See Through Me by Kevin Brooks

Author:Kevin Brooks [Brooks, Kevin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781780318257
Publisher: Egmont UK Ltd

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I must have been around five or six years old when Dad taught me how to ride a bike. I can’t remember where he taught me – our back yard was too small, and the street wouldn’t have been safe enough – and I can’t remember anything about the bike I was riding either. In fact, if it wasn’t for the vivid memory of one particular moment, I’m not sure I’d remember the experience at all.

It was the moment when Dad was going to let go of the bike and let me ride on my own for the first time. My visual memory of it comes from the outside, as if I’m seeing the moment through the eyes of a spectator, not through the eyes of the five- or six-year-old me. I see myself riding the bike, with Dad jogging along beside me, his hand still on the saddle, but barely touching it now, getting ready to let go altogether . . .

My memory somehow switches then, and instead of seeing the moment from the outside, I feel it right inside me. I become the girl I was, and she becomes me, and I don’t just remember how I felt in that moment, I feel it. I feel the fear in my belly – I’m still too wobbly, I’m going too fast, I’m going to fall off, I don’t know how to stop – and I want to tell Dad to keep holding on to me, don’t let go, I’m not ready yet . . . but I can’t. Partly because I don’t want him to think I’m a baby, but also because as well as being terrified, I’ve never been more excited. I want Dad to let me go, I want to ride free, I want to feel the thrill of it in my belly . . .

And that’s exactly how it was for me at Nan’s that day when Gabriel asked me again if I’d like to go out for a walk. I wanted to say yes as much as I wanted to say no. I was scared and excited at the same time. Scared of being seen, scared of what people would think of me, scared of being laughed at or taunted or possibly even physically exposed . . . and excited at the thought of being outside, being free, being with Gabriel . . .

‘It’s okay, Kenzie,’ he said, sensing my dilemma. ‘Why don’t we just –’

‘Yeah,’ I said firmly. ‘I’d love to go for a walk, thanks.’

‘Are you sure? I mean, it really doesn’t matter if –’

‘Are you coming or not?’ I said, heading for the front door.

He’d been taking regular walks around the neighbourhood since moving in with Nan, and the map of the local area that he’d built up in his head (as he put it) was good enough to let him walk the streets with very little guidance from me. Nan had told me that he was ‘very good’ with his white

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