THIS BOOK WILL KILL YOU

2_Carap23_

The first I know about it is when Donnie kicks open my bedroom door and screams at me through a crescendo of guitars and drums. I snap the laptop shut out of habit, even though there's nothing on the screen I need to hide. It takes me a moment to understand he's not singing the lyrics to Enter The Sandman and I use my shoulder to slide the headphone from my ear.

"... the door, Christ, Tommi, just forget about it."

He stamps off down the hall without even letting me know what I should be forgetting, then I hear the thump of a fist on glass and mom's voice from the bathroom.

"Tommi, go get the goddamned door!"

And it all suddenly makes sense. I'm up in a heartbeat, following Donnie down the stairs.

"I got it," I say, but he's making a point of it now, stomping to the front door. There's a pair of shadows hanging in the marbled glass, broken into a thousand pieces. "Wait, Donnie, hang on."

He slides the deadbolt and opens it, and by the time I've caught up with him the two men on the doorstep are practically inside. They're both as old, grey and tired as their suits, but the brass badges clipped to their belts look brand new.

"Thomasin Bright?" the guy on the left asks, looking at Donnie then at me. It's like he's struck me in the heart with a sculptor's hammer because nobody ever comes to the door and asks for me, not least a couple of cops.

"It's an easy question," says the other man, putting his foot on the door sill and rocking impatiently. "If you get this one right, the rest should be no problem."

"Yeah," I say, not quite ready to step out of their way. "Yeah, sorry, I'm Thomasin. Tommi."

"Can we come in?" the first cop asks, scratching at his stubble with yellow fingers. I can see the gun holstered at his hip, and so can Donnie because his eyes light up. I glance upstairs, then back.

"Our mom's in," I say, not quite sure why I'm saying it. "She's in the bath."

"I'm very happy for her," says the first guy. "But you're the one we need to speak with. Call her down."

He pushes inside and I don't have any choice but to stand back, choking on the coffee and cigarette perfume of him. I start walking to the stairs, then change my mind and head for the kitchen, then change my mind again and head back to the stairs.

"Mom, the police are here, can you come down?"

I hear a violent splash of water, as if she's been dunked, a squeak of heavy flesh, then a series of muttered curses. The cops are hanging in the hallway and I skirt around them, heading for the kitchen again.

"Is she in trouble?" Donnie asks, skipping around their feet. "Did she kill someone? Are you going to take her away? Is she going to prison?"

The cops walk to the breakfast bar, one of them perching on a stool and prodding a fruit bowl that contains nothing but dust. It's not exactly awful in here, but it's not exactly spotless either. The paint is peeling off the walls and there's a huge patch of dry rot that looks almost like a person right opposite me. I wonder why I've never noticed it before. I hover in the door wondering if I should clean some stuff up. It doesn't feel right that anyone should see our house, it's like somebody peeling open the top of my head and having a good look inside.

The standing cop laughs, and some of the tension leaks out of the room. He's younger than the other guy by about a decade, although he must still be pushing fifty. He reaches out and scruffs Donnie's hair.

"You angling for her bedroom, kid?" he says. "Sorry to disappoint you, your sister's in no trouble. We just need to ask a few questions, clear something up. Okay?"