Also by Niel Bushnell
THE TIMESMITH CHRONICLES:
Sorrowline
Timesmith
Praise for Niel Bushnell
‘I sat down to read just a few pages and the next thing I knew the afternoon was gone and I’d reached the last page.’ – Juniper’s Jungle
‘Pure brilliance. Every word of this book captivated my attention from the very beginning.’ – Don’t be Rude. Read
‘It was one of the best books I’ve ever read and I’d happily say that a million times. I think Niel Bushnell will become the next J.K.Rowling, he’s a rising star.’ – Adrian (Goodreads)
‘I thought this book was fantastic.’ – SJ O’Hart
‘I loved it from the first page.’ – Zoe (Waterstones)
By Niel Bushnell
First published in 2017 by
Magic Number Books
www.magicnumberbooks.co.uk
2 4 6 8 10 9 7 5 3 1
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher.
The right of Niel Bushnell to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
Copyright © Niel Bushnell, 2017
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data available.
ISBN: 978 1 9997128 1 5
This text is set using English (UK) spellings.
For Mam & Dad,
with love
Contents
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-SIX
TWENTY-SEVEN
TWENTY-EIGHT
TWENTY-NINE
THIRTY
THIRTY-ONE
THIRTY-TWO
THIRTY-THREE
THIRTY-FOUR
THIRTY-FIVE
THIRTY-SIX
THIRTY-SEVEN
THIRTY-EIGHT
THIRTY-NINE
FORTY
FORTY-ONE
FORTY-TWO
FORTY-THREE
FORTY-FOUR
FORTY-FIVE
FORTY-SIX
Acknowledgements
About the Author
ONE
Tam didn’t want to be here.
The air was damp and didn’t smell clean. It was dark and oppressive and full of flies. The canopy of trees pushed down on her, stealing the sky, demolishing its light. In the dingy green shadows branches moved, taunting her with their seeking claws.
She wasn’t frightened, she wasn’t frightened.
Up there in the mess of bark-skinned limbs, unseen birds called out to each other, threatening, territorial, spooked by the invader. Mum thought it was tuneful, a chorus of song. Not Tam. To her ears there was nothing musical about their cries. They were shouting at her, spitting feathered curses, indecipherable swear words falling from hard beaks onto soft moss.
‘Piss off,’ she whispered back at them, her clipped words evaporating on her tight lips, dying there before they became airborne.
The birds swore back at her, expletives of feather and twig falling earthwards.
She wasn’t frightened, she wasn’t frightened.
The wind rattled through the trees, shaking the branches, silencing the birds, hitting her skin with flecks of cool moisture. She wrapped her arms into her chest, holding the warmth in.
Her feet moved her along the muddy path, deeper into the heart of the trees. Already her shoes were edged with soil, her white socks spotted with the brown blood of the earth. She should turn round, she should leave, but her feet still moved.
Why was she here? She hadn’t planned on coming this way, she hadn’t given it a thought. But her feet, without any instructions, had brought her towards the wood, one step at a time.
Even so, arriving here had come as a surprise, for she was so far inside her head, arguing with every imagined person that dared to pop up. The familiar parade of insecurities had infected her thoughts: school, the imminent GCSE exams, her appearance, the argument she’d had with Becca last week, what to do about that weird picture James Pinchin had sent her, going to college, Mum, Dad . . .
Dad and—
She was dancing around that one big thought, that one giant insecurity, avoiding it at all costs.
The dimming sky and the crying birds conspired against her, breaking her thoughts into useless fragments, pulling her back into the now. She focused on the trees and knew it was too late, the damage was done. She was in the wood.
Tam stopped, circling around to view the prison of trees. The last time she’d been here she had been . . . what? Six years old? Seven, maybe. Back then she came here often, with Dad. They’d walk and laugh and—
No.
The memory was pushed away. She rested against the body of a tree, not caring about getting marks on her school blazer, letting her mind cool.
‘What am I doing here?’ she said to no one.
Leaves rattled in the undergrowth as something small retreated from her, then silence.
Tam pulled out her phone, looking past the cracked screen. There was no signal here. Maybe that’s why she had come, to be alone, to disconnect. Unconvinced, she put her phone away, trying to ease her racing mind.
She forced her attention on the tree opposite, staring at its bark, at the thick valleys gouged into its knotted surface. She allowed her eyes to follow one of the dark grooves up the bulk of the tree until it narrowed and merged with its neighbours and became indistinct.
The sun broke through the swaying leaves, dappling the hard white light into her pinprick pupils. She closed them, letting her hands fall to her sides, finding the solid uneven surface of the tree behind her. Her fingertips traced its contours, building a picture in her mind. She felt calmer, safe in the shadow of this giant, as if it was protecting her, as if it—
Tam opened her eyes and stepped away from the tree, feeling foolish. ‘I’m not a bloody tree hugger,’ she muttered.
It was just a tree after all, just a piece of wood with stupid leaves sticking out of it, just water and mud and sunshine, nothing more.
Just a tree. Just a wood.
Shadows fell onto the clearing, sucking the heat from the space. The summer air lost its menace and Tam felt more comfortable. She looked down the weaving path that tempted her deeper into the wood. She could just make out the distant chatter of the stream she knew lay beyond, cutting the wood in two, pulling soil from the roots of the trees to leave them exposed, clawing at the passing water like gnarled witch’s fingers. She stood there, uncertain if she wanted to continue. But she wasn’t ready to go home, not yet. She needed space alone, time to think . . . or was it time not to think? She wasn’t sure.
She stepped forwards, towards the sound of the water. The path descended, turning and twisting, until the banks of the narrow stream came into view.
It had seemed so vast before, when she was younger, too wide to jump to the far side without the threat of a wet foot. Now it looked anorexic and insignificant. She could jump it easily, she calculated. An image came to mind, of Dad lifting her to the other side, laughing
and groaning as he carried her in his arms, leaping onto the far bank and—
No.
High above, the massing clouds broke their silence, delivering tiny parcels of moisture onto the waiting trees. Water dropped onto her cheek and ran down her face, an imitation tear from high above. She should really go home.
Tam hesitated in the shadow of the wood, watching the water drift by, trying to convince herself to leave.
Finally, decisively, she cursed, ‘Bloody stupid,’ and turned back towards home.
She stopped immediately. She was no longer alone. There was someone else there, a dark thin shape at the bend in the path, framed by an arch of ivy that grew over some ancient dying piece of wall.
The pair froze, like two startled rabbits, waiting to see who might move first. Defiantly Tam took a step forwards. The other person jumped, but didn’t retreat.
She saw now it was a girl about her own age, dressed in the same school uniform, but the light was behind her and her features were hidden in shade.
‘Oh, hi, Tamsin,’ the girl said, her voice betraying a tremble of fear.
Tam stopped, trying to identify the shadow. She could see better with her glasses on but she refused to wear them outside of home. ‘Who’s that?’ she asked, making sure her voice sounded loud and aggressive.
The girl stepped towards Tam. Her face was long and narrow, framed by dark black hair that rested on her sloping shoulders. She smiled nervously, her teeth clenched behind her wide lips. ‘It’s me, A-Abigail . . . Abigail Longbourne.’
‘Long Bone,’ Tam acknowledged, recognition filling in the details of the shadowed face. They shared a few classes – drama, art, maybe geography – but Abigail Longbourne was cleverer than her and they moved in very different circles. One of the boys had given her the nickname way back in Year Seven, mocking her slender face, and it had stayed with her ever since. It didn’t matter that she’d grown into her face this last year, that she was actually quite beautiful behind the barricade of hair and insecurity, not that Tam would ever admit it. Only the burden of the name mattered, only that and the power it took away from its victim every time it was used.
The other girl reddened. ‘Well . . . no. I mean, yeah, that’s what you all call me, but it’s not my name.’
Tam put her head down and pushed past her.
‘It’s . . . it’s not my name,’ Abigail repeated, louder.
‘Better than Horse Face,’ Tam responded, trying her best to ignore the other girl.
Ahead the path narrowed, weaving upwards, following the contour of the wood. The walls of earth towered over her, a congregation of trees looking down in judgement.
Behind her the girl called out, ‘I don’t care what you call me.’
‘Good!’
The rain grew heavier, collecting on the leaves before falling to the waiting roots. Tam quickened her pace.
‘It’s still better than what they say about you,’ Abigail muttered.
Tam stopped and turned round. Abigail stood by the stone wall, her eyes wide with surprise.
‘What did you say?’
‘N-nothing,’ Abigail replied, stepping backwards.
Tam marched towards her, her insecurities condensing into aggression. ‘What do they call me?’
Abigail disappeared behind the wall. Tam rounded the bend and saw her further along the track. ‘Come here!’
It wasn’t worth following her, the rain was getting heavier and she didn’t want to go further into the wood. But Tam wasn’t thinking logically. All her angry thoughts came back up to the surface and found focus on Abigail.
Her legs began to run, a hunter chasing its prey.
Abigail quickened her pace, navigating the narrow path with ease, as if she knew every twist and turn. The stream came into view again and Tam slowed, her breathing heavy. This stupid heat had brought out sweat on her forehead. Her anger grew.
Abigail stood on the far side of the stream, tensed, ready to retreat further.
‘Well?’ Tam shouted breathlessly as she walked towards the water. ‘What’ve you got to say?’
Abigail faltered. ‘N-nothing.’ She turned to leave.
‘Stop!’ Tam cried. She looked down at the stream. It was as if she couldn’t cross it, not without Dad.
Abigail froze, half hidden by the foliage of a tree.
‘What do they call me?’ Tam demanded.
‘It’s not me,’ Abigail began. ‘I don’t call you anything, I’m not bothered.’
Tam lowered her voice, trying to calm the rage. ‘Who? Who’s talking about me?’
Abigail shrugged, her eyes dropping to the ground. ‘No one. It’s nothing.’ She went to turn away again.
‘I won’t hurt you,’ Tam reassured her.
The other girl half laughed, not stopping.
‘Wait!’ This time it was an order, Tam’s voice loud and powerful.
Abigail turned back, folding her arms.
‘I just want to know,’ Tam said. ‘What have you heard?’
The rain was heavy now, bouncing into the stream like tiny darts. Tam’s short brown hair coated her wet face as water soaked into her clothes. She glared at Abigail, a reflection of her own drenched form.
‘Nothing, really,’ Abigail replied. ‘I just said it. I have to go.’ This time she turned and didn’t stop, running into the wood, out of sight.
Tam tensed, her fingers forming fists. She should go home, she knew it. Instead she lifted a leg and leaped over the stream. As she landed her foot slipped on the moist soil and she fell on her thigh. Mud coated her skirt and skin . . .
Suddenly her pent-up anger was let loose and rage filled her eyes. She ran down the narrow path, branches snapping as she crashed into them. Ahead was the tiny shape of Abigail Long Bone, a flickering silhouette, hidden behind trees and rain.
A rumble of thunder broke overhead, coursing through the wood, giving voice to Tam’s temper. The rain intensified, shaking the trees, pushing water into her face as she raced to catch Abigail.
The thin girl glanced over her shoulder, saw Tam closing. Her eyes widened and she sprinted harder, over-anticipating the bend in the path, slipping in the dirt, rolling into the grass.
Tam caught up with her and dragged her up by her blazer collar. ‘What do they say about me?’ she demanded.
‘Nothing, not really. I just hear things,’ Abigail cried, her face coated in water and dirt.
‘What sort of things?’
‘About you . . . you and James Pinchin.’
Tam reeled. ‘Who said it? Who?’
Abigail began to cry. ‘James does. He was laughing about it.’
There was no pity left in Tam, just resentment and fury. Her open hand landed on the other girl’s cheek.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t say anything, I didn’t . . .’ Abigail’s voice faded away.
Tam pushed. ‘What did he say about me?’
Abigail’s face crumpled. ‘That you . . . that you did stuff for him. You did whatever he wanted.’ She put a hand over her lips as if to take back the words.
Tam stiffened, shock dragging the breath out of her mouth.
‘It’s not me,’ Abigail pleaded. ‘I didn’t say that, I just heard him say it, that’s all. Please, let me go.’
Tam pushed Abigail to the ground. She looked down on the pathetic girl crying at her feet, and she suddenly saw what she had done. Guilt and remorse took hold, but she couldn’t bring herself to apologize. That would be weak. She stepped back, breathing hard.
There was a flash of light, followed by a heavy rumble that coursed up through her feet, and Tam began to run, deeper into the wood. She followed the path, hardly caring where it took her – all that mattered was that she ran.
Ahead the track turned sharply to the left. Tam surged into it, losing her footing. She skidded over the wet earth, through the undergrowth, sliding down the slope. The trees ended abruptly, and beyond was . . . nothing.
She clawed at the ground, trying to slow
her descent, but it was no use. As she fell over the precipice it was as if time slowed down. She knew about the old quarry that ran along the edge of the wood, cut into the rock like a deep wound, but she had never seen it from this vantage point before. Now she was falling through the air, falling towards the pit of the quarry metres below her, falling towards the hard, unyielding rock.
But she wasn’t falling, not any more.
Tam was floating, floating above the rock, hanging in the air as the torrent of rain fell about her.
TWO
Tam screamed. She screamed until her throat burned, until spittle and phlegm fell from her open mouth, down towards the quarry beneath her. She hung there, her arms outstretched, facing down, as if she was pinned to an invisible ceiling.
This must be what it’s like when you die, she thought. This is how it happens, in slow motion, a frozen moment before the fall. This was God or the afterlife or karma or whatever laughing at her, taking the piss before it smashed her face into a rock.
But it was still raining. She could feel it hitting the back of her exposed legs, and she felt the chill of the breeze on her hands. She watched as droplets of water fell from her hair, down to the ground, splashing in puddles between the rocks.
Tam lifted her head up, turning to look about her; the trees swayed in the storm, the clouds scratched across the sky.
Why was she the only thing frozen?
But she wasn’t frozen. She wriggled her toes, then moved her feet. She waved her arms, testing her body. She wasn’t frozen.
She realized she was crying, breathing hard through her open mouth, her heart beating like a machine gun firing in her chest.
‘What happened to you?’
The voice was from somewhere above. She turned her head to see where it was coming from and her body shifted, dropping towards the ground.
Tam screamed, squeezing her eyes shut. After a moment she opened them and realized she was still floating above the quarry, but the rocks were closer to her now.
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