Searching for Arthur (The Return to Camelot #1)(4)

“What the…” swore Arthur.

“Warriors-old-men-with-swords!” I screamed in one continuous sentence as I fell into his arms. “I-fell-in-a-hole-a-grave-he-had-a-sword-thought-he-would-chop-my-head-off…”

“Titch, calm down,” said my brother, pushing my filthy body away from his clean white t-shirt. He held onto my forearms while he scanned my injuries, making a tutting noise with his tongue - similar to our dear mother - as he shook his head.

“no-eyes-NO-EYES…”

“Titch, you know you are screeching so high only dogs can understand you now,” said Arthur, slipping an arm around my waist. “Come on. I’ll get you home and then we’ll survey the damage once you’re clean. You may need stitches in your head, you klutz.”

It was only when Arthur mentioned it, that I realised the wet stuff dripping down my face wasn’t sludgy mud. It was blood.



Arthur said later that was the moment I fainted.



I could feel hands on my ankles. I yelped in fear of the ghosts, and threw myself forward towards the blurred figure in my peripheral vision.

“Titch, Titch, it’s alright,” cried a familiar voice. “You’re safe now.”

A thin beam of light shone directly overhead. I became aware of the burning smell of bleach and antiseptic in my nostrils. Bile rose in my throat; I twitched dramatically.

“Do you think she’s brain-damaged?” said another voice: a simpering high-pitched Welsh accent.

“SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS.”

“Why is she hissing?” said the female.

“Because she’s awake,” replied Arthur, and I felt him slap my hand.

“Be nice,” he whispered in my ear, “she’s been really worried.”



I couldn’t believe that my brother had brought his girlfriend to my hospital bed. I could have been dying or worse, but no, even then Arthur would have needed a crowbar to part him from Slurpy Sammy. When she sees me, she starts kissing Arthur like he has turned into an ice cream. A big dollop of vanilla ice-cream. It’s why I came up with the nickname, although I always shorten it to SS when my brother is around. I use the initials because I don’t like to hurt Arthur’s feelings. Her full name is Samantha Scholes-Morgan, although she likes to be called Sammy because she thinks it’s cute.

Rabbits or hamsters called Sammy are cute. Slurpy Sammy with the hyphenated surname is one of the un-dead.



I knew I would have to open my eyes eventually. When I did, I saw that I was lying in a hospital bed with a drip in my arm.

“How’s your head?” asked Arthur. He was wearing a different t-shirt from the one he had been wearing earlier.

“Still attached to my neck, I hope,” I groaned. My throat was dry and sore.

“The docs will be back in a minute. They said you’ll have to stay in tonight. You have concussion apparently.” Arthur’s fingers were now wrapped around my pinkie, squeezing it tightly.

Where was my mother? I wanted to know why she wasn’t there. We had exchanged words, I know, but she wouldn’t really stay home while I was hurt, while her kid was in the hospital? I mean, she’s had the practice….No. That wasn’t how it worked in our family anymore. I was still being punished.

So I didn’t ask why she wasn’t there. There was no point.



I glanced over towards Slurpy. She didn’t look worried at all. She was helping herself to green grapes that had been left on a sliding tray at the bottom of the hospital bed. Her heavily made up eyes were glued to a ceiling mounted television set.

“I’m gonna get the docs,” said Arthur. “They should at least know you’re awake.”

The second he was out of the room, Slurpy’s eyes left the television screen and fixed on me.

“You do it on purpose, don’t you?” she said accusingly in her thick Welsh accent.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Arthur was taking me shopping. He promised to buy me a ring.”

“So what? Is the world suddenly expecting a ring shortage in the next 24 hours?”

“You do it on purpose, you little freak. Always wanting to be the centre of attention.”

Slurpy had a special way of saying freak. All of her friends did; I heard it often enough. It was the Welsh accent that did it, with extra emphasis on the letter r which rolled off her tongue. It made the word last longer.

“You really are a total loser, Natasha. It’s pathetic the way you cling to your brother. Why can’t you hate him, like a normal sister? I would rather die than be near my brother – but then Arthur is too good to you, you attention seeking freak.”

There was no point wasting oxygen in replying. If there was a competition to find Britain’s Next Top Hermit, I would win hands down. I detested being the centre of anyone’s attention, even my brother’s.

“You know what they call you at school?” continued Slurpy viciously; she cackled like a witch.

I knew what they called me. It didn’t bother me, despite the lump now forming in my throat.

Arthur walked back into the room. Slurpy went back to watching the television and shovelling grapes into her enormous mouth.

“Did you tell anyone about the person with no eyes?” I whispered, hoping beyond hope that he hadn’t. “Or the grave, the hole I fell into?”