The Hiding Place(45)

“None of your business.”

She folded her arms and narrowed her eyes. A look I knew meant trouble. “Tell me.”

“No.”

“Tell me or I’ll tell Mum.”

I sighed. I was feeling tense and on edge. I didn’t really want to go back to that weird hatch in the ground. Didn’t really know why we were doing this, but I had to go through with it or I’d look like a chicken in front of the others, and now my eight-year-old sister was giving me grief.

“Look, it’s just boring shi— stuff, okay. We’re just going up the old mine for a bit.”

She sidled closer. “So why d’you need Dad’s stuff?”

I sighed again. “Right, if I tell you, you have to promise not to tell anyone else, okay?”

“Okay.”

“We’ve found this hole that leads all the way to the center of the earth and we’re going to climb down it because we think there’s a lost world full of dinosaurs down there.”

She glared at me. “You are so full of shit.”

So much for not swearing. “Fine. Don’t believe me then.”

“I don’t.”

“Fine.”

A pause. I stuffed the hat, clothes, rope and boots into my backpack, zipped it up and hefted it onto my back.

“Joey?”

I hated being called Joey by anyone except my sister, not least because it was such an easy insult.

“What?” I said.

“Be careful.”

And then she ran back toward the house, feet bare and dirty, ponytail bouncing up and down.

I watched her go, and I’d like to say I had some shiver of premonition. That a cloud scudded across the sky carried by an ill wind. That birds rose and shrieked from the trees or a sudden crack of thunder broke the still of the evening.

But there was nothing.

That’s the problem with life. It never gives you a heads-up. Never offers you even the slightest clue that this might be an important moment. You might want to take some time, drink it in. It never lets you know that something is worth holding on to until it’s gone.

I watched Annie skip away—happy, innocent, carefree—and I had no idea that it would be the last time I would ever see her like that.

And I didn’t realize that she had taken the flashlight.


—



We stood around the hatch. Me, Fletch and Chris. Hurst hadn’t turned up yet. A part of me—a big part—hoped he wouldn’t.

We all had on boots, dark clothes and heavy jackets, aside from Chris, who looked like he had ambled along for a day at the park, in a denim jacket, jeans and trainers. I was the only one who had brought along a miner’s helmet (and the backpack with the rope in) but everyone had flashlights. We were ready. Still, without any tools to prise open the hatch, we were ready for nothing.

“Where the crap is he?” Fletch moaned, taking out a packet of B&H.

I shrugged. “Maybe he’s not coming.”

Then we could all go home and forget about this stupid plan without feeling bad or looking chicken.

Chris scuffed his trainers. Fletch smoked his cigarette down to the glowing butt. I pretended to look pissed off, checking my watch but all the while feeling more and more relieved. I was just about to suggest we call it a day and leave when I heard a familiar voice call out: “All right, lads?”

We all turned. Hurst loped down the slope. He wasn’t alone. Marie scrambled down after him.

“What’s she doing here?” Chris asked.

“She’s my girlfriend, that’s what.”

I felt my heart slide down to my oversized boots. As well as the fact that Marie was hardly dressed for pot-holing—in stonewashed jeans and stilettos—she was also clutching a carrier bag with a bottle of Diamond White poking out of the top.

“So, we all set then?” Hurst grinned and brandished the crowbar. His voice sounded a little slurred.

“Ready.” Fletch threw his cigarette butt to one side, where it glared hotly like a resentful red eye.

Chris shuffled again, like he needed the toilet or was wearing too-small shoes. He looked nervous, but not the same nervous that I felt. A sense of restless agitation radiated off him.

“She shouldn’t be here,” he muttered, almost to himself.

Marie glared at him. “Are you talking about me?” she asked.

Despite the situation—and agreeing with Chris—I couldn’t help but notice that she looked really good tonight. Her hair was all kind of tousled and the walk here (probably the cider too) had given her cheeks a flattering pink flush. I swallowed and shuffled a bit myself.

She advanced toward Chris. “Are you saying I shouldn’t be here cos I’m a girl? Like I’m too pathetic to do the same stuff you guys do?”

Marie could be feisty, but there was something about her that night—again, possibly the cider—that had given her an even more confrontational edge.

Chris shrunk back. “No. It’s just—”

“What?”

“Nothing,” I said quickly. “Chris was just looking out for you. We don’t know what’s down there. It could be dangerous.”

She looked as if she was about to argue again. Instead, her face softened.

“Well, that’s nice, but don’t worry. I can look after myself.” She took the Diamond White out of the bag, twisted the cap off and took a swig.