Zoe Deleuil
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An extract from She Left, You Came
Behind the mirror
I peered through the door. Inside looked spidery and and airless. Behind me the garden was busy with cicadas and maggies and wind. But inside all was still. Almost too still, like a game of hide and seek when you think a bedroom is empty until a hand grabs your ankle. I blinked into the darkness, half-expecting to see a face staring back at me from a far corner.
I’d just go in for a few minutes, look around, then come out again, lock it up and put the key back. Dad would never know. I took one last breath of eucalyptus air and stepped inside. It was stinking hot. But I pulled the door closed, in case anyone got home. Now it was darker and even pongier.
Every corner was stuffed full of boxes and suitcases, all the way up to the ceiling. There were old bikes, an armchair draped in spiderwebs, a rusty lawnmower quietly falling to pieces under the window.
I took my time, peering slow and careful into dark corners and over grotty shelves. Nothing stood out. But I wanted to find something. Just getting in here at all was a little win. The shed was off limits, so about ten times more appealing than the rest of the house because. I had to make it worthwhile.
But it was so bloody hot. Anything that needed a bit of effort was harder when it got above thirty-five degrees. Even thinking. It was the kind of day when you walk to the shop for a ginger beer and have to lie down for two hours afterwards to recover. No wonder there was so much cricket on the telly. It’s the only thing most people can concentrate on, and it makes you feel cooler, too, watching those poor buggers slogging their guts out all day.
I was about to chuck in the towel when I noticed a suitcase, high up on the back wall of the shed. It was faded red with a leather handle and a round lock. Worth a look, maybe. Soon enough I was balanced on a tea crate and reaching for the handle. If you fall you’ll crack your head open I could almost hear Mum saying to me. I hadn’t pushed the crate close enough to the case, and as I leaned towards it I tipped away from the wall. Luckily I grabbed a shelf just in time and pulled myself back. Then I reached out again and tugged the suitcase towards me. It was lighter than it looked. I pulled it right off the shelf and climbed down.
Sitting cross-legged on the floor of the shed – I was covered in dust now so didn’t need to worry about staying clean – I snapped open the locks. One knocked me on the knuckle, hard, as it flew open, so I stuck my finger in my mouth for a few seconds to make it better. As soon as I unsnapped the second lock the lid burst up and everything exploded out like it was pleased to finally escape.
It was full of clothes. Faded dresses, like bigger versions of the ones my old dolls wore. There was a blue one, with white flowers stitched across the front. I held it up. It was for a girl a little bigger than me, but not much. The next one was red, but a pinkish red, like it had been washed over and over again. Then I pulled out a nightgown. Long and greying and worn down to rags in patches. A stretched brown cardigan, made from prickly wool, the kind that makes you itchy on the autumn morning when you have to wear a jumper again for the first time in ages.
Along the sides of the case were pockets made from pink satin. I had a look before putting my hands in and saw one spider, all black and curled up. I shook the pocket but it didn’t move. Dead. Tucked away in there were underwear, old socks,