Skull in the Wood (16 page)

‘Who?' I asked. ‘Who did you say you'd give?'

Matt looked at me, and his hands were shaking. He put his arms round Jez and clung to her. Tears glinted in the corners of his eyes.

‘I couldn't help it,' he said. ‘I had to say someone. So I said Paul.'

Relief flooded through me. Then I realised just how horrible and selfish that was.

‘Don't worry,' I said, though my voice wobbled a bit. ‘It's not going to happen, Matt. It was only a dream.'

21

Matt

W
hen we got back to the house, Uncle Jack was standing in the hall waiting for us. Immediately I knew something was wrong. A rock formed in the pit of my stomach. I had done it. The gabbleratchet had accepted the bargain. It had happened.

‘Paul?' I asked in a whisper.

Uncle Jack looked at me as if he couldn't see me.

‘What?'

‘Is it Paul?'

‘Is what Paul?' said Uncle Jack.

My pulse slowed a fraction. Then a worse thought elbowed its way into my mind.

‘Not Mum?' I whispered. All at once I felt shaky and it was hard to stand.

‘Sorry?' said Uncle Jack. ‘Hang on a minute, Matt.' He turned to Tilda. ‘Can you come upstairs with me, darling? Kitty's not well.'

Tilda stared at me. Then she shook herself and shot up the stairs. Uncle Jack followed her. I didn't know what to do, so I followed, too.

Kitty lay under a quilt made of squares of cream and purple flowers, breathing shallowly, her eyes shut. Her red-gold hair had lost its fluffiness and looked damp and dark. Tilda felt her forehead.

‘She's very hot,' she said. ‘And a bit clammy. Kittykins, can you hear me?'

Kitty thrashed an arm and turned over, knocking the quilt off her upper half. In her pale pink bunny pyjamas she looked tiny.

‘I think she's too warm,' said Tilda. She folded the quilt down to the bottom of the bed. Uncle Jack stroked Kitty's arm. Draped over a chair were her skeleton suit and pink tutu. It didn't look as if she'd be dressing up for Hallowe'en tomorrow after all.

‘I'm going to call the doctor,' said Uncle Jack. He hurried from the room.

‘I can see the birdies,' Kitty murmured.

Tilda flinched. She leant over Kitty's bed, but Kitty didn't say anything else. Then she turned to me. Her gaze was hard and vicious.

‘You offered Paul,' she said in a fierce whisper. ‘But I think it wants Kitty.'

My mouth dried. It wasn't true. Not Kitty. She'd done nothing to deserve it. It
couldn't
be true. But then I remembered the terror of my dream and how I thought I was going to be torn to pieces. I knew I'd have given anything to go on living just one more minute. And the gabbleratchet knew it, too. Suddenly Kitty's illness made a dreadful sort of sense.

I couldn't bear to look at Tilda. Instead I stumbled out and down the stairs. In the living room I could hear Uncle Jack on the phone asking for a doctor. He sounded angry, though maybe it was just that he was afraid. I went into the kitchen and sat down at the table. I was responsible for all this.

Jez must have understood how bad I was feeling. She trotted up to me and put her paw on my knee. I threw my arms round her neck and buried my face in her fur. She stayed for a minute or two, then whined softly and wriggled away. I could hear her patter up the stairs and Tilda's voice saying, ‘Good dog, good dog.' Jez to the rescue. Not a devil dog at all. What
an idiot I am.

Uncle Jack's face appeared at the kitchen door.

‘The doctor's going to come if Kitty's still got a temperature this afternoon,' he said. Worry lines were lasered into his forehead. Then he seemed to remember he was talking to me. ‘Oh, and Matt, your mum rang. Call her back, won't you?'

I rang the house from the landline in the hall. Paul answered, and for once in my life I was actually pleased to hear him.

‘Very good of you to call, Matt,' he said. ‘Very good indeed. Bit of a shock for you, yesterday, eh? Anyone would be knocked for six. Please don't panic, though. Nothing's going to happen straight away. I just want to make your mum happy. But you'll be wanting to speak to her, not me rabbiting on like this.'

He put Mum on the line. For five minutes I listened to her apologising and cajoling and reassuring. It washed over me entirely. All was well back in London. It wasn't them the gabbleratchet wanted. It was poor, lovely little Kitty, who wouldn't hurt a fly.

By the afternoon Kitty didn't seem any better. Worse, if anything. I went into her room for a bit, braving the wrath of Tilda who was perched on the side of the
bed, and she looked hot and feverish and restless. She was mumbling something in her sleep. I leant over her bed to listen. It was hard to distinguish, but I was sure that I heard the word ‘gabble'. I shivered and slipped out.

The doctor – Dr Henderson – finally got here at half past three. She took off a huge puffa jacket and shook out her hair in the hall.

‘It's dreadful out there,' she told me and Tilda cheerfully. ‘Blowing a hoolie.'

She had a quick word with Uncle Jack, then went upstairs with him and disappeared into Kitty's room. I sat at the kitchen table again and stared into space, while Tilda did a good imitation of a caged tiger. We waited in silence for ten minutes or so. Tilda's prowling got faster. Then Uncle Jack appeared with Dr Henderson.

‘We're not sure what it is yet,' she said in a bright voice, as if nothing was the matter. ‘It might just be a virus. It could even be the flu. Her glands are quite swollen, but it's the high temperature that concerns me. We'll monitor it, and if she gets more feverish, we'll have to do something quite fast. So I want you all to watch her carefully.'

Tilda and I exchanged glances. I almost said
something, but stopped myself just in time. To mention the gabbleratchet would be ludicrous. Especially in front of a doctor – I'd sound like a complete idiot. And it would only upset Uncle Jack.

Dr Henderson said her goodbyes, put on her jacket and headed off. Immediately Tilda raced up to Kitty again. I knew she didn't want me there, but I trudged up the stairs after her anyway.

Kitty was no different. She seemed fast asleep. Tilda hovered over her anxiously, but there's only so much smoothing of covers anyone can do. She had to face me. Finally she looked straight at me. Her eyes were like stones.

I jumped in first.

‘Look, I'm sorry,' I said, rushing my words out before she could say anything. ‘I didn't mean this to happen. But you mustn't worry, the doctor will look after her.'

Tilda laughed. But it wasn't a good sound.

‘The doctor doesn't know what's wrong,' she said. ‘And we both know why that is.'

Her body was a wall of hate. Then all of a sudden it lost its hardness. I could see tears well in her eyes, waiting to fall.

‘Oh, Matt,' she said. ‘I know it's not your fault
really. It's everything. You fighting with your mum. The way the farm's going to be split up. You and me at each other's throats. And something wrong between my mum and yours. Bad blood, Gabe calls it. It's all bad blood.'

She dropped her voice to a whisper.

‘And Kitty might die because of it.'

22

Kitty

I
t's really really hot. My head's hot. Too hot. Come here, pretty birdies. Come and sit with me. Come and sing to me. Fly with me.

23

Tilda

I
t's terrible. Kitty's been taken to hospital. The ambulance has just gone now, and Dad's gone with her. Her hair was all damp and stuck to her head, and she looked so little. I wasn't allowed to go too.

Dr Henderson arrived first thing this morning. Dad said Kits had been getting worse in the night, and by this morning she was talking nonsense and her skin was hot and clammy. Dad was trying to sound calm but I knew he was panicking underneath. And when Dr Henderson made a call, the paramedics arrived really quickly and put her on a stretcher and took her away.

But she wasn't going to get better, even in hospital. Dr Henderson didn't know that, but I did. Unless I could stop it, Kitty was going to die, just like Mum did three years ago, and I'd never ever see her again.

I couldn't let it happen. I couldn't. Dad had told me I was to wait here for Alba to come over when her shift at the café had finished, but I wasn't going to. I knew what I had to do now. Matt was right. Gabe was right. Nothing was going to change until I took the skull back to Old Scratch Wood and buried it again. Ever since we found it, the bad things had kept on coming.

Matt wasn't awake yet. He must have been down in the night, because the biscuit box was out in the kitchen and he'd left a load of crumbs all over the worktop. I could understand why he hadn't been sleeping – I was amazed I'd managed to, with Kitty being so ill. But this morning he was out for the count all through everything – Kitty hallucinating, the doctor arriving, the ambulance taking her away.

So it was down to me. I was going to have to go back to Old Scratch Wood. I thought of the last time and all the noises in the clearing when we found the skull, then realised it was better not to think about it at all.

In my bedroom the skull was waiting for me. I tucked the scrap of velvet carefully around it. Yes: the leaf pattern was exactly the same as the one in the photo of Mum and Aunty Caroline that now stood on my dressing table. I wondered what had happened between them to make them so angry with each other. And just what was their connection to the skull?

I laid it in its box like a jewel. There was no way I would let it get broken, even though I was going to have to part with it. It was such an extraordinary, precious thing. I didn't want to let it go. But there was no other way.

Jez wasn't around, worse luck – Gabe had borrowed her for something to do with the sheep. I didn't want to go without her, but I didn't have a choice. I let the chickens and geese out and fed the puppies quickly. I wondered whether to take them with me instead, but they were just too boisterous, and I didn't want to lose them on the moor.

‘Sorry,' I told them. Lawless stood up on his hind legs, almost knocking me over, and I knew it was the right decision. ‘You can have a run later, I promise,' I said. ‘But right now it had better just be me.'

Finally I left a note for Matt, explaining about the hospital and Alba coming, and saying I'd gone out for
a walk. Then I set off towards Thieves' Tor. If I was quick, I could get to Old Scratch Wood in an hour. I'd be back again by mid-morning.

The sky was grey again and it was drizzling just enough to be annoyingly damp and gloomy. I knew this bit of the moor really well, but to be safe I was keeping to the proper bridle path. Beside the path, the bracken was dank and brown and slimy. It didn't look as if anything would ever come alive again.

Up on Thieves' Tor it was even wetter. A herd of Dartmoor ponies stood among the giant stone stacks, cropping the grass and trotting off when I got close. I ignored them and started straight off down the path on the other side of the tor.