I.

His worn and frayed jacket was the first thing I noticed. The lacklustre purple fabric gradually bloomed beneath the rain into a fuller, darker shade more imperial than the last. It made him look sadder, sitting there in the gutter, his top hat drooping and sliding across his head, threatening to tip and fall.

It was getting colder, the rain hardening into icy, speeding bullets. I could feel the fluttering of butterfly wings in my chest, as I sucked in breaths. Neither of us had moved. I wasn’t even sure he knew I was there. The street was empty, sky grey and brooding. Just as I began to wonder if it was time to leave, he turned to me. His skin was weathered and brown. and grey whiskers stuck out from his chin in straggled clumps. His eyes drooped down his face.

‘Want to see a magic trick?’ he asked, voice scratchy and hoarse.

‘I haven’t got any money,’ I said. His shoulders slumped and his face crumpled in on itself as though something in him had broken at that moment.

‘It’s not about the money,’ he whispered. He took off his hat, placed it on the pavement. His thinning black hair was plastered to his skull and the back of his head. He looked like a drowned rat.

‘Are you a magician, then?’

He didn’t reply and the silence stretched between us.

‘Go on, show us something,’ I said. I could feel my nose beginning to run; the rain wasn’t letting up, but my shoes were glued to the spot. At first, I thought he didn’t hear me or refused to listen, but he had heard and he did listen. The magician put his right hand on his hat and slowly, softly, it collapsed beneath his hand until his palm rested flat against the pavement. It wasn’t much, but it was better then I expected. As I watched, his left hand began to rise slowly, revealing the top hat.

I smiled. ‘That was a good one.’

He nodded, placed the hat back on his head.

‘Will you be here tomorrow?’ I asked. I don’t know where the question came from or why I even cared, but when he nodded, I felt strangely satisfied, as if I’d achieved something.

‘Cool.’

My feet chose at that moment to un-stick themselves and I walked on, the strap of my bag digging into my shoulder. The corner shops huddled and crouched together in miserable silence as I walked by. I sniffed, willing the snot to stay away, but it kept on running until I wiped it away with my hand. My mind kept going back to the little magician; his odd presence had struck a chord and I wondered why he was so sad.

I turned onto my street. The procession of stately houses dwindled until the spaces between each became irregular, the homes getting smaller and meaner with each step. I stopped at mine, at the end of street, walked past the gate which hung skewed on broken hinges. I pulled open the screen door and finally got out of the rain.

‘That you, Jake?’ Dad bawled from the living room. I knew he was there because he never left it. The flicker of blue and white shadows was a constant in the house.

‘Yeah,’ I called out.

‘Where you been?’ he said, as I came into the kitchen, adjacent to the living room. ‘It’s pouring, out.’

‘Reckon I noticed that.’

‘Don’t get smart with me and stop dripping all over my floor.’ He never once turned away from the screen. ‘Go get changed and clean that damn room.’

The floor was filthy, cans of drink and empty packets of chips were scattered everywhere. Crumbs were embedded in the carpet. My room was always the cleanest, but then Dad wouldn’t know that, he just said what he thought he should. What he really meant was that I needed to clean his mess. I walked past him and into the back of the house. I closed my door behind me and shivered out of my clothes. In my room, I finally felt like I had some space as if the world around me had vanished and I was safe.

With a pair of pyjamas and a shirt on, I collapsed onto the bed. The roar of thundering rain continued, unabated. There were cracks in the ceiling plaster. A drop of rain perched on the edge of one, glimmering. It felt as if the whole world narrowed and that drop became an ocean. It dangled for what seemed the longest time before finally dropping with a splat on my head. The breath whooshed out of me, as if I’d been struck by a bomb.

. My phone beeped, snapped me out of that weird zone. It was still in my school pants so I dragged them over, took it out. There was a message from Anthony. It read ‘Heard Jenna likes ya.’ Always to the point, Anthony was. ‘Bull’ I sent back. Jenna was smart, cool, and pretty. There’s no way she’d like me, someone was just having a go. I didn’t linger on the thought; let it slip from my mind. Now that I was lying in bed, I felt suddenly drained as if I was being willed to sleep. I didn’t fight it.

*

‘Pst!’

Rattataptap.

Groggily, I swam back into consciousness. The sounds resolved into rapid tapping on my window. ‘Pst! Get up, dipshit! Whatcha asleep so early for anyway?’ I clambered up to the window, stared belligerently out at Tess.

‘Door’s open,’ I said. ‘Why are you such a drama queen?’

‘Dad doesn’t know I’m gone, obviously. God, you’re such a dweeb. Now open the damn window.’

‘Not like he’d notice you coming back anyhow,’ I muttered, jamming the window open. She clambered inside, dressed all in black, like a ninja. Only, ninja’s didn’t wear make-up, or paint their nails black, wearing an odd assortment of studs and chains. No, a ninja would be more careful not to sound like a tin cup full of coins, as she did now. Tess tiptoed out of the room as quietly as she could, not that it mattered; the roar of the television easily drowned out any noise she made.

‘Fix your damned window,’ I called after her. She shot me a venomous look, before launching across the hall and into her room, quick as a cat. It was dark outside, but the skies were clear. A fresh breeze blew into the room, carrying on it the memory of rain. I lay back down on the bed, trying to get back to sleep. Bits and pieces of the dream I’d been having came back, swimming lazily in my mind. I tried to catch them, but they always seemed to slip away; there had been a raven, I knew that, and it had been running from something.

The residue of fear was sour on my tongue. I checked my phone. It was only 10:30pm and Anthony hadn’t replied. I ought to get up and have a shower, clean up the house, maybe do some work but it was hard. Not to get up, but to care. Even as that thought crossed my mind, I was walking out to the kitchen. Dad was still there. I felt a sickly, ugly feeling sweep through me.

‘Did you get laid off, then?’ I said. His shift began at ten.

His head jerked my way, but stopped before coming round completely. ‘Nah. Just took a day off is all. Got a bit of the flu,’ he said, gesturing to the table. On top of a pile of magazines and empty packets of junk, there were a few tissues lined up as corroborating evidence.

‘Are we going to see Mum tomorrow?’ I asked, half-hoping for an answer, half-not. He didn’t reply, just went back to watching TV. So, I started to clean.