Are you really going to put up with this forever? the voice of her late grandmother repeats in Emilys head as the lift shudders down the sixteenstorey council block on the outskirts of Birmingham.
From the start the family is on shaky ground. James, who married her almost straight out of school, never lets her finish any education. He encourages her to stay at home, to learn how to wash up and then, finally, to get a driving licence which she only manages because her father never left his workshop and his friend happened to be a driving instructor.
Emily only leaves the flat when she must. The sole reason is to restock the fridge; otherwise she spends her leisure time hanging freshly washed laundry on the balcony.
James checks on her everywhere, even when shes taking out the rubbish she has to keep her mobile in the pocket of her housecoat in case he calls. The weekends that start on Friday night fill Emily with dread. James arrives demanding dinner, and the table must always hold a chilled bottle of his favourite whisky. After the meal he drags his spiteful words across the table, Whats the matter, you daft little thing? When will I have an heir? He then retreats to the kitchen, finishes his dram and, after the last sip, asks, Wheres the beer?
Emily knows the question is coming, but she never buys the beer during the day, buying herself a twentyminute evening walk for a breath of fresh air.
Why are you so quiet? the grandmothers voice urges, as the lift halts between floors. Do you like how James treats you?
No, Emily whispers, he washes his feet on me.
And thats only now, the voice coaxes, it will only get worse. Do you want him to loosen his grip?
Heavens! Emilys throat dries. No, of course not.
Then run, love, run!
Where? To my mother? She lives in a onebed flat with a new husband. To my father? Hes with a new wife. Im a cutoff piece, Gran. I have no one, she stammers, tears prick her eyes.
Thats the point the grandmother says. Being alone means total freedom and a chance to start over. Imagine if you had a child
But where do I go? Emily asks, her eyes widening like saucers.
A chance will present itself in a few days. Dont miss it. Keep watching the window and youll see.
What will I see?
Ive already told you enough. Figure it out yourself if youre not foolish. The lift is moving again. Dont be scared. Go get the beer for your dear husband. And one more thing she whispers in Emilys mind rummage through the little box I left you after I died. It isnt empty; it has a false bottom. Find it, but do it without witnesses. If you run, take only the contents; leave the box so James never suspects your escape.
Whats inside?
Answers to your questions.
The lift lurches forward. Even though the voice warned her, Emily shivers. The doors open onto the street; a warm evening thaws the lingering frost. Streams will soon rush, nature will renew itself. Why not she?
***
James lies drunk on the kitchen table, snoring like a beast. While his rumbling sleeps, Emily can slip away and examine the box. She feels a hollow beneath it, a hidden compartment. The grandmothers words were not imagined. She shakes the wooden box on the bedside; it spills knitting needles, hooks, buttons, bits of yarn the sort of junk she rarely touches. Her husband rolls his eyes, muttering, Ill toss it out. Your gran was an odd one, leaving this for you.
She turns the box over, looks for a secret panel, but finds only solid wood. Something must be inside. She presses the raised sections, but nothing opens. Gran remains silent, waiting for Emily to discover the trick herself.
Emily sits on the double bed, runs her fingers over the lids carved pattern. A small click sounds, and a hidden drawer snaps into her stomach with a painful thud. She lifts the drawer: an envelope, a set of keys, and several tiny packets labelled Turn on the brain, Freeze the fear, Ignite attention, Dont be a fool, Kill the weakness, Feed the meat, and more. Her gran was always a storyteller; neighbours on the landing called her a witch, though she simply baked pies and knitted socks. No one knew what she did when the building was empty.
She opens the envelope. Documents tumble out deeds to a house her grandfather built himself without a single nail, tucked away in the countryside, and a registration for an old Vauxhall Viva that sits in her fathers garage as a relic. A letter, written in cramped, looping script, reads:
My dear granddaughter, the hour has come to open the box. All my property, except my flat, is willed to you. If youre reading this, its time. Grab the papers, the boxs contents, and the car. Leave now. Peace and happiness await you at Granddads house. Money for the first weeks lies under the glove compartment. After that youll have to earn your own. Perhaps youll even learn. Gran.
Gran knew what James would do, which is why she opposed the marriage. Even when Emily disobeyed, Gran never turned angry; after her death she still guided her.
Emily folds the papers into a separate folder, tucking the boxs contents inside. Theres no time to linger; she must run. The first instruction reads: Take the Ignite attention packet, pour the powder into milk and drink. Keep the paper, dont discard it. No other steps follow, but Gran insisted she keep the note, so Emily slips it into the folder with the powder.
***
At dawn she rises, clearheaded, her senses sharpened. She checks under the mattress, finds the folder, and reads the next instruction: Drink a glass of milk with the Dont be a fool powder on an empty stomach. She slips into the kitchen, where James still snores, pours the concoction, and sips it quietly. She cracks the window for fresh air, then returns to the bedroom, opens the folder again, and reads:
Dont trash the folder or youll meet trouble. In one hour drink tea with the Kill the weakness packet.
Then: An hour later, drink coffee with the Feed the meat packet. Stay alert.
Emily follows each bizarre recipe. After the drinks she feels a surge of strength; her oncesoft body fills with muscle. She looks in the fulllength mirror and sees a fit, athletic figure not a gymnast but a strong woman. Her jaw is defined, eyes bright, stance confident.
A sudden shuffle on the laminate floor startles James. He turns, eyes narrowed.
What have you been doing? he growls.
Nothing, Emily replies, voice steady.
You look like someones been working on you. A lover, perhaps? he hisses, stepping forward.
His fists clench, his face twists with rage.
Where were you when I was sleeping? he demands, advancing.
I was in our bed, Emily says, but a surge of confidence flashes through her. James lunges, but Emily blocks his blows with practiced ease, deflecting every strike. She sidesteps, grabs his wrist, and with a swift motion sends a punch to his nose. Blood spurts, he staggers, pale, and collapses onto the floor.
Emily looks down at him, feeling no pity. She pulls the folder from her pocket.
Instruction five reads: Well done, Im proud. Look out the balcony, dress similarly, leave the balcony rail open, and place your bag where you see it. Then drink a glass of juice with the Freeze the fear powder. When you reach Granddads car, stop at a café, order a milkshake and add the Turn on the brain powder. Leave the other packets alone for now. Get out as fast as you can. Gran.
Emily rushes to the kitchen, mixes the powder into a drink, and gulps it down. She darts to the balcony.
On the pavement below lies a young woman, face down, hair and body matching Emilys, a tragic figure frozen on a melting patch of road beside a warm pipe. No panic rises in Emily; the potion works. She looks down at her own clothes grey jeans, a black tee the same as the fallen girls. Its late March, yet the girl is barefoot, shivering, without a coat.
Emily grabs her documents, a small handbag, pulls a wallet from it, hides it in the folder, and slips out barefoot, the cold biting her feet. She finds a discarded sack near a rubbish chute containing illfitting, weatherworn boots and a threadbare jacket. She puts on the coat, a puffy one, the only warm option left.
She leaves the empty flat, the bag of the unknown girl abandoned on the street as if robbed. She runs through the courtyard, her new boots blistering, and spots a trolleybus instead of a taxi. She hops on, willing herself toward the garage where the Vauxhall Viva waits.
***
Emily rarely works in an office, but today she feels lucky, as if Gran walks beside her. An old security guard at the garage remembers the bosss daughter and lets her in when she shows the paperwork for the car.
Not a problem, love. Why do you want that old clunker? he asks.
No need to call my dad. I just need the Vauxhall, Emily replies.
Got the keys? he asks.
Of course, she says, and he points to a vending machine. Want a soda? A cocoa?
She takes a cheap chocolate milk, slips it into her bag, and buys a pair of sturdy winter trainers, an affordable jacket, and a sweater. She tucks the cash she found in the glove compartment into the folder.
She slides into the drivers seat, which feels oddly comfortable perhaps Granddad replaced the seats himself. She waves goodbye to the guard, turns left onto the highway, and the road is already crowded with all sorts of cars.
Look up, see the signs? Grans voice whispers in her ear.
I see them, Emily smiles.
Turn left at the next roundabout, head toward Salisbury. Youll find what you need there. Safe travels, my girl.
Thank you, Gran, she replies, beaming at her reflection in the windshield. In the passenger seat sits an apparition of her grandmother, as she remembered cheerful, redhaired, always wearing a fluffy scarf.
