A cold feeling spread from my neck and down my back exactly as though someone had dropped ice inside my collar.
‘Tammy!’ I shouted, not so loud to begin with, as, although I knew, I couldn’t be certain something was wrong, if that makes sense. ‘Tam?’
The moon was still low and obscured by thick cloud, and when the sky is like that, Kielder is darker than you can possibly imagine, the only light coming from our bicycle lights.
‘TAMMY!’ I yelled, and cocked my head to hear, but there was nothing. The wind was so light that it made no sound at all as it passed through the bare trees.
Tammy’s bike had stopped near to an overgrown path that leads down to the reservoir and the little jetty where Tammy and I play the throwing-stones-as-far-as-we-can game. I grabbed the light from the front of my bike and started down the path.
It makes no sense, I told myself. Why on earth would she go down here?
‘Tammy! Tam!’ I kept calling.
The path is quite steep down to the lakeshore, and I kept stumbling in the dark until I got to the little beach of shingle and rocks. I stared out over the inky blackness of Kielder Water, and that’s when I heard the noise: a low drone, getting higher in pitch.
OOOOOOMMMMMMMM ooooooooommmmmmmm.
The noise was sort of like an aeroplane, but definitely not an aeroplane. It was sort of like a motorboat, but definitely not a motorboat either; and there was nothing to see. Here, right next to the water, the sky appeared a little clearer and the cloudy moon gave off a little bit of grey light. I narrowed my eyes and stared out over the lake, where a column of mist had appeared, stretching high into the sky, hanging for a few seconds before it dispersed on the breeze.
There was a smell too. A bad smell: very faint, like bad body odour and blocked drains, but that was soon taken by the air as well.
Perhaps she had come down to the lake to do some stone-throwing practice? Was that why she always beat me, because she practised in secret? I knew that was a daft idea, but I think I had already started to panic.
My heart was pounding with fear as I scrambled back up the path to where Tammy’s bike still lay with its lights on.
I yelled her name again, desperately hoping she would come out of the woods that line the road. She would say, ‘Eth-aaaan, for heaven’s sake, what are you shouting for? I just went into the woods for a pee’ or something like that.
But she didn’t, and I knew I had to get help. I took out my phone but there was no signal. There hardly ever is around here. Step out of the village and you might as well be in 1990.
I climbed back on my bike and started to pedal as fast as I could to Scottish Sheila’s house, shouting ‘Tammy!’ all the way until I was nearly hoarse.
If the events leading up to my discovery of Tammy’s bicycle are clear in my mind, then what came next is all a bit of a blur.
As I pedalled along the pot-holed forestry road towards the village, I kept thinking of reasons for Tammy’s bike to be abandoned.
She had left it there and decided to walk. Not likely. In fact, so unlikely as to be impossible.
She had accepted a lift in someone’s car. Again, not likely. Why would she? And besides – who from? Hardly anyone comes along that road, and why would they offer her a lift, and why would she leave her bike? And … the whole thing was silly.
By the time I crossed the bridge over the burn, I was convinced something horrible had happened to Tammy.
The south side of the village is pretty much a single street of old terraced farm cottages. I pulled up next to Scottish Sheila’s house and allowed my bike to clatter to the ground as I leapt off and hammered on the old lady’s door.
‘All right, all right!’ came a voice from inside.
I had started talking almost before the door was open.
‘Is Tammy here?’ I jabbered. ‘She was supposed to come here – have you seen her?’
‘Hello, young fella,’ said Sheila with a smile, as though she hadn’t heard me.
‘Well, have you?’ I barked, and she looked taken aback.
‘Have I wha …’
‘Have you seen Tammy?’ I shouted. I was panicking and my manners were shot.
‘Well, no. No’ today. I thought—’
‘Bye!’ I said and ran back to my bike. I turned it around and cycled as fast as I could back to our end of the village.
The Stargazer was lit up, and there were lights on the big tree outside that I had helped to put up last week with Tammy. As I cycled up the driveway, I could hear singing already. The carols had started early, and I saw through the window that Cora Fox-Templeton, Iggy’s mum, was accompanying them on the pub’s jangly old piano. Iggy was standing next to her and Suzy was sitting on top of the piano like she was about to lay an egg. The singing came through the windows:
‘Hark the herald angels sing, Glory to the newborn king!’
I jumped off my bike and burst through the doors into the entrance lobby and went straight into the bar, where the noise and the heat and the music hit me.
‘Peace on Earth and mercy mild, God and sinners reconciled …’
A cheer went up over by the bar and Dad called out, ‘Right, you lot! Who’s for a Goblet of Fire?’ It’s one of his barman’s stunts which I’ve seen loads of times: a tray of cocktails is lined up then they all burst into flames as he sets fire to the alcohol. I love watching it normally.
Mam had picked up the tray, and I pushed my way through the groups of people till I got to her.
‘Mam! Mam!’
She turned to me crossly, shaking her head as she carried on singing.
‘Mam! You’ve got to listen!’
‘Watch out! I’m holding a fire hazard here!’ she said. ‘Right – who wants one? Not now, Ethan!’
‘Yes, now!’ I shouted.
People had noticed, and one or two nudged one another and stopped singing. I had no choice. I grabbed the lid of the piano and slammed it down on the keys while Iggy’s mum yelped and pulled her hands out just in time. There was a loud bang as the lid shut, a rattling of Cora’s bangles, and Suzy ruffled her feathers in disapproval. A few seconds later, the singing wound down.
‘Ethan! What on earth …’ began Mam, pushing her way towards me, but I wasn’t listening.
Instead
