The Truth About Celia Frost (8 page)

Stupid, stupid, stupid! I shouldn’t have doubted her. As if she’d lie about this. Think, Celia, think... Phone! Phone an ambulance.

Celia looked in horror at her mobile.

No signal! No signal!! Right...run back to the road. Flag down a car... Would anyone stop? How much blood could I lose before someone stopped?

But amid her growing panic, her senses couldn’t help registering the metallic taste in her mouth. She suddenly fell still, eyes glazed, as her mind transported her back to a scruffy
yard... She was no more than five years old. Janice had on bright yellow washing-up gloves and was carefully pulling a dangling baby tooth from Celia’s mouth. She’d experienced
that same taste then, as the tooth came away from the gum. She’d squealed even though it didn’t hurt. Janice kept giving her sips of water, telling her to swill it around her mouth and
swallow it. They’d sat in the yard together until the bleeding had stopped. Then she’d been taken inside, given an ice pop, a blue ice pop, and everything had been fine.

Yes! Everything had been fine! The bleeding had stopped, just like it must have done for all my other baby teeth – that
must
have happened. So, if it stopped then, there’s
no reason why it wouldn’t stop now.

Celia pressed the wipes onto her damaged gum. She concentrated on blocking out the voice that was telling her to run and get help. She had to know the truth once and for all. She breathed
deeply, changing the stained wipes, each time checking the amount of blood. She held her nerve until eventually it slowed down to a few specks.

Celia removed the final wipe. It was clear.

“She lied,” she whimpered like a wounded animal. But rage and relief quickly gathered force.

“The lying cow!” she howled into the air. “The crazy, lying cow!”

She lost all sense of time as she sat, confused and enraged, tears rolling down her dirty face.

How could she do this to me?
Why
would she do this to me?
She stared at the dense woodland in front of her.
Get up. Get up, Celia, and stop feeling sorry for yourself.
Don’t waste your energy on her; she’ll keep. You’ve just been given your freedom after fourteen years. What are you going to do with it?

She stood up, wiped her running nose across her sleeve and dusted off the dirt from her clothes. “Whatever’s through those trees, bring it on!” she proclaimed, striding into
the thickening undergrowth.

The atmosphere was distinctly different beyond the fence; less like a wood and more like a forest. Here the air was more balmy and sweet-smelling, infused with the scent of flowers that
blossomed from lush bushes. Ivy entwined around towering trunks and giant ferns sprouted from the fertile soil. And the noise! The deeper she ventured, the more intense the birdsong was, which
mingled with the sound of crickets as if in some eccentric orchestra.

There was no pathway; no evidence that another human being had ever set foot in here. The vegetation was so dense now that it was impossible to see any distance ahead. But Celia kept pushing
forward, drawn by the mesmerizing birdsong. She started to feel a sense of urgency rising in her. She had to know what lay ahead. Quickening her pace, she strode across the forest floor, weaving in
and out of the trees, jumping over roots. She was almost running now, focusing on the birdsong, light on her feet, giddy with anticipation. A cluster of ferns lay ahead, like enormous fans blocking
her path. She flew at them, brushing them aside with both hands without missing a step, emerging into dazzling sunlight. She didn’t even have time to realize that the ground was no longer
beneath her feet as she plummeted over the edge of the cliff.

It all happened in an instant. She heard flapping birds scattering in fright and saw a flash of green sticking out from the rock face as she hurtled towards it. She instinctively grabbed for it
and the next moment her descent was halted. Winded and dazed, Celia found herself clinging to a thick, sprawling bush that was growing out of the cracks in the rock. Gripping the mass of spindly
branches, she looked down and saw, some six metres below, her terrified dangling image reflected in sparkling, blue water. Turning her head very slowly, she looked around. A lake stretched out
below, strewn with lily pads, humming with hovering dragonflies. It was encircled by formidable cliffs. The only possible place to gain access to it was opposite, where enormous slabs of blue-grey
slate ran down the side of the cliff face, forming a staircase to the water’s edge.

Celia looked up. The smooth rock face loomed above her and she immediately knew that there was no way she could climb back to the top. Her dangling feet desperately felt around for any kind of
support. She shrieked as her movement unsettled her refuge and fragments of rock started to fall away from around the bush and hit the water with echoing plops.

Her arms were aching. The newly healed wound from Jenkins’s knife throbbed and strained. She couldn’t hold on much longer. The deep, blue water beckoned her.

Celia cursed Janice.
I’m going to die because of her!

Janice had never allowed Celia to learn how to swim. It seemed ironic, now, that swimming was on Janice’s endless list of activities that she’d considered too risky for her
child.

Celia shrieked as the bush sagged lower under the weight of her body.

“Help, please, someone, help me!” Her voice rang out into the isolation.

Suddenly she heard an almighty splash as something entered the water. Celia craned her neck to see, as her hands started to slip down the branches. The head and shoulders of a boy bobbed up from
under the water. It was difficult to make out his age. His boyish, smooth brown face and skinny arms gave nothing away.

“Jump,” he shouted up at her. “Push yourself away from the rock and just jump in.”

“I can’t jump. I can’t swim!”

Alarm flashed across the boy’s face. “But there’s no other way. Get rid of your bag and chuck yourself down.”

“I’ll drown!”

“You’re going to fall any second anyway. You’ve got no choice. You jump and I’ll get you out of here.”

“Can you? Can you really?” she shouted with relief and disbelief.

“Of course I can,” the boy replied, looking terrified.

Celia threw her bag into the lake and then, closing her eyes tightly, she filled her lungs with air and let go, pushing away from the cliff face with her feet.

The lake swallowed her on impact. Down, down, down she sank. Her eyes and mouth remained clamped shut, her hair splaying out around her like a flaming halo. Every second of the descent felt like
an eternity.

I need to go up, when am I going to go up?

She started to flap her arms against the pressure of the water, trying to fly up through the depths, but the effort only put more strain on her lungs, which felt like they were about to burst.
Her eyes opened to the watery kingdom. Sparkling shafts of sunlight penetrated the clear blue water, fish darted past her falling body, and all around her she could see the sheer cliff faces
continuing down into the seemingly bottomless lake.

Her lungs were burning. Her brain was desperately trying to override her reflexes that were ordering her to open her mouth. Suddenly she felt something – like the pull of a yo-yo string
– and she began to rise. Looking up, she saw the boy through a riot of champagne bubbles, his hand around her arm, his legs kicking frantically. She held on as they broke through the
lake’s shimmering surface. With an enormous gasp, Celia filled her lungs with sweet air, but no sooner had she done this than the depths tugged at her once more. She grabbed at her rescuer,
pushing him under as she tried to keep her head above the water. He wrestled himself out of her grip and swam out of reach. She thrashed around, gulping in water, more terrified than ever.

“Don’t panic,” he gasped. “I’ll get you out, but don’t grab me. You’ll drown us both. Keep still and I’ll do the rest.”

He approached her cautiously, cupping the palm of his hand under her chin, tilting it out of the water. As he pulled her head into his shoulder she fought the urge to cling to him. His limbs
strained and his breath laboured as he propelled them to the giant stone slabs on the opposite side of the lake. Celia clung to the lowest slab, shaking.

“It’s okay. You can reach the bottom now. It’s shallow just here,” he panted.

But she just clung even tighter, too petrified to believe him. He clambered onto the side and took her arms, dragging her out onto the smooth slab. They both collapsed, exhausted.

It was minutes before either of them could speak.

“I can’t believe you saved me,” Celia spluttered, water running out of her nose.

“To be honest,” he wheezed back, “neither can I.”

They shot a look at each other and burst into relief-riddled laughter.

Celia took a surreptitious peek at her rescuer. She reckoned he was a bit younger than her, a little more skinny than lean. His cherubic face sported a brilliant smile that was impossible not to
return, but she noticed that his eyes were flitting to and fro – as if he was trying not to look at her.

She looked down at her gloved hands and it suddenly struck her. “Oh yeah, these things. I know they look odd but the thing is, I don’t even need to wear them,” she said,
delighting in peeling them off and throwing them on the ground.

The boy shrugged. “I hadn’t even noticed the gloves.”

Celia looked down again, puzzled, until she noticed her blouse, now completely transparent and clinging to every detail of her torso. Mortified, she folded her arms across her chest, blushing
deeply.

“Look, I’ve got a towel,” he said, trying to cover her embarrassment, “and I’ve got food if you want it, but I don’t suppose you could face food right
now.”

“No, both would be great. I’m Celia, by the way. Celia Frost. Thank you.”

“No worries. I’m Solomon Giran, but people call me Sol.”

Sol picked up a rucksack from the slab and pulled out a towel, along with sandwiches, packets of sweets and cans of drink.

“You’re organized,” she said, wrapping the towel round her.

“This is nothing. I keep all sorts of stuff here: frying pan for cooking, hacksaw for cutting up wood, rope for making swings.”

“What are you, SAS?”

“Is it that obvious?” he said, raising an eyebrow.

They sat, silently devouring the food. Celia moved into the shade, protecting her face from the fierce sun and soaking up the scene before her. The azure waters of the lake seemed to plunge into
a bottomless crater, the towering cliffs and surrounding forest guarding it from the outside world. Everywhere there were bursts of colour against the lush green of the trees as wild flowers
flourished along the cliff tops and tumbled down the rock. She’d never seen anywhere so beautiful.

“What is this place?” she asked in wonder.

“It’s an old slate quarry. They flooded it years ago. No one comes here. No one seems to know about it. I think all the people who would remember it have died of old age, and they
don’t exactly advertise it. They don’t want people like you, coming here and drowning.”

“How come
you
know about it then?”

“I found it by accident, about two years ago. I go out on my bike a lot. I need to get away from the Bluebell Estate, it does my head in.” Celia nodded knowingly.
“Anyway,” Sol continued, “one day I was passing these woods and thought I’d give them a closer look and this is what I found. I come here loads now.”

“I can see why,” she whispered in awe.

Suddenly a flash, like a flying jewel, shot across the lake.

“What’s that?” She pointed excitedly at a tiny, brightly coloured bird.

“A kingfisher. Fantastic hunters,” replied Sol as the bird darted down into the water and emerged with a small fish flapping in its beak. Sol handed her a pair of binoculars from his
rucksack. “Now watch where he goes.”

Celia trained the binoculars on the flitting bird and watched as it disappeared into a tiny hole in the grass bank above the cliff.

“Why’s it gone in there?”

“It’s made a tunnel. They have a chamber at the end where they build their nest. I watch them. They started using that chamber about...” He hesitated while he rooted in
his bag and pulled out a notebook. He flicked through it. “It was about six weeks ago. Here, look.”

Celia studied the page. It displayed a detailed drawing of the bird, accompanied by notes about sightings, nesting and feeding habits. Celia leafed through the rest of the book. It contained
page after page of coloured illustrations – herons, song thrushes, woodpeckers, owls, willow warblers, dippers, and one labelled
mandarin duck
that was unlike any duck she’d ever
seen.

“Did you draw all these?”

Sol squirmed. He obviously regretted showing her them. He’d got carried away.

“Yeah,” he said defensively. “I suppose you think I’m a complete nerd.”

“No! They’re great. I’ve never even seen most of these birds,” Celia said.

“Yeah, well,” Sol said, putting the book away. “I spend a lot of time here on my own. I just kind of got into it.”