Skull in the Wood (9 page)

I frogmarched her upstairs, did her teeth and a quick wash and got her into her bunny pyjamas. I sat with her for a while, reading her favourite book, but she wasn't really listening. Finally I put the light out.

‘Is the gabbleratchet coming, Tilda?' she murmured.

‘Don't be silly,' I said. ‘Of course not. There's no
such thing.'

I shut the door softly and crept away.

When I came down again, Dad was sprawled in his usual place on the sofa and Matt was nowhere to be seen. Good, I thought. I'd been wanting to get Dad on his own – I really needed to talk to him. He gave me the perfect lead-in.

‘Is Matt behaving himself, then?' he said. ‘Helping out a bit?'

I laughed, but it came out more like a strangled cough that made Jez jump.

‘What do
you
think? Why do we have to have him, Dad?'

He sighed. ‘You know perfectly well. Come on, Tilda, you do realise his family's going through a really hard time, don't you?'

‘Oh, like we haven't been? Not that Matt seems to have noticed.'

Dad sat up and patted the spot next to him.

‘Darling, I know how difficult it's been for you since your mum died. You've coped brilliantly. Sometimes I worry about how much you do round the house. And I know how much you miss her.'

I turned my head so he wouldn't see my eyes getting wet.

‘I'm fine,' I said.

‘Good girl. Anyway, with his dad away, I gather Matt's finding it hard to adjust to the changes.'

‘You mean Aunty Caroline's new boyfriend?'

‘Yes. Some banker type, apparently. Matt's taking it badly. Just try to cut him a bit of slack. The boy's suffering.'

‘Well, so what?' I said. I felt all my pent-up fury rise to the surface like an ash cloud. ‘I don't see why we should put up with him when he's going to take the farm away from us. We don't need anyone else here. We're fine, just you, me and Kitty. We shouldn't even be talking to him, let alone feeding him. It's like offering your supper to a cannibal.'

Dad turned and faced me.

‘You've got to get over this, Tilda,' he said. ‘Matt's your cousin. I know your mum and her sister didn't always see eye to eye, with Caroline being such a city girl at heart. But Caroline can't help the fact that she inherited half the farm and doesn't care for farming. What would you expect your grandfather to do? Just give it to your mum? That would be like me leaving everything to Kitty and nothing to you. It wouldn't be fair, would it?'

I scowled. ‘Yeah, well, Aunty Caroline's not much
of a sister, is she?'

‘Tilda!' Dad sounded really shocked. ‘Your mum loved her, even if they didn't see each other that much. Just remember, this farm business isn't Caroline's fault. And it's certainly not Matt's. Anyway, you never know.' He broke into a grin. ‘After a few days here he might find himself wanting to be a farmer. So stick with it, Tilda. It might all come out right in the end.'

‘Yeah, like that'll happen,' I said. ‘Matt hates the country. He hates everything about Dartmoor. And even if he didn't, I wouldn't share anything with him. I'd honestly rather the farm was sold.'

Dad looked at me and frowned. I shut up. There was no point in going on at him, but I wasn't giving up that easily. If Matt thought he was suffering now, he didn't know the half of it. For some reason the skull floated into my head, and suddenly I knew how I could get back at him. And this was a whole lot better than a stupid werewolf mask.

I trailed back upstairs to my room. This time I knew I wasn't imagining it. The curlew skull was definitely different – the beak was nearly all black. It wasn't as long as I remembered either – somehow it looked wider, blunter. It must be some weird microbe thing going on.

I was just about to pick it up when my bedroom door opened. Matt pushed it wide and came straight in without even knocking.

‘Let's have a look at it, then,' he said. ‘I knew you had it in here.'

‘What are you doing in my room?' I said. ‘It's private!'

‘Yeah, well, we both found the skull, so it belongs to both of us,' said Matt.

‘
I
found it! Just get out!' I was furious. And for some reason I didn't want him touching the skull. I picked it up and held it tight.

‘Keep your hair on. You could try being nice. After all, we
are
family.'

‘Some family,' I said. I could feel my blood rushing to my head. I knew I was shouting, but I couldn't stop. ‘You're going to break up everything that Mum and Dad worked for here. You and your precious mum.'

Matt gaped at me.

‘It's not like she needs her part of the farm anyway. And now she's got this rich banker boyfriend, too, so she needs it even less. Hey, maybe they'll sell
your
house and buy a great big new one together and you'll have to leave your school and all your friends. Just like I will if we lose the farm.'

I'd really riled him now. I figured I might as well put the final nail in the coffin. The thing that had come to me when Dad was telling me off. The one thing that was really going to hurt him.

‘Or maybe they'll send you away, so they can be alone together. Because now she's found Paul, your mum won't want you any more, Matt. Just like your dad doesn't.'

Matt's mouth had fallen open. He took a step towards me, clenching his fists.

‘Just stop it,' he said. It came out fierce and cold. ‘Just stop it now. You're a nasty, jealous, evil . . .'

Matt's chest rose and fell. I was sure that he wanted to hit me and was only just managing to hold himself back. I felt the air go out of me.

‘Don't you ever talk about my mother again, do you hear?' he said. His words were like hammer blows. ‘I mean it. Or else.'

He stormed out and banged the door after him. I picked up the skull and held it in my palm. My hand was shaking, but only a bit, and the skull was satisfyingly heavy. Matt could rant all he liked. I didn't care.

11

Matt

I
slept in really late the next day. Tilda didn't bother waking me up. Good thing, too – I was still seething from last night, and the more I thought about it, the angrier I felt. I'd had enough now – there was no way I was going to spend another day under the same roof as my cousin. I just couldn't believe she'd come out with that about Mum. If she was a boy I'd have thumped her there and then. I had to get out of here before I exploded.

Her and her stupid farm. If it was up to me, I'd sell the whole thing tomorrow.

And it wasn't just about Tilda. Gabe's mad warnings about curses and animals going weird had really
got to me. I was so jumpy now that I'd started imagining all sorts of crazy things. I wasn't overjoyed at the thought of going home, though. Paul would be all over me like a rash, thinking I'd forgiven him and that everything was suddenly sweetness and light. I wasn't putting myself through that. Anyway, it was all because of him and Mum that I'd come to this hole in the first place. It would serve them right if I didn't come back at all.

I stuffed my things into my bag. It took about three seconds flat as I didn't bother to fold anything. I took down Dad's burgee last and threw that in, too. Then I opened my bedroom door a fraction. Not a sound. The coast was clear.

As quietly as I could, I crept across the corridor to Tilda's room and stood outside, listening. I eased the door open. No one there. The skull was sitting on her dressing table, looking stranger than ever. I could even see its metal box on top of an untidy pile of clothes beside her bed. Perfect. I took a deep breath, then went in and grabbed it, packing it away inside the box. I didn't know why I was taking it with me – it wasn't as if I even liked the thing. In fact I found it sort of repulsive. But Tilda was in love with it. That would teach her.

It wasn't till I got to the farm gate that I started breathing normally. No one had even noticed that I'd gone. And let's face it, if Tilda had spotted me with my luggage, she'd probably be halfway through a victory dance before I reached the front door.

I went down the farm track, skirting Long Field and hoping I wouldn't meet Uncle Jack. But no one appeared. The sheep over in Far Field all looked happy enough today, but I knew now what the whole nature thing was really like.

I had a rough idea which way Widecombe was, and I figured I could pick up a bus from there, or failing that, a taxi or a lift, or anything that was going, so long as it would take me off the moor. It was well past three now and I hoped I wasn't too late. But something would turn up, I was sure.

I turned right at the end of the farm track where we'd crossed over on to the moor yesterday. Dry stone walls ran along the road on either side, and beyond them, fields dotted with more sheep. I concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other and clearing my mind of all its nagging thoughts. Left. Right. Left. Right. Nothing else mattered. I hoped I'd be able to find the way. No signposts, of course. That would obviously be far too much to expect out here in the
land that time forgot. There wasn't any traffic either. Just the grey sky and the fields stretching out, and beyond them the brown moorland with its scattered fingers of tors.

In minutes I was a bit calmer. There was something about just being on my own and taking it all in through my eyes and my lungs that made me feel – I don't know – sort of at one with my surroundings.
Hey, steady on
, I thought. You don't want to start acting like some country bumpkin just when you're getting out of here. That would be really sad. Think of something else. All the tube stations on the Piccadilly line, for starters.

I was only at King's Cross when I heard my name being called. I looked up and felt my chest go tight. It was Gabe, and he was rushing down the road towards me.

‘Where do you think you're going now, Matt Crimmond?' he shouted.

I stopped dead and waited till he reached me. This time I wasn't going to be intimidated.

‘It's none of your business,' I said.

Gabe didn't seem to take offence.

‘Maybe that's true and maybe it isn't,' he said.

I sighed. What did I have to lose? ‘I'm leaving,' I
said. ‘Can you tell Uncle Jack I'm sorry, but I had to go? In fact, you can tell him it's all Tilda's fault. She's been totally vile to me ever since I arrived.'

Gabe blinked. ‘I'll tell him, Matt Crimmond,' he said, ‘or the first part at least. But don't you go thinking you can get away just like that. They won't let you.'

I recoiled sharply. ‘Who won't let me?' I asked. ‘Uncle Jack and Tilda aren't going to stop me. I shouldn't think they care much anyway.'

Gabe's mouth creased up into a sardonic smile and he leant in closer to me. ‘Not them, boy,' he said. ‘I mean the harbingers. And maybe the gabbleratchet.'

Though Gabe's breath was warm on my face, my body suddenly felt cold all over. Could it be true? Would I really never get away from here? I fought for control. Gabe was talking rubbish, and I wasn't going to listen to it. I stepped back from him, hefted my bag further up my shoulder and started walking as fast as I could. It had no effect. He fell in beside me, wiry as an old whippet.

‘Look, just let me go, can't you?' I said.

Gabe stopped dead and pointed. Ahead of us a straggle of round-bellied Dartmoor ponies were cropping the grass at the side of the road. They scattered at our approach. Just two remained, turning in
different directions as if they couldn't decide how to make their escape.

And then I saw it, sitting on the road close to the ponies, staring at us. It had to be a hare. Long, long ears tipped with black and huge raised eyes. I'd never seen one before, but I knew what it was at once. Only it didn't move. Just stared at us with those malevolent dark eyes.

Slowly I raised my camera from round my neck. It would run off, surely. But no. It was still there, still staring. I clicked the shutter. That would be some picture.

Gabe jabbed my arm sharply. I put the camera down again, and realised the ponies hadn't found a way out of the road. They were going frantic – twisting and turning, backing away from the hare as if it was the most terrifying thing they'd ever seen. Suddenly one of them reared up on its hind legs, its open mouth flecked with foam. For a moment it towered there, then it brought its hooves down hard against the other one's belly.

There was a high, pained, drawn-out whinny that seared through my brain. Then at last both ponies pounded away.

I looked at the road again. The hare was gone.

Something boiled over inside me. I flung my bag into the road in the direction of where the hare had been sitting.

Gabe watched, expressionless, as I picked it up again. ‘You won't get rid of it like that. It feeds on the anger, see. Hares bring evil luck, often enough. I reckon that one there was a harbinger – you saw what it did to those ponies. And there's a good chance that mare would have been in foal. She'll probably miscarry now.'