Excerpt: Stranger Things

Chapter Eleven:

How are the kids?” I ask.

“Oh, fine, ah think. Haven’t really seen them today.”

“Lola!” Nell yells. “You’re supposed to be keeping an eye on them!”

“They know where ah am if they need me!”

“Ugh, I’ll go see how they’re getting on, shall I?”

“Sit down!” Lola says. “Leave them be!”

“Oh, by the way, Lo,” I say, “have you seen Clara’s bedroom since she left?”

“No.” Lola frowns. “Why?”

“It’s empty, more or less. Like she’s been robbed or something. Wardrobe’s almost empty, desk’s clear...”

“Maybe she just tidied up or something. It can happen, yeh know.”

“It’s Clara! Her house hasn’t been tidy in three years!”

“So, what are yeh saying? That she’s been robbed, or that she’s done a runner?”

“I don’t know! There’s just something weird going on!”

“Ah don’t think you need to worry,” Lola says. “She didn’t seem particularly on edge when she left, and as for burglars, there are more valuable things in that house than Clara’s old papers and raggedy cardigans. Ah wouldn’t worry. She’ll be back any day now!”

“You’ve been saying that ever since I got back, and that was almost a week ago!”

“Don’t worry!”

“I can’t help it!” I say through gritted teeth. “Clara’s vanished off the face of the earth, my dad might not be my dad, I keep getting weird anonymous letters through the door, Nell can’t go two seconds without being involved in some freak accidents...I feel like we’re being invaded by f-ing aliens and no-one else has even noticed!”

“Calm the f*** down, Daphne!” Lola says, sounding more than a little strung-out herself. “Yeh look like yer about three minutes and one last shock away from a f-ing stroke!”

“You calm down!”

“Ah am calm! This isn’t about me!”

“Would you both please stop shouting, please!” Nell’s eyes are the size of saucers. She doesn’t like it when people raise their voices—she says it reminds her of playing hockey at school, when the games teacher made her cry on an almost weekly basis. “There’s no need to shout!”

“There’s every need to shout!” My hands are shaking—maybe I am having a nervous breakdown. “Oh my god! Jesus!” I clutch my chest. “I can’t f-ing breathe, I need some air!” I jump up from the table and push open the back door, rushing into the garden. I bend over and try to take a couple of deep breaths. I can feel a bandaged hand on my back—Nell’s followed me out.

“Nice deep breaths,” she says soothingly, “slow and calm. There we go.” I straighten up. “Better?”

“Marginally.” I take another couple of breaths. “I need a cigarette.”

“You don’t smoke.”

“I know, but at times like this, I wish I did.” I sigh. “I should go check on the children. Knowing my luck, they’ve probably choked to death on those grapes I bought this morning or something.”