‘Is there anyone up here?’ I call carefully into the darkness. Billy presses a finger to my lips.
‘Sshh,’ he whispers with a shake of his head.
The wind chimes jangle from somewhere in the darkness and, nerves frazzled, I jump, my shoulder bumping on a light switch in the stair wall that clinks on and bathes the penthouse playroom in bright light.
The lights work here. Without a second thought I dash into the playroom and shut the pink door firmly behind us, blocking the light’s path down the stairwell.
I scan the brightly coloured room, its proportions ludicrous, larger than our whole apartment put together. The sound of a scream from many floors below springs me into action. I plop Billy down onto the floor and I head over to a large bookcase filled with crates of toys and speedily remove them all. I then slowly drag the bookcase across the carpet to block the doorway, reinserting the toy crates one by one to reinforce our barrier.
Pink door blocked, I flop down onto the carpet completely exhausted. ‘Come ’ere,’ I huff to Billy, my arms outstretched, and he totters over, wet pants sagging. ‘We should be safe in here.’
He collapses into my arms too. ‘Yep,’ he says simply, then looks up. ‘Where’s Mumma?’
I consider.
‘I really don’t know. But I’m sure she’s fine. You definitely don’t need to worry about her.’ I look at Billy’s little face, his soft blond curls, and I wonder what the hell Fiona was thinking letting him play this game. Then I conjure the image of a three-year-old Edward pissing himself, thirty-five years ago, on some unknown nanny’s hip. What was it Edward said? Character building.
I look around the playroom and I can’t deny it’s cute. Fiona and Oliver clearly care about their kids, in spite of what tonight might make one think.
‘Is this your place, then?’ I ask my little friend.
He splays his hands indicting both indifference and pride, ‘Yeah. My toys.’ He looks thoughtfully around before adding, ‘And Tristan and Sam’s.’
‘It’s nice up here.’
‘Yup.’
I look down at my watch. Thirty minutes have passed already. ‘How long till the game is over, Billy?’ I ask.
‘Not till Ebbergreen.’
I look up abruptly. That can’t be right; it just keeps going indefinitely until then? ‘Are you sure, Billy? It doesn’t stop until someone finds the stick?’
He nods.
‘And how long does that usually take?’
He shrugs. ‘Sam said they stayed up past midnight last time. And only Uncle Edward could find it coz he was a grown-up.’ Lila is, given Milo’s scream earlier, probably already out of the game and I am the only adult left playing.
It’s 9:30 now; I cannot do this until midnight. I’m already exhausted and freaked out, but all that aside, I need a wee now too and I don’t want to have to piss my pants like Billy.
A thought occurs and I scan the room hoping that Billy’s accident might be less of an anomaly and more of a regular occurrence demanding contingency plans. I find what I’m looking for in a corner of the room near a large industrial-looking metal unit. A small wardrobe.
I rise and head over to the wardrobe, Billy following me wordlessly. If we’re staying here until midnight, we’re sure as hell not doing so covered in piss.
The wardrobe is full of costumes. Magician, unicorn, marvel characters, frog, fireman, cowboy and lederhosen.
‘Okaaaay,’ I say, as Billy peeks into the wardrobe beside me and lets out a tiny, world-weary sigh.
He kneels down and pulls open a drawer revealing a fresh stack of clean underwear and socks.