If You Could See Me Now

Plus she was a grown-up, she gave me butterflies and wouldn’t know fun if it hit her in the face, and believe me I’d tried to throw it at her plenty of times over the weekend. So I couldn’t possibly be here to help her. It was unheard of.

People refer to me as an invisible or an imaginary friend. Like there’s some big mystery surrounding me. I’ve read the books that grown-ups have written asking why kids see me, why do they believe in me so much for so long and then suddenly stop and go back to being the way they were before? I’ve seen the television shows that try to debate why it is that children invent people like me.

So just for the record for all you people, I’m not invisible or imaginary. I’m always here walking around just like you all are. And people like Luke don’t choose to see me, they just see me. It’s people like you and Elizabeth that choose not to.

Chapter 6 (#ulink_50289209-ac19-5d11-bca7-f590c284a3dc)

Elizabeth was woken up at 6.08 a.m. by the sun streaming through the bedroom window and onto her face. She always slept with the curtains open. It had stemmed from growing up on a farm. Lying in her bed she could see through the bungalow window, down the garden path and out of the front gate. Beyond that was a country road that led straight from the farm, stretching on for a mile. Elizabeth could see her mother returning from her adventures, walking down the road for at least twenty minutes before she reached home. She could recognise the half-hop, half-skip from miles away. Those twenty minutes always felt like an eternity to Elizabeth. The long road had its own way of building up Elizabeth’s excitement, almost teasing her.

And finally she would hear that familiar sound, the squeak of the front gate. The rusting hinges acted as a welcoming band to the free spirit. Elizabeth had a love/hate relationship with that gate. Like the long stretch of road, it would tease her, and some days on hearing the creak she would run to see who was at the door and her heart would sink that it was only the postman.

Elizabeth had annoyed college room-mates and lovers with her insistence on keeping the curtains open. She didn’t know why she remained firm on this; it certainly wasn’t as though she was still waiting. But now in her adulthood, the open curtains acted as her alarm clock; with them open she knew the light would never allow her to fall back into a deep sleep. Even in her sleep she felt alert, and in control. She went to bed to rest, not to dream.

She squinted in the bright room and her head throbbed. She needed coffee, fast. Outside the window a bird’s song echoed loudly in the quiet of the countryside. Somewhere far away a cow answered its call. But despite the idyllic morning, there was nothing about this Monday that Elizabeth was looking forward to. She had to try to reschedule a meeting with the hotel developers, which was going to prove difficult because after the little stunt in the press about the new love nest at the top of the mountain, they had people flying in from all parts of the world willing to share their design ideas. This annoyed Elizabeth; this was her territory. But that wasn’t her only problem.

Luke had been invited to spend the day with his grandfather on the farm. That bit, Elizabeth was happy with. It was the part about him expecting another six-year-old by the name of Ivan that worried her. She would have to have a discussion with Luke this morning about it because she dreaded to think of what would happen if there was a mention of an imaginary friend to her father.

Brendan was sixty-five years old, big, broad, silent and brooding. Age had not mellowed him; instead it had brought bitterness, resentment, and even more confusion. He was small-minded and unwilling to open up or change. Elizabeth could at least try to understand his difficult nature if being that way made him happy, but as far as she could see, his views frustrated him and only made his life more miserable. He was stern, rarely spoke except to the cows or vegetables, never laughed, and whenever he did decide someone was worthy of his words, he lectured. There was no need to respond to him. He didn’t speak for conversation. He spoke to make statements. He rarely spent time with Luke as he didn’t have time for the airy-fairy ways of children, for their silly games and nonsense. The only thing that Elizabeth could see that her father liked about Luke was that he was an empty book, ready to be filled with information and not enough knowledge to question or criticise. Fairy tales and fantasy stories had no place with her father. She supposed that was the only belief they actually shared.

She yawned and stretched and, still unable to open her eyes against the bright light, she felt around her bedside locker for her alarm clock. Although she woke up every morning at the same time, she never forgot to set her alarm. Her arm knocked against something cold and hard and it fell with a loud bang to the floor. Her sleepy heart jumped with fright.

Hanging her head over the side of the bed she caught sight of the iron poker lying on her white carpet. Her ‘weapon’ also reminded her that she had to call Rentokil to get rid of the mice. She had sensed them in the house all weekend and she had felt so paranoid that they were in her bedroom the past few nights she could hardly sleep, although that wasn’t particularly unusual for her.

Washed and dressed, after waking Luke she made her way downstairs to the kitchen. Minutes later, with espresso in hand, she dialled the number of Rentokil. Luke wandered into the kitchen sleepily, blond hair tossed, dressed in an orange T-shirt half tucked into red shorts. The outfit was completed with odd socks and a pair of runners that lit up with every step he took.

‘Where’s Ivan?’ he asked groggily, looking around the kitchen as though he’d never been in the room before in his life. He was like that every morning; it took him at least an hour to wake up even once he was up and dressed. During the dark winter mornings it took even longer. Elizabeth supposed that at some point in his morning classes at school he finally realised what he was doing.

‘Where’s Ivan?’ he repeated.

Elizabeth silenced him by holding her finger to her lips, and giving him the glare, as she listened to the lady from Rentokil. He knew not to interrupt her when she was on the phone. ‘Well, I only noticed it this weekend. Since Friday lunchtime actually, so I was wond—’

‘IVAN?’ Luke yelled, and began looking under the kitchen table, behind the curtains, behind the doors. Elizabeth rolled her eyes. This carry-on again.

‘No, I haven’t actually seen…’

‘IVAAAAN?’

‘… one yet but I definitely feel that they’re here.’ Elizabeth finished, and tried to catch Luke’s eye so that she could give him the glare again.

‘IVAN, WHERE ARE YOOOUUU?’ Luke called.

‘Droppings? No, no droppings,’ Elizabeth said, getting frustrated.

Luke stopped shouting and his ears perked up. ‘WHAT? I CAN’T HEAR YOU PROPERLY.’

‘No, I don’t have any mousetraps. Look, I’m very busy, I don’t have time for twenty questions. Can’t someone just come out and check for themselves?’ Elizabeth snapped.

Luke suddenly ran from the kitchen and out into the hall. She heard him banging at the living- room door. ‘WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN THERE, IVAN?’ He pulled at the handle.

Finally Elizabeth’s conversation ended and she slammed down the phone. Luke was shouting through the living-room door at full volume. Her blood boiled.

‘LUKE! GET IN HERE NOW!’

The banging at the living-room door stopped immediately. He shuffled slowly into the kitchen.

‘DON’T DRAG YOUR FEET!’ she yelled.

He lifted his feet and the lights on the soles of his runners flashed with every step. He stood before her and spoke quietly and as innocently as he possibly could in his high-pitched voice. ‘Why did you lock Ivan in the living room last night?’

Silence.

She had to put an end to this now. She would choose this moment to sit down and discuss the issue with Luke and by the end of it he would respect her wishes. She would help him see sense and there would be no more talk of invisible friends.

‘And Ivan wants to know why you brought the fire poker to bed with you?’ he added, feeling more confident by her failure to scream at him again.

Elizabeth exploded. ‘There will be no more talk of this Ivan, do you hear me?’

Luke’s face went white.

‘DO YOU HEAR ME?’ she shouted. She didn’t even give him a chance to answer. ‘You know as well as I do that there is no such thing as Ivan. He does not play chasing, he does not eat pizza, he is not in the living room and he is not your friend because he does not exist.’

Luke’s face crumpled up as though he were about to cry.

Elizabeth continued, ‘Today you are going to your granddad’s and if I hear from him that there was one mention of Ivan, you will be in big trouble. Do you understand?’

Luke began to cry softly.

‘Do you understand?’ she repeated.

He nodded his head slowly as tears rushed down his face.

Elizabeth’s blood stopped boiling and her throat began to ache from shouting. ‘Now sit at the table and I’ll bring you your cereal,’ she said softly. She fetched the Coco Pops. Usually she didn’t allow him to eat such sugary breakfasts but she hadn’t exactly discussed the Ivan situation with him as planned. She knew she had a problem keeping her temper. She sat at the table and watched him pour Coco Pops into his cereal bowl and then his little hands wobbled with the weight of the milk carton. Milk splashed onto the table. She held back from shouting at him again although she had cleaned that only yesterday evening until it sparkled. Something Luke had said was bothering her and she couldn’t quite remember what it was. She rested her chin on her hand and watched him eating.

He munched slowly. Sadly. There was silence apart from his crunching. Finally, after a few minutes, he spoke. ‘Where’s the key to the living room?’ he asked, refusing to catch her eye.

‘Luke, not with your mouth full,’ she said softly. She took the key to the living room out of her pocket, went to the doorway in the hall and twisted the key. ‘There now, Ivan is free to leave the house,’ she joked, and immediately regretted saying it.

‘He’s not,’ Luke said sadly from the kitchen table. ‘He can’t open doors himself.’

Silence.

‘He can’t?’ Elizabeth repeated.

Luke shook his head as if what he had said was the most normal thing in the world. It was the most ridiculous thing Elizabeth had ever heard. What kind of an imaginary friend was he if he couldn’t walk through walls and doors? Well, she wasn’t opening the door, she had unlocked it and that was silly enough. She went back to the kitchen to gather her belongings for work. Luke finished his cereal, placed the bowl in the dishwasher, washed his hands, dried them and made his way to the living-room door. He turned the handle, pushed open the door, stepped out of the way, smiled broadly at nothing, placed a finger over his lips, pointed at Elizabeth with his other hand and giggled quietly to himself. Elizabeth watched with horror. She walked down the hall and stood beside Luke at the doorway. She looked into the living room.

Empty.

The girl from Rentokil had said that it would be unusual for mice to be in the house in June and as Elizabeth eyed the living room suspiciously, she wondered what on earth could be making all those noises.