In Darkling Wood (18 page)

Today is Theo’s birthday. Just like the last time we had a party, we tie balloons to the gate so people can find our house. Only this time, instead of an ambulance, an old car pulls up with a dog on the back seat, and that dog goes nuts when he sees me.

The day’s so warm we set up tables and chairs in the garden. Mum’s made Theo an amazing cake, which she’s covered in black and white icing so it looks like a football. Kate and Jen bring jelly and ice cream: we have to eat this first to stop it melting.

Then it’s cake time. We watch anxiously as Theo breathes in. I’m sure I’m not the only one remembering this moment on another birthday. Today, though, he blows out all eight candles in one go. It means there’s
spit on the icing but no one really minds, least of all Dad, who eats three slices.

The little girl on his knee prefers chewing dinosaurs; Theo’s T-rex is her favourite. I’m worried she’s going to swallow a plastic paw or something, but when I try to take it off her she shrieks, and Dad frowns like I’m being mean. By the time Theo notices, she’s already bitten off the tail.

‘Wow, Poppy!’ he says. ‘You took on the T-rex and won!’

She gives him her biggest gummy smile.

‘You like Theo, don’t you, Pops?’ says Dad. ‘And what about Alice, eh? She’s a bossy big sister, isn’t she?’

‘
Half
-sister, Dad,’ I say.

After cake, Theo wants us all to play football. But it’s far too hot and, apart from Lexie, we’re useless. So in the end it’s just Lexie who keeps playing. She lets Theo tackle her to the ground, and when he scores a goal, he runs around with his arms out aeroplane-style. We all cheer and whoop like mad.

‘It is remarkable, isn’t it?’ Nell says to me. ‘He looks so well.’

‘Theo
is
well. The hospital say he’s doing brilliantly now.’

‘I suppose things have moved on since Jacob’s day,’ she says.

I nod, lump in throat. But she doesn’t just mean Theo or Jacob; she’s watching Dad, who’s got tears dripping onto his shirt.

The whooping and cheering goes on. In seconds, Dad goes from tears to laughter and gets to his feet to referee. All the while, he holds Poppy’s hand as she trips alongside him through the grass. I watch Mum watching them and wonder what she’s thinking. How it feels for her. When she looks away, she’s smiling. Maybe things have moved on there too.

As the game drifts down to the bottom of the garden, Nell nudges me with her elbow.

‘Before I forget, here. This came through my letterbox.’ She slides a birthday card envelope across the table. It’s got Theo’s name on it in familiar, wonky writing.

I grin. The writing belongs to Max. He’s been kind about Theo – he’s kind about lots of things. We keep in touch by text and often talk online, and when Theo and I go and stay at Darkling Cottage this summer, I’ll get to see him all the time.

As if on cue, Borage pushes his wet nose against my hand. Ever hopeful, he stares at what’s left of the cake.
I’m itching to give him some, but Nell’s frowning like she’s got something more to say.

‘What is it?’ I ask.

‘You read Florence’s letters,’ she says. ‘It’s all right. I know.’

‘Oh. I mean, how?’

‘You didn’t put them back. I found them in your room, dear,’ she says. ‘That last day everything was such a rush.’

I look at her. ‘Did you say
Florence
?’

‘I did. The girl who wrote those letters was called Florence.’

‘But I thought her mum was Florence. Or Florrie. It says so in one of the letters, the one where her parents fall out about that boy in France.’

Nell nods. ‘It was quite common back then for children to be named after their parents and grandparents.’

I picture those letters, all tucked away inside that box on the floor of that little room. I’m still not sure why they’re there, in Nell’s house.

So I ask.

‘Aha!’ says Nell, one finger raised. Leaning sideways she reaches into her bag and pulls out a thick blue book. It’s another photo album like the one with Jacob’s picture in it, only this one looks more
expensive. Between us we clear a space for it on the table. She doesn’t open it, not straight away, though she marks a certain page with her finger.

‘Before I married your grandfather, my surname was Waterhouse,’ she says.

So that’s why those trunks had ‘Waterhouse’ written on them.
Now
I get it.

‘And this
is
Florence Waterhouse the younger. It’s the only picture I could find of her – I thought you’d like to see.’

As the album falls open, I think know what’s coming. I feel a strange flutter under my ribs. There are other pictures on the page, other people smiling for the camera. But my eyes go straight to her.

‘She was a pretty thing, wasn’t she?’ says Nell.

I nod. She was.

Immediately, I recognise the red coat and the white nightgown-type dress. I always thought how bizarrely she’d dressed. Yet in this old picture, it doesn’t look out of place.

‘Does that mean Florence was your …’ I do a quick working-out. ‘Grandmother?’

Nell shakes her head. ‘Two years after those letters were written, Mrs Waterhouse and her husband had another child – Edward, my grandfather.’

‘Oh. Right. So what about …?’

I stop. It’s dawning on me what happened. Nell looks so solemn it can only mean one thing: Florence didn’t recover from her dog bites.

Yet the girl in the picture is smiling. It’s a huge, lit-up smile that reaches her eyes. Perhaps this was the one taken by her father when she’d just seen fairies. Darkling Wood is there in the background. And she looks so alive it’s hard to imagine her being anything else.

‘What about the pictures she took of the fairies?’ I ask Nell. ‘Are they in here too?’

‘They’re not. They didn’t survive either. Apparently, Florence destroyed them herself because she was convinced they’d brought the family bad luck. She didn’t think the fairies ever forgave her.’

Which explains why she was so keen to save the wood and why she knew what might happen if we didn’t.

‘Did Alfred bring the letters home with him?’ I ask hopefully, for I want something in this story to have worked out.

Again Nell shakes her head. ‘They were “returned to sender”. Apparently they reached Darkling Cottage before the official telegram.’

‘So it wasn’t him in the hospital in France after all?’

‘No, it wasn’t. The letters arrived back at Darkling Cottage with “KILLED” stamped in red on the top envelope,’ Nell says.

I blink back tears. It’s so sad. I can’t imagine the poor Waterhouse family getting such horrible news.

‘That top envelope wasn’t with the others in the box,’ I say.

‘No,’ Nell says. ‘My grandfather said no one could bear to look at it so they threw it on the fire.’

Nell puts the album back in her bag and we sit in silence. It’s loads to think about. Even today, on such a happy, lovely day, there still seems so much sadness in my family.

‘What are you two moping about?’ says Mum, appearing at the table. ‘Come on! It’s photograph time!’

Nell and I groan. But I think we’re both glad to get up and do something just to break the spell. We’re done with talking about the dead.

It’s decided I’ll take the picture with the new phone Dad bought me. Once everyone’s in position, I look at the screen and see Mum and Theo, Dad and Poppy, Jen and Kate and Lexie with baby Nancy nestled in between them. And on the end is Nell, standing straight with Borage sat at her feet.

‘Get on with it, then,’ says Dad.

‘Yes, Alice, don’t keep your father waiting,’ says Mum. ‘He’s not got all the time in the world.’

‘No need for that, Carrie,’ Nell chips in.

‘I’m just saying, that’s all,’ says Mum. ‘I expect Lara will be …’

‘All right!’ Dad snaps back.

Poppy chooses this moment to start howling. Jen and Kate look uncomfortable, and Borage, sensing a mood change, gets up and tries to sniff Nancy’s nappy.

‘Can we please just all stay still for a minute!’ I say.

There are moanings and mutterings, and Mum fusses that her hair’s not right, but eventually everyone’s in place again.

I hold up the phone. Look at the screen.

Then.

Another person comes into shot. She’s wearing a red coat. I stop. Lower the phone. The extra person has vanished.

‘Oh come on, Alice, hurry up!’ says Theo, who’s fidgeting to get back to his football.

‘Yes, please, before we all get heatstroke,’ says Dad.

‘Oh, stop being so dramatic, David,’ says Mum.

‘Can you two stop bickering for one second?’ I say.

Mum pulls a face. Dad folds his arms.

‘Great!’ I say. ‘Thanks!’

Looking down at my screen, she’s there again – Flo, which of course is short for Florence.

Once I click the button, she disappears for good. Yet what stays is a warm, tingly feeling because that’s what Florence Waterhouse did for me. She made me see hope when everything felt dark. She taught me to believe in fairies.

When I look up I see Theo, Mum, Dad and Nell sharing a joke. It’s quickly over and they move apart. But at least they’re here – we’re here – together in the same garden.

Everyone goes back to the table for more cake and tea. All except Theo, who runs about with his football. We talk and eat. But we’re all watching him; we can’t take our eyes off our little miracle, and perhaps Dad feels it more than anyone.

Not long ago, I thought fairies didn’t exist. I didn’t believe in ghosts either. And I suppose once upon a time people didn’t believe a heart could keep beating in another person’s chest. Yet it does. It really does.

Praise for
Frost Hollow Hall

‘For fans of
Eva Ibbotson.’
We Love This Book

‘It was one of the
best books I’ve ever read.
I couldn’t put it down.’
Louise, age 11

‘An
emotionally-charged
historical tale.’
Telegraph

‘This book has everything.’
Betsy, age 11

‘The perfect wintry ghost story.’
Sunday Express

Praise for
The Girl Who Walked on Air

Nominated for the CILIP Carnegie Medal

‘This book will
keep you hooked
as you let your imagination take flight.’
We Love This Book

‘Engaging and entertaining.’
Independent on Sunday

‘This one
ticks all the boxes
–
Emma Carroll is an author to watch.’
Books for Keeps

‘Historical fiction fans will love Emma Carroll’s
The Girl Who Walked on Air
… a
brilliant
follow up to
Frost Hollow Hall.’
Sunday Express

In the middle of a frozen lake, a girl is skating. She’s not supposed to be here. No one is. Not since Kit Barrington drowned at Frost Hollow Hall ten years ago. But the dead don’t scare Tilly Higgins.

The ice is thin. It cracks. Suddenly she’s under the water, drowning. Near death, a strange spirit appears to her, a boy so beautiful Tilly’s sure he’s an angel. But he’s a ghost. A very troubled ghost. And he desperately needs her help …

We bring you the
sensational
story of Louie Reynolds, whose dream is to be a circus
showstopper
. Her tightrope talents put the finest performers to shame. Yet the path to fame is a very rocky one … To travel it, Louie must first:

Witness a
terrible
accident

Meet two
mysterious strangers

Cross
Niagara Falls

And look
Death
square in the eye

Will Louie find the courage, Ladies and Gentlemen, to face such challenges and become
The Girl Who Walked on Air?