Foxlowe by Eleanor Wasserberg

Author:Eleanor Wasserberg
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2016-06-01T23:00:00+00:00

After that me and Toby spoke about Leaving whenever we were alone. We’d go to the goats’ shed after breakfast or in the long empty hours of the afternoon, tell the story to each other, adding detail each time: the smell of the inside of the car (I’d go on a shop run, just with Pet, and tell him while we were in town), the layered clothes (Toby would go in winter, in the busy week leading up to Solstice, so he’d need warm jumpers). My stories always ended at the end of the road leading out of home, because I didn’t really know how things would be after that, and I focused on the goodbyes, and which things I would take, how I would tell or not tell Freya. Toby’s were different. He liked to talk about the moment of walking away, but then he’d talk about what he’d do afterwards: into town, and he’d describe the things there, shops and places to eat, and how there was a station with metal tracks going all over the country. He’d go, he said, to London, the biggest city, where he’d come from. Valentina had told him that’s where he used to live, and that’s where she must be now, along with the rest of his outside family.

After a while, our stories got tangled together. Then it was, We’d do this. And later still, We’ll do this. Sometimes Toby brought Blue into the tale, but I never did. If I thought of her, I had to stop. I told Toby it was hard to imagine Blue in the outside, exposed like the soft belly of a puppy. To myself I told the truthful version: I liked the story of just me and Toby. I liked to pretend, just for stolen guilty minutes, that Blue did not exist.

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