Amy starts walking towards the tree line.
‘Wait. I’m not letting you go into the woods at night by yourself,’ I tell her.
She scoffs at me. ‘I always do this alone and I’m still alive, aren’t I? You think I trust you to take me into the woods? You’re mad as a hatter.’
‘You think I care what you want? I’m coming with you. Anyhow, I’ve got my own reasons why I want to go.’
‘I really don’t have time for this. I need to get back so I can . . . ’ She holds a finger to her faded lips.
‘Check the front door?’
She threads her dim fingers together. ‘No . . . ’
‘Oh, Amy, Amy, Amy. You try so hard to lie. You don’t hide it well, baby, and you’re not a very good liar. I’ve seen you checking the door. You do it again and again.’ I let out a short bark of laughter. ‘Then again. Like clockwork. Why’d you do that, Amy?’
Her pupils go big, like I’ve caught her naked. Her hair tumbles all around her as she shakes her head. Her hair looks black in the night.
‘You lost the right to see inside my head a long time ago.’
‘Still won’t stop me,’ I say.
I’ve still got this goddamn urge to hold Amy’s hand as we walk into the edge of the woods. I don’t. She hates me right down to my fucking soul. Hell, I’m not the kind of guy who does all that rainbows and unicorn shit. I search my pockets for my smokes, instead.
I follow her silently into a small glade haunted by crows, lighting up a smoke. Beyond the glade is a river. I can see it through the trees. Amy runs towards it, and crouches by the side of the water.
Then I hear it.
The lullaby.
Amy hums it softly, and it magics back happy memories of me and her. It wakes me from a coma. It’s like a light when the darkness is running up towards me.
If you’re the mermaid, Amy, then I’m the damned Dark Prince lost at sea. Been deaf for a long time, your magic voice a pill in my ear.
I wish I was a worm, or anything that can’t fucking hear her.
Get it together, Shepherd.
I can see that in places, behind fallen branches, the water is pooled and clotted with algae. The air is laced with midges. In the middle of the river there is a large rock under the surface. I pick up a stone, feels its weight in my hand and launch it against the rock. The loud bang comes out of left field, like a gunshot.
‘My sister said there’s a secret island under there. Don’t wake it.’
I find another stone. I get set to throw it, then think better of it when Amy cuts daggers at me.
‘Elizabeth said you’ll see it once in a lifetime if you’re lucky.’
‘Have you seen it?’ I say.
‘Never.’ She sighs and looks up at the starless sky. ‘Just another lie told in the woods.’
I clear my throat and start to feel the dead of the woods rustling in the undergrowth and winding up the tree trunks.
Violet, my mum, she lived in a cottage close by. I feel its heavy weight on my shoulders.
My home.
I don’t mention my mother to Amy. Instead, I walk us farther up towards Angel’s Stone. Where my mother’s cottage is said to be.
On the way, we discover a camp, in a thickly wooded area of the woods. At the centre is a caravan, bricks wedged behind its wheels. All around is equipment. A chipped Formica table stacked with pots and dishes and covered with plastic sheeting. A gas burner on a wooden workbench.
I can see shelves of junk from the inside of the caravan. Something catches my eye. Shines bright like a star amongst all the dirt and soot. It’s a yellow yo-yo, between a lead soldier and the handle of a skipping rope. It looks out of place, and I suddenly feel like somebody just walked over my grave.
The caravan door is propped open, and Bishop Clark appears through it.
‘Man cave, is it?’ I call out to him.
‘Every man needs a cave to get away from the wife,’ he laughs.
When he glances at Amy, he frowns.
She stands on one faint leg, dangling a little scuffed shoe, slap-slapping it up against her sole of her foot.
She’s nervous to be seen with me, so I tell Bishop, ‘We better be off, Bishop.’
‘Right, sure. Maybe you can take a look at my car this weekend, if you’re free, that is?’
‘Yeah, will do.’
I feel his eyes pinned to the back of my head as I lead Amy away.
I know Amy’s angry I followed her into the woods. I bet she could kick herself, real bloody hard for being seen with me.
I decide it’s not the right time to visit my mother’s cottage. I’m not ready.
Fifteen minutes later, I stop in a dense part of the woods.
Just say it, Shepherd. Just fucking say it.
‘I didn’t know when it happened. Your sister going into a coma. I didn’t hear about it until a year later.’
Amy looks so small, like a little girl, like I could sweep her in my big arms like a feather. She looks like she’s gonna fall over. Her face is red blotches over blanched white and her eyes look like cracked green glass.
‘It doesn’t matter. I never wanted your sympathy.’
‘Fuck sympathy. I can make you feel bliss, Amy. You don’t think I feel those green eyes fucking me, every time you look my way? What can I do to make you feel fucking amazing? Tell me and maybe I’ll give it to you.’
She scowls across at me. ‘I’m not your friend
