Safa, waking from her reverie. ‘I was actually her, just for a second. I felt everything – she was so happy to be here, and she wished her dead husband could see it, and she had this bad taste in her mouth . . .’

‘Was there something else?’ asked Kat. ‘Something underneath it all?’

‘A meadow! Grass swaying in the breeze as far as I could see. Every blade of grass was important, like they made up my soul.’

The box hidden under the trees had felt so familiar, but the feelings were blurring together now as they withdrew, making her hands shake.

They had long been teetering