down, put her hand into the boggy mud and pulled. ‘My shoe. I’m wearing the wrong shoes. I oughter be in boots.’
‘Why are you crying? Where are you?’
‘Dunno.’
‘How old are you? Tell me how old you are. When was your last birthday?’
‘Dunno.’ She pushed her foot back into the shoe, and stumbled on. Something bit into her hand, something sharp, hard-edged, something she could not let go. She fell and there was a sharp pain as it cut into her palm; she transferred it to her other hand, a small metal tin, and stood, forcing herself upwards, pushing the sky off her back as if it was a tent that had collapsed on to her. Something rattled inside the tin. Above she heard running water, splashing, cool water and she forced herself to go on, into trees, squelching on upwards.
‘What are you carrying?’
The voice was distant in the sounds of the woods. She paused and stared around at the darkness of the trees. A rabbit was watching her. A crow. There wassudden complete silence as the chatter of the birds stopped. As the water stopped. It felt as if the whole animal kingdom was watching her. The track forked here, and she knew the way was to the right. She went on through thick bracken which crunched under her feet.
The rock loomed out of the trees, blurred through the tears that filled her eyes and streamed down her cheeks.
She reached the base of the rock, and the path was dry here, easier to walk on. As she carried on up around it she saw another rock, a strange upright rock indented in the centre, shaped like a heart.
She climbed towards it, puffing from exertion, sobbing gently. The huge granite rock at the edge of a small bluff looked as if it could topple over at any moment.
The track went underneath the overhang then around the back of the bluff on to the top. The rock looked heart-shaped from this side too, although less distinct, and even bigger than from below. It was a good eight feet high and six feet across. She knew it well. It was covered in carvings, initials, and she knew them too.
P loves E. Chris l. Lena. Mary-Wilf, Dan-Rosie. Arthur Edward loves Gwennie. D loves BJ
.
‘Do you recognise any of the initials?’
She swallowed, stared down at
D loves BJ
, and squeezed the tin harder between her hands. Then she walked to the shrubbery behind the rock, knelt down, and for a while was blinded by her tears.
She scraped away the dead leaves and began to scoop a hole in the damp sandy earth. When it was nearly a foot deep, she laid the tin in, scraped the earth back over and spread the leaves out on top.
‘Why are you burying it?’
She stood up and patted the earth down with her foot, then walked on through the shrubbery and down asteep bank towards a small waterfall. She began to feel spits of water on her face, her arms, her legs, and as she got closer, holding out her dirty hands, the spits turned to a fine continual spray that got heavier and wetter until she was standing in the waterfall itself, the fine spray drenching her, tiny needles of water coming harder and harder, so hard they were hurting now.
She tried to move away, but crashed into a wall. She spun round. Her face stared back from a mirror. ‘Room,’ she mouthed, but it was strange. Her face in the mirror did not move.
‘I don’t like this room,’ she said.
‘What room are you in?’
‘I don’t like this room. I don’t want to be here.’
‘Where is it?’
‘I don’t like it. I don’t want to be here. Please, I don’t want to be here. Please take me out.’
A figure loomed in the mirror behind her.
‘No!’
The mirror exploded into spidery cracks. A jagged shard landed at her feet.
‘GET ME OUT! GET ME OUT! OUT! PLEASE GET ME OUT!’ She hammered with her fists. Terror throttled her, strangled her voice. ‘OH QUICK, OUT! PLEASE GET ME OUT! PLEASE! OH PLEASE!’
A face looked at her anxiously. ‘Charley. Wake up now. It’s all right.’
The terror still surged. She was thrashing
‘Why are you crying? Where are you?’
‘Dunno.’
‘How old are you? Tell me how old you are. When was your last birthday?’
‘Dunno.’ She pushed her foot back into the shoe, and stumbled on. Something bit into her hand, something sharp, hard-edged, something she could not let go. She fell and there was a sharp pain as it cut into her palm; she transferred it to her other hand, a small metal tin, and stood, forcing herself upwards, pushing the sky off her back as if it was a tent that had collapsed on to her. Something rattled inside the tin. Above she heard running water, splashing, cool water and she forced herself to go on, into trees, squelching on upwards.
‘What are you carrying?’
The voice was distant in the sounds of the woods. She paused and stared around at the darkness of the trees. A rabbit was watching her. A crow. There wassudden complete silence as the chatter of the birds stopped. As the water stopped. It felt as if the whole animal kingdom was watching her. The track forked here, and she knew the way was to the right. She went on through thick bracken which crunched under her feet.
The rock loomed out of the trees, blurred through the tears that filled her eyes and streamed down her cheeks.
She reached the base of the rock, and the path was dry here, easier to walk on. As she carried on up around it she saw another rock, a strange upright rock indented in the centre, shaped like a heart.
She climbed towards it, puffing from exertion, sobbing gently. The huge granite rock at the edge of a small bluff looked as if it could topple over at any moment.
The track went underneath the overhang then around the back of the bluff on to the top. The rock looked heart-shaped from this side too, although less distinct, and even bigger than from below. It was a good eight feet high and six feet across. She knew it well. It was covered in carvings, initials, and she knew them too.
P loves E. Chris l. Lena. Mary-Wilf, Dan-Rosie. Arthur Edward loves Gwennie. D loves BJ
.
‘Do you recognise any of the initials?’
She swallowed, stared down at
D loves BJ
, and squeezed the tin harder between her hands. Then she walked to the shrubbery behind the rock, knelt down, and for a while was blinded by her tears.
She scraped away the dead leaves and began to scoop a hole in the damp sandy earth. When it was nearly a foot deep, she laid the tin in, scraped the earth back over and spread the leaves out on top.
‘Why are you burying it?’
She stood up and patted the earth down with her foot, then walked on through the shrubbery and down asteep bank towards a small waterfall. She began to feel spits of water on her face, her arms, her legs, and as she got closer, holding out her dirty hands, the spits turned to a fine continual spray that got heavier and wetter until she was standing in the waterfall itself, the fine spray drenching her, tiny needles of water coming harder and harder, so hard they were hurting now.
She tried to move away, but crashed into a wall. She spun round. Her face stared back from a mirror. ‘Room,’ she mouthed, but it was strange. Her face in the mirror did not move.
‘I don’t like this room,’ she said.
‘What room are you in?’
‘I don’t like this room. I don’t want to be here.’
‘Where is it?’
‘I don’t like it. I don’t want to be here. Please, I don’t want to be here. Please take me out.’
A figure loomed in the mirror behind her.
‘No!’
The mirror exploded into spidery cracks. A jagged shard landed at her feet.
‘GET ME OUT! GET ME OUT! OUT! PLEASE GET ME OUT!’ She hammered with her fists. Terror throttled her, strangled her voice. ‘OH QUICK, OUT! PLEASE GET ME OUT! PLEASE! OH PLEASE!’
A face looked at her anxiously. ‘Charley. Wake up now. It’s all right.’
The terror still surged. She was thrashing
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