Skull in the Wood (2 page)

Finally she looked up at me.

‘Thought you were coming to some posh party, did you?' she said. Then she turned and disappeared inside, the hairy hound following her like she was a plate of pork chops. I was so taken aback I didn't know whether to walk in after her or turn around and go home.

Uncle Jack rolled his eyes. ‘She'll be OK later,' he
said. ‘I'm sure you'll get on fine.' He didn't sound as if he believed it. ‘Well, you're here now. Let's get you installed.'

He clomped into the farmhouse, leaving me to carry my bag on my own. Reluctantly, I trailed into a dark hallway. A wooden sideboard was heaped with clutter, and there were boots and coats everywhere. I followed Uncle Jack up a narrow staircase covered with tatty fraying carpet.

The room I'd be staying in faced out back on to a little vegetable garden, then fields. In the far distance to the left I could make out a purplish patch of wood, and closer in, a grim old stack of stones on top of a hill. I know about this – it's a tor, a load of eroded granite left by the ice. Geography last year, Mr Perrin, 72 per cent. After design and technology, definitely my best subject.

‘Are all these fields yours, then?' I said, politely.

Uncle Jack wheeled round and stared at me. He took so long to answer I wondered if he'd heard me right.

‘Some of them,' he said. ‘Not many. The farm's . . . shrunk a bit recently.' He put his hands in his pockets. ‘Right, I'll leave you to settle in. I've got to see to the cows.'

In other words,
Get on with it, you're on your own now.
So much for blood being thicker than water. If only I could change my mind – but it was too late now. I was stuck here.

The room was pretty old-fashioned: faded cream-and-brown flowery wallpaper and an iron bedstead with a cover in every colour under the sun, the kind your granny might have knitted if she had a lorryload of wool and plenty of time on her hands. There was a huge dark wardrobe with carvings on it, a chest of drawers, a couple of shelves full of old nature books, and a stool beside the bed with a frilly lampshade that was frankly embarrassing. That was it. No telly. No computer. Even worse, my phone had no bars at all.

There wasn't much to do but unpack. I shoved my clothes away and tucked my ship's flag into a loose piece of cable at the top of the wall. And finally my camera and my phone. That was the lot.

I went to the window and stared out. As I was wishing I was back in London, or anywhere else in the whole of Britain except here, the door burst open. Almost buried in a giant-sized navy fleece was a small girl in rainbow-patched jeans with a tousled halo of red-gold hair. My cousin Kitty. She'd been a baby
when I'd last come here, but now she looked about five.

‘You're Matt,' she accused me, plumping herself on to the bed. ‘Do you like this?' She patted the lurid cover that
had
to be some sort of hideous family heirloom. ‘My granny made it before I was born.' Got that one right, at least.

‘Well, it's a bit more . . . homey than I'm used to,' I said guardedly.

Kitty beamed like a demented frog. ‘I put it there,' she said. ‘I wanted it to be all nice for you.'

At least
someone
in the Parson family was looking out for me.

‘What's that?' She was prowling round the room, checking out my additions. The ship's flag had caught her eye.

‘It's a burgee, for a sailing boat,' I said. ‘A flag. It was my dad's, from the racing club he belonged to.'

‘Why have you got it?' Kitty asked.

I shrugged. ‘It's old. He was going to throw it away so I kept it.'

‘Why?'

To my horror I could feel tears sneaking their way into the corners of my eyes. I blinked them back fast.

‘Look, I just did.' It came out a bit sharp, but I
wasn't exactly going to tell her that Dad had left the burgee behind when he cleared out of our house eighteen months ago. I'd salvaged it from the box of his things Mum was chucking in the bin.

Kitty switched tack abruptly. ‘Let's go downstairs and have some juice,' she said. ‘Come on.'

It wasn't like I had a better offer right now.

‘Yeah, OK then,' I said.

Kitty took me down to their vast bare kitchen. Compared to ours, it looked like it came from another century – no units, no steel, just ancient pine cupboards and painted wooden shelves laden with heaps of crockery. It all looked a bit dusty.

Kitty clambered on to a stool and handed me a couple of mismatched glasses. ‘Take these,' she instructed. ‘And one for Tilda. I'll call her.'

Probably not a good idea, I thought, but I kept it to myself.

Tilda slouched down in response to Kitty's bellow. The faithful hairy hound followed her. Joined at the hip, those two. That must be what happens when you have 368 square miles of wilderness instead of a social life.

‘There's biscuits,' said Kitty, ‘but only custard creams.'

I helped myself to one.

‘How long are you staying?' asked Tilda, her arms folded across her chest.

‘All of half term, I think, unless my dad gets home sooner.'

‘Great,' she said flatly. She couldn't have summoned up more enthusiasm if I'd been a cockroach.

I didn't get it – why was she being like this? It wasn't like I'd done anything to her, apart from refusing to play with her when we were kids – and, now I come to think of it, putting worms down her back one summer. But that was a long time ago.

‘Why aren't you staying with your mum?' said Tilda, her eyes narrow and hard. ‘Why do you have to land on us?'

I felt my stomach clench.

‘It's because your mum's gone off with someone else, isn't it?' she went on. ‘Like, your new dad.'

I couldn't believe she'd just come out with that. My forehead started to burn.

‘Shut up,' I said. ‘Just shut up.'

I could feel my hand shaking and I put down my glass with a clank, upsetting the carton of juice. It pooled on the wooden table and began dripping over the edge.

Kitty sat open-mouthed. Tilda was smiling. A dark patch of liquid expanded slowly on the red stone floor.

I pushed my chair back so hard it fell over, then I walked out and slammed the door.

2

Tilda

^‘
I
wouldn't be doing this if Dad hadn't made me, but he did, so I am,' I said to the door of Matt's bedroom.

Matt hadn't even emerged for lunch. We got out the chocolate flapjacks but he didn't show, so I ate the last of them. Tough, I thought, but Dad told me we had to be kind to poor little city boy or else. I said that if he didn't want to live in his fancy house then maybe he should stay with one of his posh townie friends instead of us. Dad sighed and told me to get upstairs and apologise for having upset him, pronto. So here I was.

City boy made me pay, mind you. First he wouldn't open the door. Then when I kept on knocking for
about five minutes, really hard, he opened it so fast that I just about fell into the room.

‘Go on, then, say sorry if that's what Daddy wants,' he snapped at me as I tried to get my balance back.

His dark hair was all ruffled and he looked a bit red-eyed, which was kind of pathetic for a thirteen-year-old, I thought.

‘Well, you know. Sorry.' Fingers crossed, of course.

‘Is that it?'

‘Sorry I said that about you coming here. Anyway, it's all your mum's fault.'

He glared at me. ‘No it isn't,' he said. ‘It was me who refused to stay with Mum when Dad's away. Not while Paul the pillock's there. So you've only got me to blame.'

True enough.

‘Where is your dad now?' I asked.

‘I don't know exactly – he's not calling much when he's at sea. He was supposed to be in the Canaries this week, but they made a detour to the Azores so it's all taking longer than he planned.'

‘Azores?' I said. ‘What are they when they're at home? Some kind of disease?'

He shot me a sarky look. ‘A bunch of islands in the Atlantic Ocean, dummy.'

‘Oh,' I said. I remembered Dad telling me Matt's quite a good sailor himself – he's done a lot of racing with his dad. Not that I could care less. ‘And then he's got to sail all the way back to England?'

‘No, he's flying back from the Canaries. He wanted to go for longer, only Mum wouldn't let him. But it might take him a week to get there now, maybe two.'

I smiled sweetly. ‘But whether he's home or not, you're going to have to go back to Mummy and the pillock boyfriend when school starts, aren't you? I mean, you can't stay here for ever.'

Direct hit. City boy looked completely stricken. Serves him right, I thought. He should never have come in the first place – he must know that, surely. I mean, his family and ours have hardly spoken for ages. Though Mum did talk to Aunty Caroline the day before her accident – I remember her coming off the phone really angry. And Aunty Caroline didn't even bother going to the funeral – her own sister. Then there's the question of the farm and what will happen to it now, and thinking about that makes me so furious I can't speak.

But we haven't got much choice about Matt staying, for a few days at least – unless we put him out on to the moor and leave him for the wolves to find. Too
bad there aren't any now, just ponies and cows and sheep.

‘Dad says I have to show you round,' I said. ‘It's a farm, so you can't be a complete disaster area. But you'll have to put on boots instead of those stupid things.'

When we finally got outside – Matt in this fashion-victim jacket, but wearing Dad's wellies – I took him on the grand tour of our three yards. The front yard first, with East and West Barn – they're empty just now, but we use West Barn for lambing in the spring, and the cows'll be coming into East Barn for the winter soon. Matt yawned, but I ignored him.

Then I led him into the back yard where the chickies have their house. I called them over for a bit of corn, and my favourites, Flo and Mabel, started pecking from my hand.

‘Want to give them some?' I asked, thinking he might as well learn to help out with the chores. I offered him the jug, but he pushed it away.

‘No chance,' he said. ‘They've got evil eyes. Like velociraptors.'

‘You're not scared of a little chicken, are you?'

‘I'm serious. Chickens are the closest living relatives of Tyrannosaurus rex.'

He had a point. When chickens run, they
are
kind of Jurassic Park.

‘Let's go and see the rest then.' I whistled for Jez, who came bounding up.

‘The hairy hound,' Matt said. ‘What is it?'

‘It's a she, and she's a black German shepherd,' I said. ‘Jezebel, Jez for short. She's really clever.'

Jez smiled her doggy smile and danced ahead. Matt didn't make any move to pet her. I was starting to realise he might not be the animal type. Not a good omen, if you ask me.

‘We've got two puppies as well, but they're only on loan,' I said. ‘They're outside dogs, not house dogs. Round here.' I led him across the back yard to the tractor barn. ‘Watch out. They're really naughty.'

It was too late. Lightfoot and Lawless had leapt up from their straw bed and were jumping all over Matt. They were almost full grown now – tall and strong and far too badly behaved. Matt kept trying to fend their huge paws off his jacket, but I knew it was a lost cause. It was hilarious.

‘Don't worry, they won't kill you,' I said. ‘They're foxhounds – we're looking after them for the Hunt. Down, Lightfoot. Oh, get off, Lawless.'

I pushed off the puppies and stroked their
squirming tummies.

‘You mean those kennels down the road have dogs for fox hunting?' said Matt.

‘Duh. Yes. Loads of farmers take a couple of puppies and train them to be sociable, then they go back and join the pack and start hunting. Following a scent that the Hunt's laid down, that is, not chasing actual foxes any more, so don't look so shocked. But we don't like foxes in the country. Especially when we have lambs and chickens and geese. I suppose you're all anti up in London.'

‘Yeah, well, we're not all out for blood like you obviously are here.'

I laughed, shut the puppies up and started on the tour again. I showed him the rest of the back yard but he barely glanced at all the machinery in the tractor barn. I did my best, piling it on thick about animal emergencies and having to stick your hand up a ewe's bum. Only he didn't seem much interested in anything. I decided to give the side yard and the geese a miss for now.

‘OK,' I said. ‘Let's go up to Coven Tor – you'll have seen it from your window. We'll pass by Far Field on the way, and say hello to the sheep there.'

Matt shrugged and we headed over to the front of
the house again. Gabe, who helps Dad on the farm, was up at the main gate, shifting hurdles. I tried to sneak past him without catching his eye but he wasn't having any of it.