Gruff woke at half past nine with a raging sore throat. He checked his phone. No reply from Mam. His heart thudded with relief and disappointment.
Unable to get back to sleep and unwilling to lie there with only his own thoughts for company, he got out of bed and found the small, sea-wet rock he had left on the Weeping Stone making a little puddle on the rug.
‘Oh,’ he croaked. ‘Hello.’
It didn’t scare him anymore. He got dressed and slipped it into the pocket of his jeans, letting its weight be a reminder of the truth of everything that had happened the night before. He wondered whether to wrap it in something to stop it soaking through the material but it settled for just making a small damp patch, which was bearable.
On the kitchen table he found a note from Dad, along with a jar of honey and a lemon. We’re at the wool barn. Only come if you feel up to it. If your throat’s bad, try honey and lemon. Love Dad.
Going to the wool barn sounded like a good idea. Mat had looked desperate to hear what had happened, but he wasn’t ready to think about it all again yet. He wanted to remember what reality was first. And he wanted to be doing something for the farm, instead of just worrying about its money problems from a distance. Mat could come and find him when she was ready.
He made porridge for breakfast. It was easier on his throat than toast.
*
The day was windy but the sun was warm. The top half of the barn door was held back by twine, the bottom half closed to keep out the chickens scratching and pecking in the yard. Laughter and crackly-radio pop music drifted towards Gruff as he approached, and he unlatched the door to a chorus of welcome. Nain and Elen (with baby Bill in his sling) were hand-picking the last of the raw fleeces while Dad laid newly-scoured fleeces to dry on the racks. Tim sat at the loom, his earrings winking in the sunlight streaming through the windows. He was weaving a blanket with the last of the Gotland yarn from the fleeces shorn in the autumn. The Gotland winter fleeces, shorn in the spring, were on the other side of the island, being felted by Mrs Moruzzi at her house.
Gruff set himself up at the other end of the table to Nain and Elen and sorted the newly-scoured and dried fleeces into different lengths of fibre that would be put through the carding machine and turned into soft, fluffy material to be spun or felted. The team talked and laughed around him and the radio crackled in the background. Old Hywel was stretched out in a patch of sunlight on the floor, fast asleep. A quiet contentment settled on Gruff, and everything he’d been worrying about seemed to fade. This was home. This was right.
At twelve o’clock, Mat’s head peered over the half-door of the barn. Dad spotted her first and waved. ‘Come in, Mat!’
She unlatched the door and three hens threw themselves past her feet, overjoyed to be somewhere they weren’t normally allowed and which they therefore naturally assumed was full of food and other excitements. After the hens had been shooed out and Mat had stopped apologising, she was given a tour of the wool processes. She then helped Nain and Elen pick over two fleeces until lunch.
Gruff and Mat escaped after sandwiches in the farmhouse kitchen and sat on the top rung of the gate between the yard and Top Field. Gruff wondered where to begin, but Mat began for him. ‘Can you feel them?’ she asked.
Gruff followed her gaze out to the Sleepers and felt that insistent tug. ‘Yes.’
‘I’m not imagining it,’ she said. ‘Is it magic?’
‘I don’t know.’ Magic. What a strange word. He supposed that was what all these things were. All these impossible things.
‘I remember going to the Sleepers last night,’ Mat said quietly. ‘I couldn’t sleep, and I was watching them from my window. I wanted to see them closer, so I went to the beach. The first stone was so close. I waded out and climbed it. I was going to go to the end and then come back. I promise that’s all I was going to do. But when I jumped onto the last stone it just … it just disappeared.’ She stopped. ‘I know that sounds really weird. But that’s why I fell in the water.’ She paused and looked down at her knees. ‘I was drowning. And then I woke up in your house.’
A meadow pipit chittered on the stone wall to their left. Gruff wondered where to begin. ‘Does your throat hurt?’ he asked.
Mat glared at him. ‘What? Why does that matter? You said you’d tell me what happened, so just tell me!’
Taken aback by her spurt of anger, Gruff hesitated. ‘It’s important, I promise. Just answer and I’ll tell you what happened.’
‘My throat’s fine. My neck’s itchy though. I think a jellyfish stung me or something. Your throat sounds bad.’
‘Yeah.’ Gruff nodded. ‘Exactly. It’s the salt water and the choking. If you were close to drowning you should be feeling like this too.’
‘Well, I’m sorry,’ Mat said grumpily. ‘I’m sorry my throat’s fine.’
‘That’s not what I mean.’ Gruff closed his eyes and put his thoughts in order, stringing them into sentences. ‘I jumped into the sea after you, and the current took me. I thought that was it. I thought I wouldn’t find you and we would both drown. Then you grabbed me and swam me to shore. You saved me; I didn’t save you.’
Mat stared at him open-mouthed. ‘What?’
‘And then,’ Gruff said, ‘you tried to walk back into the sea and I had to practically drag you home.’
She shook her head. ‘What?’
‘That’s what happened.’
Mat jumped down into Top Field and walked away.
‘Mat?’ Gruff called, but she didn’t turn. ‘Mat!’ He followed and fell into step beside her, but still she wouldn’t look at him.
‘Why are you lying to me?’ she hissed, in a voice that hiccoughed with suppressed tears. ‘You’re just lying!’
‘I’m not.’ He cast about for a way to convince her. ‘That’s why your throat’s important. It’s proof – you must have been okay in the water, better than me.’
Mat turned to face him. ‘I. Can’t. Swim.’
‘Yes, you can,’ he said. ‘You swam like a fish. Like, really. Like a fish. Not like a human.’
Her lip was trembling now. ‘Why are you being so mean? Is it because I’m new?’
‘Please, Mat!’ Gruff could feel the thin threads of their new friendship snapping. Mat was part of whatever was happening and he wanted her to see it. He needed her to see it. ‘You’re the only one who’s going to believe me! Except maybe Iolo. And no one listens to Iolo’s stories. I saw that last stone disappear too. It’s the seventh Sleeper, and it’s not really there. That’s why you couldn’t land on it. It’s the Weeping Stone.’
‘You’re not making sense.’
‘That’s because I’m trying to tell it too fast.’ Gruff scrubbed one hand through his short hair. ‘Please. Just let me tell you what I’ve seen. Let me tell you beginning to end, and don’t judge until you’ve heard it all. And if you think I’m lying, fine. Think that, and stop talking to me and stop being my friend if you want. But please listen to me first.’
Mat glared at him. A nearby herring gull tipped its head back and laughed into the sky.
‘Okay,’ she said at last. ‘Tell me.’