turned the metal pieces so they didn’t clatter together, so Mum didn’t hear and wake. But it was too dark and I couldn’t find the tin girl, couldn’t feel her in there. Where was she?
I got back into bed with one of the horses. The metal warmed in my hand. I could feel the ribs of thick paint brushstrokes.
I turned the horse, felt the smooth curve of its neck, its hooves kicked up in a gallop as it no longer touched the earth. I thought I felt the sway of its mane against my fingertips.
I dreamed. Horses pounded in my heart. Lights brightened, circled, turning faster, spreading wider until I saw her in the middle. The tin girl was real! As tall as me, her skin reflected the dazzle of the carousel. She lowered her arms and turned her face to me.
“Where am I?” she whispered.
“They’re five and seven – they’re not babies,” Mum muttered. She seemed miles away.
“How come I’ve never met them before?”
“People are busy; it’s hard to make time. Families are like that sometimes.”
The polite lady on the satnav told Mum to take the first exit. We turned off into a narrow road, then into an even narrower one between some hills.
“What will I be doing?”
Mum glanced over.
“Nell, what’s got into you this last couple of days? Something’s bothering you, so why don’t you just tell me.”
I couldn’t tell her what else I’d been wondering about, like why the carousel Dad made was still in the loft and all the things to do with that. I was too scared of what she’d say, what she’d think of me. A moment passed. There were potholes and bumps in the road.
“I feel sick,” I said.
“Don’t be silly. The two weeks will pass in no time.”
Which was not what I meant, and anyway it was wrong. Two weeks takes two weeks. Which is ages.
“No, I mean I really feel sick.”
Mum pulled over, searched her handbag and fished out a travel sickness sweet, a bottle of water and a paper bag – just in case.
I opened the window and leaned my head out. The air smelled cool and clean. I felt the tickle as Mum curved my hair round my ear, a warm patch growing across my shoulder where she laid her hand.
“It’ll be hard for me too,” she said, “being without you.”
I watched her expression, but I couldn’t tell. She kind of looked lost for a minute. Then she drove away, saying we’d be there soon.
Ruts jiggled us down a lane only just wider than the car. We passed mostly green and brown things: trees and hedges, empty fields and gates. The satnav showed we were off the map, the car on the screen floating in nowhere. The only thing that seemed the same was the sky, the same as it was in the city, high and out of reach.
We dipped further into the valley, round a corner past a place called Keldacombe Farm and then Mum parked by a stone wall.
There were two small children sitting on the wall chewing red liquorice laces. Gemma, the youngest, had fair hair; Alfie had dark hair and flushed cheeks, like me. They wore muddy wellies, jeans with holes in the knees and baggy, home-made jumpers. Before Mum got out, she reached across and held my hand. I noticed how warm her hand was, how it changed the temperature of mine.
“Hello, Aunty Cathy,” my cousins said together as Mum stepped out of the car.
“You’re Nell, aren’t you?” said Gemma, holding the lace in her teeth. “Everyone calls me Gem.”
“Cos Mum says she is one,” said Alfie.
“Is Nell short for Nelly?” said Gem. “Like the elephant?”
“No,” I said, thinking it wasn’t a very nice thing to say.
Alfie elbowed her.
“What? I didn’t mean she looks like an elephant, cos she doesn’t,” Gem said, swinging her legs and shrugging away from Alfie. “Is it short for Nellina, then? Or Nellanie?”
“It’s not short for anything,” I said. “I’m just Nell.”
Gem jumped off the wall and said, “You’re going to sleep in our room, Just Nell.”
Which made my eyes open wide and my heart sink.
Gem said, “Come on. We’ve been waiting.”
Her hand was warm and sticky as she pulled me through the gate.
We followed my cousins through another gate between chicken-wire fences, sheds and coops, past a blue greenhouse, along a crazy path towards Lemon Cottage and its open door. There were ducks and geese wandering around the wide garden. The lawn and pond were speckled with feathers.
“They’re here!” Gem called.
The geese swayed and raised their heads, honking at us like we’d caused a traffic jam. Their beaks looked hard, their eyes sharp, like they knew something just by looking at me.
Aunt Liv came out of the door. She wiped her hands on a tea towel and flicked it over her shoulder. She didn’t seem to mind the birds as she waded through them. Her flowery dress swished over her knees and across the top of her wellies as she hurried to meet us.
She tucked her short dark hair behind her ear. Mum hugged Aunt Liv as if she was in a hurry, gabbling on about how kind she was to have me at short notice.
“I tried everyone I could think of,” Mum said. “You were our last resort.”
Mum has a way of saying what she thinks without thinking what she’s saying. Then she listed foods I didn’t like (fish, Marmite and salad cream – embarrassing) and how she expected me to behave (polite, kind, helpful) and said I would be no trouble.
Aunt Liv smiled, put an arm round Mum and me.
“Come on in. Gem’s made cakes.”
