some pent-up energy, Daniel began to explore the ridge of seaweed at the high-water mark, to see if anything had been washed up. But there was nothing interesting, no jellyfish, no messages in bottles, no litter, no driftwood. The only trace of civilisation was a sign below the crumbling cliffs warning of falling rocks and a rubbish bin from which a piece of red nylon cord trailed. Daniel wasn’t in the habit of scavenging in bins, but the flash of red caught his eye. On investigating, he found that the cord was the handle of a blue drawstring bag made of sturdy waterproof canvas. A logo in the corner showed what looked like a curling leaf or possibly a crooked smile. It was brand new and just what he could do with for carrying swimming gear to the beach. Daniel thought it was an odd thing to chuck away. Maybe it had been accidentally left behind by someone, then dumped in the bin by a tidy-minded citizen of Wragge. Still, finders keepers.
Up on the cliff two girls watched the blond-haired boy with the dog running across the sand. “I don’t recognise him, do you?” said the older of the two, squinting into the sunset.
“He looks like Alex Lowey,” said the younger one without much interest. “But Alex Lowey hasn’t got a dog.”
“He’s way fitter than Alex,” the older girl insisted. “He must be new.” She absent-mindedly pulled up a leaf from amongst the grass she was lying on, and began to chew it.
“Can we go home now?” her sister asked. “I’m hungry.”
“You can. I’m just watching.”
“Do you fancy him or something?”
“I can’t tell from up here. I wish I had some binoculars.”
Back at The Brow Daniel found Mum and Louie had returned from their shopping trip. They had only gone as far as the first village – Crosskeys – which had a small grocer’s selling milk, cheese, bread and various tins and packets, but no pizza. That was a pity, as it looked as though he and Louie would be getting their own dinner. Even though it was only six o’clock, Mum had retired to her bedroom – Daniel knew she wouldn’t surface until the following morning.
He began to pick unenthusiastically through the tins of soup and beans.
“Get this,” said Louie, who had just unpacked their last purchase – the Wragge Advertiser, an eight-page newspaper – and was sniggering over the headlines. “POLICE REPORT THE DISAPPEARANCE OF A MILK BOTTLE FROM OPIE STREET. My God, it’s a crime hot-spot. Where did you get that?” she added, noticing the canvas bag Daniel was holding.
“Found it in a bin.” Louie looked sceptical. “I did!” Daniel protested.
“It looks brand new.”
“I know. That’s why I kept it. I wouldn’t pick some manky old thing out of a bin, would I?” He shook his head.
“What about this,” Louie said, turning back to the paper. “TWO CARS INVOLVED IN COLLISION IN PORT JULIAN: NO ONE HURT.”
Daniel looked over her shoulder. Another headline: CRASH BANG WALLOP WHAT A STORM! was accompanied by a photo of a fallen tree lying across the bonnet of a car. The article described the damage wreaked by the tail end of Hurricane Edna. It wasn’t a particularly convincing name for a hurricane. Edna brought to mind comfy slippers and false teeth rather than a violent force of nature. He stopped as a different photograph caught his eye. Students celebrate exam success ran the caption; School Principal congratulates pupils of Stape High. The woman in the picture surrounded by students and smiling confidently into the camera was unmistakably the same person he had just met on the cliff path.
“I know her,” he said, plonking a finger on the photo.
“How come?” asked Louie.
“Met her just a minute ago. She never said she was head of the school.” Her remarks made more sense now and left Daniel with an uneasy feeling.
“You don’t mean you actually had a conversation with someone?”
“I didn’t start it,” Daniel admitted. “She thinks we’re going to go to the school.”
“What?” said Louie, horrified.
“She just assumed it. Never said I would be.”
Louie’s cheeks flamed red. “There’s No Way I’m Going to School.” The promise of home education was the only thing that had made her cooperate with this move to the island. Louie would rather hide out on the moors and live in a ditch than set foot in a school again. A wave of sickness rose up and the back of her throat burned. “Mum promised.”
“Well, that’s OK then,” said Daniel, a trifle impatiently. “We just keep our heads down, keep out of trouble. How hard can that be?”
Chapter 4
MUM SEEMED IN no great hurry to begin her home education project, which suited Daniel and Louie just fine. “We need a few days to settle in, get our bearings,” she said over ‘breakfast’ the following afternoon. (None of them were early risers and breakfast was often overtaken by lunch.)
Daniel had spent a restless night, kept awake by the unfamiliar smells and noises of the house and by the unbroken darkness of the countryside. Just before going to bed he had stepped outside to fetch his book from the car and found the garden path swallowed up in blackness. There were no shadows, no shapes; just deep, thick, solid darkness. He’d felt a prickle of fear, much worse than what he sometimes felt on the street in London at night. There you could see trouble coming. Then, just after midnight, he’d been wrenched awake by a noise from the garden. He lay there, heart hammering, confused by his strange surroundings and unable to work out where he was. For a few terrible moments he thought he was still inside Lissmore, that his release and everything since was just a dream. The idea almost made him cry out in panic. Then the noise came again – an owl screeching in the trees – and he remembered he was at The Brow. Even so, he had to get up and try the door, reassuring himself that he wasn’t locked in.
“You might as well go and have a wander,” his mum advised, once breakfast/lunch was over. “I’ve got things to do.”
“Are you going to get the computer set up?” Louie asked.
“Well, I’ll try and sort something out. I’ve got to make phone calls,” Mum said vaguely.
“I bet there’s no internet connection out here in the back of beyond,” said Louie, who hated being offline even for a day. Already Louie had turned on the ancient TV in the living room, and found the screen a blizzard of grey dots. “What the hell’s wrong with this thing?” she demanded, thumping the top of the set.
“There’s probably no reception,” said Mum with the infuriating casualness of someone who doesn’t watch TV. Adjusting the aerial had made it slightly worse. The only thing that brought any improvement in picture quality was standing on a particular floorboard by the window, behind the TV.
“Stay there while I watch Hollyoaks,” Louie instructed Daniel. “Don’t move.”
“But I can’t even see the screen,” Daniel protested.
“That’s OK. You don’t like Hollyoaks, anyway.”
Another let-down was the piano in the back room. Daniel no longer had lessons
