The Boy and His Ribbon (The Ribbon Duet, #1)(13)

I wanted twigs cracking beneath my shoes and grass swaying around my legs. I wanted the reward of hard living because every day was sweeter for having survived with no one and nothing.

Perhaps I was punishing myself, or maybe I’d lost all trust in people.

Either way, on my fourth night, I found myself in front of a camping store in the middle of the shopping district of the sleepy little town.

My fingers smudged the glass as I pressed my nose up and stared past the streetlight reflections to the tempting merchandise beyond.

Tents and sleeping bags and everything I’d ever need to turn the wilderness into my home.

It didn’t take me long to figure out how to break in, spying the back delivery door with a flimsy lock and no reinforcement. All it took was a twist of my dull blade and the mechanism gave up, swinging the door open with a whisper of invitation.

No alarm shattered the night.

No security guard grabbed me by the scruff of the neck.

I spent the rest of midnight wandering aisles, staring at pictures on packets and squinting at words I didn’t understand.

I tested the weight of tents and camping stoves. I snatched sharp knives and Swiss army blades and stashed them deep in my pockets. I stole a foldable saw, small hammer, and a handy toolkit with screw drivers, pliers, and other miniature hardware I’d no doubt need.

Scooping up two first-aid kits complete with everything from needles to painkillers, I gathered a pile of water purifiers, strange dried food, bendable plates, cups, and cutlery, and finally, after much deliberation, I chose the smallest one person tent I could find that weighed less than Della.

Trading my dirty backpack, I upgraded to a cleaner one with waterproof flaps and hardwearing zippers. Khaki green with navy blue stitching, it fit my tent, sleeping bag, and everything else I needed with plenty of space left over for food.

Once I’d exhausted my checklist, I headed toward the clothing racks and helped myself to two of everything.

Two long sleeves. Two t-shirts. Two undershirts. Two trousers. Two belts. Two jumpers. Most were too big, but they were well-made and warm and would last me a lifetime if I took care of them.

For the heavier things, I deliberated far too long, doing my best to make the right choice. Eventually, I settled on a windbreak, waterproof duck-down jacket along with tramping boots a size too big, a four-pack of woollen socks, and some underwear.

At the last minute, I also shoved in a pair of flip-flops for reasons I wasn’t entirely sure of, along with a beanie, scarf, gloves, and sunglasses.

Dawn slowly blinked fresh eyes and yawned away the night, giving me a heads-up that it was time to leave.

Hoisting up my new bag of possessions, smoothing my stolen wardrobe, I crept from the camping store, pulled the door closed behind me, then headed to the supermarket across the street.

*

I had everything I needed.

I was ready to trade closed-in civilization for wide open spaces.

For the first time in my life, I felt an unfurling of excitement.

No one had caught me raiding the supermarket. No one saw the small smashed window in the staff bathroom even though they’d opened an hour ago and customers came and went.

I strolled boldly down Main Street in my clean earth-coloured clothes and dared them to say I didn’t belong.

My eyes latched onto the horizon where beckoning trees and twinkling sunlight promised a new beginning.

And then, I made the second biggest mistake of my life.

I glanced to my left, toward an appliance store selling computers, stereos, and TVs, and there, on the four giant screens in the window was Della.

Her scrunched up face, purple from crying, her fists flailing, her mouth wide in an ugly scream.

My legs shot across the street before I could stop myself, slamming to a stop with my heavy backpack bashing against my spine as I pressed a shaking hand against the window.

Della.

Why was she crying?

Why was she on TV?

And where the hell was her ribbon? Her little fists were empty of her favourite belonging.

Her blue eyes shot red with tears, her little legs kicking as some strange man held her with a heavy scowl.

I wanted to kill him for holding her with such disgust and inconvenience.

My fingernails clawed at the glass, trying to comfort her even though I’d been the one to throw her away.

Then screaming Della was replaced with a severe woman in a pink suit.

Her mouth moved but no sound came.

There was nothing more important to me. I had to hear what she said.

Shoving my way past a customer exiting the store, I stomped my way inside and latched onto the closest TV. The sound was turned down but loud enough to make out words I never wanted to hear.



A few nights ago, a baby girl was found in Mr. and Mrs Collins home. No sign of forced entry, no note explaining who she is, no hint where she came from or if whoever left her plans on coming back.

Mr. and Mrs Collins kept the child for a few days, hoping whoever had left her would see the error of their ways and return, but when no such visit occurred, they contacted local authorities and requested she be collected by Social Services until a foster family can be found.

If you or anyone you know is missing a baby girl, approximately one and a bit years old, blonde hair, blue eyes with a birth-mark similar to a sunburst on her left thigh, then please, ring the number below or call the police.

For now, the baby girl is having one last night in Prebbletown before facing an unknown future tomorrow.