The Hidden Princess (2 page)

Hopesay Edge, present day

“So are you coming tomorrow night, Amy? You could bring Mika in the pram.” I knew it was a stupid thing to say the second I opened my mouth. Even wrapped in the enormous patchwork blanket I’d spent three months knitting, Mika was still smaller than the Creed family’s ancient and bad-tempered calico cat. There was no way Amy was going to bring her newborn to a party in the woods.

“Not this time, Connie.” Amy grinned at me, adjusting the blanket around Mika’s tiny body – she never seemed to mind my ignorance, even though I was three and a half years younger. She was in this total haze. Whacked out on baby hormones. “Mum used to take me and Blue everywhere when we were babies, though,” she went on. “We had these special earphones for festivals and we slept in a wheelbarrow. She says there’s no reason why my life has to grind to a halt just because of Mika.” For a second Amy looked worried. “She’s already on at me about when I’m going to start my course again. I just don’t know how I’m going to fit everything in.” Amy paused. She always knew just what I was thinking. “You look really tired, Con. Are you not sleeping? It’s that time of year again, isn’t it?”

I shrugged. For me, early-summer would never be about a new season, a fresh beginning. When the nights grew longer, I always thought of Lissy, and how she wasn’t there. But what could I say?

Amy reached out and took hold of my hand, twisting her fingers around mine. “I never really knew your sister. You must miss her so much. I mean, Blue’s a total pain, but if he wasn’t there it’d just be so weird and wrong. And your brother hardly ever comes home.”

I was glad she hadn’t said Lissy’s name. Even now, six years later, I still couldn’t bear the sound of her name.

I had to look away for a second or else I was going to cry. “Look, you should come on Friday!” I sounded too bright, too fake. “We can get Mika some teeny ear defenders. Your mum’s right. Mika’s gorgeous and amazing, but he’s no excuse to sit around at home for the rest of your life.”

Amy just raised both eyebrows at me, accepting without argument the fact that I didn’t want to talk about my dead sister any more than she wanted to think about resuming normal life. “Don’t you know the ancient legends, Connie Harker?” She spoke in an exaggerated stage whisper. “You must never, ever take a newborn baby within a mile of Hopesay Reach.”

I rolled my eyes again. “Ri–ight. Or the fairies will come and take him away. I’ve heard all the stories, Ames. And anyway, Blue told me that Nye was going to set up his sound system over in the woods so we don’t get the Hopesay zombies calling the police – you won’t have to bring Mika anywhere near the House of Horrors.”

Amy grinned. “I’m not worried about the scary fairies, Con, you know that. I love the Reach, and they’re only stories. I’m just tired, that’s all. You and Blue will have an amazing time.”

I glanced out of the window. It was getting dark. Right on cue Amy’s younger brother stuck his head around the door, white-blond hair flopping into his eyes as usual, the sleeves of his favourite faded old lumberjack shirt rolled up to the elbows. There were some things I could only talk about with Amy but at school me and Blue were always together, just like we’d been since I first came to live at Hopesay Edge. It had been such a dark, confusing time. All those weeks I’d spent in hospital, so weak, knowing that when I finally got out, Lissy just wasn’t going to be there.

“Con, Mum’s heading into town. Do you want a lift? She doesn’t want you walking home in the dark.” Blue rolled his eyes at the over-protectiveness, but despite his piss-taking I knew Mrs Creed was deadly serious. It really was getting dark, shadows lengthening down the lawn, and she never liked letting me walk home alone, superstitious just like everyone else in Hopesay Edge. Blue stepped in, bringing with him the faint, warm scent of the spices his mum had been making him grind in the kitchen – cumin seeds and turmeric.

He shut the door behind him. “So when are they going? Your mum and Nick? They’re definitely going, right?”

His excitement was infectious and I couldn’t help grinning back. “Yes, Blue – my great-aunt’s still dead and they’re off in the morning. Which means that tomorrow night we’re still having the most legendary party of all time.”

Amy frowned. “They’re away for nearly a week, aren’t they? Are you going to be all right hanging around in the Reach by yourself, Con? Why don’t you come and stay here?”

I half wanted to laugh, because the solution Mum and Nick had come up with to that little problem was all so unbelievably awful:
Joe, Joe, Joe
. “Don’t worry, I’ve got a babysitter. My stepbrother’s coming in the morning. I’ll be fine without a lift, but tell your mum thanks anyway.” Joe.
Oh, God
. I got up, slipping on a battered red sweatshirt that had once belonged to my brother – Rafe wasn’t likely to demand it back. He hadn’t been home in five years. I guess if I were teaching hot gap-year students how to dive in India, Hopesay Edge wouldn’t be much of a draw to me, either. I blew kisses at Amy and Mika, then turned to Blue. “I’ll see you in the morning, loser.” I punched him in the ribs just hard enough and left by the back door before Mrs Creed got serious. The last thing I wanted was a ride home with Amy and Blue’s mum firing questions at me the whole time about what I was going to do with myself while Mum and Nick were away.

Running down the long strip of garden, I left the black-and-white timbered cottage behind – lit-up windows warm and yellow against the gathering darkness – and I actually sprinted past the neat rows of tiny early-summer onions and carrots in case Mrs Creed decided it was too dark after all and called me back.

I climbed the stile at the end of the Creeds’ garden and hopped down into long wet grass. This was the oldest part of the churchyard and all the graves here were pretty ancient, the stone dotted with pale green circles of lichen, names all worn away, with no one to remember them. It was so quiet. Lissy wasn’t buried in Hopesay Edge. Mum, Dad and Rafe had scattered her ashes off the headland near Granny’s house by the sea. Aged nine, I’d refused to go – that was back when I still didn’t believe that Lissy was really dead. Before I’d accepted the truth: she was never coming back. She was just gone.

I ran through the churchyard, feathery fronds of grass sticking to my bare legs, unable to believe that it was really happening and Mum and Nick were actually leaving me with Joe. I mean, so at least this meant he’d never told them what I’d done at Christmas, but I really had no idea how I was going to face him again without actually dying of shame.

I had to stop running and just stand there among the gravestones and horse-chestnut trees, forcing myself to relive the night I’d sneaked out of the holiday cottage: anything to escape Mum and Nick’s awful Christmas Eve drinks party, all those leering drunken middle-aged people breathing salmon-breath into my face. And then Joe following me down to the waterfront, jaunty coloured Christmas lights hanging between the street lights and even twinkling on the boats bobbing up and down in the harbour. I used to get so excited about going to the cottage every Christmas. Not any more.

Joe had sat down on the wall beside me.
You’re pissed, aren’t you? Bloody hell, Connie, you’re only thirteen
.

Fourteen. I’m fourteen
. I’d stared out at the black, glittering sea beyond the harbour wall, trying to ignore the way those bobbing fairy lights made me feel sick.
Don’t tell me you never got drunk when you were my age
.

Yeah, but I used to do stuff like this with my mates. Drinking on your own isn’t a good sign, Con. In fact, it’s a really, really bad sign
.

I’d turned to stare at him, at the chocolatey brown hair falling over his face, those high cheekbones.
If you weren’t so gorgeous, I’d be angry with you, you know? Stop interfering, all right?

Joe had shot me an incredulous look.
Shut up, Connie. You don’t know what you’re saying. Look, come on back to the cottage and we’ll get you some water. If you’re quick we can get back before anyone knows you’ve gone
.

Don’t be stupid, Joe. I could stay out all night and they still wouldn’t notice. Mum wouldn’t, anyway
. And I hadn’t been able to stop myself. Hadn’t really wanted to stop myself, to tell the truth. I just watched my hand reaching out as if it belonged to someone else and I could do nothing to prevent it landing on Joe’s knee. The rough, warm feel of his jeans, the fabric of my skirt glittering silver and red under the street lights. It was me. I really was touching him.

You’re just so lovely, Joe
.

He’d jerked away like I’d slapped him, his face stiff with horror.
What are you doing, Connie? I’m six years older than you
.

You’re the only one who gives a shit about me, you know. The only one
.

Joe slid sideways along the wall, putting as much distance between us as he could, pity written all over his face.
Listen, Con. One day you’re going to make a lucky bloke really happy, but you’re fourteen and I’m your stepbrother, OK? This is wrong. Really, really wrong. Come on, let’s get you back to the house
.

His pity was the worst thing, and I think that’s what made me angry enough to say it:
Don’t give me that stepbrother bullshit. I’m fourteen and I’m not Lissy. That’s the most important thing, isn’t it? You were her stepbrother, too
.
I’m not Lissy
.
She’s dead, Joe. Get over it
.

He’d walked away then, without another word, and I’d stayed out all night, and no one came to find me, because no one else gave enough of a crap, and I’d pushed Joe just about as far as it was possible to push him.

I sat down among the gravestones, covering my face with my hands as if I could somehow shove away the memory. I’d made a move on Joe – on my own stepbrother – and now I had to live with him for an entire week. Knowing that he had to be dreading it as much as I was really didn’t help. I couldn’t help shivering, suddenly unable to shake the feeling that someone was actually watching me, a witness to my melodramatic collapse.

You really just can’t stop embarrassing yourself, can you, Connie Harker? It’ll be a dog walker
, I told myself sternly.
A dog walker who now probably thinks I’m crazy. Loads of people go this way
. There was a public footpath running across the southernmost corner of the orchard at home and now that Uncle Miles was gone people had started using it again, climbing over the stile in the churchyard right into the grounds of the Reach.

But that didn’t explain why the temperature had dropped five degrees, cold air biting through my thin sweatshirt. The skin on the back of my neck tingled like the time Blue quietly pushed a handful of sheep’s wool he’d untangled from a barbed-wire fence down the back of my T-shirt and I’d nearly wet myself shrieking.
Run!
I screamed at myself. I couldn’t move. My legs just wouldn’t obey my brain and I couldn’t get up.
Pull yourself together, Connie
. Swallowing my fear, I forced myself back up onto my feet and stood still among the tumbled and silent rows of headstones, goosebumps rising on my legs.

There it was again, that prickling, uneasy sensation of being
watched
. Bright pain spasmed behind my eyes, and I rubbed my temples. Another headache, just like I always got when I woke up after the Dream. I didn’t want to think about the Dream now. Not here. Wind shifted the branches of the huge, spreading old horse-chestnut trees, releasing the heady scent of their blossom.

“Hello?” I shouted. “Is anyone there? Come on. Stop messing with me.” I did my best to sound tough and unafraid, but my heartbeat wouldn’t stop accelerating, and despite that chill in the air a cool trickle of sweat slid down my back.

No reply. All I could hear was birdsong and the rustle of wind in the trees shaking loose pale slivers of horse-chestnut blossom that drifted around me like snow, catching in my hair.

“Don’t be an idiot,” I said, aloud. “There’s no one here but you. You’re not getting enough sleep, that’s all. Imagining stuff.”

I ran, heart pounding in my chest, cutting through the churchyard until I pushed my way through the gap in the hedge that led to the safety of our orchard –
home
– a glorious tangle of crabbed and twisted apple trees. The chickens had all been put away, which was usually my job, but it was still light – just – so Mum couldn’t hold
that
against me, at least.

Winding my way through the apple trees, I stepped out onto the lawn, breathing in the gorgeous warm green scent of cut grass and the rich muddiness of the lake. The Reach sprawled beyond the carpet of lawn: a tumbling mass of warm stone, ancient timbers and a hundred mismatched windows. The sky was a swirling mass of fiery sunset, all reflected in the lake like it was the window to another world. I stood for a moment, my cold unease in the churchyard all forgotten, just drinking in the beauty of it all. It was funny to think how much I’d hated the Reach when we first came: it was here that Lissy had died. In time, though, I’d come to love every twisted chimney and every ancient door, which was proof, I suppose, of the Reach’s power – a sure sign that I should have been more cautious.

Garsdale, North Yorkshire

It was pissing it down on Mab’s Top just like bloody always – thick grey cloud right down to the ring of standing stones, hanging wet cloud so low I could hardly see the grass. It was June and just before nightfall, the sun too weak to break open the mist. It was murder, this weather, and if I’d known it’d tip down like this I’d have come with a Maglite. I had to kick around in the grass for the sheep-trough till I heard the clang of galvanized metal against the toe of my boot before I could tip in the sack of feed. I knew I should be getting back to the house with that god-awful drive ahead of me in the morning, but I couldn’t help walking up the hill.

The stones reared up out of the mist, silent and creepy, covered in scabby moss: huge great things, just waiting there on the fellside. Grandad always called them the Dancers. When I reached out to touch the nearest one, it was warm against my fingertips, like it’d soaked up the sun all day. Except that there’d been no sun, not for weeks. Another wet summer, like the one Lissy left behind six years ago. I spread my fingers out till my palm rested against the rain-wet stone. Warm, like they were alive.