Ethan rowed hard. The railway tracks were curving away from the canal now: it was the beginning of No Man’s Land. The dead dog was behind them, but there was still a knot in Ethan’s stomach. They were just a metre from the tree house now. He rowed left, out from the middle of the canal to the big tree. The dinghy was touching the bank when Ethan stopped rowing. He gripped the oars tight.

Polly scrabbled out of the dinghy and on to No Man’s Land. There were clumps of brambles and tall stinging nettles under the big tree, but she weaved around them and gazed up at the huge branches.

Ethan climbed out of the dinghy. He lifted out the rope and stepped around the nettles. He tied the rope to the tree trunk, just like Dad used to.

“This was your tree house, wasn’t it?” Polly asked.

Ethan nodded.

The tree house looked just like it had in the nightmare. It was falling apart. Bare branches cradled the wooden shell of the house. Planks were missing from the floor, and only half the roof was left, but it was still there, and the swing still hung from the branches.

There was a sign on the ground, in the tall grass. The wood was splitting down the middle, but you could still read it. Ethan picked it up.

ETHAN’S HOUSE

“Your sign,” said Polly.

Polly sat on the swing and held the ropes. She lifted her feet from the long grass and he pushed her gently, just how Dad had pushed him.

“Again!” Polly dropped her head back and her laugh spiralled up through the branches. “Higher!”

He kept pushing. Polly swung out over the canal and back to the tree. Her plait came undone and her hair fell in front of her eyes, but she didn’t seem to mind as she soared out over the canal. Then she was back under the tree, twisting the ropes from side to side, putting her feet on the ground.

Polly climbed off. “Your turn,” she said.

Ethan put the sign on the ground and grabbed the swaying log seat. He sat and lifted his feet. Polly pushed him and he was moving, swinging forward, then back. There was a flicker in his heart. She pushed him a little harder. The flicker grew stronger until he had that glow in his chest. Ethan soared out over water’s edge and back to Polly. Out again, then back.

He put his feet down and stood up.

Polly tipped back her head. “Let’s go up.”

Ethan shook his head. It looked like someone had wrecked it. It didn’t look safe. And he didn’t feel safe standing next to it either. He wasn’t sure if something bad had happened in the tree house, but it felt like something could.

Polly was already climbing up the tree trunk. The rope ladder had gone, but she didn’t need it. Ethan clapped his hands and stamped his feet. He kicked the trunk to try and tell her.

No! Come down.

But Polly was already at the top, lifting herself on to the wooden floor. Ethan stepped back from the tree so she would see him.

“Come up!” she said, looking down on him.

He kept clapping, stamping his feet.

“What’s wrong, Ethan?”

And then he remembered.

He heard Dad from a long time ago, from their last visit to the tree house, shouting, “Get down!” It wasn’t inside a dream any longer. Ethan could remember what had actually happened back then, in real life.

Ethan looked back up at the tree house. Polly wasn’t there any more. Instead there was a big boy with ginger hair and a crooked nose, a boy in a blue coat and white trainers, kicking at the walls and shouting out bad words. It was the boy from his dream. And Dad was on the ground next to Ethan, his head dropped back, his face red, yelling at the boy to stop. “Stop! Stop! Stop!” And Ethan had shouted “Stop!” too.

Ethan blinked. Polly was in the tree house again. He heard a crack. One of the planks fell to the ground. Then a flash of red was falling through the air: Polly had slipped. She screamed as she hit the ground. She was lying on her side. He rushed to her.

Ethan felt dizzy, like his whole body was swaying. Polly moved her arm. Slowly she got to her feet. She brushed the dirt and leaves off her red coat.

“It’s OK,” she said. “I was silly. Lucky I wasn’t too high up.”

Ethan went over to Polly. He wasn’t cross with her now he could see she was safe. He’d remembered the tree house getting wrecked. He and Dad had caught the boy wrecking it the last time they rowed here. That was what his dream had been about.

Ethan took out his notebook and wrote Polly a note. His hand shook.

He held out the pad.

Something bad happened here.
The last time I was here with Dad.
We found it being wrecked.
I’ve had nightmares about it.

Polly fixed him with her green cat eyes.

“Were you still speaking then?”

Ethan nodded.

“Maybe that’s why you stopped,” she whispered.

 

Ethan paddled fast. Dad would be home in thirty minutes; they had to get back to tie up the dinghy.

It was raining hard by the time they reached the railway line. They put up their hoods. Water trickled off Polly’s hair and down her coat. Ethan tucked the tree-house sign inside his coat.

He checked his watch at the white bridge. Dad would be home in twenty minutes. Ethan’s arms ached, but there wasn’t time to rest.

Ethan used the same knot as Dad to tie up the dinghy. Polly climbed out and on to Deity’s stern and Ethan followed. A drop of water flicked off Polly’s hair on to Ethan’s face as she turned back to face him.

“Whatever happened at the tree house, it’s important,” she said. “You have to try to remember more. It might help you to speak again.”

Ethan nodded. Polly was right. He felt it inside of him. Small and hard like a pebble.

“I’d better go,” said Polly. She looked at him but her eyes didn’t sparkle. She was quiet for a moment. Ethan knew her head was heavy with thinking. That there were words she wanted to say, but that it would hurt her inside when she said them.

“I spoke to my dad yesterday,” she said at last.

She didn’t look at Ethan; instead she wrapped her arms tightly around her chest and stared down at the stern deck, and Ethan wanted to hug her.

“I was right,” said Polly quietly. “He’s so unhappy.”

Ethan wished he could say something really kind to make it all better. He felt a rush of anger.

It’s not fair.

He thought fast for an idea to cheer her up. He reached into his pocket and brought out the notebook.

Come fishing on the pond.
You can catch your own fish.

Polly smiled and nodded.

“Come to Moon’s End first,” she said. “For hot chocolate. At nine in the morning. Then you can tell me exactly what happened at the tree house.”

Ethan nodded. He watched Polly climb off the plank and head back to Moon’s End.

Back in his cabin, he pulled off his trainers and stripped off his clothes. He found a dry pair of trousers and a jumper.

Heavy footsteps fell on the bow stairs. It was Dad: he called out, “Ethan?”

Ethan sat on his cabin floor. He turned on his laptop to write in his journal. “All right?” Dad hovered at Ethan’s door.

Ethan looked up.

Dad held open the door. His fingernails were black with soil. Dad’s fringe was the same brown as the reeds on the canal bank, just like his. Ethan wanted to nod but his stomach felt heavy; he didn’t know why. He’d felt just the same when Polly stood up in the tree house.

“Ethan? Do you need a hand?”

He remembered the big boy in the blue coat and Dad yelling, “Get down!” He wanted to write a note to Dad about the nightmare, but he didn’t know where to begin. Dad would be furious that he’d gone out in the dinghy all by himself. And he was too afraid of what Dad might tell him about the tree house.

Dad’s eyes looked empty and tired. “I’ll just leave you to it,” he said.

Ethan nodded. Dad closed the door. He turned off his laptop. He didn’t feel like writing his journal.