Hidden Among Us (6 page)

I went to stand by the fire; it was warm against my back and I was relieved to get five minutes’ peace and quiet. I was starting to feel claustrophobic, penned in. When I’m with Dad, normally it’s just me and him. Now there were all these hysterical women everywhere. And somewhere in the house or out in the woods,
he
was hanging around. Miles. Probably down the nearest pub – he had the lairy and unpredictable look of the seasoned piss-head about him. I’d been back to check on the gun cabinet. Miles might’ve told me to stay out of there but he could jog on. You don’t leave shotguns lying around for anyone to pick up. The cabinet was locked again now, but he’d disappeared again, leaving just those vicious steel traps hanging on the wall.

Great.

I kicked a burning log with the toe of my boot, watching the flames flare up. Miriam had told me this was the oldest room in the house, that the fire in here had never gone out for centuries, lit each morning from last night’s embers, even in the middle of summer. On either side of the fireplace, set back into the ancient, thick wall, there were two long narrow stones left unplastered and one lying across the top of them, like a mini Stonehenge. It was as if the original priory had been built right around some kind of monument. They did that in the old days, though, didn’t they? Put churches and stuff on pagan sites, encouraging people to forget about their old beliefs. I’d read about stuff like that. I’d never heard of a church being built right over a stone circle though, kind of like
absorbing
it.

Weird.

The door swung open, slow on its hinges.

Miriam’s panic was infectious, because I got a jolt of pure fear then, hoping it wouldn’t be Miles, all drunk and scary.

It was Connie, standing there in her pyjamas.
Of course,
I told myself.
Don’t be stupid
.

Even I could see she didn’t look great. Her face was sickly pale except for two bright red patches on her cheeks. When she gazed around the sitting room her eyes were weird and unfocused, with dark purple shadows underneath.

“Mum? I want Mum. And Lissy. Why hasn’t Lissy come to see me? I heard her come in.” Connie’s voice sounded scratchy, like her throat was really sore.

“I think they just went out to – get something.” I’m a crap liar. “Do you want a drink of water or anything?”

“Juice.” Connie stared at me. “Apple juice, please. My head really hurts. Where’s Lissy?”

I wasn’t about to tell Connie that her sister was lost. I went into the kitchen looking for the fridge and as I turned around I heard this huge thud. I spun around and Connie was slumped on the floor, right in the doorway.

Oh, no.

What was I supposed to do? What if she was
dead
?

Don’t be daft. One step at a time
.

I put the apple juice down on the table. Shut the fridge. Walked over and knelt down beside her. Her chest was moving. So she was alive. Of course. I put a hand on her forehead and it was burning hot. Oh, no.

“Connie?” I tried to sound calm.

She let out this little whimper. “I don’t feel very well. I want my mum.” She started crying but without making a sound, tears trailing down her face.

“OK, don’t worry. Your mam’s going to be back any second, all right? Can you get up?”

She just lay there, shaking her head and crying. “My legs hurt.”

So I picked her up. She was heavier than I expected but she kind of clung to me like a monkey. I edged up the stairs, terrified I was going to drop her over the banisters or something. I didn’t even know which was her room and had to do this kind of shuffling dance along the corridor till at last I found it, just off Dad and Miriam’s room. She got heavier every second. I let her roll out of my arms into the middle of a big double bed and covered her up with the duvet, heart pounding. Outside, rain hammered the window.

“I want Mummy,” Connie whispered, tears still rolling down her face. “I don’t feel very well. Don’t go away, Joe.”

She really trusted me to help her, like I was the adult.

“It’s OK, I’ll stay,” I said. “She’ll be here in a minute.”

I didn’t have a clue what to do next.

11

I ran, and as I left the trees behind I could still feel the chill of the boy’s touch on the palm of my hand. I smashed through that long wet grass, gasping, half sobbing, terrified, heart burning a hole through my chest. What was that sound, that yearning dark howl throbbing up through the ground beneath my feet? Closer, it was coming closer.

I remembered: realizing. Frost-pinched fingers, horses and hounds gathering outside the Whitaker Arms after Christmas; the Boxing Day hunt—

Dogs. No,
hounds
.

Hounds, chasing me across a field in the dark, thirsting for blood: there was hunger in their song. I ran as fast and mindless as a beast, full of white-hot fear. At last I reached the hedge, panting, still sobbing, lungs on fire in my chest. This time, I slipped down the bank and up to my ankles in freezing cold water. Why was it so cold here?

As soon as I hit the water, the terrible song of the hounds disappeared, as if someone had just switched them off. Gasping, I hauled myself out, gripping stringy wet plants that slid between my fingers. All I could hear now was the distant hum of a car on the road, and Mum.

And was that laughter?
Faint but unmistakable laughter
.

She was standing in the middle of the lane; when she saw me she started running.

“Lissy, Lissy!” Mum’s voice was ragged with panic. She wasn’t even wearing a coat. Raindrops hung in her hair like tiny pearls.

“
Maman,
Mum!” We clashed together into a clumsy hug, both sobbing. Hounds. Those tall strange people in the woods. What would I tell her? Nothing. Nothing, of course.

Take notice of your breathing,
Miss Coder always tells us in yoga – and I did, balancing myself, breathing in and out. It was OK. Everything was going to be fine. I’d just met some strange people, and that was all. She didn’t need to know about any of it.

“Oh, my God, Lissy.” Mum held me so close I could hardly breathe. “Please don’t— I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you.” I felt her tears running down my neck and she was shaking. “Your teachers really wanted you to go on that Shakespeare trip, but I didn’t want you to, not now, it was the worst possible time but they—” She started sobbing again, and I wished I’d never even set foot on that stupid train. I’d ruined my one chance of independence.

“I just want to be like other girls,” I said. “Why can’t you let me be like everyone else?”

Mum just stared at me, unable to speak, silent tears streaming down her face.

This isn’t right
, I thought, hugging her, patting her back.
I don’t blame her for being angry but this is not
normal: she’s not even furious – she’s just really, really scared
.

I was the one comforting my mother, rather than the other way round. I didn’t like it.

“It’s OK,” I said. “It’s going to be all right, Mum.”

Mum pulled away to look at my face as if she couldn’t believe I was really there, making an obvious effort to get a grip and take control of the situation. “Nick’s right: you got here in one piece. That’s the most important thing.”

Whoever the boy was, he had gone and so had his friends. So had the dogs. I shivered, walking slowly beside Mum, back across the rain-swept yard, trying to ignore the little voice at the back of my mind saying,
Not whoever he was
. What
ever
.

By the time we reached the house my hands were burning, a deep fiery pain that brought tears to my eyes. When we got into the hall I glanced down at my palms when Mum wasn’t looking. They were blistered raw. Nettle stings. Those weeds I’d grabbed hold off, pulling myself out of the ditch, panicking – they were stinging nettles.

I hadn’t even noticed.

12

At dinner, they all made out nothing had happened.

Miriam attacked me with an embarrassing hug for being “such a star” with Connie (now finally asleep and dosed with paracetamol). Dad heated up spaghetti Bolognese and Miriam produced a lemon tart.

“I’m sorry Miles isn’t here,” Miriam said, glancing out the window. What was the matter with her? She was permanently distracted. “He had plans already – something long-standing I think.”

Yeah right. A long-standing plan to visit the pub, more like.

So I didn’t say anything about the white-haired girl. Again. There was a moment when I could have, when Miriam and Lissy were both upstairs, and it would’ve been easy to bring it up with Dad as he stirred Bolognese sauce on the stove.

But I kept her to myself. Miriam was crazy enough. And a skinny lass like that: all scrawny and pale. She couldn’t do any harm. Connie was safe inside now, so what did it matter?

It didn’t.

Lissy helped out with plates and cutlery, moving around the kitchen without speaking a word. Her red hair had got wet in the rain.

“Your favourite, Joe,” Dad said, when we started on the lemon tart. Silence. He gave me a look but I didn’t know what to say, and he let it go.

Lissy sat staring down at her plate, holding onto a silver fork; her fingers were so long and ice-white. A strand of dark red hair clung to her neck, sending drips of rain water sliding down towards her collarbone.

She looked up at me. Oh, shit. Her eyes were really dark, and when she glanced sideways into the light I saw they were blue, almost black, like sky before the light goes. Most people my age, we’re all in the same boat: coursework, funny stuff that happened at school, the cretins you have to put up with every day, late for the bus. But there was something about Lissy I didn’t
recognize
. Like she was above all that. Or didn’t care.

Maybe it was because she went to some posh boarding school. Our lives were pretty different, after all.

For a second, we stared at each other.

I got the message clear enough:
Leave me alone
.

I was about to make an excuse and escape to my room, but Lissy got in there first.

“Sweetheart,” Miriam said, “your hair’s soaked. I don’t want you coming down with something as well. I’m going to check on Connie; I’ll get you a towel. You should have a nice bath. That’s one good thing about this place: there’s plenty of hot water.”

She was gabbling. Filling the silence.

“I’ll go,” Lissy said. “I want a shower anyway; I’ll check on Connie.”

Without looking at me again, she got up and left.

I felt like I’d been punched.

13

Upstairs, I opened every single door till I found Connie.

She was sleeping in a room that led directly off Mum and Nick’s. Connie looked very small lying in a double bed. My little sister. A bottle of Calpol sat on the mantelpiece, the plastic spoon already rinsed and laid neatly beside it. Boring Joe, hero of the hour. Helping the sick child while Mum and Nick chased up and down the lane after me. Well, let him have his fifteen minutes of glory. Joe didn’t look the type to find it anywhere else. Connie had pushed the covers away and was in my old pyjamas: pink and white striped, thick cotton. I remember wearing them one Christmas, Dad helping me unwrap my first ever new bike, not just a hand-me-down from Rafe.

“We’ll go on a bike ride together, Tinkerbell,” he’d said. Dad’s the only person ever allowed to call me that ridiculous nickname; I hadn’t heard anyone say it for nearly a year.

Forget about him
. I was furious with myself for thinking about Dad.
He’s forgotten about you. Think about something else. Poor Connie
.

Connie’s hair was spread out over the pillow, thick and fair like Rafe’s. Easter was only a few weeks back really, but Connie looked different, slightly older with her fringe grown out. My eyes started to burn and tears slipped down my face. For years, it had been just me, Mum and Connie. Rafe away at school. Dad gone. Now I’d gone, too, and Connie was changing just like everything else. I watched her a moment then went over to the window and shut it.

I wasn’t taking any chances. I couldn’t help smiling at myself. I was just as bad as Mum: overprotective. At least I had a reason, though. Mum didn’t.

I escaped into the spidery bathroom and stood under the shower till my skin was pink and hot and my fingertips started to wrinkle. Then, wearing pyjamas (well, stripey thermal leggings and a Bob Dylan t-shirt), I took my pile of clothes downstairs, trying not to breathe in that mouldy sweet smokiness.

I was about to push open the sitting room door when I heard Nick say, “Look, it’s not my place to interfere, but don’t you think it might help to ease up on Lissy a bit? Give her a bit of freedom? She’s not stupid; she doesn’t even seem that naïve. You can’t protect her for ever.”

Go Nick,
I thought.

“You don’t understand,” Mum said. “I couldn’t expect you to. Nick, there’s no
time
—”

“I know what happened,” Nick went on, “but sooner or later she’ll have to protect herself.”

“Stop it,” Mum said. What were they talking about?
I know what happened?

“You can’t go back and change anything now,” Nick said, quietly. “Miriam, you’ve got to tell her or she’ll start to hate you.”

What?

I waited for Mum to speak, breathless. But then I heard the kitchen door opening, and Nick said, “Night, Joe.”

The stupid idiot had gone into the sitting room from the kitchen, interrupting.

Tell me what? What was Mum supposed to tell me?

I opened the door and let Joe past, looking away. I needn’t have bothered. He stepped past, deliberately not looking at me. Loser.

Mum and Nick were sitting on one of the battered sofas, drinking red wine, firelight casting flickery shadows on the dark panelled walls. Mum looked up sharply when I came in.

“What’s that smell?” Mum said, giving me a very strange look.

My clothes. For a minute it was almost like she
knew
—

She frowned. She had gone completely white, like she was going to throw up or pass out. “Lissy, did you
meet
anyone on that train?”