43
Ihear Mum going into her room, but it’s too early for bed, even for her. I lie in my own darkening room staring at the ceiling. I thought I’d feel different after chopping up Dad’s uniform. But there’s still this niggling sliver of doubt. It sits at the back of my head like one of Joe’s cracks of light, teasing another world where Dad can still be innocent. It’s dangerous to look at too long.
So I think about Damon instead: his lips trembling in the bunker, the pause of his eyes on mine, his tattoo full of stories. I still don’t understand why I gave him that sketch. Is he looking at it now? If I knew where he lived I’d go to his house, crawl into his room and steal it from him. I’d take it to Dad – he’s the only one who can tell me what it really means. I’ll tell Mum to tick yes on that form, tell her we have to visit immediately.
I watch the moon creep into the sky. It’s full, fat and bright – a proper harvest moon. A hunter’s moon too. I go across to the window so I can see it better. But when I get there, I don’t look up, I look down. There are people in my lane, walking from the town end towards the gate into Darkwood. Three people – two tall and one shorter – talking with heads bowed together. I press the tips of my fingers under the bottom of my window and pull it up soundlessly, open it a crack. Something uneasy winds into my throat as I see who these boys are.
‘We need to find him.’ That’s the first thing I hear.
It’s Mack Jenkins’ voice.
I almost tap on the glass to get their attention – almost call down and ask what’s going on – but there’s something about Mack’s face that stops me. It’s drawn tight with fear, worry. He’s running a hand across his short hair, and his eyes are darting everywhere. I draw back a little. Damon’s other mates – Charlie Jones and Ed Wilkes – are either side of him, and they’re looking strung out too. Charlie is clenching his hands into fists and then opening them again. Ed is glancing in the direction of Joe’s house and scowling.
‘He’s going to get us all in trouble if the coppers get to him first,’ Mack is saying. ‘Right now with the way he is, he could do anything . . .’
He stops before the gate and turns to the others. He’s talking low and fast. The only other words I catch are find him and split up and quick.
Could he be talking about Damon? Could Damon still be in Darkwood? Still where I left him in the bunker this morning? Why else would his mates be looking for him? I think of the dark sketches on its walls, the hangings and guns and death, and I shiver. But if Damon is still there, then it means Dad’s sketch of Ashlee as a deer is still there too.
‘We got to find him before he does something stupid,’ Mack says again, his voice fading as he starts opening the gate. ‘You know what he’s like . . . fucking phone’s even off!’
Each of them looks around before they slip through the gate. Mack goes through last, hesitating for a moment on the other side, looking out of the woods and towards our house. For one second I think he looks right into this window, right into me. He shakes his head once, almost like it’s a warning, almost like he knows I’m here, watching. But he can’t know this. I’m stood back from the window, deep in the darkness of my room. A second later, he turns around to the other two and they’re off again.
‘Damon’s not himself . . .’ I hear him saying, ‘. . . the last thing Damon needs . . .’
Then they’re gone into the woods, even though it’s pretty much dark now. Why are they so desperate to find him? What do they think he’s done? Or is going to do? I turn from the window, grab my coat and go swiftly down the stairs. If Damon really is still in the bunker, only me and the police, and maybe Joe I guess, can find him there. Damon’s mates will have no luck. Perhaps this is my chance – to get that sketch back and make Damon explain Joe’s story, both at the same time. And I’m not scared of him like Joe thinks I should be. I know Damon’s not who Joe suspects.
I’m out of the back door and spilling into the lane. I go to the gate and peer up the track into Darkwood. I can still, just about, make out the path. You’d think I’d hear Mack and the others walking down it, though, you’d think they couldn’t just melt into these woods. They’re boys after all, with heavy boys’ footsteps, and they don’t know this place like I do.
I hesitate, looking up the path. If Damon is in the bunker he won’t have phone reception, he’ll be cut off from everything – no wonder his friends are frustrated. I keep myself moving forward by telling myself that I don’t have to stay long, that I can just get the sketch and speak a little to Damon. I can slip back into the woods before he even knows where I’ve gone. I don’t even have to go inside the bunker.
It’s darker the further into the woods I go, despite the bright moon. I listen for anything, listen with my skin. I shouldn’t be in these woods right now, even with a full moon, even if I know this place just by feel. Weren’t these always Mum’s rules when I was younger – never go into the woods at night and never go into them alone? Now I’m doing both. But the closer I come to Damon, the more I know it’s the right thing. I feel that too, in the way my feet step out the path without me even looking down. There’s this strange sort of pull to him. Maybe it’s a little like how Joe felt with Ashlee in the woods that day – maybe I shouldn’t want this, but I do.
I trip over briars as I hear the roar of a stag. It’s not close, but his noise is desperate and deep; he’s either protecting a herd or challenging for one. His roar masks the sound of my footsteps, hiding me. I’m careful as I get near the bunker, hovering the other side of the hawthorn hedge and looking across. There’s no light coming from inside it, but Damon could have pulled the cover over the entrance like Dad did sometimes. Like Dad, Damon could be sitting quietly in a corner. Again I hear that stag roaring, though further away now. A barn owl shrieks. I make myself think about getting that sketch back, and I slip through the hedge. I go to the bunker entrance, silent and quick. I pull back the lid.
‘Damon?’ I call down. ‘Are you in there?’