Chapter Ten

‘Come on, Sherlock!’

I haven’t slept well, unsurprisingly, and I’m not in the best mood when Dad sends me out with Sherlock to keep an eye on Snow, so Mam can have a rest, as if she doesn’t rest all the time. Dad still doesn’t know about the strange woman and Mam seems to be on a far-off planet most of the time so she hasn’t stopped us going out without supervision. I feel like I’m bringing myself up sometimes.

My shoulder feels as if it is on fire where Sherlock’s lead keeps nearly pulling my arm out of its socket. He keeps trying to tug me back or stops completely and refuses to move. He usually only does this when there is a hailstorm, or he’s tired, but today he is trying to convince me to go back to the caravan. I can’t help the creeping feeling that he has some kind of sixth sense and wants to stop me going near the ruin. I know that’s where Snow will be. She is obsessed by the place. Sherlock sits down again, and I tug his lead too hard and make him breathe in that struggling way that makes me feel rancid about myself. I cwtch him sorry and he licks my nose in forgiveness. He is still reluctant to move.

He turns on his best doleful puppy-dog look and I consider taking him off his lead and letting him shoot back without me, but I can’t. I’m too scared.

‘Come on, Sherlock. You need the exercise, you lazy thing.’ And I need the company. I give him a bone-shaped treat and he’s slightly easier to drag along for a bit.

It’s a bit warmer today. My top is flimsy, and I can feel the sun through it as we shuffle our crackling way, kicking up leaves like confetti and snapping twigs underfoot, and under-paw. Sherlock loves to snuffle his way through the fallen leaves and chase the floating ones. Against my better judgement, I decide to set him free, so he can enjoy scuffling about.

‘You stay with me though, Sherlock, OK?’ He strains at his collar as I try to get him to look me in the eye. ‘I’m going to let you off now, but you have to stay close.’

He darts off into the piles of leaves, scattering them everywhere and a laugh bursts out of me. It’s so bright and the sky is so, so blue and everything is crisp and clean. The unnatural thoughts of last night seem ridiculous in this glorious sunshine wood.

‘Come on, Sherlock. Here, boy.’ I set off with renewed vigour. I’m an intelligent, strong human being. So my sister is a bit extraordinary. Isn’t everyone? Most people are downright oddsville.

Sherlock patters beside me happily now, his tongue lolling sloppily. I make up a song in my head about how fantastically powerful I am and how I’m not afraid of anything.

I am cool. I am strong.

There is nothing in me that could ever do wrong.

I’m alright even though I usually play by the rules.

I’m not all that unusual. Not all that unusual. 

It’s not the best song ever invented, and it’s more than a bit repetitive, but it’s joyful all the same. If I was a singer I’d sing my song out loud to celebrate how brilliant stuff is. I’m not a singer, by any stretch of the imagination.

The guilt comes crashing back and I feel ashamed for being happy, what with Mam and everything. It’s like that uncontrollable cold feeling when you come out from swimming. With the guilt comes the fear again.  

Sherlock stops on high alert with his tail pointed straight as an arrow and a growl rumbling deep in his throat. I think he’s picked up on my change in mood.

‘Come on, Sherlock.’ I make my voice extra loud to compensate for being chicken-hearted. Sherlock prowls very slowly behind me. It’ll do. I don’t care if he’s grumpy as long as he’s with me.

There is nothing to be scared of, I keep telling myself, trying desperately to remember the words of the song I made up only a couple of minutes ago.

You didn’t imagine anything, a voice in my head says. That thing on the beach, in your caravan, in the ruin, is a ghost and she’s come for you. She’s come for all of you. She’s come for Snow.

I tell my brain to go away. I decide to push all of my Snow worries out of my head and appreciate my surroundings instead, like old people always tell me to.

There’s plenty to admire about the woods here. There are the most beautiful trees: sycamores spinning out helicopter seeds and silver birches with opal skins shining, and the air is so full of birdsong that it’s a wonder it doesn’t drop out of the sky onto your head like a hat.

My scuffed brown boots pinch a bit. Thanks, Gwenni. She will soon realise how much she misses our friendship and we’ll be mates again, if I’ll let her be. It isn’t her fault she thinks that she’s fallen in love, so has completely dumped me as her friend.

I hope that massive zit on her chin splats puss all over Jake the Idiot’s face.

When we get to the ruin Snow isn’t there, which is so far past irritating I can’t even begin to see irritating in the distance.

‘Snow.’ Nothing. I raise my voice and try again. ‘Snow!’ There’s no sign of her. ‘SNOW!’

I startle a pheasant up out of the undergrowth in a clatter of scarlet and green. I laugh with relief as it rattles away from me. Sherlock bolts off in shock. So much for him being a trusty companion.

Sudden silence. There is no birdsong anymore. It’s as if someone has turned the volume down. I stamp the ground to check I haven’t gone deaf. Everything feels twisted, upside down, odd. I try to whistle for Sherlock, but my tongue is sour and dry.

‘Sherlock!’ Something’s scared him off.

The silence presses in on me. The air glimmers and shifts. A branch cracks and falls straight out of the sky, making me swear. I look up to see why it fell, there’s nothing but a cathedral of trees. I straighten my spine, grit my teeth and ‘collect myself’, as Mam taught me to do.

Perhaps there are no birds singing because they don’t want to stick to this dingy part of the wood on such a gorgeous day. They’ve all flown to the brighter bits and are warbling merrily there. I should follow their example. Trying to sweeten my voice, I call Sherlock again and offer him a treat, even though I’ve run out so it’s a lie. I’ll pay for it next time I try to get him back on his lead.

‘Sherlock. Come here. Do you want a snack?’ Nothing. No rustling. No barking. He never disappears. He’s always somewhere. ‘Sherlock, Sherlock. Come here. There’s a good boy. Please.’

And then I see Snow. Far off but close enough to hear me. I practically screech at her, ‘Snow.’

She disappears through the trees. She’s running fast. I run after her. What she’s running from? I’ve lost her. My breath rasps. I wish I was fitter. Where is she? Snow?

There she is. I catch a glimpse of her just up ahead and give chase, calling her name until I haven’t got enough breath to shout again. Branches tug at my clothes and rip my hair. I see light ahead. A flash of sun. The snowflakes on Snow’s coat. I crash in that direction.

The cacophony of noise as I burst out of the wood is deafening. I stumble back so fast I fall, rolling and pressing my face to the earth in shock.

If I had carried on running, I would have gone straight over the edge of a cliff.

‘Are you alright?’

I squint up into the face of the woman who threatened Snow.

I snap, ‘What are you doing here? Get away from me.’

‘I’m not doing anything. Honestly. I’m just checking you are alright.’

‘What have you done to my sister?’ I’m ready to fight this time.

‘Nothing. Really.’ She backs away, hands in the air.

I stagger up and edge back from the clifftop. ‘Leave me alone.’

‘You seem distressed. I can get you help.’

She’s talking to me, but she’s looking past me back into the woods as if she’s expecting to see something there.

‘Just leave me alone, OK? Just leave us alone.’

She takes a step away but doesn’t leave. There is a blanket spread out nearby, with a book open on it and a pair of binoculars. ‘I like to sit here and watch the world go by.’

‘How very interesting,’ I say with buckets of sarcasm, even though I can understand why she would want to be here at the edge of the world. She is the woman who attacked my sister and I’m on red alert.

She says, ‘I told you to be careful.’

I go into battle full force. ‘Look, just don’t go near my sister again, alright. Or I don’t know what I’ll have to do to you, but it won’t be in my control.’

‘She likes sisters. She took mine.’

Rooks chatter in the trees behind us and we both whip our heads round. We turn back slowly, ignoring our simultaneous reaction.

‘What do you mean?’ I can hear laughter drifting up from the beach.

‘The girl. She’s trying to take your sister, isn’t she?’

I feel dizzy again. ‘I have no idea what you’re on about.’

‘She took mine. All those years ago. She was only sixteen. We never saw her again.’

‘Never saw who?’ The world is slow motion, marshmallow, spongy.

‘My sister. The girl in the green dress took her. She’s lonely.’

I hear laughter again and lean to see. Snow is down on the beach, giggling and skipping. She looks up at us then laughs and turns to run.