Things the Eye Can't See. Penny Joelson

      ‘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.

      ‘Exactly,’ says Kyle.

      I’m trying to imagine this. I can only relate it to the feeling I’ve had when I’m out alone and a stranger grabs my arm, without saying anything first. They might be trying to help, but in that moment I don’t know that – they might be intending to steal my bag or phone or pull me into the bushes. That’s scary enough. But this sounds scarier.

      ‘I told the man I thought he’d taken the wrong turn,’ Kyle continues.