Things the Eye Can't See

*

Today feels weird. I’m used to the regular routine of my life. In the last few weeks I’ve had to adjust to Madz spending time with Ollie, and now I have a note to give to a boy I barely know.

Kyle isn’t in my form, but I have three lessons with him today – maths, geography and art. I still haven’t worked out a way to approach him in class without anyone noticing. I’ll have to wait until after; maybe on the way out of a lesson. The corner of the envelope keeps digging into my thigh, reminding me it’s there.

4

I don’t manage to catch Kyle after Maths or Geography. I must do it today. I got the sense from Charlie that it was urgent, important, and I can’t bear the thought of still having the note at home tonight, worrying about it.

I decide I’ll go to the resource room to eat my lunch. That’s where the students who need extra support go – and I used to go there before I got friendly with Madz. There’s people from all year groups. Sometimes I feel like I’m part of two worlds. In the resource room, you never have to explain or justify. People can just be whoever they are. It’s a more caring, protected world.

I used to love the break from the challenges of all my lessons, so many students and different rooms to get used to. The dining hall terrified me back in Year 7. Even when I made friends with Madz, it took a lot of coaxing to get me in there. The real world is far more hostile and challenging, but also more interesting, with way more opportunities. I’m used to it now – and having Samson has made it easier too. But today I don’t feel up to the challenge.

‘Libby! It’s Libby!’

I am greeted like a long-lost friend, although unsurprisingly someone is sitting in the seat that I used to consider mine. Also unsurprisingly, the main fuss is over Samson, rather than me. I hear him sniffing as the smells of tuna and cheese and onion crisps waft through the air.

‘Can I stroke your dog?’

‘Can I?’

‘Just keep your lunches out of his reach,’ I tell them. ‘Or he might think you’re offering him a treat.’

‘What’s his name?’

‘Samson.’

‘Hi Libby, it’s Jenny,’ says the learning support teacher. ‘How are you getting on? We haven’t seen you in here for ages. And how’s Samson?’

‘He’s made a huge difference,’ I tell her. ‘I feel much more confident now I have him. I just thought I’d pop in and visit you guys.’

I don’t want to admit that I’m here because I feel nervous without Madz. And I’m not exactly sure how I’m getting on, now I have a mission to deliver a note for a boy no one’s seen for six months.

‘It’s nice to have you here,’ says Jenny. ‘I’m making arrangements for support for your English class theatre trip. I’ll let you know when I’ve got more information.’

‘Thanks,’ I tell her.

‘We’ve missed you!’ says a voice. I have to think for a bit to work out who it is.

‘Is that Dylan?’ I ask.

‘Yes. Had you forgotten me?’

Dylan has Muscular Dystrophy. ‘No – but you sound a bit different.’

‘His voice has broken,’ says Rafique.

‘Yeah – I’m a man now, eh?’ says Dylan.

‘You don’t exactly talk like a man,’ Rafique teases. ‘It’s not just the deep voice. It’s what you actually say. No offence, mate.’

‘None taken,’ says Dylan, laughing.

‘Libby, come and sit over here and meet Josie,’ says Jenny. ‘She’s in Year 7 and she’s losing her sight. I know that’s very different, but it might inspire her to see how well you manage.’

‘OK,’ I say, though I feel awkward. ‘Hi Josie.’

‘Hi. Your dog is lovely!’ Josie’s voice sounds young, but without much emotion. ‘Are you completely blind?’ she continues. ‘Do you mind me asking?’

I explain the little that I can see.

‘I don’t know how you do it,’ she comments. ‘I’ve only had sight in one eye for the last two years and now that’s going too. I can’t imagine life without being able to see at all.’

‘It isn’t easy,’ I tell her, ‘and you’ll have to adjust. It’s different for me because I’ve never known anything else. But you can still have friends, go out, study, get a job. My mum always tells me the only thing that will limit me is my self-belief. If I really want to do something, then I’ll find a way.’

‘You’re so upbeat,’ says Josie. ‘I’m glad you came in here. I’ve been feeling really down.’

‘Well, if you ever want to talk, just ask me,’ I tell her. ‘And maybe think about getting a guide dog. I highly recommend it. Samson’s brilliant company as well as my guide. Some people prefer a cane. It’s less work, but you can’t cuddle a cane when you feel low.’

‘Thanks Libby,’ says Josie.

After I’ve eaten my lunch and all eight people in the room have stroked Samson, I get up to leave.

‘Thank you,’ Jenny says quietly, as I reach the door. ‘I think you were just what Josie needed today.’

I feel happy to have been of help to someone else for a change, and I’m glad I came in. Now it’s time to help Charlie. And to do that, I have to find Kyle.

‘You’re really OK about me and Ollie?’ Madz asks as we walk to art. ‘You’ve been a bit quiet all day.’

‘Just thinking about my project.’ I’m keeping Charlie’s note a secret for now, like I promised. I do trust Madz, but she might accidentally let something slip to Ollie, and I hate the idea of that.

Madz is doing pottery for her art project so she’s in the room next door. I arrange my half-completed painting on the table near the window with the best natural light, along with the flower photo I am painting from and my magnifier. Miss Afia helps me with the paints. I love the smell of the art room – oil paints and turps. Kyle, who is also doing a painting project, usually sits at the back. I look around, trying to place him, but can only see blurred shapes moving around the room.

‘There’s a space here,’ Miss Afia calls to someone. ‘Next to Libby. Do try to be on time!’

‘D’you need any colours, Libby? I’m just getting some for myself,’ comes a voice. It sounds like Kyle. I turn to see the tall blur of him standing by the next table. I nearly fall off my stool. The tables at the back must already be taken because he’s late.

This is my moment. I should give him the note. The art room is big – everyone is spread out. No one will notice. But I feel weird: panicky, frozen to the spot.

5

‘I like what you’ve done there,’ Kyle says.

He’s come nearer without me realising. He’s looking over my shoulder at my painting.

‘Kyle, wait,’ I say, sensing him taking a step away.

‘What?’ he asks. ‘What can I get you?’

I pull the envelope out and hold it, my hand closed around it. ‘This is for you,’ I tell him quietly. ‘Just take it and put it in your pocket. Look at it later. OK?’ As I hand it over, I am still full of curiosity about what’s in it. I wonder whether Kyle will tell me, or whether I’ll never know now that I’ve handed it over.

I feel him take it. ‘Put it away,’ I repeat.

‘OK – but . . .’

‘Don’t ask, please! I could do with some brown paint if you don’t mind.’

‘Sure. Mid brown?’

‘Yes, exactly.’

He’s gone. I pick up my brush and dip it in the yellow. As I hold it over the paper, I realise my hand is actually shaking. This is ridiculous. It was just a note. It probably said, Can you lend me twenty quid? or something like that. But Charlie was so secretive about it, and he made it seem so important . . . Anyway, I’ve done it now. My role is over. I feel a little deflated.

‘Here’s the brown. Shall I squeeze some out?’ Kyle’s back.

‘Thanks – just here.’

He squeezes it on to my palette. I keep all the colours in the same order so I can find the one I want. ‘Let me know if you need anything else,’ he tells me.

He’s being very attentive. Is he being kind, or is it because he’s curious about the note? Maybe he thinks I wrote it. I hope he doesn’t think it’s a love note or something.

I hold the photograph I’m painting from close to my eyes. It’s a yellow rose, but it’s amazing how many colours there are in it: shades of yellow, but also greens, whites, creams, browns. I look through the magnifier at what I’ve painted so far.

I love painting. It takes my full focus and there’s something so relaxing about it. I love photography even more – macro photography, because I can look through the lens and see so clearly, every tiny detail. It’s so different from just looking around me at vague blurred shapes. I’m sure people give me funny looks when they see me out with my camera and a guide dog. Sometimes I hear comments, but I don’t let it bother me. So many people think ‘blind’ just means you can’t see. They don’t realise how many variations of visual impairment there are.

I need clean water, and pass Kyle’s table as I go to get it. I realise I have no idea what his project is. I’m suddenly curious about what he’s painting.

‘Can I look?’ I ask him. ‘With my magnifier?’

‘Yes, if you want.’ He sounds surprised – but pleased too. ‘It’s not a patch on yours though.’

‘I’ll just get my water first,’ I tell him.

‘Shall I do it?’ he asks.

‘No – it’s OK.’ I’m touched he is being so sweet, but I like to do things for myself. I keep on a straight path towards the side of the classroom where the sinks are, feel for the edge of the sink and then find the tap. I turn it, listen to water splashing and check with a finger that the pot is not getting too full. I need to be able to carry it back without spilling it.

Kyle’s height is a useful landmark as I work my way back to my table. I’m determined not to make a fool of myself by spilling water everywhere now. I feel for the table edge and put the water down carefully, then find and lift my magnifier, taking it back towards Kyle.

‘Let me help,’ he says, taking it from me and positioning it over his picture.

I look down. Kyle is painting what looks like a fantasy battle scene from a film – monsters with weapons raised, mouths bared with teeth showing.

‘Wow! That’s intense!’ I say, hoping he doesn’t take it as an insult. ‘I mean – the detail is incredible.’

‘I love creating monsters,’ he tells me. ‘I’ve not got the perspective right though.’

‘I can’t tell,’ I say honestly. ‘Thanks for showing me. I’d better get back to mine.’

After art I have French. Madz is doing German, so at the end of the day I walk with Samson towards the cloakrooms where we usually meet.

‘Hey, Libby!’ Someone touches the top of my arm gently. ‘Libby, it’s Kyle.’

‘Samson, stand,’ I tell him. He stops.

‘Listen – that note . . .’ says Kyle. ‘Can I talk to you for a moment?’

I’m instantly curious, but I don’t want to be late.

‘Madz will be waiting for me,’ I tell him.

‘Please, just for a sec,’ he says.

‘OK.’ I tell Samson to turn left and we follow Kyle to a quiet spot round by the old disused lockers.

‘Have you read it?’ I ask him.

‘Yes,’ he says. ‘Did Charlie give it to you himself? I need to know.’

‘Yes,’ I say awkwardly. ‘What . . . what did it say? Or can’t you tell me?’

‘It says he needs help.’

‘What kind of help?’

‘It’s bad, Libby.’ Kyle’s voice is low and serious. ‘He thinks someone’s going to kill him.’

I’m so shocked, I open my mouth, but can’t speak. I feel like I’ve swallowed a stone. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t that.

Finally, I manage one word. ‘What?’

‘I know,’ says Kyle. ‘My feelings exactly.’

‘So what does he want you to do?’

‘He wants me to meet him tomorrow. He’s told me where. I don’t know what to do. I mean, what if I don’t go, and then it happens – he gets killed? I’ll have to go, won’t I? I mean – what do you think?’

‘Maybe you should go to the police?’ I suggest.

‘The note says clearly, “no police”,’ says Kyle. ‘I guess it could put him in even more danger if whoever’s after him gets wind that he put the police on to them. If he’s asking me to help, he must think there’s something I can do.’

‘I guess,’ I say.

‘The note says I’m not to tell anyone,’ says Kyle. ‘But he must trust you, as he gave you the note. He must’ve known you’d want to know what was in it.’

I’m not sure that’s true, but I don’t say anything.

‘I think I’ll go,’ Kyle continues, ‘but listen. I want you to memorise the address before I tear it up, so that someone knows where I am. Just in case something happens.’

‘What do you think’s going on?’ I ask him.

‘I’ve no idea. I’m not sure I even want to know,’ says Kyle.

I wonder if this is true. Why has Charlie asked Kyle? Why does he think Kyle can help?

‘Maybe I should come with you?’ I suggest.

‘That’s nice of you, but he asked me,’ says Kyle. ‘And don’t get me wrong, but you and Samson . . . you’re a bit conspicuous. No – I’ll go alone.’

‘I’ll give you my number,’ I suggest. ‘Then you can call me and let me know what happens.’

‘OK,’ he says. ‘Thanks for letting me talk to you about it. See you tomorrow.’

‘Were you talking to Kyle?’ Madz asks, as I approach the cloakroom.

One problem with not being able to see much is that I never know who’s watching me.

‘Were you spying on me?’ I tease.

‘Just came to see where you’d got to,’ she says. ‘Why? Is something going on with you two?’

‘Of course not! We were talking about our art projects.’

‘And you had to go off by yourselves to do that?’ she asks, clearly not believing me.

‘So we could hear each other and so I didn’t get knocked about by everyone getting their stuff,’ I say gruffly.

‘I think he likes you,’ she tells me. ‘I saw the way he was looking at you.’

‘How?’ I ask.

‘All intense, like,’ says Madz.

‘Really? Well he’s going to be disappointed then.’

‘You don’t like him?’

‘It’s not that,’ I tell her.

Madz is so lovestruck that she has a one-track mind, while I know any intense look was because Kyle’s worried about Charlie’s note. But I can’t explain that to Madz.

‘He’s good-looking,’ she comments, ‘but he’s a bit brooding. You never quite know what’s going on in his head.’

‘You never know what’s going on in anyone’s head,’ I point out. ‘Someone can act like they’re really happy when they’re a mess inside.’

‘True,’ says Madz.

‘Kyle’s got a nice voice,’ I comment.

‘So you do like him!’ she exclaims.

‘Can we talk about something else?’ I beg, laughing.

6

At the time Kyle should be meeting Charlie, I’m trying to concentrate on my maths homework, but failing. It’s frustrating – maths is one of my best subjects. I keep stopping and checking my phone for messages, though I know it will beep if one comes. I barely know Kyle and I’ve not thought about Charlie in the last six months, yet I feel anxious. I pause and lean down to stroke Samson, who’s lying by my feet next to the desk.

Finally, I get so fed up with waiting that I text Kyle using Voiceover, which translates my voice into text and reads texts out to me. ‘Did you meet?’

There’s no reply.

It’s not until I’m getting ready for bed that a message comes through.

‘He wasn’t there.’

My phone speaks the words of Kyle’s message aloud. I had been imagining all sorts of things: Charlie running for his life, someone after him, wanting Kyle to hide him somewhere or wanting money to pay someone off. Somehow I never thought that he might not show at all.

‘No way!’ I reply.

‘I waited for two hours – just in case.’

‘Two hours!’

‘Can we meet? I’m not sure what to do.’

I feel immediately pleased, and then knock myself for feeling it. Surely it would be better if Kyle had met Charlie, sorted out whatever it was, and it was over? I don’t want to get involved – or do I? I can’t help feeling worried about Charlie, and I feel sorry for Kyle. He didn’t ask to be involved either. But maybe we can help Charlie together.

‘OK,’ I text back. Am I actually arranging to meet a boy? This feels weird.

‘Tomorrow morning? Where’s good for you?’

I’m glad he’s asking, as it needs to be somewhere I know. ‘How about the park? By the Roman Street gate?’ I suggest. Samson loves it there so at least he’ll get a walk too.

‘Great. Around 11am?’

‘Fine.’

*

Saturday breakfast is one of the few times we’re all together as a family. We all like a lie-in on a Saturday so it is more of a brunch really, at about ten.

Today we’re having pancakes. I’ve made the batter with Dad’s guidance – he’s the pancake expert – and Joe is responsible for tossing them.

‘Is something up, Libby?’ Mum asks.

Considering she’s not around as much as Dad, Mum can be very perceptive. Sometimes I wish she wasn’t.

‘Just a crazy week,’ I tell her. ‘Madz has been busy so I’m doing more without her. I’m getting around the school more on my own.’

‘You’re doing so well,’ says Mum.

‘She certainly is,’ Dad agrees.

‘Keep challenging yourself,’ says Mum. ‘You and Samson will be charging all over town on your own before you know it.’

‘Steady on,’ says Dad. ‘There’s no need to rush things. In your own time, Libby.’

Mum doesn’t answer, but I can tell she’s irritated.

‘I’m going to take Samson to the park this morning,’ I tell them. ‘I’ll do some more homework this afternoon.’

Samson huffs with delight at the word park and wags his tail against my legs. The smell of pancake batter cooking wafts around the room and my stomach rumbles.

‘And what are you up to today, Joe?’ Mum asks.

‘What?’ says Joe. ‘Oh, Mum! Now I’ve dropped one. That’s you, distracting me! Oh . . . Samson! Libby!’

‘What?’ I say.

‘He’s wolfed it down already.’

‘He ate the pancake you dropped?’ I ask.

‘Yes – he was so fast.’ Joe laughs. Mum and Dad are laughing too.

‘Oh Samson!’ I exclaim. ‘I think he thought you dropped it there specially for him,’ I tell Joe. ‘At least it saves you cleaning up.’

‘Right. This next one’s for you, Libby,’ says Joe.

‘Don’t talk to Joe, Mum,’ I warn. ‘I don’t want you distracting him again.’

It’s a lovely day, but I feel suddenly nervous as Samson guides me eagerly towards the park. This is one of the routes we practised with Gina, my guide dog mobility instructor, when I first got Samson, so we’re very familiar with it. I’m deliberately a couple of minutes late in the hope that Kyle will be waiting for me, but he isn’t there yet. I stand by the gate and tell Samson to sit. Doubts start to rattle through my head. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea.

‘Excuse me,’ someone says, making me jump. ‘Do you need any help?’

‘I’m fine. Thanks for asking,’ I reply.

When someone sees me standing still, alone with Samson, they seem to think I must need help. At least this person asked politely. Sometimes people grab my arm and try to take me across a road that I don’t even want to cross.

‘Hi Libby!’

I’m so relieved that Kyle is here.

‘Hi you!’ I say.

‘And hi Samson,’ says Kyle. ‘Shall we walk? Do you . . . do you need me to help you or do anything? You’ll have to tell me. I just don’t want to do the wrong thing . . .’

‘I’m fine. I know the park well and Samson can guide me,’ I say.

The path around the park is as familiar as an old friend, so I don’t need to concentrate much. I’m relieved at last to be able to talk about everything that’s been going round in my head.

‘What do you think’s going on with Charlie?’ I ask. ‘I can’t believe he didn’t show.’

‘Me neither,’ Kyle says as we walk towards the lake. ‘I’m really worried. He says someone wants to kill him and he doesn’t show. What am I meant to think?’

‘You’re not . . . you’re not saying it’s already happened?’ I say, swallowing. I don’t want to use the word ‘dead’. I don’t even want to think it. ‘I mean, it would have been on the news or something, wouldn’t it?’

‘Only if . . . if he was found.’ He pauses. I find I’m holding my breath. ‘But it isn’t likely,’ Kyle continues. My breath flows once again with relief. ‘Maybe it just wasn’t safe for him, so he stayed away.’

‘Should we go to the police?’ I wonder aloud.

‘He said no police, remember,’ says Kyle.

‘You’re right,’ I say. ‘We don’t want to put him in more danger. But what else can we do?’

‘I’m glad you’re saying we, Libby. I feel kind of scared, and it’s good I can talk to you about all this.’

‘I feel the same,’ I tell him – and I get this slight fluttering feeling in my tummy. ‘Can we sit down on a bench?’ I suggest. ‘Then I can take Samson’s harness off and he can have a run around.’

‘There’s a bench,’ says Kyle. ‘Do I need to watch him? How do you know where he is?’

‘He’s trained not to go far – and he has a bell so I can hear him too,’ I explain. ‘It’d still be good if you can keep an eye out. I prefer to know someone can see him.’

‘Sure thing,’ says Kyle.

‘Off you go, Samson!’ I tell him, once we’re sat down. He nuzzles me gratefully and then he’s gone. I breathe in the smell of newly mown grass and listen, aware of the distant laughter of children in the playground where Joe and I used to go when we were younger, and the cheerful birdsong in the trees close by.

‘He’s having a sniff in the bushes,’ Kyle tells me. ‘His tail’s wagging – he looks very happy.’

‘Good,’ I say. ‘What do you know about Charlie, Kyle? Do you have any idea what he’s been up to since he stopped coming to school?’

‘I haven’t a clue,’ he says. ‘I heard Kajun and Raf talking about him a while back, and they said it was like he’d disappeared off the face of the planet. He used to hang out with them sometimes, so if they didn’t know anything . . .’

‘Didn’t you hang out with him at all?’ I ask.

‘No.’

‘Why do you think he asked you, then?’ I comment. ‘If you weren’t even friends?’

I hear Kyle sigh. ‘We’re not friends, but we went to the same primary school. We hung out sometimes there. He was cheeky in class. We had a laugh. He changed so much. He wasn’t so angry then.’

‘But you want to help him now? Why?’ I ask.

Kyle speaks quietly. His voice has a dreamy tone. ‘He did something for me once. I feel I kind of owe him.’

I’m curious now. ‘What did he do?’

There’s such a long pause I wonder if Kyle heard me. I’m about to ask again when Kyle says, ‘He saved my life.’

7

‘Saved your life?’ This is so big, so unexpected. I feel a strange kind of dizziness. The bright sun isn’t helping. I hold my hand in front of my face. ‘What happened?’

‘It was years ago, when we were ten,’ says Kyle. ‘We got abducted by a man in a car.’

I feel that stone again, the one I felt like I swallowed yesterday, and it’s lying heavy in in my tummy. I’m scared of what he’s going to say next. I move my hand from shielding my eyes, putting it over my stomach instead. ‘What happened?’

‘Sometimes we walked home from school together. It was raining the day it happened and we were drenched. We weren’t even wearing coats. This car stopped and a man wound down the window.’

Kyle’s voice has lost all expression. I sense this is hard for him to talk about.

‘Go on,’ I tell him.

‘The man – he smiled at us and said something like, “I thought it was you! You look like drowned rats! Here, get in, I’ll give you a lift.” I reckoned it must be someone Charlie knew,’ Kyle explains. ‘Charlie thought the same. He said after, he thought I knew the guy. Anyway, we both just got in. He started driving. He didn’t ask where we lived, so again, we both thought he knew already. It was raining so hard, we could hardly see out the windows. But he turned the wrong way at the traffic lights. That’s when I panicked.’

‘So Charlie didn’t know him either?’ I say, in horror.