The Wild Way Home

by Sophie Kirtley

I stare around me, feeling the angle of the slope, gauging the lie of the land, and I know where I am. I’m not far from home at all: the Spirit Stone is just up there, in the clearing, at the top of the mound. I know where I am.

  And I know where this place would be in my Mandel Forest too: the tunnel of trees, where yesterday I slid and I …

  ‘Harby,’ I whisper. ‘I think I … I think that yesterday … yesterday I found your deertooth.’

  He looks puzzled. ‘Cholliemurrum? You find my deertooth? Where you find my deertooth?’

  ‘Here,’ I say quietly. ‘Right where you left it.’ I look back across at Harby’s ma’s hollow. My voice fades to a murmur. ‘Where it’s always been …’ Buried deep. I thump the ground.

  ‘Maybe your pa was a bit right after all. Maybe your ma did send me to make you safe.’

  Harby just stares at me, his brow furrowed.

  I reach into my pocket.

  ‘Open hand,’ I say, tapping on Harby’s closed fingers. He unfurls them and I draw an invisible circle on his rough-skinned palm. Then softly I lay the deertooth there. He does a little gasp. I fold his fingers around the deertooth and hold his closed fist, tight tight tight.

  I don’t know the word for goodbye in his language. Maybe there isn’t one.

  ‘I give thanks,’ says Harby.

  ‘I give thanks,’ I say. And I really mean it.

  ‘Make safe,’ I whisper, looking into Harby’s dark dark eyes.

  ‘Make safe, Cholliemurrum,’ he whispers back.

  I close my eyes and let go.

  NOW

  I feel like I’m rising up, swimming through warm air till I reach the surface and I gasp awake.

  My ears pop.

  I open my eyes.

  I’m standing in the cool green of the tree tunnel, not far from the clearing, at the foot of the mound. Up there through the trees, I see the outline of the Spirit Stone silhouetted against the blue blue sky.

  Somewhere a dog barks and close by in the forest a wood pigeon coos.

  ‘Harby?’ I say, peering amongst the trees.

  But Harby’s vanished. Into thin air.

  I listen: I can hear the hum of traffic on the ring road. The pulse of music. The distant throb of a plane; I look up at its tiny impossible flying shape.

  I’m home! I’m home!

  I squeeze my eyes tight shut and open them again.

  I’m home; I’m back in my Mandel Forest! The path beneath my feet is gravel and beneath that is mud and rock and deeper still is a hollow and a story so much older than I am. I crouch and lay my palms flat on the ground, remembering the deertooth that lay there long ago and yesterday all at once.

  ‘Chaaaaarlie!’

  I freeze.

  ‘Chaaaaaarlie!’ Another voice calls my name.

  These are voices I know, just up there by the Spirit Stone.

  I cup my hands to my mouth.

  ‘Laaaamont! Beeeeeeaky!’ I yell.

  Nero’s bark echoes around the forest.

  ‘Nero!’ I shout. ‘Neeeeeroooo!’

  I run up the mound towards their voices. ‘Home,’ I say, high-fiving the Spirit Stone.

  Nero bounds over, leaps up on me, barking, licking my hands, my arms, my face. ‘Good boy, Nero,’ I say, rubbing the soft fur behind his ears. ‘Good good boy.’

  From the other side of the mound, Lamont appears, then Beaky. They run towards me. ‘Charlie …’ says Lamont.

  And before he can even finish his sentence, I hug them both as tight as tight. At first they don’t hug me back … but then they do. I don’t think we’ve hugged each other since we were really small. We stop hugging, and laugh and look at each other almost shyly while Nero turns in circles, black and shiny as a seal. He barks and barks, tail wagging so much his whole body wiggles.

  ‘Charlie?’ says Beaky quietly. She’s staring at me like I have about seventeen heads. ‘You look …’ And for the first time in … ever, Beaky is totally speechless.

  I look down at my raggedy, muddy, bloody self. I shrug. ‘Cholliemurrum,’ I say like it’s an explanation, banging my fist softly on my chest.

  Lamont and Beaky exchange a look.

  ‘What is wrong with you, Charlie?’ asks Lamont.

  ‘And,’ Beaky adds, ‘where on earth have you been?’

  TOGETHER

  ‘I … I … I’ve been …’ I hesitate. Where have I been? How can I even begin to explain? ‘Um … I’ve been … um here,’ I stammer.

  ‘Charlie Merriam, you are officially the worst liar in the world,’ declares Beaky, folding her arms.

  Lamont sighs. ‘Come on, Charlie. Out with it.’

  I look from one friend to the other and realise there’s no other option but to tell them the truth. So I do. I tell them about the deertooth and about finding Harby in the river; I tell them about the forest that went on forever; the storm and the spea; cave paintings and wolves and spirit songs and wild things; I tell them about the footprints, the camp and the lost baby. All of it.

  ‘… and then I gave Harby his deertooth and I heard you guys calling my name and … well … you know …’ I shrug at them again. ‘… here I am.’

  Beaky and Lamont look at me, mouths open, eyes huge.

  ‘So,’ I say, catching my breath. ‘That’s where I’ve been.’

  ‘That’s where you’ve been?’ echoes Beaky, like the words aren’t even in English. She turns to Lamont, widening her eyes. Lamont rubs at his chin.

  ‘Charlie …’ pleads Beaky, shaking her head.

  ‘Beaky! It’s amazing, isn’t it! I’ve discovered something amazing! Maybe we can find a way to go there again. Together this time. You could meet Harby … you’d actually really get on with him, he’s …’

  Then I notice Beaky’s lip trembling; she looks like she’s going to burst into tears.

  ‘Charlie.’ Lamont’s voice is angry. ‘Stop your stupid pretending. This isn’t a game, you know.’

  It feels like he’s just punched me in the gut.

  I look from Lamont to Beaky and catch her mouthing the words Conk cushion? to him.

  My body is trembling. They don’t believe me! My best friends in the whole world think I’m just making all this up! Nero whines.

  ‘Thanks a lot,’ I say quietly. I turn my face away from them so they can’t see my stupid teary eyes.

  ‘Oh, come on, Charlie,’ Beaky says gently, joggling my shoulder. ‘It’s just that you were gone for nearly two hours and … your dad was all ready to call the police until we said you …’

  ‘Two hours? What d’you mean two hours?’

  ‘What do you think she means?’ says Lamont. ‘It’s been two hours. One minute you’re hiding up a tree spying on us. Next minute, you’re acting like a total grumpster and legging it off into the forest. Then, after two hours of us searching every millimetre in this whole forest, there you are running at us out of the bushes …’

  I blink. ‘What day is it?’ I say slowly.

  ‘I told you it’s conk cushion,’ hisses Beaky to Lamont, tapping her own head.

  Lamont throws his arms in the air. ‘Stop messing around, Charlie! What day do you think it is? Same day as it was two hours ago! Saturday! Your birthday, you nutball!’

  ‘My birthday …’ I murmur.

  My legs go all wobbly; I lean on the Spirit Stone to keep myself steady. ‘But I’ve … but I’ve been … I’ve been …’

  ‘Never mind where you’ve been, Charlie,’ says Lamont. ‘We’ve found you now. But you’re in trouble …’

  ‘… BIG trouble,’ chimes in Beaky.

  ‘Big trouble,’ Lamont agrees. ‘Your mum and dad have been worrie—’

  I snatch Lamont’s wrist. ‘Mum! Dad! Where are they?’

  ‘Oi, Charlie. That hurts. Get off!’ He yanks his arm away from me and checks his phone. ‘Last message says that your dad’s going back to your house to look for you and your mum’s at the hospital …’

  My blood goes cold. The hospital! �
��Dara!’ I shout.

  ‘We just spoke to your dad a minute ago, Charlie.’ Beaky’s lips smile but her eyes don’t. ‘Dara’s in having his operation now. Your dad said he’d be fine though.’

  The cold, frightened feeling comes rushing back, filling up my belly.

  ‘Dad always says things will be fine,’ I say. ‘But what if they’re not?’

  Head spinning, I bite my lip and close my eyes. What about Harby’s mum? Sometimes things aren’t fine. Sometimes really bad things do just happen. The familiar wave of panic crashes through me and all I want to do is to run away from Dara and all his awful possibilities – Dara might not live and Mum and Dad will be sad forever, or if he does survive he might always stay little and baby-bird weak and then Mum and Dad will be worried forever, and maybe they’ll never forgive me anyway for not loving my brother properly right away, how I should, and maybe that is actually unforgivable, maybe even Beaky and Lamont will hate me for it, maybe they already do.

  My heart pounds louder than thunder. I want to put my hands over my ears and to escape from it all; I want a sinkhole to open and swallow me whole; I want to run run run, fast and far; I just want to run away and forget it all.

  But this time I don’t run. I don’t push the hard thoughts away. I hold my ground. I member; curling my hand into a fist, I remember the deertooth I once held there.

  ‘Make safe,’ I murmur as I think about wolf-howl and hart-stomp and the family of handprints upon the stone wall. I think about Harby, how he saved me. And how I saved him. My mind fills with the invisible sound of spirit song.

  Nero nuzzles my hand. I stroke his soft soft ears.

  I’m still afraid. I’m still worried. But I’m not alone.

  I open my eyes and look at my friends. My people.

  ‘I give thanks,’ I whisper. ‘Thanks for looking for me. Thanks for finding me. Sorry I ran off on you like that …’

  Beaky smiles. ‘It’s all right. Sorry you’re having such a rubbish birthday. Are you OK?’

  ‘I’m good,’ I say uncertainly, looking out over my Mandel Forest; so normal, so strange. ‘Yep, I’m fine. But … I need to get to the hospital!’

  ‘No, hang on a minute.’ Lamont’s waving his phone around in the air. ‘Your dad said he was heading back to the house to look for you, remember …’ He bangs on his phone with his hand crossly. ‘And now I can’t get a stupid signal to tell him that you’re found.’

  ‘Well, I’d better tell him myself then. Come on!’

  I zigzag down the mound, Nero at my side. I hear Lamont and Beaky running just behind me.

  We run through the tree tunnel, and take the right-hand fork at the Druid’s Well. ‘That’s actually an ancient sinkhole!’ I call back over my shoulder.

  ‘You’re an ancient sinkhole!’ puffs Lamont.

  Beaky’s laugh rises through the air like birdsong.

  We run together up the path and along the high wooden fences; to my gate, to my garden, to home.

  I burst in the back door.

  ‘Dad!’ I yell.

  MY PEOPLE

  The house is silent. Empty.

  ‘He’s not here,’ I say quietly, stepping back out into the garden.

  Beaky’s climbed up to peek over the wall. ‘His car’s not in the drive,’ she confirms.

  ‘Probably stuck in traffic,’ says Lamont. He’s banging on his phone again. ‘Stupid message still won’t send!’

  We slump down together on to the back step. Lamont starts throwing little pebbles, trying to get them into the watering can. My mind whirs. What if Dad got called back to the hospital? What if …

  ‘We know Dara’s really sick, Charlie.’ Beaky’s voice is strangely quiet and unsure. ‘You probably don’t want to talk about it … I mean … maybe, you don’t want me to talk about it …’

  ‘It’s all right,’ I whisper.

  Lamont stops throwing pebbles and turns to face me. ‘I kind of get it, Charlie. How you feel, I mean. It’s really hard when bad things happen. It’s easier to run away from stuff, not think about it, and pretend things are all OK …’

  I start to feel a tiny bit annoyed with him; he’s acting like he thinks he’s so old and wise!

  Then Lamont’s voice goes really quiet. ‘Like … like when my dad went away. That’s kind of what I did.’ He stops talking, throws another pebble instead. His dad left home last year and Lamont doesn’t ever talk about him now, so Beaky and me don’t ask.

  ‘Maybe it helps and maybe it doesn’t, not thinking about stuff. But things don’t go away just because you don’t think about them.’ Lamont’s voice catches.

  I sit up next to him, but I don’t know what to say; I don’t think Beaky knows either. Luckily Nero does; he puts his head in Lamont’s lap, snuggling in.

  Lamont sniffs and strokes Nero’s glossy fur.

  ‘Oh, what do I know, Charlie? Do what you like. Think what you want … but I just can’t believe all this Stone Age stuff … I want to …’

  He faces me again then, and his eyes look older somehow, like dog eyes, ancient and patient and kind.

  ‘… I do want to believe you, Charlie … but I just … I just can’t. You know?’ He shrugs. I shrug back and look away. Harby probably wouldn’t have believed in our world either; he wouldn’t even have believed in Lamont!

  ‘It’s just the way I am, Charlie,’ says Lamont.

  And when I think about it, he’s actually right. Lamont’s always been the one with his feet on the ground; he’ll play along with Beaky and me but he’s never really believed in it the same way. Not like Beaky and me do. Beaky and me, we thought of the names for everything in the forest: ‘Deadman’s Cave’; ‘the Pinnacle’; ‘the Druid’s Well’; ‘the Spirit Stone’ … and Lamont … Lamont drew the map, and he did it really properly too, on squared paper, working out which way’s north and with a scale and all. It took him ages. But he stuck with it until it was exactly how he wanted it. That’s just the way he is. He’s solid like that, Lamont. I smile at my friend and give him a nudge.

  ‘It’s all right, Callan Lamont,’ I say. ‘I know what you’re like.’

  ‘And I know what you’re like, Charlie Merriam, you big nutball,’ he says with his old slow smile, nudging me back.

  ‘Oh noooo,’ says Beaky. ‘You’ve started two-naming each other. I know what’s coming next …’ She puts her fingers in her ears.

  ‘What do you mean … Beatrice Bird?’ says Lamont, grinning.

  ‘AAAAAARRGHH!’ bellows Beaky, collapsing sideways off the back step, like she’s been sniped. She hates her real name more than anything.

  I giggle, then we all giggle, even Beaky, and Nero starts barking like crazy.

  Lamont’s phone pings. We all stop giggling right away. Lamont looks at his phone. ‘My message must’ve finally sent. That’s from your dad. He says he’s glad you’re safe and he’ll be home soon.’

  Beaky winces. ‘Sometimes with a message, it’s what they don’t say that counts.’ Then she mouths the words. ‘So. Much. Trouble.’

  But I don’t care how much trouble I’m in. All I care about is my little brother, making sure he’s OK.

  I hear the sound of a car turning into our street. Then the crunch of tyres on gravel.

  We stand up. ‘Thanks, Lamont. Thanks, Beaky.’

  Lamont smiles and rolls his eyes. ‘Anytime, nutball!’

  ‘Watch out for cavemen!’ calls Beaky over her shoulder as they go out the back gate ‘… And wolves!’

  Dad’s car door clunks closed. Footsteps on gravel. I go in the back door as he goes in the front.

  DAD

  ‘Charlie! My God, Charlie Merriam! Where have you been?’

  He’s at one end of the hall and I’m at the other. We look at each other, unspoken questions filling the air. I take a big breath.

  ‘Dad?’ I say, a stifled squeak.

  ‘Charlie …’ says Dad, his voice cracking. He clears his throat and tries again. ‘Charlie …’

&nb
sp; ‘Dad!’ I rush to him and hug him so tight. He hugs me back even tighter; his shirt buttons dig into my cheek and he feels so warm and soft and Dad-like. I bury my face in him.

  ‘Oh, Charlie,’ he says, stroking my hair. I look up at his face.

  ‘Sorry, Dad,’ I say at last. ‘Sorry I … Sorry I ran off like that.’

  ‘We were really really worried, Charlie.’ His voice sounds small, like he’s far away.

  ‘I’m really really sorry.’

  Dad sighs and slowly shakes his head. He looks old and tired.

  ‘And where exactly have you been all this time?’

  I hesitate for a millisecond. ‘Just in the forest,’ I whisper. ‘I’m sorry, Dad.’

  Dad gazes at me, so worried and relieved it makes me look down at my feet and feel ashamed. I can’t work out what he’s thinking or what he’s going to say next. I know what Mum would say if she was here; she’d be giving me a proper telling off. It’s high time you took some responsibility, Charlie Merriam. Try considering other people for a change, not just yourself … Dad saying nothing is almost worse than that.

  I peep up at him through my hair.

  ‘Dad …’ I begin. ‘How’s Dara?’

  He looks at me. Blinks.

  ‘Dara?’ he asks.

  I nod.

  Dad takes a big breath. I can see he’s trying to hold it together. Trying to be strong.

  ‘Dara …’ His voice wobbles. He clears his throat, tries again. ‘Charlie, Dara … is very ill. His heart … his heart hasn’t developed properly. He’s having an operation.’

  My own heart thuds. My breath quickens. I swallow. ‘When … when will the operation be finished?’

  ‘They don’t know …’ Dad looks at his watch and sighs. ‘They said it’ll probably be a while yet. They said Mum was to try to rest and they’d tell us when there was any news.’ He looks at me, and his eyes are so frightened I have to look away.

  ‘Can I go and see him, Dad?’ My voice quivers. ‘When he wakes up I mean … give him a cuddle …’

  Just at that moment, Dad’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He grabs it immediately. ‘It’s Mum,’ he whispers.

  And for a second we both just blink at the phone, buzzing in Dad’s hand. We’re thinking ahead, frightened and wondering. We know that this phone call will change everything.