McKenna would talk to her. She would go to York and she wouldn’t come back.
“You go there on the train and you find him and you make sure that he never hurts anyone again. You owe it to yourself. You owe it to everyone. What do you say?”
Gwenda couldn’t speak. She nodded a second time. The tears were flowing faster.
Rex backed away. “Ladies and gentlemen, let’s hear it for Gwenda Davis. She’s a lovely lady and she deserves a big round of applause.”
The audience agreed. They clapped and cheered until Gwenda left the room and went upstairs.
Brian remained where he was, sitting on the sofa, his legs slightly apart, his mouth hanging open. He had been like that ever since Gwenda had stuck the kitchen knife into his chest. Brian had laughed at her. He had said she was mad. She’d had to teach him a lesson that he wouldn’t forget. Rex had told her to do that too.
A few minutes later, Gwenda left the house. She’d meant to pack, but in the end she hadn’t been able to find anything worth taking apart from the axe that she used to chop wood. She’d slipped that into the bag that dangled from her arm.
Gwenda locked the door behind her and walked away. She knew exactly where she was heading: Forrest Hill, a school in Yorkshire. She was going to see her nephew, Matt Freeman, again.
He would certainly be surprised.
THE NEW BOY
It was the same dream as always.
Matt Freeman was standing on a pinnacle of black rock that seemed to have sprouted out of the ground like something poisonous. He was high up, alone, surrounded on all sides by a sea as dead as anything he had ever seen. The waves rolled in like oil, and although the wind blew all around him and the sea spray stung his eyes, he felt nothing
… not even the cold. Somehow he knew that this was a place where the sun never rose or set. He wondered if he had died.
He turned and looked towards the shoreline, knowing that he would see the other four waiting for him, separated by a stretch of water half a mile wide and many miles deep. They were always there. Three boys and a girl. About his age. Waiting for him to make the crossing and join them.
But this time it was different. One of the boys had somehow found a vessel to carry him across the water. It was a long, narrow boat made of reeds that had been woven together with a prow, shaped like the head of a wildcat, rising up at the front. The boat looked flimsy. Matt could see the waves battering it, trying to send it back. But the boy was rowing with strong, rhythmic strokes. He was cutting across the water, getting closer by the minute, and now Matt could make out some of his features: brown skin, dark eyes, long, black, very straight hair. He was wearing torn jeans and a loose shirt with a hole in one of the elbows.
Matt felt a surge of hope. In a few minutes the boat would reach the island and if he could just find a way down he would at last be able to escape. He ran to the edge of the rock and that was when he saw it, reflected in the inky surface of the water. A bird of some sort. Its shape rippled – distorted by the waves – and he was unable to make out what it was. It seemed to have enormous wings, white feathers and a long, snake-like neck. A swan! Apart from the three boys and the girl, it was the only living thing that Matt had seen in this nightmare world and he looked up, expecting it to skim overhead on its way inland.
The swan was huge, the size of a plane. Matt screamed out a warning. The creature was hideous, its eyes blazing yellow, its claws reaching down to grab hold of the water, pulling it up like a curtain behind it. At that moment, its beak – bright orange – opened and it let out an ear-splitting cry. There was an answering crash of thunder and Matt was beaten to his knees as it flew overhead, its wings pounding at him, the sound of its scream exploding in his ears. The curtain of water fell, a tidal wave that smothered the rock, the shore, the entire sea. Matt felt it crash down on him. He opened his mouth to scream…
…and woke up, gasping for breath, in bed, in his little attic room with the first light of day seeping in through the open window.
Matt did what he always did when he began the day like this. He checked the time on the clock next to his bed: half past six. Then he looked around him, reassuring himself that he was in his bedroom, high up in the flat in York, where he had been living for the past five weeks. One by one, he ticked the items off. There were his school books, piled up on the desk. His uniform was hanging over the back of a chair. His eyes travelled over the posters on the wall: a couple of Arsenal players and a film poster from War of the Worlds. His PlayStation was on the floor in the corner. The room was a mess. But it was his room. It was exactly how it should be. Everything was all right. He was back.
He lay in bed, half awake and half asleep, listening to the early morning traffic that started with the milk float wheezing past the front door and gradually built up with delivery vans and early morning commuters. At seven o’clock he heard Richard’s alarm go off in the room downstairs. Richard Cole was the journalist who owned this flat. Matt heard him get out of bed and pad into the bathroom. There was a hiss of water as the shower came on. It told Matt that it was time he started getting ready too. He threw back the covers and stood up.
For a moment he caught sight of himself in the full-length mirror that stood in the corner of the room. A fourteen-year-old boy wearing a grey T-shirt and boxers. Black hair. He had always kept it short but recently he had allowed it to grow and it was untidy, with no parting. Blue eyes. Matt was in good shape, with square shoulders and well-defined muscles. He was growing fast. Richard had been careful to buy him school clothes that were one size up, but as he reached out and pulled on his trousers, Matt reflected that it wouldn’t be long before they were too short.
Half an hour later, dressed for school and carrying a bag of books, he came into the kitchen. Richard was already there, stacking up the dishes that had been left out the night before. He looked as if he hadn’t had any sleep at all. His clothes were crumpled and although he’d been in the shower, he hadn’t shaved. His fair hair was still wet and his eyes were half-closed.
“What do you want for breakfast?” he asked.
“What is there?”
Richard swallowed a yawn. “Well, there’s no bread and no eggs.” He opened a cupboard and looked inside. “We’ve got some corn flakes but that’s not much use.”
“Don’t we have any milk?”
Richard took a carton of milk out of the fridge, sniffed it and dumped it in the sink. “It’s off,” he announced. He held up his hands in a gesture of apology. “I know, I know. I said I’d get some. But I forgot.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Of course it matters.” Richard suddenly lashed out, slamming the fridge door. He was angry with himself. “I’m meant to be looking after you…”
Matt sat down at the table. “It’s not your fault,” he said. “It’s mine.”
“Matt…” Richard began.
“No. We might as well admit it. This isn’t really working, is it.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is true. You don’t really want me here. The truth is, you don’t even want to stay in York. I don’t mind, Richard. If I were you, I wouldn’t want to have someone like me hanging around either.”
Richard looked at his watch. “We can’t talk about this now,” he said. “You’re going to be late for school.”
“I don’t want to go to school,” Matt replied. “I’ve been thinking about it.” He took a deep breath. “I want to go back on the LEAF Project” Richard stared. “Are you crazy?”
LEAF stood for Liberty and Education Achieved through Fostering. It was a government programme that had been designed for delinquents, and Matt had been part of it when he and Richard met.
“I just think it would be easier,” he said.
“The last time you joined the LEAF Project, they sent you to a coven of witches. What do you think it’ll be next time? Vampires, perhaps. Or maybe you’ll end up with a family of cannibals.”
“Maybe I’ll get an ordinary family that’ll look after me.”
