It’s nighttime now. I’m in bed wearing PJs, socks, two jumpers and the bobble hat that I knitted myself and am quite proud of. I don’t think I’ve ever been this cold in my life. Nell’s put me in the attic room at the very top of the house. It’s done up in this ancient-looking wallpaper that makes your eyes go funny because it’s line after line of yellow roses. There are no heaters in here. There’s not even a duvet. Instead, I’ve got blankets and stripy sheets and a narrow iron bed that looks like it’s out of Oliver Twist. It’s not exactly cosy.
Hospitals, on the other hand, are always warm. I wonder if Theo’s awake or asleep right now. Either way, Mum’ll be with him. Perhaps the hospital where Lexie’s mum is giving birth lets sisters on the ward, or maybe it’s only Kate’s partner who’s allowed. My mum gets to sleep on a sofa bed in Theo’s room: the booklet from Cheetah Ward said so. And I’m glad he’s not alone, but it’s odd being here without them, like I’ve got this empty space all around me where usually there’s Theo and Mum.
In the end, I go downstairs in search of a hot-water bottle. But going through the cupboards all I find is dried pasta and dog food. There’s no sign of anything helpful. I can’t believe Nell doesn’t die of cold. Or starvation. Or both.
I’m about to give up and go upstairs when Borage starts scratching at the back door. I suppose he wants to go out.
‘Off you go then,’ I say, opening the door for him. ‘And don’t be long.’
But instead of going out he stands up on his hind legs, puts his paws on my shoulders and tries to lick my face.
‘Arrggh! Get off!’
His nose is in my hair and I’m panicking and laughing at the same time. What the heck is he doing? It almost knocks me off my feet. Then he drops down and he’s off across the lawn, looking like he’s got something in his mouth.
I wait on the doorstep. Somewhere in the dark, a fox barks. At least, I think that’s what it is. Perhaps it’s a scream or a baby crying, I wouldn’t know. I can’t see a thing either. This darkness is total, not like at home where there’s streetlights and the sky’s purple so you can’t see the stars. Here it’s like staring into a hole.
Bit by bit my eyes get used to it. I can just about see as far as the fence, where the wood starts like a great big wall of black. There’s no sign of Borage though, and I get this sinking feeling that he’s found a rabbit or whatever it is dogs chase. I wait a bit longer. Hug myself because I’m getting cold again. He doesn’t appear. It’s then, as I tuck my hair behind my ears, that I realise I’m no longer wearing my bobble hat.
It could’ve come off inside the house. But then I think of how Borage went off across the lawn all pleased with himself. That pesky dog’s got it, that’s where it is.
I call to Borage but it gets lost against the noise the wind is making in the trees. It’s no good; I’m going to have to go looking for him. Stupid dog, I think as I stumble across the lawn. And stupid me for letting him out here in the first place. Nell won’t be happy if I’ve lost him. I’m beginning to wish I’d never got out of bed.
Finding the fence is easy enough. There should be a gate here somewhere; I saw one this morning. But it takes a bit of walking up and down before I find it. It’s latched shut, though a dog Borage’s size could easily jump it so it wouldn’t hurt to look on the other side.
I hesitate.
The wood is darker than anything. What’s the point in looking when I won’t be able to see a thing? I might get lost. Or sprain my ankle.
Or something.
I’m not scared, though. Not as scared as I’ll be if I have to tell Nell I’ve lost her dog.
Taking a deep breath, I open the gate. It leads onto what feels like a path because the ground is smooth and flat, though it’s too dark to tell. Pretty quickly I’m fighting my way through brambles. They scratch at my hair and face, and when I put my arms up to protect myself they snag my jumper too. The path seems to run out, and I’m now walking blind into what feels like one gigantic hedge. It’s ridiculous. I stop, turn round, call Borage again. To my right, something rustles in the bushes. Thank goodness.
‘Good dog! Come on!’
I listen hard.
No dog comes bounding out of the dark. The rustling stops. I’m about to call again when I hear a crunch, the sound of footsteps on dead leaves. My heart starts to pound.
This is stupid. What am I doing here? Borage must know these woods inside out. He’ll find his way home.
Yet I fight the urge to run. I’m not a chicken. It’s only a load of old trees. Making myself breathe normally, I walk back towards the gate. I’m nearly there, nearly calm again, when to my left I see something white flicker between the trees. Quick as it appears, it’s gone.
There’s someone else in this wood.
My sensible self kicks in: Go to bed. Get Nell.
I rush at the gate. The latch won’t open. My fingers fumble and slip. ‘Come on, come on,’ I hiss under my breath.
At last the gate opens and I’m out on the lawn. It feels like safety, until I see the kitchen light is on and Nell silhouetted on the doorstep.
‘What are you doing, you silly girl!’ she cries.
As I get closer, I see she’s wearing old-man-style pyjamas. Her arms are folded across her chest.
I squeeze past her in the doorway.
‘Where’s Borage?’ she says.
‘I thought he wanted the toilet. He was scratching at the door and then he …’
‘So you let him outside, is that it?’
‘I didn’t know he would run off. But he took my hat and I went looking for him and …’
‘… And I thought someone was out there,’ I say, realising how rubbish it sounds.
‘In the woods?’
I nod. My stupid eyes fill up.
She sighs. ‘It’s those frightful trees, that’s what spooked you. The sooner they’re cleared the better.’
Nell shouts Borage’s name and he appears almost immediately, going straight to his bed by the stove. There’s no sign of my lovely hat. Slamming the back door shut, Nell herds me up the stairs.
‘Now go to sleep,’ she says.
I’m glad to get into bed; I can cry now without anyone seeing. Pulling the blankets tight round me, I decide I hate it here. If I tell Mum tomorrow then perhaps she’ll come and get me. This makes me feel a tiny bit better.