Free Close Your Pretty Eyes by Sally Nicholls Page B

the third time, Harriet and I were in the same room as her, building a tower out of bricks for her to knock over. She was laughing, and another baby was crying, somewhere in the house. I made Harriet stop and listen, but she couldn’t hear anything. I wasn’t that surprised. Even with supersonic hearing I had to strain to catch it.
    It wasn’t just babies either. I was in my room one evening, amusing myself by drawing rude pictures of Jim on my walls, when I heard this noise. It sounded like someone running down the corridor outside. Someone small, like a kid, but I could tell just from the sound of the feet that it wasn’t Daniel or Harriet. I was so surprised that I stopped drawing and waited. After about for ever, the footsteps came back. They ran past my door and then stopped. They didn’t go down the stairs, or into one of the rooms. They just stopped.
    I opened my door and looked out. No one was there. I looked left, then right, and then I heard them again: footsteps, running right past me with no feet in them, no person running, no one there at all.
    A real, proper ghost. Definitely.
    I wasn’t afraid. I don’t know why, I ought to have been. Mostly I was curious. I stood there in the doorway for ages, waiting, but whatever it was didn’t come back. So I shut the door and went back inside, to draw black footprints all around the windowpanes.

THE PAST (COMING TO GET ME)
    My brother Jamie was six when I moved in with the Iveys, but I hadn’t seen him since he was a baby. He was adopted almost immediately, and I didn’t suppose I’d ever see him again. When we first went into care, I used to ask about him all the time, but now I’d sort of got used to not having him around. I still thought about him, though.
    Living with a baby again was weird. Mostly, I liked Maisy. I liked how happy she was. I liked how you just had to say, “Hey, Maisy-face!” or play Peepo! or something with her and she’d start giggling like crazy. I liked how when I came into the room she’d lift up her arms, and you’d know that if she could talk, she’d be saying “Up!” I’d pick her up and carry her around. She’d look happy for about two seconds and then she’d hold out her arms to Daniel, as if to say, I am the Queen of the Universe and you are all my slaves . I liked that. I liked that she was so sure people would do what she told them to, and I liked that, actually, people usually did.
    What I didn’t like was the way she made me feel when she cried. She didn’t cry loads, but when she did she really went at it. She’d screw up her face and howl and howl and howl. I hated it right from the start. It made me feel small and scared and full of worry. Like something bad was going to happen and I didn’t know what.
    Maisy crying wasn’t something I could do much about. At first, I used to shout, “Stop it! Stop it!” but that just made her cry louder and Grace would start swearing at me. Then I used to run out of the room with my hands over my ears, but that meant I was on my own, which made things worse . When you’re small and scared and full of worry, you want to be with people.
    Jim tried talking to me.
    â€œShe’s only a baby, Olivia. She’s happy again now – why don’t we go in and see?”
    And, most of the time, he was right. Maisy went from “The worst thing ever in the universe just happened to me and everything is over!” to “Oh, look, a crayon,” in about five seconds. But I’d still be freaked out.
    One afternoon, Daniel and I were watching X-Men in the living room. Grace was playing with Maisy, building a house out of her A Level files, while Maisy pulled it down. Grace had balanced Psychology on top of Economics and History. Maisy tugged at History and the whole thing came crashing down on top of her. She fell backwards and started howling.
    â€œMake her shut