It had also seen better times. The digital, flashing signpost under which visitors would drive into the camp was actually rotting and buckled, with one of the posts supporting the sign having been knocked some way out of the ground. In the wind the whole thing swayed and squeaked like it was about to topple, and the lettering faltered and flickered until you couldn’t read what it was trying to say anyway.
The camp consisted of about two dozen trailers, or caravans, all of them desperately needing a fresh coat of paint. If you peered through a window into one of the empty ones, you could see that the furnishings were old and beaten up, and spiderwebs were starting to take over. Some of the windows were cracked and quite a few of them were screaming out for a good wipe-over with a damp rag.
However, even though the place was run-down, Sunny Vale still had its fair share of customers. Holidaymakers from London and other cities who’d saved their hard-earned cash for a short break in the countryside. Three or four caravans at a time appeared to be occupied—some with young families, others with old people—but nobody ever looked especially pleased to be there.
Some days, Vivi and I would walk out to Sunny Vale and spy on its current inhabitants. The way the caravans were placed across the fields made it easy to hide from view. We could skip along behind one and then dash across the overgrown path to another. It also became clear quite early on that the owners only ever put people in the same few caravans. Obviously they could just about manage the upkeep of four or five caravans, and everything else was left untouched.
It was great fun sneaking about and hiding from everyone. In fact, sometimes, when the camp was particularly quiet, we would run and hide from each other. We would play an elaborate game of hide-and-seek across the whole park, with the extra rule that nobody else was to ever see us. Both Vivi and I found ourselves to be experts at keeping out of sight, and we never even once saw the owners in their own battered little house on the edge of the site.
Another place we liked to visit was the old junkyard south of the city. All the thrown-out nonsense that people didn’t want anymore ended up here. Enormous hills of busted-up metal and crunched-down plastic littered the wide yard like an upside-down egg carton. A type of drone I’d never seen before—Sifters, I think they are called—were working their laborious way through the piles, sorting out the salvageable from the useless and dropping anything that could be saved into large buckets on their backs. They were slightly larger than the Dodos, with wheels instead of legs that propelled them easily across the bumpy, rubbish-strewn ground.
It was at the junkyard that we found the trampoline.
“There’s nothing wrong with it.” I rolled it out and prodded the springs and netting with my hand. “Why would anyone want to get rid of this? There’s absolutely nothing the matter with it.” A Sifter approached and, sensing our presence, wheeled itself around us.
Vivi shook her head and looked me up and down. “You’re not thinking of taking that, are you? Please tell me you’re not.”
“But it’s okay. Be a shame to waste it.”
“I just don’t see the point of it. It’s a bit childish, if you ask me. Bouncing up and down on a mat.”
“You don’t see the point because you’ve never been sporty. Apart from during PE at school, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you running.”
“But a trampoline? Isn’t it a bit like a bouncy castle? For kids.”
I pushed it even farther away from the pile. “No. When I was doing gymmastics I got really good at the trampoline—and I mean really good. If we can get this back home I’ll show you.”
Vivi folded her arms and huffed. “Home? You think you’re going to take this back to your house? But you live about a mile and a half away. You can’t carry it—in fact, you can’t even pick it up. It’s too big. Even with the two of us, it’s too big.”
“Ah,” I said. “But we can try rolling it.” The trampoline was one of those round ones with the safety netting all around the side. “There aren’t many steep hills between here and home. It’ll be easy.” As if to make the point, I gave it a big shove and it rolled about four feet ahead of me. “See?”
As it turned out, it wasn’t easy. Far from it. The first problem we found was that trying to make it go in the direction you wanted was difficult. You had to stop it from rolling, then give it a bit of a push on one end to make it turn slightly, before shoving it onward again. Soon enough you’d have to stop it once more and push it on the opposite end to readjust it. Left, then right, then left, then right again. Zigzagging along the road. It was slow going.
Another problem was actually getting the thing to stop moving whenever it was going down a small hill. Vivi nearly got crushed on a couple of occasions as she jumped in front of it and tried thrusting it back. Being so light and thin, she had to lean all her weight into it to make any difference at all.
Unfortunately, I’d badly underestimated just how uneven the road between the dump and Unicorn Cottage would be. There were significantly more ups and downs than I’d imagined. And the ups were the worst. It took both of us all our strength to get the trampoline to roll up even the slightest of inclines, giving it bursts of energy in the hope that momentum would carry it farther.
By the time we got it onto the drive at Unicorn Cottage, both Vivi and I were exhausted. I unlocked the door with my key, went into the kitchen, and turned on the tap, filling two large glasses of water and—according to the flashing light attached to the tap—using up my personal allocation for the next two days. We sat on the drive, sipping our drinks and staring at the trampoline.
“Hope you’re happy now,” said Vivi. “Now that you’ve nearly killed me for a bouncy castle.”
I tutted. “It’s not a bouncy castle. It’s a much more technical piece of equipment than that. It takes great skill and judgment to use it properly.”
“Okay. Show me, then.”
The problem was that neither of us had an ounce of strength left after pushing the trampoline all the way home, so we left it lolling on its side for the evening like a beached whale.
The next day, Vivi came back to the house and we lifted the trampoline onto its feet and positioned it so that it was level. I tore all the safety netting off—I didn’t need any of that, thank you very much—and dusted it all over before climbing on and testing it for spring.
“Not bad. Not bad,” I said, finding a rhythm as I gently bounced. “Pretty responsive.”
Vivi stood before me, not looking particularly impressed.
“Now watch this,” I blurted, before bouncing harder and launching into a series of tuck jumps, straddle jumps, pikes, and levers.
Still not very impressed.
So I went for it.
Forward somersault. Straight back. Double som.
As my body twisted and twirled in the air, I could see the look on her face change.
“Wow,” she said, her mouth wide. “Wow.”
“You want a go?” I asked breathlessly as I brought myself to a stop and jumped off the trampoline onto the grass. “I’ll show you some moves.”
“No. No. I don’t think so.” She looked embarrassed. “I’m not very good at that sort of thing.”
“Go on. It’s easy enough.”
“No. It’s all right.” She turned away and went over to stroke Sandwich, who was curled up on the kitchen doorstep.
“Suit yourself.”
I caught my breath and looked around the garden. I looked at the tree with its tall branches overhanging the roof of the house. It was so close to my window that it blocked the sun every morning, and if my curtains suddenly disappeared I probably wouldn’t notice any difference.
There was one branch—a really solid-looking thing—that hung about a foot or so higher than my window. As I stared at it, I had an idea.
I grabbed the trampoline by one of its legs and started to drag it toward the tree. As I pulled, it seemed to dig itself into the earth.
“What are you up to now?” Vivi soun
ded fed up. Sandwich was purring and dribbling under her fingers.
“Come on. Help me.”
She sighed and walked slowly over to the trampoline. She pushed an end up and I pulled. Within a minute or two we had positioned it directly under the long branch near my window.
I climbed on and started to bounce, slowly building up height. Reaching upward, my hands were soon just below the branch. A little extra oomph and—
Got it!
I held on to the branch, dangling like laundry from a line.
“Wow!” I could see directly into my bedroom.
Vivi just stood there, shaking her head. “I don’t know why you always have to do all this physical stuff. It’s all so dumb, if you ask me.”
I let go and bent my knees to absorb some of the bounce.
“Wait here!” I ran excitedly into the house and up the stairs to my room, where I opened the window as wide as I possibly could and pushed the bed so that it lay directly under the window. I then fished about in a small bag and managed to find some of the gymnastics chalk that I used to use at the gym.
Down in the garden, Vivi had gone back to stroking Sandwich. I rubbed some of the chalk onto the palms of my hands and dusted off the excess.
I jumped back onto the trampoline and got going again. In a few seconds I had hold of the branch.
Now for the tricky bit.
I slowly rocked my legs back and forth, back and forth. Building up momentum.
“Be careful!” Vivi called.
I ignored her. I needed to focus fully to get this right. My hands slipped easily around the rough branch as I rocked and my legs swung increasingly upward. The window was only a few feet below me. The power in my body slowly grew, until, feeling the moment to be perfect … I let go.
My body arced through the air and my legs slipped in through the window, closely followed by the rest of me. As my feet came into contact with the bed, my body bounced slightly and the back of my head caught the very edge of the windowsill, smacking it hard.
“Ow!”
I lay on the bed for a few seconds, recovering. My scalp felt bruised and my arms ached a little, but otherwise I was fine. I’d done it!
I got off the bed, ran downstairs, and did it again. This time I made myself increase the height of the swing before releasing my hands. This meant my head had time to get through the window before my feet hit the bed. It was perfect.
After the fourth attempt—by which time I could have done it with my eyes closed—Vivi got up and walked toward the lane. “Perhaps I’ll just go home.”
“No, don’t. Please don’t go,” I called out from my bedroom window. “Let me try just one more thing and we’ll find something else to do.”
“One more thing?”
“Yes.” I climbed out my window and sat on the ledge.
I placed my feet flat against the outside wall and pushed, my arms reaching out for the branch. I grabbed it and held on tight as my body rocked itself to a stop. I hung there for a few seconds just looking around, taking everything in. The fields that swept away into the distance looked strangely regular and square. They reminded me of the pieces of cloth pinned to Vivi and Immaculata’s ceiling. Across the fields, you could see the irrigation pylons dotted here and there like tall, thin pyramids. For a few minutes every day the farmers would be allowed to blast the crops with water, spraying the fields with a fine mist. Once or twice—when the farmer wasn’t looking—I had crawled in and stood beneath one of the pylons, allowing myself to get soaked and licking up the drips that ran down my face. I could probably be in big trouble for it—I’d seen the Water Allocation Board violently arrest people in the street for less—but it was nice to wipe the grime from my face and hair, and anyway, an allowance of four minutes per week in the real shower was never enough. Not for anyone.
I looked down across the garden of Unicorn Cottage. Like most of the things that had belonged to Uncle Jonah, it was messy and uncared for, the lawn hopelessly patchy. In fact the lawn seemed to sort of bubble up in parts, like it wasn’t sitting properly.
Then suddenly … Click!
It was at that moment that a number of things shot through my head.
When I think back on it now it almost seems like I was meant to be hanging from the tree facing that particular direction at that particular time having those particular thoughts.
Not that I believe in fate or anything like that. I mean, how can you believe in fate when so many random things seem to happen in the world? Try telling the millions of people whose relatives have died or lost limbs in a war over water that it must all have been fate. People who believe in fate just don’t want to accept responsibility for anything. They’d rather see the world in black-and-white with no gray in between. You’re alive, you’re dead, end of story, in their opinion. People who believe in fate have already given up.
Had Uncle Jonah given up?
So, no. It wasn’t fate. It wasn’t meant to happen. It just did. A lucky chance that my thoughts all came together at that moment.
It was the letters that I found myself thinking of.
The letters that Uncle Jonah had written to both Vivi and me.
Do not be put off by the fact that it looks like any other lump of stone or rock that you can find on any hillside or in any quarry or even in the garden at the rear of Unicorn Cottage.
That’s what he’d written in both the letters. About the two parts of the Snowflake meteorite.
… or even in the garden at the rear of Unicorn Cottage.
And later in the letters …
Dig deep, my boy. Dig deep.
Always remember to dig deep.
I remembered how, when I first read the note that came with Snowflake 843A how strange and odd that sounded. Dig deep. I had assumed that Uncle Jonah was telling me to be brave, to try to stay true to the sort of person I was. Same thing with Vivi.
But what if it was something more than that?
What if it was a code? A clue?
I scanned across the lawn and my eyes were drawn to a spot in front of one of Uncle Jonah’s rubbish-stuffed sheds. And for the first time I noticed that the grass seemed especially bumpy there.
I let myself drop from the branch and climbed back down onto the ground.
“Finished now?” Vivi asked, turning back from the lane and following me.
I picked my way across the dead grass toward the shed.
“What is it?”
I knelt down just before the shed. The lawn felt oddly buckled and it slightly shifted under my knees. I dug a couple of fingers into the earth and tried ripping up a clod. To my surprise, it came up incredibly easily. I threw it behind me and did it again.
Vivi laughed. “What are you doing, Auden?”
I ignored her and pulled up a few more lumps of the knotted, rooty turf.
Suddenly, something shone back at me from beneath the lawn.
“There’s something metal in the ground,” I blurted. I brushed some of the black grit out from the hole I’d just made.
“What’s that?” Vivi stood over me.
“I don’t know.”
I tried grabbing another part of the turf and pulling it up, but this area was tightly packed after years of knotty roots had tied it all together. If Uncle Jonah had been a little bit negligent with the house, then he had completely ignored the garden. The lawn hadn’t seen a rake or a hoe in many long years. The discarded boxes and bins that littered it were almost deliberately placed to make the whole area look (and smell) as awful as possible.
“Is there a shovel? Or a fork? Can you see one?”
Vivi looked around. “No.”
“Have a look in one of the sheds.”
She went to the shed farthest away, opening the door and springing backward as a ton of rubbish seemed to spew out. She poked about for a bit and then came back with something in her hand.
“I found this.” She held it out to me. It was a small gardening trowel. “That’s all there was.”<
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“Okay.” I took it from her and started hacking away at the roots and earth, digging at them until they loosened. After a couple of minutes of hard work, I dropped the trowel and grabbed at the turf with my hands again. I pulled clumps away and threw them over my shoulder behind me.
Whatever the metal thing was, it was long. And wide. Over the next ten minutes, I managed to expose a good four feet by two feet.
I tapped on the metal. It clanged, the sound almost bouncing back at me. I looked up at Vivi, who was frowning. She was clearly thinking the same as me.
“It’s hollow,” she said.
“What do you think it is?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. An old pipe?”
“But pipes are curved. This is flat on the top.”
Vivi dropped to the ground and joined in, clawing away at the earth and roots surrounding the thing. At one point, we changed direction. Instead of working our way along the garden toward the house, we dug back toward the second shed. I loosened the turf with the trowel before we both ripped it away with our bare hands. Soon we’d removed all the earth up to the base of the shed, and the metal thing still hadn’t come to an end.
“It goes under the shed,” I realized.
“What does that mean?”
“I’m not sure.” I sat there for a second, thinking. If it went under the shed, then it must have been put there before the shed was built. It wasn’t that deeply buried, so whoever put the shed on top must have known the metal thing was there. The shed wasn’t that old—the bitumen didn’t look at all faded—so, presumably, Uncle Jonah must have put it there. “We need to empty the shed,” I said, suddenly jumping up and wiping the earth from my trousers. “Come on.”
This shed was as full of junk as the other. Lots of discarded cardboard and technical-looking metal things seemed to fall out as we opened the door wide, and the stuff that didn’t fall out remained utterly jammed to the roof, the little plastic windows of the shed barely detectable in the mess.
“You want to get all of this out?” Vivi asked.
“We need to see what happens under the shed.”
The Extraordinary Colors of Auden Dare Page 7