‘So,’ I said, ‘where is it?’
He knew exactly what I was talking about. He reached down for his bag, rummaged inside it and pulled out the box.
‘Here,’ he said.
I opened it, took the skull out and held it in my hand. It was cool and dark and heavy. It wasn’t exactly how I remembered it – the beak seemed a bit shorter, a bit less pointed – but I still loved it. It was the most brilliant thing I’d ever seen. Suddenly all my dislike for Matt rose again like a bad smell.
‘We’ve got to get rid of it,’ he said.
I forced my gaze away from the skull and gaped at him. I wasn’t sure if I’d heard him right. But I had.
‘I was going to chuck it overboard,’ he said, ‘only I didn’t get a chance because of the weather. So it’s up to both of us now.’
A black cloud started gathering somewhere behind my eyes.
‘Listen a minute, will you?’ Matt said, hurriedly. ‘Don’t go off on one. It’s important.’ In a rush he told me all about meeting Gabe, and then about the curlews and how they’d attacked him. ‘Gabe said I wouldn’t be allowed to leave,’ he said. ‘And he was right.’
Gabe’s nonsense again. I was sick to death of it. I made a move to go.
‘No, wait,’ said Matt. ‘Think about it – all those omens. Old Scratch Wood. The skull of a curlew . . .’
‘A dead curlew. Dead as a dodo, in fact. And I don’t think dodos count among your precious omens.’
‘Yes. But a curlew, all the same. The sheep on the way back from Old Scratch Wood. The farm animals yesterday. And when I was leaving, I saw a hare . . .’ He stopped and looked straight at me, his brows scrunched together.
‘Please, Tilda. We need to do something.’
Suddenly I wasn’t quite so sure any more. What if something bad really was coming? Then I remembered that the worst thing in the world had already happened to my family. I wasn’t going to let myself be freaked out by a bunch of stuff that anyone who knew anything about the countryside would think was perfectly normal.
Matt touched the skull, then jerked his finger away as if he’d been burned. ‘We’ve got to bury it again,’ he said. ‘Put it back where we found it.’
‘You’re joking.’ There was no way on earth I was going to let him do that.
‘I think it’s important, Tilda,’ he said. ‘You don’t understand. It’s making things worse. It’s – I don’t know – sort of evil. As if there’s something inside it, watching us.’
I scowled. ‘You’re not having it.’
Matt looked exhausted. ‘Then don’t blame me if something terrible happens.’ He turned over and closed his eyes.
I took the skull back into my bedroom and laid it on my dressing table. The beak was even blacker than before, and it seemed to weigh more now. It wasn’t all in my imagination – bird skulls should be super-light, and this one was more like a stone. It was weird. But I loved it, and Matt could dream on if he thought I was going to let it go.
There was someone who might know more about it. Alba, Gabe’s wife. She’s really into birds – she knows their calls and everything. She used to teach me about them when I was little and she and Mum were friends, and she tells me where to go on the moor to see interesting stuff. And she’s not half-batty like Gabe, though she’s into all those stupid stories about the moor, too. If I was quick I could go and see her and still get back before Aunty Caroline arrived.
I packed the skull into its box again, scribbled a note for Dad and told Jez we were off for a walk.
‘Don’t get too excited, though,’ I said. ‘It’s only round to Alba’s.’
But from the way Jez was barking, I don’t think she got that bit.
We went across the moor, avoiding the road so I didn’t have to put her lead on. The last of the rowanberries were clinging to the stubby trees along the ridge. Winter was nearly here.
Alba came to the door wearing a purple smock over leggings. She always dresses kind of strange for her age. She’s quite tall and thin, and her hair’s completely grey but she wears it long. She looks as if she’s come straight out of Harry Potter. But when she saw it was me and Jez, her whole face lit up.
‘Tilda! It’s good to see you, lovey. On your own, are you?’
‘I just wanted to . . . say thank you for the lemon drizzle cake. It was fantastic. I finished it this morning. And yes.’
‘I’m glad you enjoyed it. And Matthew and little Kitty, too, I hope. I’m really glad your cousin’s back again. You all must have been so worried.’
I rolled my eyes, but Alba didn’t see. She led us through the hall into her sitting room. Everything’s kind of brown at Gabe and Alba’s. Brownish walls, brown chairs, dark brown wood. Loads of brown-framed pictures all over the walls. I settled into the brown sofa.
‘Now you wait there and I’ll bring us something nice,’ she said.
Jez stretched out at my feet pretending to be asleep, but her nose and ears were alert for the possibility of treats. In a few minutes Alba came through with a Coke and a big slab of millionaire’s shortbread for me, and a cup of tea and a smaller bit for her. She sat down opposite me while I laid into it, thanking her between bites. I dropped a sneaky bit down to Jez, too.
‘So what is it, then?’ she asked. Alba always knows when something’s up.
‘I’ve brought a thing I want you to see.’
I took the box out and showed her the skull. She picked it up and stared. Then she put it on the coffee table and looked away.
‘It’s a curlew,’ I said.
‘Yes, it is, lovey. I can see that.’
‘But it’s changing. It wasn’t so black before. Why do you think it’s doing that?’
‘Where did you find it?’ Alba asked.
‘In Old Scratch Wood. It was buried there.’
Alba’s face creased and furrowed, and her grey eyes narrowed. She suddenly looked a whole lot older. She didn’t say anything for a moment. Then she took a deep breath.
‘It’s happening again,’ she said. ‘Has Gabe spoken to you?’ She pushed the skull away.
I knew what she meant immediately.
‘All that stuff about strange omens – birds and I don’t know what else? Yes. He goes on about them all the time. But it’s just stories, isn’t it?’
Alba closed her eyes for a second.
‘I don’t know exactly,’ she said. ‘Gabe’s told me about when everything turned bad the last time. And it was real enough then.’
‘What do you mean?’ This wasn’t what I expected from Alba. The only thing she seems to fret about normally is whether we’re eating properly now Mum isn’t here to look after us.
‘All I know is the birds have come before to Parson’s Farm and they’ll come again,’ she said. ‘They’re a warning. A warning of evil to come.’
‘Not you, too, Alba,’ I said. She was freaking me out. Jez whined and pawed me. Alba smoothed her hands over her smock and spoke in a voice so low I could barely hear her.
‘Your mother didn’t believe it either . . .’ She bit her lip and stopped.
‘What do you mean?’ I said. ‘What’s Mum got to do with it?’
Alba just shook her head.
‘Alba, tell me what’s going on!’ I pushed Jez away and stood up. The room was feeling much too small for me.
‘Your mum didn’t believe in anything she couldn’t see or touch,’ said Alba. She hesitated. ‘But you should, Tilda. You should believe in the stories out here on the moor. Birds and animals going bad – people say it’s how the gabbleratchet starts.’
‘Gabbleratchet.’ The word filled my head like the wind on top of a tor.
Alba looked at me and her eyes seemed to bore right through me.
‘The gabbleratchet, yes,’ she said. Her voice was pale as faded ink. ‘You might still have the choice to turn it back. But if not . . .’
This was all getting too much. I wanted her to stop.
‘. . . the gabbleratchet will come.
And I pray to God you’ll never have to see it.’ Alba put her hand on my arm. ‘Bad blood is what causes it. I know how much you’re hurting inside, lovey, with your mother gone. But you have to stop taking it out on other people. You need to learn to forgive – to let it go.’
I moved my arm away. It was so unfair – the one person who I’d thought might stick up for me had turned against me.
‘You might be able to stop what’s driving it,’ Alba was saying, but I was only half listening. My blood was racing in my ears. ‘Stop the anger. Pray God you can. I’m sorry, lovey. I really am.’
She got up, gathered the cups and plates in quick, nervous movements and disappeared into the kitchen. Jez whined and pushed at my knee. I grabbed the skull and left.
I stomped down the ridge, rehashing what Alba had said and feeling more and more angry. I should have stood still when I heard Jez bark twice – sharp, urgent barks that sounded a clear warning – but I kept on marching down. And suddenly, unbelievably, there it was in front of me. Something I’d never seen, but always wanted to. A stag with huge antlers, staring at me, sizing me up. Its eyes swivelled in their sockets. I could just make out their colour – one brown, one blue. It lowered its head slightly. Ready to take me on.
I felt my heart clench tight. It was enormous. Its coat was reddish-brown and I could count at least five points on each antler. What was it doing out here in the open? Would it charge me? And what about Jez? She could easily get herself killed.
‘Sit, Jez,’ I hissed. Jez growled low in her throat, but sat down. Her entire body was tensed to defend me.
I stepped backwards slowly, never taking my gaze off the stag. At last I reached Jez and put my hand on her collar.
‘Come on,’ I whispered.
Together we inched back some more. The stag watched us, one hoof raised. I could hear its breath coming in short quick pants. I wanted to run – but I knew just how bad an idea that was.
The stag snorted and lowered its head. Its huge antlers aimed straight at us. Every point looked sharp as a blade. All at once I knew it was going to charge.
With a violent bound, Jez broke away from me and hurled herself towards it.
‘No!’ I screamed. But Jez was right up there, growling and snarling, trying to find a way to get beyond the antlers, trying to scare the thing off.
Suddenly the stag slashed its head towards her. Jez let out this awful whimper and jerked backwards.
Then the stag simply shook itself and turned away. It pounded over the ridge, cleared a hedge and was gone.
17
Matt
Mum had phoned from Exeter to say she was nearly here. She was bringing Paul with her. I knew I was going to get yelled at for taking the boat, and I wasn’t looking forward to it.
Gabe had already managed to corner me, too. I’d gone out into the front yard and there he was, getting down from the tractor.
‘Back, are you, Matt Crimmond?’ he said.
I tried giving him my tough-guy stare. ‘Obviously.’
Gabe smiled, but it only reached one side of his mouth. ‘I told you, didn’t I? But you didn’t listen. You can’t run away from it. Not by land, nor sea neither.’
Where was he getting all this stuff? I was almost beginning to wonder if he’d sent the curlews after me.
‘But why?’ I asked. ‘And why me?’
‘Not just you, Matt Crimmond,’ said Gabe. ‘There’s no saying who Old Scratch wants for himself if he sets his messengers gathering. He finds his opportunity . . . he sniffs bad blood like carrion. It’s meat and drink to him. And then, if he finds it to his liking, he sends the gabbleratchet. But this farm’s had more than its share of ill luck. I know it all from way back.’
I didn’t ask how he thought he knew it all – there was no point in getting even more freaked out. Right now I didn’t want to hear about it.
‘Look, I’ve got to go, Gabe,’ I said. ‘My mum’s coming soon.’
He nodded.
‘I’d best make myself scarce, then,’ he said. ‘She’ll not be wanting to see me. I need to go on home anyway. I’ve got an idea of something that might keep the evil off.’
Whatever, I thought. There was no time to worry about Gabe. I could hear the car drawing up in the yard – Mum and Paul must be here. I wondered where Tilda was. I was actually quite worried about her meeting Mum, given the way she’d been over the farm – there might well be fireworks.
But in the end it wasn’t Tilda who blew up. It was me.
The first five minutes of Mum’s visit were pretty awful. She didn’t know whether to shout at me for being so stupid or hug me until I couldn’t breathe, and ended up doing both. It was so embarrassing. Kitty was watching with wide eyes, while Uncle Jack pretended not to notice.
Paul was hanging around in the background in a pair of baggy cords and an I’m-in-the-country-now cream checked shirt. He’s normally in posh business suits but he was obviously trying to blend in – ha ha. He’d had his hair cut really short but it didn’t disguise his bald patch, I noticed. But at least he stayed out of it, just told me it was good to see me in one piece and left it at that. I totally ignored him. Finally Kitty broke up the touching scene by dragging everyone into the kitchen for some chocolate cake.
‘Me and Tilda made it,’ she said. ‘It’s because Matty’s come home. Look what Tilda wrote.’
On the top in chocolate letters were the words ‘Welcome Mat’. I wasn’t sure whether it was a joke or one of Tilda’s digs. But the cake was good. And at least having tea took some of the heat off me.
Mum and Uncle Jack were sort of awkward with each other. Mum was all bright and brittle and talking too much like she does when she’s embarrassed. Uncle Jack had gone even more silent than usual. He must still be angry with her about having to sell those fields, I thought.
Paul, of course, was busy pretending nothing was wrong and acting like a right know-it-all. He kept asking Uncle Jack about sheep farming and markets and yields and stuff, even though it was like pulling teeth. Then he turned to Mum.
‘So what was it like growing up here?’ he said. ‘You don’t talk about it much, darling.’ I cringed as he put an arm around Mum’s waist.
‘I’m not really the country type,’ said Mum. ‘Not like Rose was.’ She eyed Uncle Jack, then looked away. ‘I couldn’t wait to escape from all the mud and the rain. Then I discovered London and I never looked back.’
Tilda had sidled in as she was speaking. She looked strangely pale as she stood listening by the door. Then Mum spotted her.
‘Tilda, sweetheart,’ she said. ‘It’s wonderful to see you. It’s been so long, hasn’t it? Goodness, you look grown up. How are you? How’s school?’
‘OK,’ said Tilda. She couldn’t have been more frosty if she’d swallowed an avalanche whole.
Mum refused to be put off.
‘We were just talking about how I wanted to go to London when I was your age,’ she said. ‘You must come and visit us and see the sights. I’ll take you shopping. How about that?’
‘I hate shopping,’ said Tilda. Her eyebrows were a dangerous V shape.
Mum laughed. ‘That’ll change when you get older,’ she said. ‘Wait till you’re sixteen, and then you’ll see. You’ll be desperate for some bright lights by then.’
‘No, I won’t,’ said Tilda. ‘I love the farm. I’m never going to leave it.’
Mum glanced at Uncle Jack. He stepped in quickly.
‘Caroline’s just trying to be nice,’ he said. ‘You might want to take her up on it sometime.’ He turned to Mum. ‘Maybe I’ve kept the girls a bit too isolated since their mum died.’
‘I’d like to go to London,’ said Kitty. ‘But only if I can bring Jez and the chickies.’
Mum smiled uncertainly. Paul burst out laughing.
Tilda broke in. ‘Dad,’ she said. ‘Jez got hurt. But Gabe’s sorted her out. He says she’s fine, only—’
‘OK, darling,’ said Uncle Jack. ‘I’ll check her
in a minute. But let’s just make your aunt welcome first, shall we? She’s had a long drive.’
Tilda scowled and looked at the floor.
‘How about we take you all out for an early supper?’ said Paul, quickly. ‘There must be some local pub that does a decent spread. What do you think, young ladies?’
‘I’m not allowed to go to pubs,’ said Kitty.
‘And Dad’s made supper already,’ said Tilda, snottily.
Served Paul right for being so smarmy.
‘It’s true, I have,’ said Uncle Jack. ‘You’re welcome to stay, though.’ He smiled, but it looked a bit forced. ‘In the meantime would you like to see the farm, Caroline? And Gabe’s outside somewhere. We could go over and say hello to him. Rose said you and he knew each other way back.’
‘Yes, we did,’ said Mum, her mouth twisting. It clearly wasn’t a good memory. ‘To be honest, it’s better if you show Paul around without me, Jack. Matt and I will take a little walk up to Far Field. Come on, darling.’
It wasn’t a suggestion but an order. I sighed and followed her out. She was wearing shiny black shoes with heels and a smart skirt, but she didn’t seem to care about the mud for now.
The reckoning didn’t take long in coming.
‘What’s got into you?’ she said as we walked up to the ridge. ‘If you were having problems here, why didn’t you just ring? You knew we’d come and get you. It was you who was so desperate to go away in the first place. And what on earth possessed you to go out on that boat? How could you? I’ve been scared to death.’
I looked down. There wasn’t much I could say. Mum was only warming up, though.
‘You could have smashed the boat up,’ she said. ‘You could have been killed.’
‘It wasn’t that bad. But yeah, I know it was dumb. I’m sorry.’
‘Surely your father doesn’t encourage you to sail on your own?’
‘It wasn’t his fault. He had nothing to do with it. It was my idea.’
‘Well, it was idiotic, Matt. I thought you knew better than that.’
‘Yeah, well.’ I kicked at a stone. We turned and started walking along the edge of Far Field. The sheep scattered, but neither of us looked at them.
Skull in the Wood Page 9
