‘No,’ he sighed. ‘I told you, I haven’t had the life you’ve—’
‘So you can’t die until you’ve stroked a dog’s ear. They’re very soft, you see. You can’t, in fact, die until you have owned a dog. Because you will love them, and they will love you a hundred times back, even when you’re a complete ratbag, and they’ll make you happy. And then you can spend entire evenings stroking their ears and rubbing their tummies. So you can’t take the poison till you’ve done that for at least five decades, okay?’
A minuscule smile played around his lips.
‘Waking up on the very first day of the holidays,’ I added, after a moment’s thought. ‘It’s like waking up in paradise, and you can’t—’
‘—die until I’ve had that?’ said Scanlon.
‘You’re catching on. Well done. When you see a fox at night, and it looks right at you. Reading in bed when it’s raining outside. Sitting by a fire in the winter. Cats purring when you walk into the room. You might not have had those experiences yet …’
Scanlon’s whole forehead creased with pain, so I quickly added, ‘But you will. I know you will.’
That snow blizzard inside my head stopped and I saw everything then, saw my life as if it had happened yesterday, saw it in glowing, beautiful clarity. That short sweet miracle I’d had. And I gave thanks for it, and then I passed it on.
‘Hot bubble baths. Putting on clean pyjamas. Trees in autumn. Horses in fields. Cinemas. Sweet peas.’
I paused, swallowed. ‘Swimming in the sea.’
Scanlon gave me a quick, surprised look. ‘Really?’ he asked.
I nodded. Everything inside me ached, but it was a good hurt, like a wound finally healing. ‘Totally. When you dive under a wave, and come back up again, and all you can see is the sunlight, darting off the water in front of you. It’s … it’s … the most amazing feeling in the world.’
He blinked.
And then my voice changed, and grew deeper, and I gasped as I realised that I was speaking in Dad’s voice, as he said: ‘Standing in a field when the sun goes down, waiting for the band to start. Meeting the person you want to marry. Holding your children—’
Then that voice changed into Mum’s: ‘Blackbirds outside your window, kissing your babies, dancing—’
And finally, I spoke as Birdie. ‘Holding hands across the hammocks and waking up on Christmas morning!’
Scanlon’s eyes widened, and he pressed his lips together very tightly.
And then the voices of all three of them joined together, and they said the same thing. To him. To us. To me. ‘It wasn’t your fault. Everything that happened wasn’t your fault.’
They forgave me. And because they did that, I could forgive him.
‘Please don’t take the poison,’ I said to him softly, in my own voice. ‘I was wrong to blame you. You were only a boy, Scanlon, when he made you start hunting. Please don’t throw your life away because you feel guilty. The only person who needs to feel guilty around here is him. He’s the real poison. And you’re going to make someone an amazing friend one day. You’re going to have loads. Because you’re awesome. You’re loyal, and kind, and clever … And with any luck, your friends will become your family, and then all of this will fade away, Scanlon. I swear.’
Scanlon took a deep, shuddering breath, brushed his eyes roughly and looked down at his desk.
‘Fudge?’ he said, after a moment. ‘Is it that good?’
I LAUGHED.
‘Totally,’ I said. ‘It’s like angels having a party on your tongue. It’s all that is divine in the universe condensed into one beautifully crumbly cube.’
‘Wow,’ he said.
‘Start with vanilla first – the classic. Then try salted caramel. Some people like rum and raisin, some don’t. Experiment. All I will say is this: be picky about where you buy it from. Remember that, and you will be okay.’
‘Got it,’ he said. ‘Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome. I just wish I’d said it earlier. About the fudge, I mean.’
His smile faded. ‘The only thing is – I can’t leave this place if you’re all still here. I’d feel like I was abandoning you to him. To them.’
‘Ah,’ I said, finally. ‘Well, that’s all right, cos I’ve got a plan. And it will free us all.’
I hope.
His lovely eyes lit up then, and for a brief moment, I simply basked in relief. That horrible smell had finally gone. His life was safe.
I longed to sit down and close my eyes. That cold blank snow inside me, that sense of closing in, closing down, was ever present now. But I wrenched my brain back to what needed to be done. It wasn’t over yet.
‘Get the others,’ I said. ‘And hurry. We haven’t got long, and it’s going to be a long night.’
‘What do you mean?’ said Scanlon.
I grinned. ‘Crawler wanted us to bring the house down, didn’t he? Well, we’d better start practising.’
AND THE
THUNDER OUTSIDE
CLAPPED APPROVINGLY.
WHEN THE TRAIN finally slammed into my bedroom the next morning, I was exhausted. We’d been up all night. I’d spent hours teaching the others what I knew. I’d also had to unlearn my training, and dig deeper, locate a different kind of anger, one I’d never used before. I only had one chance to make it right. Was I up to the job? Were they?
For a sickening moment, as the customers sat and watched me expectantly, gasping for breath as the poison worked on them, I hesitated. Am I doing the right thing? What if it all goes horribly wrong? How would he punish us? How would he punish Scanlon?
As if in answer, that low thundercloud outside gave a deafening crack. It was so close now, I felt it was circling the building, looking for me.
The audience began to murmur. ‘This isn’t what we
