An hour later, we finally turn off the main road. Rain lashes against the windscreen so it’s hard to see up ahead, even with the wipers on full. When we reach the place where the road forks, Dad turns right for Nell’s. We get a glimpse of the track in the headlights.
‘Oh heck!’ says Dad, slowing down. ‘I’d forgotten what happens here when it rains.’
The track now looks more like a river. Luckily, it’s not that deep yet. But the water has carried stones with it; our tyres crunch as we drive. Then the wheels start to spin.
‘This isn’t good,’ Dad says, changing gear. We slither sideways. The hedge scratches against the side of the car.
‘That’s my paintwork ruined,’ Dad says.
‘Stop, then. We can walk from here.’
‘No, I’ll drop you at the gate.’
‘Aren’t you coming to see Nell?’
He shakes his head. ‘Not tonight.’
I notice his hands gripping the steering wheel again. His jaw is still clenched up just like Nell’s. It makes me think of the telling-off I’ve got coming to me. But it won’t be the worst thing that’s happened today, not by a mile.
Just before the gate, we slide to a halt.
‘I’ll keep the headlights on so you can see your way in,’ Dad says.
So I get out and slam the door. Wrapping my arms around myself, I start walking. It’s slippery underfoot. The water comes up over my trainers and soaks the bottoms of my jeans. I don’t care. I’m just glad to be out of the car.
Up ahead, as always, Nell’s lights are on. The name ‘Darkling Cottage’ is just about visible through the rain. I’m almost relieved to see it.
‘Aha, the wanderer returns.’
Nell’s on the other side of the gate, coat hood up, torch in hand. She doesn’t sound as cross as I expected. Borage sticks his muzzle through the bars and tries to lick me. I reach over to pat him. Nell doesn’t move. Then, shielding her eyes, she squints up the lane at the reversing car.
‘Where’s your mother going?’ she says.
‘That was Dad who dropped me off.’
She squares her shoulders. Her face changes so she looks … what? … Upset? Angry? It’s hard to tell.
‘So he was at the hospital, eh?’ Nell says. ‘Wonders never cease.’
‘Of course he was there. Theo’s really sick.’ Though I don’t like her saying this because I know what she means.
Nell sighs. ‘Well, I hope David copes with it better this time.’
This time?
She doesn’t say any more. But, lifting the gate latch, she lets me in.
*
Just before dawn there’s a noise at my window. It sounds like someone’s pelting it with gravel. For a sleepy second I think it’s Flo come to find me, but the noise keeps on. It’s at the other window too, and I realise it’s just raining really hard. Pulling the blankets over my head, I try to go back to sleep. But my brain’s so full of hospitals that in the end I give up and get out of bed to go and make some tea.
Out on the stairs, it’s pitch dark. One hand on the rail, I feel my way down the steep attic stairs. Something makes me pause on the first-floor landing. The passage to Nell’s room looks darker than ever. Quickly, I move on. I’ve not gone three steps when there’s a noise.
I stop.
All I hear now is the rain outside. I take two more steps down.
Stop.
The noise is behind me. I retrace my steps back up to the landing. The noise stops. I stand very still. Even my own breathing sounds loud.
It starts again. It’s a person crying. In Nell’s bedroom.
What do I do? Check she’s all right? Go back to bed?
The crying goes on. It’s not the heaving, sobbing sort that makes your nose run. It sounds really sad. And it feels wrong to just stand here, eavesdropping. Taking a deep breath, I go towards her door. The crying gets louder. Raising my hand to knock, I hesitate.
Should I do this?
I’m not at home now, and the person crying isn’t Mum or Theo. Nell probably doesn’t want my help. She might get angry. Or embarrassed. I don’t know what to do.
There’s a draught on my feet. It’s coming from the end of the passage. A light is on down there too, as if a door’s been left open. I really ought to go and switch it off. But when I realise which door it is, goosebumps run up my arms.
On tiptoes, I creep along the passage to the point where the wall curves. Two steps down and I’m facing a door – not a red curtain this time, because that’s been pushed aside. The door’s not locked, either. It’s half open and the light from inside spills out into the passage. I should turn off the light and go. But something stops me. Directly behind me is that empty bedroom, the one that might’ve been Dad’s. Perhaps all his stuff is now stored in this little room. It wouldn’t hurt to have a look.
I slip inside. The room itself is tiny – not much more than a cupboard – yet it’s absolutely jam-packed full. Trunks, suitcases, rolled-up carpets, all tower above me in great, musty piles. It’s like being in a junk shop. It can’t possibly all be Dad’s stuff.
The trunks have names written on them: ‘Campbell’, mostly, though a few say ‘Waterhouse’, which isn’t a name I know. Up against the wall are stacks of books spotted with mould. Everything has dust on it, even the floor, which is so dirty there are footprints just inside the door.
Stepping further in, I stub my toe on something hard. Very hard. The pain shoots through my foot and brings tears to my eyes. Then I see what I’ve walked into: it’s the leg of a table piled high with boxes and books, and so big it almost fills the whole room. Everything, it seems, is on top of this table.
Except for two things.
Underneath it, just out of reach, is a pot with a screw-on lid. Nearer to me is a pretty wooden box about the size of a shoebox, which I imagine is full of old necklaces and rings. There’s a lock on the front; a small key pokes out of it.
Crouching down, I lift out the box and balance it on my lap. The key’s stiff. A few wiggles and it grates, then clicks open. I lift the lid. It’s not a jewellery box. Inside are envelopes – letters, I suppose, though I’ve no idea whose. They look really old, like when you stain paper with a teabag. I take one out for a better look.
‘What ON EARTH?’
My hand freezes. Nell’s right behind me.
‘I was just …’
‘Come away from those things AT ONCE!’
I stand up slowly, putting the letters back into the box and setting the whole thing down on the floor. My heart’s leaping all over the place.
‘The weather woke me up so I came downstairs and I heard …’
She glares at me. ‘That will do.’
I stare at my feet. There’s blood on my toe.
‘You have no right to be in here, snooping around,’ says Nell.
‘I only meant to turn out the …’
‘You were snooping! I won’t have it in my house! Do you understand?’
My eyes start to fill up.
‘Do you?’
‘Yes,’ I say.
Nell takes a long breath through her nose. She’s shaking.
‘Go to bed,’ she says.
I duck past her and race back to my room. Once the door’s shut, I lean against it, heart still hammering. Nell’s already cross with me for going to London. Now I’ve gone and made things worse.