My chest flutters with panic. I look up at the sky – and at that moment, a fork of lightning splits the heavens directly overhead, lighting the sky like a scene from a horror movie. I freeze, closing my eyes tightly and counting the seconds, which – Dad told me when I was little – is the way to work out the rough proximity of the storm. I barely get to ‘one’ when a long rumble of thunder seems to vibrate through every bone in my body.
The storm is right overhead.
Standing up slowly, my knees are trembling so much, I know there’s no way I’ll be able to get down the ladder and into the house before the next bolt of lightning strikes, so instead, I push open the entrance to the treehouse, stumble over the threshold and slam the door behind me, leaning back against it with relief. I feel frightened and sick, but at least I’m inside now and relatively safe.
The rain is battering on the treehouse roof. The noise is quite incredible. I slide to the floor and sit cross-legged in the middle of the space, with my head buried in my hands.
I can’t believe it.
All the time Theo and I were talking, the thunderous clouds must have been gathering on the horizon and moving stealthily overhead until the sky was turbulent and black, yet I hadn’t even noticed. It had started to rain and I still hadn’t realised. I was so deep in thought about the hasty way Theo left.
And now I’m trapped alone in the treehouse with no safe bed in which to take cover.
That’s what I do usually. I pull the duvet right over my head and lie there, my heart beating frantically, hugging myself tighter when the thunder crashes overhead. Until the storm passes and it’s safe to come out. I feel so ashamed of myself at those times. I know it’s such a ridiculously childish fear to have, but I can’t help it …
*****
The night it happened, I was about ten and I’d been invited to a party.
I remember being excited because Mum had bought me a brand-new red velvet dress and I couldn’t wait to wear it. (Even now, just the feel of velvet makes me shudder.)
It was my friend Diane’s party. She’d turned nine that day and about ten of us were invited to her house for a birthday tea and old-fashioned games like pass-the-parcel and musical chairs. Lucy was invited with her friend, Sophie, but Mum said not to worry. They wouldn’t be able to get at me at someone else’s house. I’d be perfectly fine. I think she secretly didn’t want me to go because she knew what a bully Lucy could be. But she could tell I really wanted to go to the party, so she agreed and tried to reassure us both.
I should have known Lucy wouldn’t waste an opportunity to scare the life out of me.
There was a storm brewing that November afternoon and by the time Mum and Dad dropped me off at Diane’s house around four, the trees were waving their branches angrily and freezing rain was bouncing off the pavements. It was pitch-dark and we had to run to get inside before we got soaked. Mum sheltered under the porch to chat to Diane’s mum, with her coat collar pulled right up, while I said goodbye and ran inside to the cosy room with the Christmas tree, where everyone was gathering.
At first it was lovely. We played games and Diane opened all her presents. Then her mum and auntie went to get the sausage rolls and bowls of crisps and jelly and ice cream ready in the next room.
That was when Lucy came over and whispered in my ear that she had a special surprise for Diane and she wanted me to help her fetch it, without the grown-ups or any of the other girls finding out we were gone. I remember feeling proud that Lucy had chosen to share her secret with me and not the other girls, and I followed her out into the cold hallway, while everyone else was playing a noisy game of blind man’s buff in the cosy living room.
Lucy put her finger to her lips and guided me along the corridor towards the back door. ‘The surprise is in the greenhouse,’ she whispered, struggling to turn the key quietly in the lock. She pulled the door open and we looked out. It was no longer lashing down with rain, but it was pitch-dark. The faint light shining through the curtains in the living room illuminated the garden path. The stones looked treacherous and slippery. The greenhouse itself was just a shadowy shape at the bottom of the garden.
Lucy told me there was a parcel in the greenhouse and I had to collect it.
I remember staring down the garden path, feeling sick, trying to pluck up the courage to go out into the darkness.
‘Go on. Quickly.’ Lucy was getting impatient. ‘I’ll wait here until you come back.’
So I did. I left the warmth of the house and started slip-sliding along the garden path towards the greenhouse. The bitter December wind tugged at my hair that Mum had curled specially for the party, and blew it wildly around my face. The walk seemed to take a long time and I screwed my eyes almost shut so I didn’t have to see the ghostly shapes of the plants and trees on either side of me.
When I reached the greenhouse, I couldn’t get the door open. I thought it must be locked. I remember pushing and pulling to no avail. I glanced nervously back up the path, knowing Lucy would be angry if I came back empty-handed. But she wasn’t there, and my heart rose up into
