Free The Special Ones by Em Bailey Page A

She looks older. Drained.
    She climbs the stairs rigidly, mechanically, like a thing that’s been wound up and has no choice but to go, go, go. Even her expression has changed. The glimmer has left her eyes. Now they’re blank.
    Harry reaches a hand to help her out, but she doesn’t seem to see it.
    I hold out a glass of water and a hunk of bread and butter I have prepared for her. Something bland but filling. ‘Here.’
    She accepts the water silently, drinks it, then hands back the empty glass. ‘Thank you, Esther,’ she says. Her voice makes me shiver. It doesn’t come from her body now but from somewhere far away or long ago. ‘I need to go and clean up,’ she says. Then she floats off down the corridor. I glance at Harry. He looks relieved.
    ‘It’s happened at last,’ he says. ‘She’s one of us now.’
    I nod but, inside, I’m not so sure that’s really what’s happened.

    I look up from laying the breakfast table to find Lucille standing there, making me jump. She has washed, changed her clothes and redone her hair.
    ‘What can I do to help, Esther?’
    ‘Nothing, just sit down!’ I say, my voice overly cheery as I attempt to cover my ill ease. ‘Ah! Here’s Felicity with the eggs.’
    Felicity stops just inside the doorway when she sees Lucille there. ‘You’re out of the cellar,’ she says. She sounds a little disappointed.
    ‘I’ll take those,’ says Lucille, holding out her hand for the basket.
    ‘No, really,’ I say. ‘It’s fine. I’ll take them.’
    Lucille shakes her head stiffly. ‘It says in my remembering book that Lucille should assist Esther whenever she can during mealtimes.’ She takes the egg basket and goes to the pantry.
    Felicity looks at me, eyes meaningfully wide. I make mine big in return. Harry walks in, grinning.
    ‘What do you think, Esther?’ he says, sitting at the table. ‘Is it time for Lucille to move out of the changing room and back into her bedroom?’
    He makes it sound like there’s an alternative. Today is the deadline for Lucille to rejoin us. Still, Lucille doesn’t know that and it won’t hurt her to think we have some power over what happens to her. I turn to Lucille. ‘Would you like that? To live out here with the rest of us?’
    ‘Only if you think I’m ready, Esther.’
    Her new voice gives me the creeps. I force myself to smile. ‘You’re ready. I’ll show you your room after breakfast. It’s just as you left it.’

    Lucille’s bedroom is the biggest one, and has the best view. From her window it’s possible to see out over the kitchen garden, and also to catch a glimpse of the world beyond the perimeter fence. Outside .
    Jutting up on the horizon, far beyond the fence, is a brick tower – tall and cylindrical, although slightly narrower at the top. It looks like it might belong to a factory, and although it’s probably no longer used I still find myself checking it for smoke or steam whenever I’m in Lucille’s room. I’ve never seen any, but on bright days I can just make out lettering on the tower, written with different coloured bricks – OWN .
    Maybe it’s a fragment of a word, or they’re simply someone’s initials. But for me they act as a constant reminder: You are on your own .
    Lucille doesn’t notice the tower when I take her in later that morning. There are too many other things to absorb, especially after so many days in the changing room and then in the cellar.
    She walks slowly around the room, picking things up and putting them down again. She lifts the small vase of flowers I sent Felicity out to pick and breathes deeply, her eyes closed.
    Felicity hovers in the doorway. ‘Do you think she likes them?’ she whispers and I nod.
    Lucille stands in front of the picture I’ve hung near the door. It’s a watercolour of a young girl sitting in a garden, sewing. ‘This isn’t right,’ she says, suddenly. I’m not sure what she means. Lucille swings around and faces me, frowning. ‘It’s not