Grandpa led him upstairs to a small bedroom containing a single bed, a chest of drawers, and a narrow wardrobe. Todd swallowed his dislike of the flowery curtains and wallpaper and dropped his backpack on the bed.
"Like it?" Grandpa asked.
"Yeah, cool." Todd tried to sound enthusiastic as he walked to the little window that overlooked the street where he'd arrived. His view stretched down to the corner at the bottom of the road and up past the gift shop where he'd seen the tattooed guy.
"I know it's probably not like your room at home. Hope you can tolerate the flowery décor for a few weeks, though."
Todd smiled, suddenly feeling guilty for his lack of enthusiasm. After all, if Grandpa hadn't agreed to put him up for the holidays, he'd now be on his way to France to meet Philippe's family. He'd rather let the Goss brothers knock him around than spend six weeks in France with Philippe. "It's great. I'll only be in the room when it's dark, anyway."
"Good lad. That's the spirit. Get out and explore." Grandpa slapped him on the shoulder and headed for the door. "Unpack, then come on down and we'll eat. Steak and kidney pie and mashed potatoes sound tempting?"
Todd's spirits lifted a little at the sound of that. Philippe cooked fancy French stuff that Todd didn't like. The chance for some real food made his mouth water.
When Grandpa reached the door, he turned and rested his hand on the frame. "You know, lad, if you ever want to talk about your dad, I'm always here. Just say the word." Then he cleared his throat. "Come down when you're ready. I'll get the grub started."
After his grandfather went downstairs, Todd stared at the empty doorway. If there was any chance his dad was still alive, and could be found, Grandpa was the person to ask. More than anything in the world, Todd wanted his father to come home.
***
The following morning, Todd woke early and spent an hour swimming back and forth across the tiny harbor until the cold penetrated his muscles.
Grandpa made him eat a cooked breakfast of eggs, bacon, and sausage, then Todd took a hot shower and finally got the feeling back in his fingers and toes. He'd have to think of another way to keep fit while he was in Cornwall, because he wasn't doing that again.
As he dressed, he watched the people on the street outside his window. The boy he'd seen the day before crept out of the gift shop, shoved his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, and slouched off down the hill.
Todd yanked on his socks and trainers before racing down the stairs two at a time. He passed his grandpa in the shop and said, "See you later. I'm going to look round."
"Lunch at one."
"Okay."
Todd reached the shop door just in time to see the boy duck between two cottages at the bottom of the road. Todd dodged around a family with twins in a double stroller and ran down the sidewalk to catch up. The kid didn't look very friendly, but he was the only person his own age he'd seen so far.
When he reached the alley between the cottages, he paused to check it out, then cautiously walked into the shadows. As he neared the patch of sunlight at the end of the buildings, the smell of cigarettes stung his nose.
The boy leaned against the wall of a broken-down shed, a haze of blue smoke around his head. He didn't appear to have heard Todd yet. "Hey," he said.
The boy jumped visibly, a scowl chasing away his surprise. "Who're you?"
"Todd. I've just arrived to spend the summer with my grandpa." He rested his shoulder against the cottage wall and tried to look casual. "Saw you come down here and thought I'd say hi. What's your name?"
The boy took a drag on his cigarette and examined Todd before he answered. "Andrew," he offered grudgingly.
"What happened to that Merc yesterday?"
"It belongs to some real uptight guy. Mum's boyfriend is always on at him not to park on the sidewalk, so I keyed the Merc to stir things up a bit." A grin flashed across Andrew's face. "Worked like a charm."
"You don't like your mum's boyfriend?"
Andrew tossed down his cigarette and ground it beneath his heel. "Kelvin Marks is a complete dickhead."
Todd would never vandalize a car like that, but he and Andrew did have something in common. "My mum's boyfriend's the same."
"Yeah." Andrew relaxed back against the shed and studied Todd with more interest. "Where's your dad?"
Todd shrugged and stubbed the toe of his boot in the dirt. "Don't know."
"Mine's in Dubai setting up a computer system. I live with him normally, but he's left me here for six months. I hate this place. There's nothing to do and the people are pretty weird, especially my—"
Andrew was interrupted by a woman's voice shouting his name close by.
He swore, flapping his jacket as if to get rid of the smoky smell. "Later," he threw over his shoulder as he slouched away.
Todd followed Andrew back to the street and watched him walk up the road with the blonde woman from the gift shop. He hadn't got the chance to ask if there was anyone else his age in the village, but he was used to being on his own. He never told anyone at school about his hunter's radar, but the other kids seemed to know he was different.
He wandered down to the small harbor where he'd swum earlier. The tide had gone out and two fishing boats were now drawn up on the pebbles. Frayed lengths of orange and blue rope littered the beach along with lumps of tar and smelly pieces of fish that attracted squabbling gulls.
For a while, Todd watched a fisherman sluice down his deck and toss scraps to the gulls. When he grew bored of that, he collected some flat stones and started skimming them across the calm surface of the water.
"Is that the best you've got?"
The girl's voice right behind him took him by surprise and he jerked his head around. His father had taught him he should always know who and what was around, yet he hadn't sensed her. But there she stood, tall and willowy, wearing a straw hat decorated with marigolds and a long yellow dress, her blonde hair rippling slightly in the breeze.
He blinked in surprise. She was so golden. Even her eyes were an unusual light brown.
She stepped up beside him, and he caught the fragrance of roses. "What's your best score?"
"What score?" he asked, strangely disoriented.
Frowning at him, she brushed stray wisps of hair from her face. "How many times have you made the stone bounce, silly?"
The girl had a definite retro vibe going on with the clothes. He squinted at her, trying to figure out if she was his age or older.
Laughing at him, she picked up one of the flat stones from the heap at his feet. "Do you understand English or am I talking to myself?"
"Yes. No. Sorry." Todd cleared his throat and glanced out to sea. Hold it together, lad. He could almost hear his father's gentle reprimand. He considered lying about his stone skimming score to impress her, but he couldn't bring himself to lie about something so trivial. "Five."
"Five bounces!" She raised her eyebrows. Todd didn't miss the hint of amusement in her voice. "You need more practice."
With a small dip of her shoulder, she cocked her wrist and flicked a stone over the water. Todd counted the bounces, his jaw gradually tightening as the stone skipped out across the bay. Ten!
"Beat that, boy-of-few-words." She winked at him and walked away.
After a second, Todd seemed to wake from his amazement. He turned and watched her pick her way barefoot across the pebbles. "Hey," he shouted.
She turned back, a hand on her hat.
"What's your name?"
"Marigold. If you feel like talking sometime, foxy boy, you'll find me on the cliffs."
Foxy boy? Was that just some silly name she'd thought up on the spur of the moment or did she know his name was Todd, meaning fox?
Two hours later, after Todd had cleared the beach of flat stones and skimmed them across the sea until his wrist ached, he finally managed ten bounces. He sighed, quietly satisfied. Now he was looking forward to seeing Marigold again. Not that he would tell her he'd matched her total unless she
asked. But he'd know.
Panting loudly, a fat black Labrador skidded and tripped across the pebbles towards him like a drunken old man. Tail wagging eagerly, the dog reached Todd and snuffled his jeans. "Hey there, boy." Todd hunkered down and rubbed the animal's head.
"That's what I call perseverance." A young guy wearing a paint-spattered t-shirt and frayed cut-off jeans stopped on the coast path beside the beach. He had blond dreadlocks tied back in a ponytail and a collection of studs and rings through his ears. "I've been watching you from my studio." He pointed to the back of a cottage a few down from Grandpa's. "I've got the art gallery on the high street."
He picked his way across the stones in his flip-flops and shook Todd's hand. "Shaun Donovan. You beat Marigold's total, I hope, man. Can't let a chick win something like stone skimming. That's guy's territory."
Now he was closer, Todd could see a yellowing bruise around Shaun's right eye. Shaun must have seen him looking. "Like the shiner? I got it when I tripped over Picasso, here." Shaun grinned and patted his dog. "You're staying with old man Hunter, aren't you? Your name's Tom or Terry or something starting with T?"
"Todd."
"Yeah, right. Stop by the gallery sometime for a chat. I'm always looking for a good excuse to goof off work. See you around."
He walked towards the cliff path and whistled. "Come on, Casso. Come on, boy." The Labrador gave Todd a last sniff then lumbered after Shaun.
Todd pushed his hands in his back pockets and watched them climb the hill until they were out of sight. Andrew hadn't known who he was, but it sounded as though the local people did. Or at least the two he'd spoken to had. Yet neither of them had treated him like a freak whose father had disappeared without a trace, like the kids at school did.
As he walked back to Grandpa's shop for lunch, his hunter's radar picked something up and the hair on the back of his neck prickled. In the distance, he noticed the two guys he'd seen from the taxi, lounging against a wall. He increased his pace to reach home before they had time to walk down the hill to intercept him. They were definitely trouble best avoided.
Chapter Three
Grandpa put down a plate of sausages, mashed potatoes, and baked beans in front of Todd. "Eat up, lad. Let's get some meat on you. Don't want to send you home to your mum looking like a pipe cleaner or she won't let you come again."
After a few mouthfuls, Grandpa held up his fork. "Saw you down on the beach talking to Marigold Turpin. What did you make of her?"
"Okay." Todd hunched down and dug into his food. He liked Marigold and he didn't want to discuss it.
"Just okay? I'd say she's a looker. So's her mum. A real beauty, that Ruby Turpin." Grandpa stared into the distance, a faraway look in his eyes.
Todd kept eating, hoping he wouldn't have to answer.
"Ruby's made life difficult for Marigold, though. Homeschooled her, and not in the traditional way. Poor kid hasn't had a chance to make many friends. She's the same age as you, give or take a few months. It would be nice if you made a bit of an effort in that direction. Showed some interest. Know what I mean?"
Todd hated when grownups told him to do something he already wanted to do. It spoiled it somehow, as though it was their idea and not his. "I'll try Grandpa, but you know what girls are like."
"Try! That's a loser's word. That's what I used to tell your dad. Richard didn't try, he achieved."
The sound of his father's name echoed through Todd's mind like a gong. Richard. Never shortened to Rick or Ricky. That would have sounded too casual for Dad. He was always serious, always watching, always listening, always using his hunter's senses to see and hear things nobody else could. It used to drive Mum crazy. "So what was Dad like when he was a kid?"
"Always up in the ancient woodland on the hill. Loved nature from the first, that boy did." Grandpa looked at Todd's plate. "You finished? I've got something to show you."
Grandpa led Todd upstairs into the back bedroom that overlooked the harbor and pointed to a painting of a forest scene hanging over the dressing table. "Richard painted that when he was about your age. I reckon he was just as talented an artist as that chap with the studio up the road, Shaun what's-his-name."
Words kept coming out of Grandpa's mouth but Todd barely heard them. He stared at the forest scene—a duplicate of the picture hanging in his bedroom at home, except for one thing: in Grandpa's picture a red deer stag stood in the woodland clearing, head held high, sunlight glinting in intelligent eyes.
A strange feeling fluttered across Todd's awareness as though he could sense the presence of the deer, as if it was real.
"Like it?"
Todd nodded.
"Told you your dad was a talented artist. That clearing is in Lords Wood. It was Richard's favorite place. They say the forest is thousands of years old. It survived the Middle Ages because the trees were too stunted by the weather to be useful for shipbuilding. Now it's protected by law."
"I'll go and check it out." If his father had hung out there as a kid, maybe he'd feel a connection with him.
"Not this afternoon, you won't. I need a hand in the shop organizing the storeroom. Got to earn your keep, you know." Grandpa led Todd out of the room and shut the door firmly behind him. "You can explore the forest tomorrow. Don't forget to stop by and see Marigold when you do. Lookout Cottage, the Turpins' place, is up on the cliffs on the fringe of the trees. Lovely spot they've got there. You should see the views. If you're lucky, they'll invite you to lunch."
***
A massive red deer stag stood in the clearing, ears pricked, head tilted back slightly to balance the weight of his antlers. Todd watched from the cover of the bushes. He'd never been this close to a stag before. He turned to smile at his dad.
Dad? Where had he gone? Suddenly Todd was no longer in the wood. He stood beside the bonfire heap at the back of Feltsham Manor with Dad's stag's-head ring gripped in his fist. He tried to shout, but panic closed his throat. He couldn't breathe. Then the dead vines thrown on the pile to be burnt slithered up his legs, twining around his arms and hands, binding so tightly they hurt.
Gasping with pain, Todd sat up in bed, his face damp with sweat. His heart raced as he switched on the bedside light. The stag's-head ring on his hand glimmered with a dull silver sheen and was pinching his finger.
He twisted the ring, trying to get it off, but a shout outside his window distracted him. He slid out of bed and pushed the curtains aside.
Light flooded into the dark street from the open gift shop door. Andrew backed out into the street, swearing and cursing. "I don't care what you say," he shouted to someone inside the shop. "I'm leaving."
Todd leaned on the windowsill and watched Andrew run down the street towards the harbor.
A few seconds later, Kelvin Marks appeared at the door, pulling on his shirt. "You've done it this time, you little..." His tattooed biceps bulged as he slammed his hand against the wall and did some cursing of his own. Then he took off down the street after Andrew.
Mrs. Bishop emerged from the doorway wearing a bathrobe and stood with her arms crossed.
Todd's gaze followed Andrew and Kelvin until they both disappeared around the bend at the bottom of the street. Then he glanced back at Mrs. Bishop. He expected her to be worried like his mum would be if something similar happened at home. Instead she looked furious. It was probably Kelvin Mark's fault that Andrew had run away. If Kelvin was anything like Philippe, Andrew probably got into trouble for breathing.
Remembering his sore finger, Todd went back to the table lamp and pulled at the ring. It came off easily now, as if it had never been tight. There was no way the ring could change size, so he must have laid awkwardly on his finger and made it swell. That was the only explanation.
Todd climbed in bed and closed his eyes, hoping he could get back to sleep. He wasn't sure what had woken him—his tight ring, his dream, or the shouting outside. He hoped he wasn't disturbed by the noise when Kelvin brought Andrew back.
***
Before he set off along the coast path, he wanted to find out what had happened to Andrew last night. He checked up and down the street, peering into the shadowed alleys between the cottages. There was no sign of him, but he probably wasn't up yet.
Shaun's black Labrador waddled down the sidewalk towards Todd, wagging his tail. "Hey, boy." Todd crouched and made a fuss of the old dog.
Shaun appeared in the open doorway of the art gallery a few doors up the street, his dreadlocks sticking out in all directions as though he'd poked his finger in an electric socket. "Mornin'. You look disgustingly healthy. Don't tell me you're a jogger?"
"Yeah, I run." Todd stuffed his hands in the pockets of his shorts and wandered up to look in the gallery. Four large paintings of the sunset over the harbor—probably the view from Shaun's studio—hung in the window. They were good. "You specialize in sunsets, then?"
Shaun grunted. "They sell." He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. "Come in and have a look."
Before Todd followed Shaun inside, he glanced back at the old-fashioned leaded windows of the gift shop. The door was shut and the "Closed" sign was still up, even though it was past opening time. Maybe Mrs. Bishop and Kelvin had overslept because they'd been up half the night searching for Andrew.
Shaun gave Todd what he called "the tour," showing off the range of his work. Most of the pictures on display were local landscapes in pastels or acrylics painted for the tourists. Near the back of the gallery hung a triptych made up of three predominantly red and black abstract oil paintings that stirred nasty images of violence in the back of Todd's mind. "Nature red in tooth and claw," the label beneath them read.
"What do you think of my masterpieces?" Shaun folded his arms, tilting his head to the side, examining the abstract oils. "I like to paint the vibes I get from a landscape. Don't know why, but that woodland on the hill gives me really creepy vibes."
Wildwood (YA Paranormal Mystery) Page 2