

Robin Vernal

and the

Brownleaf Spring

© Dominic Jericho 2018

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent publisher.

The moral right of Dominic Jericho has been asserted.

First published in Great Britain 2018

Public domain works cited within text:  
William Shakespeare: The Winter's Tale (1611)  
William Shakespeare: Venus and Adonis (1593)  
King James Bible (1611)  
William Wordsworth: "Ode on Intimations of Immortality" (1807)

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

### Robin Vernal

### and the

### Brownleaf Spring

by  
Dominic Jericho
Contents

Twelve Years Ago

Rock Velvet

Missing

The CommuniquÉ

Bee Dew

Compromise

The Interview

Cherry Trove

Impasse

A Christmas Drink

Hope

Talitha Cumi

Slide Show

The New Oracle

Snog

Statue

Dr Dermot Thimball

Amber-Leigh

Auschwitz

Descent

Awake

Cherry Wine

Reckoning

Locket

Rhodes

Rock Idol

Reconstruction

The Climb

Beneath the Hatch

Revealed

Janna's Confession

Resurrection

This is an enthralling novel  
about hope and reclaimed childhood

set amid a blistering spring

in the lower-sixth form

### For R.G.

Visit https://dominicjericho.wordpress.com  
to sign up to his fiction newsletter  
and receive a free eBook

Twelve Years Ago

Rounders often yields great bending inside volleys. Runts of yesterday gild blame into vindictiveness. Robin opens yearly graves blithely inking Vernal.

The tame breeze floated through the light summer air. It had been the kind of evening where the day's exhaustion expressed itself best by the sight of two brown-haired children curled on the grass, sleeping soundly. Wasps buzzed and agitated under the lamplight.

No cars passed. All was quiet and serene.

Robin Vernal's bare feet lightly touched Danny Canterbury's as he lay in turquoise shorts and navy striped tee, unconsciously breathing in the summer sweat of his best friend. A red and yellow tricycle lay on its side on the lawn across the road from their homes. Danny dreamt of the day's exploits: the race up and down their street, Robin on her grey scooter, Danny on his tricycle. She'd won the first, yet he'd won the next four, running around and screaming his triumph like a hyperactive dervish. Her personalized silver locket, engraved with the initials R.V., flashed back the sun as it tossed beneath her chin. Then it had been volleyball with an inflated balloon over the washing line. Robin had won that. Her lithe dexterity fooled Danny numerous times as he dived to the floor to scoop the gleaming orb from rain-parched blades. After ham sandwiches and orange squash for lunch, they had dived out into their quiet street once more to play tennis. Danny's racquet, almost half the size of himself, was his most treasured possession. The fluffy fresh balls smelt like happiness, and he struck their opaque neon blur with unrestrained glee. Then it had been army, rolling around in freshly cut satin-green grass, hiding behind telegraph poles and lamp-posts pretending they'd been shot, counting to ten and coming alive again.

A breeze bearing a slight chill rolled off the North Sea and struck Danny and Robin's bare legs. It was not enough to wake them, but instead cast a draughty shadow on their young dreams, and disturbed their sweet slumbers.

Finally they had played cards and chatted. The bawling sun descended on their quiet suburban street, casting an orangerust glow and coppermauve shadows across the grey pavement. It felt like there was no time. Yesterday was exactly the same and tomorrow would be the same again. Surely there would never be an end. The blissful and vast sky of unblotted playfulness seemed to extend indefinitely. They were five years old and the world was as young as they were.

No cars roared down their quiet street at this time of night. It was, always had been and seemed for now and forever, completely child friendly. Danny experienced the sense of perfect security he was still too young to be aware of as he slept soundly on the dewy lawn. As Danny's snores grew louder a tall gentleman lifted Robin gently from the ground. Taking soft but purposeful steps away, he began the interminable creation of irrevocable distance between Robin and Danny.

He was taking her away. Away into a different world. A world permanently cut off to Danny.

Rock Velvet

Dawn broke into Danny's bedroom. The white paint, parched and cracked on the outside window ledge was wide enough to accommodate several small visitors. Upon it perched an inquisitive, red-breasted bird. Every couple of seconds its head cocked closer to the window, as if listening intently to the boy snoring inside. Standing by the apex of the sun-blanketed window it peeped through a miniscule gap in the velvet curtains. No person could see the robin from its crafty vantage point; yet the robin saw everything, or anything it wished to see. After a couple seconds of hesitation, the bird stood silent and still, like a hand-crafted statue that might be a miracle coming to life. Without sound or warning it flew off, disappearing into the hopeful glare of the morning sun.

Inside, soft light played against the pale walls of the adolescent boudoir. Danny's arms were wrapped around the woman of his dreams. Her immaculate ruby lipstick moved closer. Soon her lips would touch his, and he would be involved. Kissed and stained. As she inched the last few millimetres he glimpsed her startling eyes. Puckering his lips, ready to submit to her overpowering will, he heard a distant shout.

'Danny, your breakfast is ready!'

It was nothing, it was far away. Returning his attention to the harlot in his arms he felt her disassemble into a bowl of cornflakes. Anger searing through adrenaline-whipped blood Danny awoke. He had been only seconds away from the conclusion and his blasted father had interrupted not only his beautiful dream but that curious unfulfilled feeling in his abdomen. Rising, he pulled his curtains apart with a swift flourish and scratched away a midge from his head. The radio alarm clock began blaring out the latest trauma on radio four.

More bad news to begin the day with. A holiday abroad turning into a nightmare.

Already halfway through his second bowl of fruit muesli, Tim was sat at his breakfast table when Danny sleepily opened the fridge and poured himself a glass of milk.

'I've never been that keen on muesli,' Tim said, his mouth crammed with the stuff. 'But then again I suppose it's the healthy alternative.'

'Alternative to what?' Danny asked as he sat down at the table and began fiddling with the stem of a golden delicious apple.

'Eggs. Bacon. Sausage. Black pudding. All the high cholesterol stuff.'

Tim scraped the bottom of the bowl so no raisin escaped his swooping spoon.

'Since when did you have a fry-up every morning?'

Danny wiped the sleep from his eyes and took a bite out of his apple.

'I try and have a full breakfast whenever I can. You never know when your time will run out, Danny-boy!' Tim announced joyfully. Danny grimaced at Tim's early morning boundlessness as William, his father walked in to fix some coffee.

The butter sun hid behind a steel cloud, lending it an eclipse-like silver rim. Danny had read about the phenomenon in Astronomy Now in preparation for the total eclipse next year. Although the late August morning now offered rays of dazzling brightness, Danny heard spots of rain on his window last night grow into a torrent of tropical proportions. At four am he could swear sheets of water were being hurled deliberately at his window by some unseen weather god. The mid-summer heatwave had subsided but Danny's bedsheets still clung to his lithe, sticky body as he tossed and rolled in the night. He had risen at five to open the window and heard the rain lashing against the roof, his window, the patio below, and finally the great North Sea which roiled and swirled with reliable unpredictability.

'Coffee Danny?' William asked.

Danny nodded, resting his head in his arms as he allowed the last remnants of somnolence to exhaust their fill.

'You are pathetic Danny Canterbury. The very day we go to see the greatest band in the world and you can barely keep your eyelids open.'

'The second greatest band in the world,' mumbled Danny, correcting his friend.

*

At eight am on a Saturday morning Amberleigh train station was deserted. The insistent sun broke through flimsy rafters in the station veranda, granting intermittent shade to both Tim and Danny's shoulders. No-one else it appeared, would be travelling to the festival from Amberleigh.

An express train hurtled through the station, generating a brisk wind at the platform's edge. Danny stepped back, even though he stood several metres behind the safety line. Tim conversely took a step forward. Bowing his head dangerously, he allowed the transient wind to kiss and ruffle his thick brown curls.

'Ah, that's better,' Tim murmured.

Danny shook his head in dismay and reached inside his shorts for a mint. He had one left, and thought twice about offering it to his best friend, but conceded to his better nature as he nearly always did.

The train was half full when they climbed on at Amberleigh. A few stops down the line it became busier. As they neared Peterborough only standing room remained and as they rushed past Cambridge with packed aisles, temperatures in the carriages rose. Tim and Danny's passengers consisted mostly of fellow teens, clutching backpacks and waving iPods round like candy. As the smell of clammy adolescence transformed to a stale stench Danny gazed out of the window and watched the calmness of the speeding fields and intermittent forests. He thought of Saffelia, alone in her house, probably helping her father grieve and grieving herself. He hoped she was alright.

Seated on a table of four, Danny and Tim sat opposite two girls. Like everyone else, they twiddled with musical devices and texted what seemed to be a million friends. Danny watched the one directly opposite him, her golden curls bouncing against her freckled cheek as her head bobbed along in time to music. As the fields and towns raced past on the approach to London, a light sleep drifted onto Danny. Back as a child, he dreamt he was playing with Robin Vernal at a wedding they both attended when they were five. Danny's restlessness had persisted through the ceremony, endlessly trying to see the union by perching on tip-toes. It had been the first wedding he had attended. The first and only. He remembered being impressed by the formality, and thinking to himself, as many small boys do, that one day this formality could be his. The party afterwards had been a shower of cream-cakes and runs around the garden. Robin in her tiny bridesmaid's dress, and Danny in his mini suit, had rushed round the party, dived in and out of guest's legs, dipped their fingers into the huge chocolate fountain when the bride wasn't looking, and played hide and seek amongst the chrysanthemums. Soon they had exhausted each other and had lain where they fell amid the twilight. There was something awe-inspiring about the day's events, something that had touched Danny's soul but he never had been able to articulate or identify what it was. Danny hadn't known at the time that joy-filled day would stay with him for the rest of his life.

A jolt from the train woke Danny with the uncomfortable realization of his extended existence without Robin. From his reverie he could still smell the primroses in her hair and taste the chocolate, sucked from her finger.

Everyone was alighting the train. Tim stood to retrieve his bags. The two girls opposite also rose, although one of them seemed to inspect Danny's face curiously as she stood. Danny checked himself and realized his cheek had been pressed against the glass. When he unwelded it he saw the light mist that remained from where his cheek lay. Feeling self-conscious he ruffled his hair back into shape and went to join Tim, who was now stood on the platform chatting to the two girls.

'So would you like a juice? I know a good juice bar,' Tim said with deceptive confidence.

It was a typical blag. Danny knew Tim was trying it on as usual. The brown-haired girl wrestled with her ruck-sack and frowned at the naked attempt. Danny could tell she wanted rid of the intruder. However the girl with the golden curls was half-smiling, and Tim was matching her smile for smile, twinkling eye for twinkling eye.

'Danny! Come and meet Amanda! This is Amanda, and this is Isobel.'

Danny smiled at them both and nodded. Amanda smiled back, as gilded curls bounced beside her cheek. When Isobel glanced at Danny her eyes narrowed.

'We're just going to get a juice before we get the next train. The girls are off to the gig as well,' Tim winked at Danny who scratched his head. As per usual it was too much too soon. Still half-asleep he felt like a half-hatched chick. The memory of Robin Vernal still swam circles round his subconsciousness. Amanda and Tim led the way across the crowded platform, strewn with teenagers and young, unshaven men in dark green army jackets and huge rucksacks. Some were asleep, curled up on the plastic tiles as if they were nesting a new home. The occasional echo of the station announcer gently roused them before they drifted back into half-remembered dreams.

Danny had no option but to walk beside Isobel as Tim and Amanda marched on in front of them. He could see Isobel struggle with her luggage.

'Would you like a hand with that?' Danny offered, thinking politeness would be the best way to crack her icy shell.

'No.'

Isobel spoke abruptly, definitively curtailing any attempts to continue conversation. She tossed her brown hair over her shoulder and pursed her lips in a way that intimated to Danny her lot was a lonely one but she was damned if she was going to let anyone else help her.

Another announcement echoed over the tannoy and directed the four adolescents towards platform nine. With a modicum more haste they hauled their rucksacks towards a tiny train, heaving with the angst-ridden louche.

'How are we supposed to get all our stuff onto that little train?' Isobel squealed.

Tim looked at Danny and in a second Danny knew what Tim was thinking: "She's yours, mate."

The train raced into the Hertfordshire countryside. With standing room only Tim used the opportunity to squeeze close to Amanda. Danny tried to stay as far apart from Isobel as he could but with the train jolting over points it was difficult. She coldly threw him a few warning stares when he bumped into her bosom accidentally. Soon they arrived at the small country station and fell from the train onto a dilapidated platform into humid summer air. As Danny gazed in the distance he saw a long snake of people move slowly across emerald fields.

'Look – there's the path!' Danny shouted, to no-one in particular, although Isobel stood right beside him.

'Oh – I'm sorry, didn't mean to shout,' Danny said to her in an embarrassed voice, his cheeks flushing at his momentary enthusiasm.

'That's okay,' she smiled.

Well, wonders will never cease, Danny thought.

The path was filled with straggly looking youths, long hair dangling from the heads of both girls and boys. All ambled slowly in the same direction. The newly formed quartet joined the throng of people, a shifting mass of headlong pilgrims. Danny watched each and every person as they trudged before him. Huge rucksacks, larger than Tim's and Danny's, obscured the view slightly. Hedgerows sliced the landscape occasionally, forcing groups of festival-goers to negotiate cattle grids. The ambient and joyful mood meant it was all carried with the vague assumption that everyone together would be moving in the right direction. As Danny looked round he saw most women wore tight t-shirts with skimpy shorts, and each carried a bottle of water like a fashion accessory.

Tim and Amanda chatted animatedly as Isobel lagged behind. It was as if she was looking for the right moment to intervene and temporarily end their budding conversation.

Danny thought of Amanita and how she would have loved to be here. She was on holiday in Rhodes with her mother who had apparently overruled her daughter's wishes. With Wendy Walmer having flown the coop, Christy insisted Amanita join her, partly as a reward for finishing her GCSEs, partly as punishment for not spending enough time with her. Danny couldn't help thinking of Saffelia and her lost mother in the same breath. Claustrophobic memories threatened to swamp his joy. From that second on Danny resolved only to think about the festival – to which he had come to escape from the stale past.

As they progressed along the path it soon heaved with people and their route grew much slower. Smells of cooking onions from nearby burger vans wafted their way, tempting Tim a couple of times. Momentum was building in the thickening crowd and thudding bass beat echoing in the distance. As the hubbub among the enthused youths intensified they felt the gradual approach of the entrance. Isobel wiped sweat from her forehead as the sun emerged from behind insufficient clouds. Amplified noise reverberated ahead. Danny realized it came from stewards speaking into megaphones, in flailing attempts to marshal the growing crowd.

'Gates one to six straight ahead! All other gates continue round the arena!'

A man in a luminous yellow jacket shouted in their direction. Tim fished in his pockets for his and Danny's tickets. Clearly stamped on them were the words: Gate Two.

'Come on Danny mate, over here.' Tim said.

'What about the girls?' Danny asked as Isobel dragged Amanda off to get drinks. Danny had no particular desire to spend a moment longer in Isobel's company but knew Tim had been making progress with Amanda. It was a thought confirmed by Amanda's overly girlish wave to Tim as she was led away by her prim friend.

'Oh don't worry. We'll catch up with them later. Besides there's plenty more fish in the sea, or should we say the arena!' Danny smiled back at Tim's fickleness, and they pushed themselves through the smelly hordes towards the gates.

As the security search appeared before them Danny tried to look as innocent as possible, hoping against hope he wouldn't be searched, or frisked. It was not that he had anything to hide but his loathing for the invasion of privacy such security necessitated only increased as his identity matured.

An orange-capped steward motioned Danny over to the side to empty his bag on a white trestle table. Out came the sun tan lotion, the two music caps he'd brought, the sandwiches wrapped in foil, the cartons of ribena – not very rock and roll thought Danny instantly. After delving for five minutes at the bottom of Danny's bag the steward revealed a ring, along its side sparkling red stones glowed in the sunlight.

'And what is this for?' smirked the steward.

Danny looked him over. He had a bit of stubble, but couldn't have been more than eighteen or nineteen, only a couple more years older than himself. Danny eyeballed with all the intensity he could muster.

'Theft is still a crime you know. Even at rock concerts.'

The steward scowled and thrust the ring back into Danny's hand, who quickly stowed it in his back pocket. It had been a mistake to leave something so precious in his bag. Picking up the rest of his belongings and taking time to pack them neatly back, Danny sighed with relief the interrogation was over. When he lifted his gaze to the way open before him, his blood surged. The moment was now: he was about to walk, freedom and joy screaming in his heart, into the beating, squirming belly of the arena.

Danny had never seen so many people massed together all in one place. Watching such a vast ocean of people laid out in front of him, like a rainbow mosaic or kaleidoscopic tableau, made Danny feel simultaneously incredibly small and superlatively warm. He could not understand why it made him feel like this but knew instinctively, even though he had never met any of them before, barring Isobel and Amanda, these were his brotherhood and this was his tribe. The edges of the arena curved up into wide grassy banks to form a gigantic semi-circular bowl. People already sat on the sides, building tans amid the absorbing sun and picnicking while they waited for the first act.

Unmissable at the front of the arena, the focus of all attention, stood an enormous structure that housed what seemed to be hundreds of different lights. Black curtains swayed behind a mountain of electrical equipment as fat roadies tested keyboards, drums and guitars. Erected either side of the stage were two gigantic screens, that occasionally flickered into life before going dead again.

Tim ran around like a mad man. Experiencing his own awe-filled epiphany, Danny stood still and watched his flailing arms.

'How about over there? Or over here? We could go closer. Let's go closer Danny. Look at that man's hat! Hey Danny, look at those pair of...'

Tim's voice faded into the noise of the crowd and Danny beamed a relaxed grin to his best friend as he settled himself, and lay out his jacket on an empty patch of velvet grass. Opening a carton of drink he sipped gently, allowing the atmosphere to seep slowly into him, like an unimaginably wonderful drug.

*

As the afternoon wore on the sun beat relentlessly on the moving, vibrating throng. With bleached heat parching their dry throats Tim and Danny gradually drank through the juices and water they'd brought. With people-watching the only distraction, their eyes were drawn in by the giant screens when they flickered into life to advertise a new music DVD or show some charity appeal. Tim fidgeted, unable to find a position to settle himself. Danny began reading his book, the one Professor Pry had given him over a year ago.

'What you reading that for?' Tim said accusatorily, perturbed Danny wasn't as fidgety as he was. 'I'm parched' he announced.

Laying back on straw-coloured grass, Danny breathed in the deep smell rising from the fried onion stands and the stale sweat from the huddled crowds.

'How about a couple of ices? Danny?'

Danny rolled his eyes over to Tim, now wearing gleaming shades to avoid eye contact. Danny too was gasping for fluid, and knew one of them would end up going. It might as well be him. Rising to his feet, he stood over Tim in the blistering sunlight.

'That's right mate, just stand there,' said Tim. 'Nice bit of shade.'

The walk to the ices van behind the arena became tricky as Danny progressed through the swarming rockers. Several young men weaved their way through the mass, juggling trays of beers and multiple ice creams in one hand. As he passed a lollipop stand he saw parents queue with impatient toddlers. Upon finally reaching the van Danny was disappointed to learn all the ices were sold out, such was the demand in the steaming bowl. Buying two cornets instead, he manoeuvred his way back towards Tim, now temporarily invisible amid the thousands of people.

'Where the fuck is he?' thought Danny, his eyes scanning people's heads and shirts like a lost child seeking the sanctuary of familiarity. Someone shouted in his direction. It was Tim's voice but despite the call, and with so many people around him Danny still couldn't place the location of the sound in the crowd. He stepped tentatively forward to the voice. It grew louder and Danny's eyes skirted the bowl, touching on what seemed like a million different heads at once, like grains of sand on a burnt beach. The arena had filled rapidly. He'd never seen this many people before in his life. A warm hand rested on Danny's shoulder. Turning round to the touch, Danny saw a young man point him firmly in the direction of his friend. It was a couple of people to the left of where he had been looking. How foolish thought Danny, as he thrust the cone into Tim's palm.

'Thank God! I thought you'd never find me then. Thought I'd have to wait forever for my lolly!'

'They've sold out,' Danny said quickly, trying to get his breath back. The heat was pummeling the stamina out of him. 'I had to get ice creams instead.'

'You've missed all the action mate.' Tim said.

Danny looked at him suspiciously. What action could he have missed? Did the band come on surreptitiously while he was buying snacks? He would be furious if they had.

'What action?' Danny said simply.

'The screens – they've been showing news flashes of that thing on the Greek island. That British kid who went missing this morning.'

Danny sat down on rain-parched grass and pulled the sticky wrapper from his cone. The clouds had melted away to reveal a boiling hot day. Danny looked toward the screens and they flashed into life again. It was an advert showing a trendy celebrity wearing ripped Armani and instructing the assembled thousands to donate money to a worthy cause they endorsed. Danny had heard a snippet of the story on the radio in the morning, but hadn't been able to catch the full details as he had been in such a rush to get ready. It must be a mistake.

'Who do you think did it?' Danny asked Tim, who was sucking the chocolate from the tapered apex of his wafer cone.

'How do I know? I just heard the bulletin, didn't I? No idea. I tell you something though. I bet I know how we can find out more.'

'How?' Danny asked quickly, his eyes burning into life.

'Amanita. She's on holiday, isn't she?'

'So?' Danny replied, failing to see the significance.

'So, my slow friend, she went on holiday to Rhodes: the very island where this little girl was taken – her name's Penelope Trikill or something.'

Danny licked on his ice cream again, thinking. He thought he knew what Amanita would be up to. Her journalistic instincts always lay just below the surface. Maybe she would know something. He pulled out his phone and began punching in a text message while absent-mindedly saying something to distract Tim.

'You know, we're never going to find the other two girls now. The arena's full to bursting. You can't move out there.'

He finished his text to Amanita, and hit send. Looking into Tim's smiling face, he could see the maestro had a plan about the girls.

'They're right over there. I spotted them while you were wasting time in the ice cream van. When things get a little cooler, I say we go and join them,' Tim said.

The screens beside the stage were once again bursting into light and sound. Danny caught a glimpse of the headline as it flashed under the familiar banner: Breaking News. The wide image of a small girl's smiling face transformed the displays into blankets of brilliant light, flooding Danny with waves of unspent emotion. It was an abduction. He knew it as soon as he looked toward her shining face. Unblemished cheeks, like a ripe red apple, sat below cavernous innocent eyes – deep pools of black peering out at the world, threatening to swallow it whole.

As newsreader dialogue rolled over images from the police-laden resort, Danny's mind drifted like the sun's rays cascading through the trees at the edge of the arena. It was Robin, and then it was Penny, and then it was Robin again. He couldn't stop thinking of her, couldn't escape her hold of his conscience. Why had she had gone? Who had taken her? If Robin could see Danny now, would she welcome him into her life as he would she? He thought of the two times her spectral image had appeared to him in his bedroom at home. Having never confided the appearances to anyone, not even his father William Canterbury, or Tim or Amanita, he was sure anyone who listened to such a story would think him crazy and unbalanced. Yet still, remembrances of her visitations punctuated daily thoughts, like apostrophes and full stops amid a painful prison sentence, peeping up whenever he couldn't ignore them anymore. Her chocolate hair, her freckled face, her questing spirit and brave confidence had bewitched him enough as a child to last a lifetime. Aching for one more glance on her shortcake skin, he craved a reminder that at one point in his life, happiness had been firmly within his grasp. Tim nudged him and the thoughts retreated to Danny's subconscious, like blood departing a draining face. He knew they would return to strike him again sometime soon.

'What are you thinking?

'I wonder if our lives will permanently be framed by tragedy.' Danny said, melodramatically.

Tim rolled his eyes and waved to Isobel and Amanda. An electronic beeping temporarily interrupted Danny's view of the two adolescent girls, who had moved to return Tim's gaze. Looking down at his phone he scrolled the message from his other best friend, whom he knew would be with them both if she could. Amanita.

hi danny. am staying down the road from the action, haven't found anything out yet – but you know me. give me time. fuzz everywhere. hope u and t r enjoyin gig. Ax

A wave of relief rolled over Danny. His plain loathing of all things electronic subsided, and he spent a moment marvelling that, even though she was miles away, in a different country, over seas of the purest blue he could still make contact with his friend, who always reminded him of home.

*

The Rainbough

That branch of chaste technokiller

Stalks me, like a solemn warcry

He sulks and sinks instilling me

With chastened pastels and distressed plates

The palette arcs across the sky

Skidaddling and skilleting the blue

Smiling it's upside down face

Before light ceases and guillotine snips

Eye watches with watery weeps

Dark prisonhole deludes me while I

Yet the light sustains, and stains

My soul, like painted rain

I am its brief purpose

It's transient reason

The mutable bubble

My own, rainbough

Missing

Twilight encompassed the bowl. The sky metamorphosed from bleached gold into warm bronze and burnt copper. Distant clouds like small sailboats in an empty sea drifted in. As it neared nine o'clock Danny picked up his rubbish and threw it in the air like everyone else. The sight of what seemed a million cartons and packets and bottles rising and falling above the heads, an undulating carpet of detritus, reminded Danny of the beauty hidden within the everyday. All the support acts had taken the stage, played their sets and left, leaving the audience more enthused after each performance. An unknown trio from the main act's hometown had been the afternoon's openers. They had stirred the anxious people at the front with angsty-art pop, discernible drumbeats absent. The second act arrived and put a pulse in the day with insouciant rock and girlish harmonies. Danny and Tim had danced with Amanda, while Isobel had remained seated on the grass, munching on dainty cucumber pickle sandwiches. The third and final support act flew over the arena in a helicopter before landing in an adjacent cowfield, much to the rapture of the hoards below. Five parodic hot dogs lowered from the stage ceiling, oozing red and yellow smoke as the band walked on. The loose swagger of the front man conveyed a chirpy kinship with the audience, and could easily be mistaken as a cheeky concert-goer who had trespassed onto stage. Playing for an hour, they departed to much applause, and with a much-lauded promise the main act were on their way.

It turned cooler. The drifts of body odours mixed with the aromas of fried burgers and hot dogs wafting across the arena on a gentle breeze. Danny grew tense. The headline act about to take to the stage were a group he'd listened to solidly for the last two years, and he was about to see them in the flesh for the first time. Glancing at Tim he saw him chat animatedly with Amanda, who giggled and laughed with visible affection. Isobel was gazing at Tim differently from before. Whereas earlier in the day she had largely ignored him, much as someone might dismiss an ant crawling over their shoe, she now stared at him intently. It seemed as if the furious power of her eyes might burn his face away. Danny wondered if he should try and strike up some sort of conversation with Isobel but decided against it. There was a sublime musical apotheosis just moments away, and he had no wish to spoil it by being rebuffed by a girl he didn't want to chat to anyway.

The background music slowly faded. As the dying echoes subsided to silence people around the arena began clapping, cheering and screaming for the headline act. With the copper sun glowing directly behind the back of the stage, it made it impossible for watchers to focus on the darkness of movements below it. Shrouded in large silhouette Danny couldn't see any stage action emerge as the peeking apex of the roof cast its elongated shadow on the masses in front. It wended its way down until the horizon was filled with an amber and fuchsia glow. As the stage became visible again much of the arena was lit by lighters held aloft. The volume of background music had sunk below a level that made it indistinguishable from the general hum of people. Danny glanced at Tim in delighted expectation, their gaze sharing an understanding words were not meant to know. Tim looked back at Danny with a smile of recognition only a true friend can maintain.

With the suddenness of a power cut the stage became flooded with blue and gold spotlights as the screens flashed blue and silver. It was as if someone had flicked a switch, both onstage and in the crowd. In response people clapped and cheered louder, as if the abrupt arrival of light on stage was a harbinger of a great life-giving God. As they watched the stage closely for a moment, nothing further happened. Danny's eyes darted across the stage, back and forth, back and forth as his heartbeat quickened.

Emerging from the shadows walked a tall man, with others following behind. Before him Danny watched the front row crush themselves against the barriers and reached their arms up in earnestness. As their arms swayed in swathes of artificial light Danny was reminded of a field of golden corn, lit by honey sunlight. The lead singer wore a white Stetson and was decked in a white Versace suit. A gold strip of make-up extended from one ear to the other, across eyes heavily lidded in black eye-liner. His face flashed on the massive screens and an even louder cheer echoed across the sides of the bowl. Standing at the front of the stage for a moment, he gazed absently out at the crowd, almost as if he was contemplating going for a walk in the country.

An earsplittingly loud chord rose from the amplifiers and a steady rock beat led the group into their opening number.

The concert had begun.

From the first moment until the end of their set Danny was transfixed. Their songs encompassed rousing rock sirens, moments of teen sweetness, romantic love songs, anthems of sublime self-expression and epiphanies of screaming exultation. It was all directed by the movements, voice, actions, statements and effervescent beauty of the eloquent and effortlessly cool figure standing centre stage.

During the encore Danny took time to gaze round the arena. The light generated by the setting sun had long since been consumed by the black canvas of the summer night. Little stars added pinprick twinkles to those rising from lighters in the crowd. Amanda and Tim cheered again and even Isobel was looking happy. Danny felt he could bottle the atmosphere and grow drunk on it from here to eternity. An unremitting happiness flowed from person to person like a rainbow of amber nectar. He saw it in the smiles of skimpy-shirted girls surrounding him, and the muscle-bound lads desperately trying to protect them from intruding glances.

The act returned for five more songs, finally completing the night with introductions, an oldie and a raucous show-stopping singalong. Amid the rolling cadences and call-and-response, Danny felt an unusual mixture of exhilaration and optimism, relief and disappointment all at once. It had been a remarkable performance. The evening would be etched into his sould forever. With the singer's last note echoing round his head, he strolled with Tim, Isobel and Amanda towards the exit.

They trampled over rubbish they had so eagerly thrown in the air earlier that evening. Empty cartons, cups and plastic bags lay abandoned on the ghostly ground. Litter collectors were already beginning their work and Danny didn't envy them. He imagined how long it would take them to finish cleaning the arena. A few hours hard physical labour before crashing gratefully into soft beds when dawn rose, most probably.

As they moved out of the bowl the four of them formed, once again, part of a stretched serpent of moving pilgrims. This time, they were headed towards comfort: the warmth and safety of a local hotel. Danny looked to the side of him and noticed Tim holding hands with Amanda, albeit furtively.

An unusual shout arose from behind them. It was marked by an urgency and desperation that carried over the singing, laughing and cheering. Followed by a plangent scream, the cries grew too loud to ignore. Amanda and Isobel swung round, trying to trace the direction of the sound. From the corner of his eye Danny watched a woman break free from a man's grip and run down the path. Then she stopped and ran back the way she came. She was waving her arms wildly, screaming all the time the same words. Through frantic aimlessness the scene evoked aching despair. Danny noticed the man too wandered from person to person with a deeply concerned look in beleaguered eyes. Danny instantly thought how quickly a situation can flip like a coin, from joy and bliss to utter anguish. Amid tantalisingly unsuccessful rescue attempts, the nature of their calamity became apparent.

'My child, my child!' screamed the woman. 'My daughter! She's gone!'

Amanda was the first to react. Tim watched her go as she unlocked herself from his grasp. She rushed to the woman who had fallen to her knees on the worn grass. As Amanda's arms enveloped the lady, Amanda whispered something in her ear neither Tim nor Danny could discern. Her sobbing grew less wild but stabilized to a continuous drone. When the man came over to comfort the woman Danny and Tim felt they could no longer continue the pretence of being concerned bystanders. They were going to have to get involved.

As they approached the woman gazed up to watch their arrival, a faint flicker of hope dying in her dark eyes as she realised they were not carrying her child. Reaching out her arms to both lads she appealed in a diminished and meek voice, disturbingly so after her previous screams.

'Please. Please help me find my daughter. She's lost to us. She's lost to us.'

Tim just stared at the woman, fright filling his gaze as he anticipated the horrors that awaited the parents. Danny blinked twice and sank to his knees so he faced the woman directly. At the moment her despairing eyes met his it seemed a picture reel ran a thousand images a second through his mind. He was with Robin playing football together; next they were rolling around in the grass giggling, acquiring newly cut grass on their damp backs; next they held hands as they slinked in for tea; next he hugged her as he told her they would always be friends; and then his face and feeling of devastation when his father told him that Robin had gone away and he would see her no more. He blinked again and reached for the woman's hand, determination reawakened in his stern voice.

'We'll help you find your little girl.' Danny stood up and said to Tim. 'Let's split up – we'll meet by the burger stand in half an hour whether we've found her or not.

'She'll be easy to spot,' the woman cried as both Tim and Danny rushed off in different directions, 'She's wearing a little red hat!'

A platoon of thoughts crowded on each image amid crowds of people trying to cross each other's path on their way home, Danny was situated somewhere between struggle and ecstasy. A distinct coolness began to grip the summer evening as midnight neared. How would he find her among the crowd? In these grounds it would be difficult to find a grown adult in daylight let alone a small child in darkness. The hopelessness of their search struck Danny in fierce waves, yet the thought of returning fruitless increased his resolve to find the girl. Searching by the mixing desk he saw technicians dismantling wires and wires of equipment. Wandering to the opposite bank of grass he checked with neon-vested marshals at all the gates. No-one had seen a distressed little girl; no-one had seen a girl wearing a red hat; no-one had seen anything. His half hour nearly up, Danny was facing failure once again. With only a couple of minutes before he would return to the burger stand to face the continued torment of the waiting parents, Danny rested against the fence marking the edge of the arena. The rippling fear of returning alone and bringing more disappointment upon their frantic emotions, paralysed him. Breathing slowly to try and see through the clearing masses, Danny thought he saw a flash of red as the lights from the stage flickered. Waiting for the light again, he fixed his gaze on the same area. In a couple of moments, it flashed again. A definitive gleam of red somewhere in the mid-distance. He walked towards it, hoping against hope he would not be thwarted.

As he approached, his heart did a somersault. A little girl was crying into the arms of the steward who was helping to dismantle the lollipop stand. Of course, Danny thought. Why had he not thought to look here before? To think like a child, it was obvious. He rushed to address the steward and pointed toward the weeping parents being soothed by Amanda and Isobel. Nodding, the steward led the little girl towards the disconsolate group by the hand, while the small child's other palm clutched a small yellow teddy bear. Danny followed behind, wishing for neither praise or acknowledgement, just a swift exit. The woman's arms were around the girl before she had a chance to speak. The father wore a huge grin and embracing Tim, Amanda shed a silent tear at the happy reunion. Danny stood back considering the scene and couldn't help feeling the worst kind of emptiness.

'Are you alright?' came a plummy voice from the side of him. It was Isobel, and she gazed up to his eyes with the same passion she'd used to ignore the group earlier, when circumstances suited. Danny couldn't answer. How could he explain he felt part of his childhood was missing; a jigsaw with one piece absent, never to be located again in the picture of his life. How could he articulate the lingering loss that traced his life thus far? How could he describe the unspoken dreams that lay buried within his heart, forever to lie unfulfilled?

'Yes,' he answered flatly, attempting a weak smile.

'No you're not,' Isobel whispered, taking a step closer to him so her meek bosom almost touched his chest. 'Why don't you and Tim come back with me and Amanda. We're staying with my aunt in the village. There's plenty of room – well, there's two spare double beds.'

Her voice faded into the sounds of the reunion a few feet from them. It took Danny a couple of seconds to shake off reminiscences of Robin and realise what Isobel was proposing.

'I thought you didn't like us?' Danny asked.

Isobel opened her shoulders and threw her raven hair back. Pursing her lips and face into an expression she had not worn all day, she adopted an effortless sexiness, surreptitious and slinky.

'Now Master Canterbury – whatever gave you that idea?'

*

A log fireplace and rustic oak coffee table dominated the living room. The countryside cottage oozed homespun charm. Isobel's aunt Jeanie brought in four steaming mugs of tea to the sleepily euphoric teenagers. Danny watched as she wobbled into the room, cups precariously balanced on a thin metal tray. As each took a brew, they murmured thanks and goodnight wishes as Jeanie retired to bed. Danny was astonished at the transformation in Isobel. While she had been sullen, quiet and moody when they met, she had come alive through the course of the concert. Now she was positively the star of the show. The beaming hostess even outshone Amanda, who lay curled up on the sofa with her head on Tim's shoulder. She balanced her bottom on the arm of the chair Danny sat on.

'Would you like to sit down?' he offered, the definition of politeness.

She looked at him sweetly, tilting her head.

'You're very welcome to sit. I'm fine here. Anyway, the sausage rolls will be cooked in a minute.'

Tim's eyes lit up.

'Sausage rolls! Yay! I'm starving.'

Danny stared at his friend.

'You had a burger on the walk back. You can't still be hungry.'

Tim returned the gaze.

'I thought you knew me better than that, Master Canterbury,' winking at Isobel as he added the last moniker.

Danny grimaced in reply. He could smell Isobel's hair. Avocado and coconut oil. She was so close to resting her own head on his. A buzzer beeped somewhere and Isobel rose, snapping a tea-towel against her hips as she went.

'You're in there mate!' Tim said to Danny.

'I think not,' Danny returned.

'Why not?' Tim countered.

'Er, excuse me. Am I invisible?'

Amanda had woken and the possibility of romantic gossip prompted her to resume an active interest in the conversation.

'Yes. Why not Danny' Tim asked again.

'I'm struck!' Amanda said in mock outrage. Tim pinched her kneecap and she squirmed back in the warmth of the sofa, smiling as she allowed her head to meet Tim's shoulder once more. Tim nodded expectantly to Danny and even Amanda's eyes, flashing intermittently beneath drooping lids, contained intrigue at the prospective answer.

'She's been cold with me all day,' he said.

'Oh you'll have to ignore that,' Amanda said. 'That's just her way. She always acts like that with new people. Takes her a while to get used to them. She's really very pleasant. After a while.'

'After a while?' Danny repeated.

'After a while,' Tim confirmed, like a parrot. 'Like a rocking concert.'

He winked again, this time at Danny. Isobel brought in a couple of plates of sausage rolls, tea-towel slung over her shoulder.

'Here you go luvvies!' she announced, placing them roughly on the coffee table.

'I'm quite tired actually,' Amanda said, helping herself to one sausage roll as Tim took a handful of four.

'What?' he asked as he tried to fit three of them in his mouth at once.

'I'm tired, hon. Bed?' The offer was made as simply as that and as Tim and Amanda's eyes met, Danny watched Tim's appetite for food transform into lust.

'Let's go,' Tim said. 'Where's our bedroom?' Tim asked Isobel.

Isobel smiled. 'Come. I'll show you.'

Danny was left alone again. He couldn't help staring into the fireplace, and thinking of the little girl whom he'd found that evening. If only it had been that easy finding Robin Vernal. If only he had not let the image and the reality of her leave him so quickly. How was it possible to know better at that age? Those years, vivid and alive at the time, now bore the nostalgia of rose-tinted memory. What had been the truth and what had been added by his own subconscious afterwards, to sweeten time's bittersweet pill? The searing pain of the cold day when he accepted the loss of his first childhood friend had been so strong it felt like piercing flesh. Sometimes Danny felt so skewered by her going, he felt doomed to live life permanently run through with an invisible sword.

They took their time. He heard movements upstairs. Tim and Amanda had found their bedroom. He could hear Isobel's footsteps on the landing, and her voice which rang out like a tinkling bell.

'Goodnight hons!'

Danny listened as her footsteps found the stairs. She was on the way down.

'Eat up!' she said as she entered the room. Danny glanced at her hair. She wore a nightshirt, had brushed her hair and applied a fresh coat of bejewelled Max Factor on her lips. Danny couldn't take his eyes off her lipstick. Those pearling, gleaming cushions of flesh adorned with glistening paint presented a vision that drew him to her, like a sexual magnet. She plonked herself on the sofa opposite and grabbed a couple of sausage rolls. As she began nibbling on them, a couple of crumbs stuck to her lips. She stared at Danny in confusion at his mesmerized gaze.

'What?' she asked, after Danny watched her for a few moments in silence.

'Nothing. I was just thinking.'

'Dangerous activity that. I try and keep my thinking restricted to school.'

Isobel smiled. Once again Danny was transfixed by her supple lips. They moved through the dim light like a swooning wave of moist joy. She had undone the top button of her nightshirt, and the overhang cast a dark shadow which pointed downward, into the warmth of her bosom.

'I try not to think so much these days either,' Danny lied, wishing it were true.

'What are you studying next year?' Isobel asked, polishing off her third sausage roll and sipping on some water.

'English literature. Religious studies. And history. You?'

'Psychology, Sociology and Communication Studies.' She smiled again.

'Have you ever...never mind,' Danny said, not sure what he was about to say.

'Have I ever what?' she asked, pushing herself up with bony elbows and drawing the curtains. When she moved across the window she waggled her bottom provocatively, and Danny drank in every curve..

'Have you ever...lost someone? No, it's not just that. Have you ever, just felt, completely lost?'

Danny couldn't articulate what he wanted to say. Once again words were too clunky for expression's mild purpose. It was late, and he was tired. But he felt he had to have some meaningful exchange with this girl, especially if they were to share a bed.

'I feel lost all the time but I've learned not to let it bother me.'

She sat on the arm of his chair again, her breath caressing the top of his forehead.

'I just try and ignore the feeling,' she whispered, 'and concentrate on what's important.'

Her face was an inch from his, and her moist lips curved like the arc of a rainbow in the shrinking vacancy between them.

'And what's important?' Danny whispered, allowing himself the boldness of gazing at her full in her face. He imagined her entrancing lips swallow him whole, and allowed himself to revel in the wish of being consumed.

'This,' she said.

And she kissed him.

*

Isobel's head snuggled in the small hollow between Danny's shoulder and neck. As he opened his eyes, Danny felt the vague stirrings of contentment rouse in his stomach.

'I have to go.' Isobel murmured softly into his ear. 'I have an appointment in town.'

Danny said nothing and glanced at the ceiling. Decorated with three thick wooden beams, it shone in veiled light pouring in through the latticed window. One beam lay directly above. If it were to fall it would split the bed in two, leaving each divided on either side.

'I should get breakfast. Tim and Amanda must be awake by now,' she said, her body lain in a way half poised for action, half hesitant. 'What do you think Danny?'

Danny said nothing, and continued to stare at the beam above.

After their Isobel's appointment they took the Sunday papers down to the local park, and the four of them sat under a tree as Amanda and Isobel unpacked a hastily bought picnic. They rummaged among hard-boiled eggs, tubs of cous cous and tomato and basil pasta. Thick bread rolls the colour of cream tumbled out of Isobel's cotton bag. Tim grabbed one and began munching as he opened The Sun.

*

Peartree lane wound a meandering route through the heart of Amberleigh. High stone walls banked either side of the street, but each was surmounted by dark pears and their warm scent filled the morning air. On a warm Saturday morning such as this Danny could never understand how the cobbled streets, which diverted shoppers from the main thoroughfares, remained so deserted. The sun was rising, and dark pear shaped shadows cast elongated and welcome shade into Danny's path. It was the purest time of day.

Wilfields was opening as Danny ascended the rickety wooden steps to the bar. He ordered a coffee and took a seat. When it arrived he allowed the hot brown drug to cast aside last remnants of sleep. It had been exactly one month since he saw Amanita, since he and Tim had waved her off on holiday with her mother to Rhodes. She had returned two weeks ago but for some reason had been too busy to see either of them. Today though, Danny had managed to convince her to meet.

He sipped his coffee slowly, and began to think about the year ahead. Appalachian had now left Amberleigh and Danny wondered who the new headmaster, or even headmistress, would be. With his rise to the sixth-form he thought about the teachers he would retain from his GCSE courses – Professor Pry, Professor Wonder and a new teacher he did not yet know for History. How would A-levels be different from his other subjects? Were they really as hard as the departing upper-sixth said they were? Was there really so much work involved? Whatever the reality Danny was looking forward to only having to juggle three subjects. Many people – teachers, career advisors, and his father – advised him to choose his A-level subjects with one eye on what he might want to read at university. He held the word in his head for a moment. University. Like a universe. Like a distant galaxy it seemed light years away now. Two solid years of studying and examinations before that golden crown of freedom could be thrust upon his head.

The cleaner behind the bar looked up from his mop toward the door and Danny similarly turned his head around. A slim hourglass figure stood in the doorway, silhouetted against rays of sunshine that peeped through every available gap.

Amanita walked over to Danny and sat down facing him.

'Hi Danny. Good concert?'

Danny felt his words fumble before speech. The vision before him was transformed. Amanita had lost weight. She must have lost at least two stone. Her hair was longer and straighter – she had managed to iron out her usual waves and curls. A rosy glow gleamed from divine unblemished skin and cheekbones more defined than he had ever seen them widened to a broad smile. Danny could barely believe it was her. But it was her. Though her outer appearance had changed, Danny still saw the same cherry nose, the same earthy brown eyes, and the same warm smile.

'You look...different,' Danny said, struggling for words.

'Good different?' Amanita asked, sipping on a coke the barman just landed on the table in front of her.

'Amanita – you look positively radiant!'

She beamed and fished in her handbag for something. A few papers rustled and finally she pulled out a sheaf of typed-written sheets that she immediately folded.

'Before I give you this Danny, I want you to know I have not shown this to anyone else. Not Tim. Not even my mother.'

'Not even Professor Wonder?' ventured Danny, a smirk crossing his face.

'I shall ignore that slur, Master Can-ty-berry!' Amanita said, biting her tongue with glee. She laid the papers on the table. The headline sang out like an unforgettable pop lyric. Danny glanced down at it; then up at Amanita, shaking his head and smiling at the same time.

'Amanita. You know we can't print that. It's not even any of our business. It's not even something we have evidence for. Besides anything else, you've misspelled the date.'

'Have I? Oh shit.' Amanita said, genuinely concerned at Danny's last revelation as if it were true.

'Amanita – I was joking.' Danny said. 'You know full well this is not a story for us. We should be concentrating on our A-levels this year. I had hoped that maybe...' Danny gulped, fear taking hold of him.

'Maybe what?!' Amanita demanded.

'...that maybe we might put the Oracle on hold this year, or at least pass it down to the lower year. Give them a chance.'

There. Danny had said it. He closed his eyes, and waited for the explosion he was sure his friend would deliver.

'Yeah – I had thought of that myself.' Amanita said, somewhat deflated. 'Pry had mentioned the same thing.'

Danny opened his eyes in shock. He could not believe Amanita would seriously think of relinquishing her beloved newspaper. Something wilted inside him.

'How was Rhodes?' he asked.

'Great,' Amanita replied, not bothering to hide her obvious boredom he'd changed the subject from her cherished paper. 'We found this nice beach with a waterfall that runs right onto the sand.'

Danny tapped his finger on the table, thinking hard.

'Let me look at the headline again.'

Danny began to read the story that dominated the front page. Well-written, Amanita's graceful style elevated it from tabloid sensationalism. Despite Danny's earlier comment the story was fully researched, and held its own with relevant facts. He was just not sure how they could get involved in something so far removed from their own jurisdiction.

'Amanita – look...' Danny said, but he was interrupted.

'I know what you're going to say Danny, and you're probably right – you usually are, but let me just say this. I know it's not our area, and I know I should probably give it up, but this is our chance to spread our wings. Isn't that what A-levels is supposed to be all about? To embrace new opportunities?'

'I thought it was all about passing examinations so we could get into university,' Danny deadpanned.

'If you had been there Danny. If you had seen the pain in the loved ones' eyes. If you could see how the media reacted; how they refused to help but ran destructive, poisonous and irresponsible stories. If you could see what I had seen, you would be filled with similar disgust!'

Danny frowned, unconvinced.

'Look Danny,' Amanita whispered, leaning forward.

Danny noticed the rim of gold mascara adorning Amanita's new face.

'I know what you went through...that day when...you know, when you realized she wasn't coming back. Just think. Right now other children are going through exactly the same thing that you went through. Don't you and I owe a debt to those children? Don't we owe it to society to show the right path amid this jungle of liars?'

Danny sat back and stared into the bottom of his coffee cup.

'Great speech,' he murmured. 'Did you practice that?'

'A little,' Amanita smiled.

'What about the follow up?'

'Well,' Amanita began, in a tentative voice, 'I know you've always fancied a trip to Greece...'

Danny smiled and glanced again at the paper lying on the table. The pleading headline explained nothing but screamed passion and roused irrepressible interest:

British media to blame for   
Penny Trikill's disappearance in Rhodes

*

Books fell from the bookshelf. Danny was trying to find the one book he knew he would have to open at least once this year, but was dreading the moment when it would arrive. Off came the childhood mystery stories, off came the trio of investigators, off came the humanized animal tales. At last he found it. Holding it gingerly in his hands he looked at the deceptively bland cover. He didn't need to open it – he had already memorised the first line. Allowing it to resound in his mind's voice, it indulged nostalgia on every imagined syllable. Each word shouted melodiously, inspiring him, strengthening him, revealing hidden secrets. Shining a kind light on the darkest and most uncomfortable moments of his short life thus far. He opened another. Again the flood of feeling seemed to encircle and own him. His unseen soul surrendered silent trust to a benevolent force.

The epiphany was unexpected. Danny never thought it could make him feel this way. Again, and after so many years. He was human after all. After everything, he still carried a soul intact, with the same childish dreams laying beneath adolescent clothes.

Lying on his bed he opened a notebook he had written in last year. Pictures and doodles and countdowns and chronological histories created a chaotic yet happy mess. It was his. He kept flicking through mini-essays, short stories, half-remembered thoughts and sketches of how things might have been and how they really were. He flipped over the page. A single word covered an entire page. With a disturbed poignancy he recalled the moment he had written it. Filled with hope and longing it yet communicated a danger, and a mysterious fear. That word represented a battle between the best of his intentions for himself, and a path that materialized at the last moment, seducing him with wiles and tricks he knew not existed. He would not even have known how to spell it in infant school.

Outside the birds sang morning calls, as if sounding the first note of Spring. Danny paused for a moment to listen, straining to hear any note that might temper the percipient beauty of their song. Perhaps it was Danny's imagination, but each squeak seemed more desperate than the last. A V of birds flew overhead and Danny marvelled at their coordination whilst soaring. Did they know something about freedom he didn't? Did the sky hold treasures he could never hope to perceive?

Danny put the notebook down and stared at the side of his bed, where two years ago he had imagined Robin Vernal appearing to him. Had it just been an hallucination? Drug-fuelled hallucinations had surged in him last year and they held an imperceptibly different quality. The look in her eyes had filled him with the same hope he felt when he read the book. He had let it into his soul and had desperately, quietly clung to it. Was it now time to let it go, to let her go? Was he being silly and childish, imagining he would ever reclaim her lost childhood love? The time when he would become an adult was arriving too fast and he recollected the line about putting away childish things. She had been the small and perfect golden shower of his childhood, but her presence was no longer real and the monochrome world demanded he grow up. Danny's eyes fell down again and rested on his notebook. Static, it fell open at the same page. Shutting the book would not end the aching; it would only be procrastination for another time, more painful for the delay. For some reason he could not divert his gaze from that one simple word, written in carefully decorated letters. That word, which for him was another bleak reminder of the sorrow rapidly filling his life. The word was his and his only. It belonged to him and he had managed to avoid it. Now it was singularly and resolutely demanding his attention, without sympathy, understanding or sensitivity.

Phoebe.

Fourlawns

Heather pokes through the thinking grass

Soft; replete with Spring caress

Fingers of fortitude feeling the air

Trapped in earth the heart of there, there

With bother and withering thaws

Like jaws of ingested gender

Not seen for what the plot becomes

In later books will shock us all

But not me. Never me

The heather breathes

The Communiqué

On the south side of Amberleigh beyond the big hill known as Burnett mountain stands a large red-bricked, and until recently, totally disused building. Two chimneys point to the sky like man-made pleas to heaven. Two sentries, patient, waiting for attack. Tiny wisps of pallid smoke occasionally emit from the towers, a vestige of some activity located in the past. Behind, rows of trees form an orderly background to the man-made rouge. Looking upon the wide building and intimidating iron gates, an atmosphere of lost industry dominates. Danny saw the building as being held in the arms of irresistable decay. If the building could speak; if Danny could reach inside his imagining of its sentience, he felt sure it secretly regressed to a time of former glory.

The waves were not far away. A gentle lapping of water on deserted sand cooled and crystallized Danny's thoughts. He took a few tentative steps towards the building. As the late summer breeze struck his neck and ran down his shivering spine he wrapped his jacket close round him. Where were the wisps of smoke coming from? Amid rumours of out-of-town squatters and arson attempts, and, after all the legends he'd heard about secret workers and spontaneous water sources from the earth, was there someone inside? A faint grey smell of something dark, rich and sweet seemed to mix with the rough salty air carried in from the sea's rolling tides.

*

Governing the horizon like a hopeful beacon, Amberleigh Castle's lights radiated from the tip of tall jagged rock that butted into the ocean like an obtruding elbow. A smile crossed Danny's face as he strolled towards the bleak mass. Reminiscing on happy times he'd spent in its enclosures, his memories subverted the quiet fear that one day its sinister side would fill him with a sense opposed to the one surging in him now.

Amberleigh coastline in full summer bloom never failed to fortify. Danny's languid breath billowed out in satisfying waves as he strolled up the path towards school. He carried hopes crowded by reservations, and private desires held beneath a heavy stone of dread. An unknown head teacher would lead them. Yet again a new era was beginning. Although the lower-sixth label was allocated to his year-group, Danny now belonged to the upper school, and could rightly claim he was a sixth-former along with all the accoutrements it brought. As an early teenager he had craved such privileges rabidly. Now he was older the ability to wear your own clothes at study, and enter your own common room, unavailable to those younger, seemed like irrelevant aspirations of an immature child. Yet they still brought compensation enough for the concentration, writing and research that awaited. He wondered who would be the new arrivals, and what the new student bar would look like.

As he neared the school gates, the skipped heartbeat he treasured once a year now seemed more sacred, especially as this time last year he had thought it would be his last. Having another two years at St Oliver's Plunket's fall into his lap, Danny realized the feeling of security he once thought boring had become entirely empowering.

A girl stood between him and the gates. Erect, her kitsch indie satchel crossed her shoulder and rested against her back. Well-built, she wore a dark skirt which covered robustly shaped buttocks. Black tights clung to plump thighs like children crowding their matriarch. From the bottom of the stony path, and with the sun rising over the top of the first turret, she appeared to Danny as an unwitting yet overtly sexual saviour. Someone who knew she would never have a problem getting sex, but would have to wrestle with it, to prevent it dominating her life, and her true loves.

Danny approached and she turned her head toward him. Between two clumpy crimson lips dangled the butt of a half-smoked cigarette. A gentle wisp of smoke spiralled from her lips as she removed it with red-nailed fingers. Throwing it to the ground, she expertly twisted her high-heeled boot and crushed any remaining fire from the speckled orange stump.

'Excuse me – I'm new here. Do you know where all the sixth-formers are supposed to meet?'

Danny smiled like a little boy in a candy shop.

'Yes it's over here. Would you like to come with me?'

She smiled kindly, stretching scarlet lips and making Danny's heart quiver.

'Yes please. My name is Sandi. Sandi Burrill. What's yours?'

'I'm Danny.'

Thinking his spirit could not soar any higher Danny entered the gates, leading the buxom beauty betwixt himself and the limestone walls of Amberleigh castle.

*

Professor Wonder strode into a classroom packed with young female students, clad in the latest designer jeans and black knee-high boots. He wore his usual grey suit but sported a chopped haircut, which represented a change from his usual fringed flop. Girls sat up straighter and fluttered eyelashes furiously as the young teacher sat on the edge of his desk.

Apart from himself and Wonder, Danny couldn't see another male in the room. Sandi Burrill sat at the back. Catching his eye, she generously smiled again.

'It appears my A-level class is disproportionately feminised!' Wonder began, looking as bemused as Danny at the plethora of females before him. A crash sounded to the right of the classroom and Timothy Gaunt fell into the room, his shirt hanging out, a half-eaten sandwich in his mouth and his school bag dragging on the floor from his hips.

'Sorry sir, late,' mumbled Tim. Taking a seat nearest the door, beside an attractive blonde girl, his eyes bulged at the unnaturally large breasts peeping through her low-cut white blouse. Danny knew her to be Amatory Poise, who he'd seen round Amberleigh arm in arm with Nick Fasco, owner of Slick Nicks – the local hairdresser. Tim couldn't resist milking his eyeful.

'Today we will be reviewing the A-level syllabus.'

A weary sigh rose up from the mass of adolescent angst sitting before Wonder. Somehow it seemed the endless summer was slipping away forever. The withering wick of autumn was setting in, bringing with it cool relief and concentrated study. A long winter awaited. While nice to catch up with old friends it was a disheartening experience to encompass all the hard work that lay ahead of them. It felt like a rainy race-track stretching into murky distance. At least Tim was distracted, Danny thought, as he watched his friend alternately glance between Wonder's expressive face and Amatory's breasts.

'In this course we will cover the entire doctrine of the Christian and Catholic traditions. Each of you will prepare a detailed piece of coursework on one of your chosen world religions. We will have discussion sessions on morality and ethics, and there will be workshops every Friday morning to learn religious history. At nine o'clock am sharp,' Wonder boomed.

Another depressed murmur rose up from the class. In fact the only person who was still smiling was Timothy Gaunt, although conspicuously not at Wonder.

Like a stalking predator Wonder reached Tim's desk unwittingly; Tim did not see the raised exercise book about to swipe him round the ears as he yet again tried to look down Amatory's top, who herself gazed out the window at a tree blowing in the wind. Danny screwed up his eyes as Wonder brought the exercise book down hard on Tim's head. Danny did not wish to witness the moment Tim was plunged from his happy reverie.

In the corridor there was little time to stop and chat as their next lesson beckoned. Amanita shoved a piece of paper in Danny's hand as she strode off for Maths. Danny opened it furtively, desperately trying to shield it from the advancing females around him.

Lunchtime. Music practice room 3. We need to discuss the Oracle. Ax

'Can't make it,' a voice said from behind Danny. Tim had been stood behind him, reading every word. 'I've been invited to have lunch with Sol and Samuel,' he said, a tinge of guilt masking his usual confidence.

'What's this Gaunt?' Danny said, taking a step back. 'Abandoning your friends?'

Tim scowled at him.

'Actually it's school work. I have been invited to help set up a secret new school project. Seeing the attitude you are taking Master Canterbury, I think it shall remain a secret to you for a little while longer.'

With his final comment Tim scarpered down the hallway. Danny smiled to himself at the old routines falling back into place. History awaited.

*

It was not until the afternoon, after Amanita had berated Danny for not dragging Tim along to discuss the Oracle, that Danny discovered the identity of the new head of Plunket's.

Now sixth-formers, they had to wait until all the assemblies in the years below had been completed. It was during a mid-afternoon break – a new thrill for the lower-sixth's first day – that they were summoned into St Basil's. They made a unique sight as a group, Danny reflected. No longer were they obliged to wear the prune and custard uniform of the past four years. Now jeans, either embroidered at the hems or ripped at the knees, competed with pretty late-summer dresses, and adorned with trendy leather jackets, as the gangly teenagers strolled into the hall, trying to capture the fashion zeitgeist and appear the epitome of cool. Danny caught up with Samuel Mills as he sauntered to a seat.

'Hey Danny. How's it going? Good summer?' Samuel asked casually.

'Yeah – not too bad thanks. Went to a massive rock concert with Tim. It was ace.'

Samuel glanced back at Danny wearing a glazed expression.

'Really?' Samuel said, the bored tone in his voice too distinct for Danny. 'I went to Ayia Napa with a couple of friends. Plenty of easy pussy over there.'

Danny sat down and placed his hands beneath his legs, an unconscious reaction whenever he felt defensive. Raising his eyes, he watched Dawn Russet smile a little too obviously in Samuel's direction. He hoped the teachers' entrance would enable him to cease his pathless conversation with Samuel. Was Danny missing out on his teenage life? Was he being left behind as the real fun took place in arenas Danny could only dream about?

Deputy Head Deirdre Quinine walked in, tall and bespectacled and Danny was reminded once again of a studious giraffe. Behind her walked Professors Wonder, Alessandro, Pry and Dr Ravana with Dr Slattery. At the rear of the group stooped a thin young man, whom Danny instantly thought he'd seen somewhere before. Lean and muscular, he carried a self-assured and confident demeanour. The virility of his wispy gold hair stood apart from the other teachers who seemed dull and grey in comparison. Danny could not pinpoint the moment where he had seen him, but his stomach instinctively rolled over an moment of both terror and sadness, before disappearing. When Danny turned his eyes to the podium he saw Deirdre Quinine about to speak. He wondered why. Surely they were waiting for the new head to arrive before the assembly would begin?

'Students – or should I say young adults?' Quinine began.

A few people grinned happily, and looked more relaxed as Quinine returned their smile.

'Welcome to the beginning of the rest of your lives. I stand before you today not as the new head teacher but as a guide, a counsellor, a shepherd through two years of what will be, hopefully, two of the most exciting and stimulating years of your life.'

It was expertly done. There were no grandiose booming pronouncements, like Appalachian's the previous year. She slipped it in so delicately that hardly anyone noticed. Most were melting under her sunny charm.

'I know many of you are concentrating your studies in certain areas. These are important days for you, as you adapt to the new challenge of investigating your chosen interests with in-depth analysis and greater scrutiny. It will be, for us all, a great adventure.'

Samuel snorted. Danny glanced at him and felt once again the dread of discomfort that arrives with impending displacement. He had thought Quinine had measured everything perfectly so far, and was admiring the way she didn't force herself upon the student body, allowing them to come to her. Danny felt her fresh approach was much needed. He wondered what Samuel was studying. Probably the subjects with the most girls in the class.

'Now, I would like to introduce a new History teacher who returns to Plunket's this year for the first time since his own exams. This appointment is very special to me. For the first time – in a long time – we are very pleased to welcome an ex-student back to St. Oliver Plunket's as a teacher. He is someone who will be an excellent role model for all you young men searching for your vocation – please step forward Dr Louis Foss!'

A creeping fear gripped the base of Danny's stomach as two questions revolved in his mind, two faceless partners doing a tragic dance. One – where had Jim Travershall gone. Why had he gone? Was he shamed by the events of the last year? Was he really as guiltless as everything implied? Second, and perhaps in Danny's mind more terrible, why had he not recognised Louis earlier? He was the brother of his departed friend, Chardelia Foss. Though no-one would know it, he felt he'd committed a heinous crime upon her memory by not remembering the person who delivered the exquisite eulogy at her funeral. Her beloved brother. Like Danny, he would never forget her.

Foss bowed slightly to the mass of youths before him, and Danny recognised the familiar stoop which, last time he had seen it, carried its owner to the front of an altar in solemn black. Quinine clapped and invited everyone to applaud the young doctor. As the noise died down, Quinine continued.

'We are this year, of course, privileged to be able to offer our sixth-formers an exciting new project. As some of you will already be aware, this year we will open a new student bar within the walls of Amberleigh Castle. This is a big responsibility for the school, and especially for you – the students who will run it. We, that is to say the teachers, heads of year and parent's association have decided the best way to run it is to revolve the responsibility from different groups of students, from term to term. We have already offered the positions for this term to six special young individuals, and I am pleased to say they have all accepted. Therefore, I am delighted to introduce six students who will take on the management of bar for the current Christmas term. Please help me welcome to the front Mary Oconee, Dawn Russet, Hazel Brock, Sol Castle, Samuel Mills and Timothy Gaunt!'

Danny watched as Samuel stood and walked casually down the middle aisle towards Quinine. Amanita, two rows in front, turned her head back to Danny, mouth open in disbelief as a grinning Tim stumbled over her legs to get out to the front. He was shaking Sol and Samuel's hands and winking happily at the girls. He was loving it, and best of all, his two closest friends didn't know a thing about it.

'Perhaps you would like to say a few words Timothy?' Quinine enquired politely. The smile was wiped from his face as quickly as the swoop of spring in mid-April.

'Er...no Miss, I mean, Professor,' Tim stumbled as his cheeks flushed a shade of puce and his confidence faltered under the scrutiny of the new sixth-form.

'Ladies and gentlemen, I hope all the students who recently graduated from Plunket's own GCSE year will extend a particularly warm welcome to our friends who have joined us from other Amberleigh schools without a sixth-form. We hope this will be an opportunity for you to make new lifelong friends. To affirm this, we will open the student bar this Friday and invite all of you to spend the afternoon there, during which all lessons will be suspended,' Quinine paused, smiling at the students cheers, 'to get to know each other and help us launch the bar into a success that will last for years!'

Danny watched Tim's eyes wander over to Amatory Poise. Her low-cut top seemed such an unjustified piece of clothing to touch the tanned plateaus beneath.

'In addition to your new student bar, we will launch a new sixth form newspaper, to run alongside Plunket's Oracle which will now be run by the top GCSE year of the main school. To tell us more about this new and exciting periodical please allow me to welcome the front, the former editor of the Oracle and your very own Head Girl, Amanita Walmer!'

Amanita stood, slightly nervous at first, but growing in confidence as she neared the congregation of students around Quinine and the other teachers.

She coughed, cleared her throat before looking up and paused for a brief second, looking at Danny before addressing the back of St Basil's.

'I am very pleased to be launching the new sixth-form newspaper, which will be called Communiqué.'

A few students looked at each other, wondering what Amanita had just said.

'I would very much like this new paper to be a source of strength for our year and the challenges ahead we will all face. I would like to invite all of those who have contributed to the Oracle in the past, and all those who haven't...'

Amanita cast a stern glance at a few people Danny thought was quite unnecessary.

'...all those who are new to St Plunket's to join me in making Communiqué the success it deserves to be. Together, we will make news and literary history!'

Amanita stopped, clearly expecting a round of applause for her little speech. Instead she was left staring into a void of confusion and apathy. Her cheeks flushed and she quickly scurried back to her seat, along with Sol, Tim, Dawn, Samuel, Mary and Hazel.

Once everyone had sat back down, Quinine resumed. In what Danny assumed her closing flourish she opened her arms to the student body.

'There is one final matter as your new head I would like to address directly.' She paused and sipped some water. Danny was reminded of Flambeau, making the same slip of nerves two years ago. Though her hands were steady Danny saw inside she shook. Hoping she wouldn't promise her reign would be filled with happiness, joy and learning, Danny leant forward to listen. He didn't wish to be disappointed by authority yet again.

'Some of you may already be thinking about what careers await you outside Plunket's. Before the end of term I encourage all of you to consult your head of year for a careers chat. Even if you have plans to go to university.'

Quinine paused. Gazing at Danny in an enigmatic way, that he had no idea what she was thinking, she began to speak again.

'It is important that your plans, however provisional, are given structure by a member of the teaching staff. Your new head of year is to be Louis Foss, and I invite you all to discuss your future aspirations, hopes and fears with him directly. That is all. I hope you all have a happy and, of course, hard-working year.'

Quinine marched from St Basil's and the other teachers followed.

As a familiar aroma reached him Danny glanced at his feet below. With delicious knowledge he sensed the friendly face hovering above him.

'Hi Danny. Good summer?'

He breathed in her scent slowly, restoring to his heart for a moment forbidden memories which had remained locked. The halcyon days he had spent with his childhood infatuation, now lost and more bittersweet for their losing. Revelling in knowledge he had attained good terms with the seventeen-year old, he allowed the sweetness of Janna Chisely's enduring coral eyes to reopen the deep cavity that forever remained dear.

*

The Path Anon

The winter wind lashes

My poor eyes flash

With seaspray and salt

When I walk along the path

Father. Yes. I have a father

He watches me falter

I am training myself

It winds along the cliff edge

The fall is fatal

But I will never fall

I know that now

I will never fall

Along my path

Bee Dew

Friday arrived with haste. Danny nervously anticipated the new venue where he imagined he would spend his free time during school. With six free periods a week in which to revise and read and conduct independent study, choices were opening up like unfolding origami shells. Bookshelf, the school library was one hang-out, but the bar would perhaps be more sociable and, what Danny liked best, a more distracting place to chill.

Mary Oconee propped her elbow against the doors as Danny approached. Shut with a large brass padlock hanging from silver chains, the doors themselves looked impressive. Both decorated in baby pink and shrieking violet, inset they bore circular, cabin-like windows. Looking Mary up and down, Danny had no doubt she was dressed for the occasion. Her black bomber jacket gave her a steelier edge Danny knew she often lacked in the theatre of classroom discussion. Boot-cut jeans also presented the trendiness Mary must have longed to liberate from the constrictive school uniform. Brown curls uncharacteristically flowed to her face where a pout on her lips was made more distinct by the ginger lipstick she sported.

'Hey Mary,' Danny offered. 'First one here?'

'It's not opening until three pm.'

Mary spoke casually, looking Danny up and down with the same degree of inspection he had surveyed her. Surprised by this new piece of information, Danny's heart sank. He was hoping to have his lunch inside.

'I've got a key though,' Mary said, a cheeky smile forming on her new womanly lips.

As she unlocked the doors the opening allowed gentle shafts of auburn light through, bathing their bodies in its autumnal glow. Momentarily dazzled, when his pupils refocused Danny saw a vision of modernity and playfulness touch his eyes. The entire left wall was demarcated by a row of comfy alcoves, dressed in pink leather and mauve polyester. As the fabric rose up the walls it met pin-striped mirrors. Directly in front of them lay a laminated beech dance floor. A cluster of rainbow spotlights hung in triangular black frames above. The bar stood to the right of them, a curved plinth shaped like a teardrop. Danny had never seen so many drinks behind a bar before. Even at Wilfields the selection was not as rich or as varied as the endless bottles that hung attached to the wall. All were full, as if untouched, waiting to explode into life. Despite the warning, Danny suspected alcohol resided among them.

'Fancy a drink?' Mary asked, taking off her jacket and hanging it provocatively on the large stone bust of what Danny could only assume was St Oliver Plunket's head.

'Should we? Shouldn't we wait for the official opening?' Danny asked, tentatively.

Mary was already reaching for a couple of bottles of Pepsi from the fridge. With dexterity in her dainty hands she shoved one down the bar, watching it slide all the way into Danny's hand as if in a western saloon.

'I've always wanted to do that,' she giggled.

*

The party was in full swing when the flapping doors opened to welcome a new visitor to the sixth-form bar. Danny twirled Amanita on the dance floor as the rest of the sixth-formers drank Pepsi, J20 and chatted informally about the year ahead. Coldplay blasted from the jukebox and Tim served drinks and nuts like there was no tomorrow. Their first week back at school had made life feel like a beach.

It was the strong alien smell that first made Danny clock the silhouette watching him languidly from the entrance. It wasn't sweet or sour, but something akin to the smell of freshly cut grass without the subtlety or lightness. A bittersweet, overpowering pungency. Like frosted pines to the power of ten. As she stepped into one of the spotlights Danny saw her fully for the first time. Blonde curls hovered close to poised, pursed lips. Long white fingers snaked to pristine pink nails which clutched a gold handbag. A small pair of glasses perched on the end of her button nose. Waving her hand dismissively to Tim, who was about to offer her a drink, she walked forward purposefully. Taking several paces, her long legs clad in technicolour harlequin tights, she accelerated until eye to eye with Amanita.

'Amanita Walmer, the pleasure is all mine!' the woman uttered in an overly girlish demeanour. Extending one of her long hands, with her extraordinarily long eyelashes she half-blinked in the expectation that Amanita would shake it. Danny watched as Amanita's arms remained folded firmly across her chest.

'Who are you?' Amanita said slowly.

The woman double-taked. It was as if she couldn't quite come to terms with the fact that Amanita didn't know who she was. She smiled again, overcompensating for her lack of discretion.

'I'm sorry dear, you must not be as well-informed as I had hoped,' the lady said, retracting her hand and placing it delicately on her tiny hips.

Amanita harrumphed, loudly.

'My name is Bee Dew, senior editor for the Amberleigh Post. Surely you have read my articles? Oh. Wait a minute. Perhaps you haven't? Perhaps you are too preoccupied with...' Bee looked up at the ceiling, as if pondering some earth-shattering mystery, '...your precious student journalism!'

Bee's smile covered her face from ear to ear. Danny smiled. It was hard to resist when someone undermined Amanita as gently as this.

Amanita returned Bee's smile, before turning to an advancing Hazel Brock.

'Another drink Hazel? I'm buying.'

With her parting shot Amanita darted to the bar, leaving Danny the only remaining company for the mischievous Bee Dew, who Danny thought was a refreshing ball of blonde fun.

'You really shouldn't have taunted her like that,' Danny said smiling again at Bee. Her face was so pleasant to look at. It was like falling into a pool of cool water on a shimmering hot day.

She smiled in response as she drew tentacle-like fingers into her gold handbag and fished out a packet of Lucky Strikes.

'Want one?' she offered the packet to Danny.

'No thanks,' he said, 'I don't smoke.'

'Be a darl and come and keep me company while I fire this little chap up.'

She strolled back to the neon-illuminated pink and purple doors fully expecting Danny to follow, and she was not disappointed.

*

'Let me tell you a story.'

Bee began, while puffing femininely on her smouldering white wand. Plumes of steel-coloured smoke gushed from her lips and when she breathed deeply, she relished the moment of hesitation, holding Danny in a small bubble of suspense.

'It began when I was a little girl.'

'You can't be that old Miss Dew,' Danny said involuntarily, not meaning a word.

'Oh, you're sweet!' Bee whispered huskily. 'Please. My friends call me Bee.'

'What? Always buzzing about?' Danny said again, instantaneously wishing he hadn't opened his mouth again. Fortunately, Bee ignored his last remark.

'When I was a little girl, the world was a different place. We didn't have iPods or MP3 players. We didn't have the internet or the world wide web. We didn't have mobile phones. What we had were friends and books and chat and honesty and openness. Now all that has been left behind – left so we can pursue the aimless novelties of a directionless society.'

Danny gazed at her. She'd seemed so girlish a moment ago, but now she appeared as sage as Alessandro, or even Dunstan Blackbuck. The transformation was as seamless as it was immediate, and Danny struggled to control the incongruity it conceived in his mind. Into this confusion, Dew continued.

'He was my childhood friend, my very best friend. He lived just a few doors down on my street. It was a poor neighbourhood. We didn't have much money as a family. But every day I would venture out to play with Tommy. In the morning, in the afternoon, in the evening until the sun went down, and even after it had, we carried on underneath the streetlight's glow.'

Danny became enraptured by Dew's story. Something about the story and the teller seemed poignant and displaced. He longed for her to reach the climax.

'It was about three years after we first met. We both must have been about eight years old. We had a lovely afternoon playing when we decided we wanted to be married. So we made it into a game. I went in to get a white doylie for a veil – he went to get a tie to wear over his swimming trunks. My sister was the matron of honour. His mum was the best man. We had orange juice and cakes for our wedding reception. The whole thing was incredibly fun, but it had a real sense of occasion. It stuck in my memory forever. It was the happiest day of my life.'

Danny glanced at her. A faint smile submitted to a dark frown.

'That was the last day I ever saw him. He disappeared after that.'

Dew finished, nonchalantly compressing her unblemished lips around the dying embers of her cigarette.

'What happened? Where did he go?'

Danny felt he was swimming in pools of mystery that were Bee Dew's eyes. She smiled again, and crushed her cigarette against the limestone wall.

'That, Danny Canterbury, I don't think I shall ever know. However I do know this: the past few years, indeed my whole life is now dedicated to rooting out the truth and preserving it. It's my way of coping. That's why I chose journalism as my career. It's hard, full of pressure, but it's the only thing that keeps me sane. Knowing that while others deliver the sweet, tantalizing lie I am one of the few who guard that sacred commodity: the true story.'

Danny gazed at her again, helpless in a glassy gaze which she poured on him in abundance.

'That is why Danny,' she sighed deeply before continuing,' I need to arrange an interview with Amanita. She's writing stories in the student newspaper that simply aren't true.'

'She's leading a new A-level newspaper this year. She's not doing the Oracle anymore. This year we'll all be working on Communiqué.'

Danny spoke in rapid bursts, hoping the news that he was working at the highest echelons of the student body would impress her.

Bee smiled again. Her lipstick had faded.

'Then it is more imperative I speak to Amanita as soon as possible. We are both keen journalists. We should channel our energies together. Perhaps – '

Dew hesitated and, noticing Danny's questioning brown eyes, leant forward slightly allowing them to get a substantial view of her pale flesh.

'Perhaps I can even help her. I can coach her into becoming a better editor? The written word is my passion Danny! Even my younger sister Samantha is thinking about going into the noble world of news when she leaves school.'

Danny nodded furiously. As the autumn wind gusted a few early leaves scattered across the playground in sweeping curves. When Dew spoke next, it was in a whispered hush.

'Perhaps you might help me arrange it Danny? Perhaps you could speak to her for me, and fix a date for the inter – well, shall we call it a little chat? I might even be able to spare an hour or so afterwards for us to have a drink, and for me to tell you a bit more about Tommy?'

Dew left the question hanging in the air, her lips semi-parted as if she might say something else, but seductively refusing. Danny was helpless before the calculated prettiness.

'I would love to help you in any way possible.'

Tides of empathy rolled through Danny as he strolled home that evening. Blinkered by rosy cheeks, golden curls and her indelicate teasing of Amanita, Danny felt he had finally found someone who understood. What it was to love and lose and live with the certain knowledge that bumpy mistakes committed in the past grew into irrevocable and unsealable cracks in life's path.

*

Pry strolled the aisles of her literature A-level class like a leopard stalking the undergrowth. The grey clouds of late afternoon brought with them students susceptible to classroom slumbers. It had already been a long day and Danny was not relishing remaining behind after school finished. Amanita had insisted they hold their first Communiqué meeting and both Danny and Tim struggled to control her nerves as she anticipated how many people would turn up to the first meeting.

'For the next two years, we will read some of the most liberating, enlightening and fulfilling literature you will all have the privilege to experience for the first time.'

Pry spoke quietly but commanded the full attention of all her students.

'There will despairing romance. There will be thrilling war stories and lives tragically cut short. There will be losses and gains. There will be death and renewal. Expiration and resurrection. There will be rites of passage, there will be moments of comedy and awe. There will be tales of travel, political manouverings and childhood reminiscences. Mark my words, this will be the literature that will provide the backdrop to two exhilarating and fun-filled years.'

Danny wondered why there were no sniggers or wisecracks at Pry's bombastic speech. Looking round he could hardly believe his eyes. Again, he was the only boy in the class. All girls, all rapt and all transfixed by Pry's effortless curriculum summary. Danny sighed. It was going to be a long year. The only sound which broke the silence left by the end of Pry's speech was that of a solitary girl scribbling down every last point. Danny sighed again. He wondered where Amanita sourced her relentless focus.

'This year we will study novels, plays and, I am pleased to say, poetry.'

A few girls squeaked with delight. Danny merely stared ahead, his hard look belying joy that Ursula Calcite was no longer his poetry mentor. No more would he have to endure her vague girlish choices; this was an opportunity to get stuck in to some meaty stanzas. Pry continued.

'I shall expect all material to be read at home in advance of class. You may do this in study groups if you prefer, but you must be come to each class session prepared to participate in a discussion between us all. For next week you will be reading the first act of William Shakespeare's The Winter's Tale. Enjoy.'

As they trundled out, a scruffy mix of jeans and trainers Danny caught the eye of Amatory Poise, who gazed at him as if trying to figure something out.

'Snap out of it will you?' Amanita whispered in his ear. 'She's engaged remember?'

'I'm not interested in her like that.'

Danny spoke in a monotone, but still allowed his eye to linger one last second on her straight honeygold hair, as if it were a divine curtain of fabric that wallpapered heaven.

'Yeah. I believe you. Thousands wouldn't.'

Amanita opened the door to the press room and shoved Danny forward until he faced the familiar staircase, and the ascent to their independent literary haven. Once inside Amanita hobbled to the front of the press room.

'What's wrong with your leg?' Danny asked.

'Oh she was struck playing hockey,' came a strangely familiar voice from behind Danny. Danny thought for a moment he had imagined it, that an unseen ghost had flitted in and out of the room. Then he saw her – resplendent in a light blue skirt and a plain white top, with plunging neckline that only drew more attention to the pallid engorgements that were her colossal breasts. Sandi Burrill stood beaming at them both.

'So this is the famous press room I've heard so much about!' she said.

Danny squeaked a faint assent in response. Amanita sat on a stool and faced the two of them as others began filing in. First Mary Oconee and Sol Castle, then Hazel Brock followed suspiciously by Edmund Cloves looking hard at her legs. Florence Croft, Lorraine Carr and Dawn Russet burst through the door giggling about something hilarious. Samuel Mills and Cedric Claw followed, smiling proudly as Benjamin Sprite and Squish Ambrose, both holding footballs, pushed their way in. Janna Chisely came in after, chatting to a coffee-haired girl Danny recognized but couldn't for the moment identify. Then the shock came.

Saffelia Forrest emerged from behind the pair. Her face, tragic as it was pretty, was framed by two subtle wisps of blonde hair, released from the bob tied up in pink ribbons on the back of her head. Danny wanted to run up and hug her but he didn't get the chance. Her hand was held by another, and as the door shut Danny saw Timothy Gaunt was the one simultaneously grimacing and squeezing Saffelia's fingers.

The murmuring and chatting ceased. Silence descended on the group of teenagers, as all eyes turned to Amanita. Although she looked nervous, Danny knew she would be determined as ever.

'Thank you for coming.'

Her voice quivered. In an effort to consolidate, she repeated her opening statement.

'Thank you all for coming.'

Edmund Cloves tapped his foot impatiently, and Cedric Claw gave him a stern look to cease immediately. Amanita continued.

'We are here...I am glad...that so many of you...have come to our little meeting...'

She was choking, Danny thought. She was choking and there was nothing he could do to help her. This was her forum, her paper and her speech. She had to deliver the goods. Just when he thought she was close to tears with fright he fixed her with a cold hard stare, holding it for a couple of seconds until Amanita clocked him. Her face, flushed and embarrassed, became confused under Danny's glare. With a seeming instantaneous flick of his eyebrows, he released his frown into a wide open smile. Amanita was caught full in the headlights of the ray of light. She smiled back and began to continue, gravelly confidence entering her voice.

'This is the first meeting of what I hope will be many. An exciting new enterprise for us all. For we, all of us, are the luckiest people in this school. We have been given the opportunity to speak on behalf of our friends, peers, teachers and parents. We are the voice of the new sixth form!'

Tim slouched at the back and gazed almost inscrutably towards Amanita. Then he too raised his eyebrows and gave her a sly wink.

'This year we face new challenges. Not least of these is a challenge that many over the distinguished years of British journalism have encountered – to tell the truth in difficult circumstances. This summer a terrible tragedy occurred on a Greek island where I was holidaying with my mother. This news story is being played out through innuendo and suspicion every day in the newspapers and television. Our first challenge will be to tell the truth about this story. Why does it concern us? Why should we report something that happened thousands of miles away? I'll tell you why. Because if we don't, who will?'

Danny wasn't sure who started the clapping, but he was sure from Amanita's blushes and grateful giggles she was proud of her first speech as editor of Communiqué.

As Amanita finished the meeting she assigned pages, roles and initial stories to those gathered and invited all those attending to sign what Amanita called the Communiqué's Declaration of Independence. This document asked for everyone to abide by the journalist's code of honour, to protect sources where they are in danger, and to maintain strict secrecy for stories about to break in Communiqué.

Danny sat by the window and watched everyone depart. The girl Janna had accompanied turned as she left the room and smiled at Danny. Her kindly expression mixed with her straight dark hair and sweet face to impress a subtle beauty on Danny. On receiving her gaze something churned in his stomach. He attempted a weak smile back, but he was not sure if she saw it, for she was already gone.

*

I am sitting in my room crying and rubbing my eyes. It is not fair. All the other girls are being allowed. I want to go out and play with Jo, Ros and Chardelia. I can hear them through the thin pane of glass separating me from the outside world. I can hear the laughter and giggles as they run up and down the street, singing tunes we have learnt at playschool.

I wrap my duvet around me closer, hoping the warmth it provides will make me warm deep inside. I want to be with my friends. I get up on my knees, digging into the softness of my mattress, and peer out the window as rain begins to lash the dirty glass. I can see them clearly though, and they are not put off by the rain. I want to be with them. Who is that? That woman in the corner, in the shadow of that big grey house opposite the grassy verge. I can't see her properly. She isn't moving.

My father is shouting me. I am going to be allowed to have dinner. I hope it is sausages and mash. I like my father's gravy, but I'd never tell him. Maybe he'll forgive me one day for stealing those chocolates. Maybe.

*

Seacrest Love

The crest of the sea is planted for me

It washes a tide to drift me aside

It smoulders and burns it's spray amid ferns

And flowers of provenance unknown that dance

And sway amid the tempest. Weak waters crest

At the zenith of the wave, white horses rave

And crave a new beginning again and again

While smells of the surf, that broiling hearse

Of sea-corpse and fish that flake on charcoal

Smoky taste of freshness from God's store of pay less

Like an ocean of food we forgot for our stews

And plates. But not for me and him. We both swim

In that salty vast and with wide nets we cast

Out and capture life for life with wooden knives

Until our dinner wriggles and dies until it tickles

The inside of our stomachs and tucks

Up our hunger

Compromise

'Am, hon, can I have a quick word?'

Amanita swivelled fast on her black leather chair and then abruptly stopped it. Narrowing her eyes, she waited expectantly. It was rare for Danny to use terms of endearment or affection with Amanita. She knew when that happened he was after something, usually a concession she didn't want to give.

'Yes?' her voice rising in suspicion.

'It's just, I know how passionate you are about the whole newspaper thing.'

Amanita's eyebrows shot to her forehead, and Danny stumbled over his words.

'It's just, I think, if we're going to have a debate about this, if we're truly going to have an honest and meaningful discussion about the impartiality of the media, on stories such as these, then we need to hear all sides, all angles. Don't you think?'

It was the unnecessary question at the end that weakened Danny's argument and gave Amanita the satisfaction of knowing where he was coming from.

'What did she promise you, Danny?'

'What? Who?'

'Okay, play that line if you like Danny but you won't get anywhere with me until I hear the truth.'

Silence intruded in their discussion and hung on the air like a mobile on the ceiling turning languidly in summer heat. Tim munched on an apple and sat watching intently, awaiting the outcome. Danny thought fast. It was a calculation he would have to make correctly. One false step and Amanita would be all over him, dismissing him with the ease of her editorial authority. A diminutive voice called out from inside. He wanted to hear more from Dew, more about her friendship with Tommy, more about her. It was the only way. Somehow he knew she wouldn't share unless he delivered. This measured reciprocation he had entered into was with a grown adult, not a fellow student who would forgive or forget easily. If he did not deliver, neither would she. He decided honesty was the best policy.

'Okay, Bee cornered me at the opening of the bar. I think she has good reasons for wanting to speak to you, Amanita.'

'That. Woman. Is. Poison.'

Amanita spoke in a steady and balanced tone, unleashing a glare at Danny so malicious that he stepped back.

'Amanita? I don't think she's that bad.'

Amanita turned her back on him, sat down by the computer and began typing furiously. Danny decided to try a different tack.

'Please Amanita. How can we convince the other students we're pursuing a real issue and not a personal vendetta if we're not prepared to hear both sides.'

Amanita slammed her fist down on the table. The keyboard and computer, along with Tim and Danny, jumped. Red and flushed, her face bore eyes as beady as Danny had ever seen. When she shouted, it was with uncontrollable rage.

'What the fuck do you know about it Danny Canterbury? Come on, if you think you're hard enough? If you want to delve into the past, then come on!'

Amanita stood and flexed her hands, now spattered with specks of blood from her slammed fists. With rapid breathing her advancing steps to Danny made Tim rise and stand between them both.

'Amanita, calm down.'

Tim spoke with a calm sternness Danny rarely heard him use.

'Sit down over there.'

Danny stood in the middle of the room, allowing the late evening light from the window to illuminate his face. Helpless and frightened he had not anticipated this reaction from his friend. Amanita – one of his best friends whom he thought he knew inside out.

'Just give us a minute,' Tim said to Danny, motioning for him to leave.

Danny obeyed and plodded the heavy steps down to Pry's classroom. Pry sat at her desk, apparently marking textbooks.

'Miss?' Danny said instinctively.

'Danny,' Pry said. 'Have a seat.'

Danny sat in his usual seat for Literature.

'Everything okay Danny?' Pry asked from across the room.

'Yes fine,' Danny said unconvincingly.

'Didn't sound fine to me,' Pry muttered matter-of-factly without raising her gaze to meet Danny's. 'Sounded like Amanita was quite upset.'

'It wasn't me Miss?' Danny said, before realising how pathetic he sounded.

'I am sure Amanita will continue to be your friend,' Pry said, still in her inanely casual tone, 'through thick and thin.'

Tim appeared at the top of the stairs, and beckoned Danny to follow up, which he did.

'Goodnight Master Canterbury, and Master Gaunt,' Pry said, gazing out of the window at the darkening sea.

'Goodnight,' chorused Danny and Tim together before disappearing back into the press room.

Danny looked over at Amanita. She was sat at the thick unvarnished and rustic editorial table. The table had been donated to the room at the end of last year from an unknown benefactor, in the hope of 'encouraging and free discussion and enterprising thinking'. This statement had even been engraved on one of the four wooden legs.

Amanita's tear-stained face looked tired and empty. In front of her lay a single piece of paper.

'Here's my reply to Bee Dew. I will talk to her. But not at school, and not at the Amberleigh Post offices. We will have to meet somewhere else.'

'Wilfields,' Danny offered hesitantly.

'Fine. She is to come alone and to bring a pen and paper. No tape recorder or dictaphone. She'll have to use her writing skills, if she's got any. Here take it.'

Amanita lifted the piece of paper for Danny. Tim looked curiously at the exchange between the two. It was as if Danny and Amanita had now been fixed at opposite sides of the fence. Danny pocketed the paper and looked again at Amanita. She spoke again.

'Danny – I am doing this on a condition.'

Danny looked at her earnestly and nodded. He was sure he would be able to accommodate her, but even as he assented for her to proceed an ominous foreboding rose up inside him. The apprehension of surrendering control to someone else's will entered like an uninvited stranger in his mind. Amanita spoke.

'Danny – I want your full commitment to the story about the disappearance of Penny Trikill.'

Danny breathed a sigh of relief.

'You have it.'

Amanita continued.

'I want you to write updates to this story as a regular column in the Communiqué.'

Tim twitched, but remained staring straight ahead. Danny's eyes moved to Amanita's eyeshadow – a very faint, almost invisible shade of gold.

'I will,' he said solemnly. Amanita took a deep breath, and when she spoke again it was in a breathy whisper that could just be heard over the growing wind outside.

'I want you to promise that, if the Communiqué requires it, if the story requires it, if the truth requires it you will...' she paused, slowing her words to make sure Danny received every syllable, 'You will go to Greece if necessary to cover it.'

Danny looked from Amanita to Tim, and then back to Amanita. He couldn't imagine a scenario where he would have the time, permission or money to travel to Greece for his student newspaper. He could see no way of it happening, and a commitment to a request so out of context would be ludicrous. But he had now travelled so close to Amanita's acceptance of the interview. To deny this now would make it irretrievable.

'Of course,' Danny whispered in reply.

'Thank you,' Amanita said, and Danny thought he spotted a small tear stain her gold mascara.

'I didn't mean to upset you, Amanita. Honestly I didn't.' Danny said, knowing a singularly potent riposte awaited.

'Danny Canterbury, listen to me. I understand you've got to do what you've got to do. Please understand – I am a separate person, and I've got do what I've got to do.'

*

His hands cupped the cold glass as if nursing a chick with a broken wing. He slowly sipped the cool black liquid until caffeine cascaded to the back of his throat and delivered sweet relief. Falling from unseen branches outside, the first few leaves had changed colour. Autumn had begun: it's arrival as imperceptible as summer's end.

The initial excitement of the student bar had subsided and these days most sixth-form students only ventured there on a Friday afternoon, to celebrate the closing of another week. There was a more liberal atmosphere in Plunket's now, at least among Danny's year. No longer bound by the shackles of a uniform, stricter attitudes had been dispensed with as the student body experimented. The other day Danny was sure he had seen Samuel Mills in a clinch with Pigment Marvel. Mary Oconee was seen truanting class in her best subject in favour of an afternoon kicking it with Sol and Benjamin in town. New sports had replaced the old ones. No longer were the lads interested in soccer but a new rock-climbing society had been set up by Liam Flicker. Girls didn't play netball anymore; instead they went shopping for make-up and clothes, and could be spotted lingering outside the main gates in the morning, modelling the latest neon colour of fishnets, and smoking exotic brands of tobacco like their lives depended on it. The rules had not exactly changed, just grown lax. Teachers did not notice these extra or alternative-curricular activities so much as they did among the uniformed lot. When they did, they did little to reverse the situation. Something had arrived in their lives they had not had before, something they liked. Breathing space.

On a damp Thursday lunchtime, a lonely looking Dawn Russet sat across the bar from Danny. It was half in Danny's thoughts to go and join her. To ask her how she was feeling now Samuel was trying out the other side. To see if she would like to help him with his attempt at writing his first piece of literature coursework. He was marinating thoughts for an analysis of Leontes' emotions at Hermione's disappearance, and untimely death. Instead, before he had the chance to rise, Janna Chisely plonked herself happily in the purple seat opposite.

'Cheer up mate. It might never happen.'

'That's what I'm afraid of.'

He held the stern gaze with her for a couple of moments before both erupted in irresistible giggles.

'What's new?' Danny asked, draining the last of his Pepsi.

'Well...my Biology coursework is giving me a headache, I'm sick of being ignored by Mary and Hazel, there's a party at Cherry's tomorrow night, the library is waiting for me next period, but I think I might just stay here on the vodka.'

Danny laughed.

'Who's Cherry?'

'Oh you know, Cherry Trove. She's the one. You know, the one.'

'No, I don't.' Danny said seriously. 'What do you mean, "the one"?'

Janna smiled suspiciously. 'You know Danny. You know what I mean. The one you will fall in love with next.'

'I assure you I don't. And I won't,' Danny said, sitting back and motioning for the bartender to fill his glass again. What did she mean? Had she spotted his wandering eyes checking out Cherry and, like Dew with Amanita, was indelicately teasing him.

'Are you coming along?' Janna asked.

'I haven't been invited, have I?' Danny retorted as Tim begrudgingly took his glass and dropped three chunks of ice heavily into his glass, before pouring on Pepsi from a plastic bottle.

'You don't need an invite,' Janna said, before dropping her voice, 'You can come with me.'

Danny looked at her. Those sky blue eyes sang with sadness. It was too much too soon for him.

'I can't tomorrow. I'm washing my hair. Besides I've got to do this damn coursework. Fucking Shakespeare. He was an irritating bastard, wasn't he?'

Janna looked like she was about to add something. She breathed deeply and her eyes misted over, hesitating. But then she raised her eyebrows and left the table without another word. Danny realised it was a ploy, a reflex action to disguise her hurt at his dismissal. He reflected on it: he had made the right decision. It was too soon. To start dating her again would suck him back into all the old power plays. An apron landed on the empty seat Janna had vacated, closely followed by a slouching Tim.

'I'm knackered. I thought it would be fun. I haven't even had my lunch yet!' He exclaimed.

'What have you got next period?' Danny asked.

'Nothing,' Tim responded in a tired voice. 'I'm going to help Saffelia with her Psychology homework.'

Danny raised his eyebrows.

'There's nothing going on mate. Purely friend to friend.'

'I know mate. There's nothing worse than sloppy seconds.'

Danny stood up and left the table.

'Where are you going?' Tim called after him.

'History,' Danny shouted, without looking behind him.

*

Louis Foss' lanky and lopsided stoop dominated the classroom in a effeminate way. It wasn't so much the way he stood, more the way he looked at the class in front of him. As if he was an alien standing on another planet, desperately trying to understand the species before him, whilst communicating a singular form of non-verbal empathy. Danny found the experience simultaneously irritating and haunting.

'Nineteen forty. The world is in the grip of war!' Foss said. 'What are the Germans doing? You – er,' Foss looked down at his register. A few people grinned. The first sign of weakness. 'Samuel Mills?'

Danny looked round at his school mate. School mate. He wouldn't go so far as to call him a friend. Yet. Samuel Mills cocked his head to one side as if returning some unspoken message. Foss smiled. When Samuel spoke it was not with his usual voice, but in a softly spoken whisper.

'The Germans were murdering the Jews. Sir.'

Danny gazed at Samuel. He had never seen his audacity this close up before.

Through the window close to Danny's elbow the autumn outside was claiming trees with great speed. Glancing through the glass he saw an avalanche of jasmine leaves fall from an ash branch. They were lined with a crimson-tinge. As if God was brushing the earth with His breath.

'That is correct, Samuel.' Louis replied. 'Let me write in your log book.'

'Oh we don't have them now we're in the sixth-form,' Samuel replied casually.

'Okay then'. Louis said still smiling. 'See me after and I'll give you a note instead.' Samuel grinned in return.

'Can anyone tell me the process the Germans used to disenfranchise the Jews from society? Anyone?' Foss boomed again.

Danny looked round. The class seemed slightly intimidated by Foss. He knew at least five people who would know the answer, not least Amanita who until now had remained absolutely silent. He knew she had clocked his glances, but was not returning them. There was some invisible barrier in the air, but not just between Danny and Amanita. Eventually Sandi Burrill raised her hand, puffed out her cleavage and pronounced.

'Sir, the Germans attacked the Jews in the following ways: making them separate from Germans on public transport, by making them shop at Jewish-only shops and by eventually reclaiming their businesses as their own and rehousing Jews in ghettos.'

At the end of her breathy answer, Sandi smiled and between fire-engine lips gleamed brilliant white teeth. Foss looked distracted, and glanced again at Samuel Mills. Sandi too followed his eye line and gave Samuel what Danny could only describe as a seductive beamer.

The rest of the lesson wore on with mild interest from the few swots in class. The holocaust was just beginning; the Jews were being branded with yellow stars and slowly their properties and businesses were being removed from them. Danny looked down at his textbook. Somehow the black and white photos did not do justice to the horror Foss described. Some Nazis and Jews even smiled in the photos. It all seemed unreal. Their homework was to write a one-thousand word essay on the effects of Jewish businesses being turned over to the Germans and the consequences for the Reich. Danny scribbled it down at the back of his notepad, along with a dozen other notes he had written there about other homework, other people, and some notes he did not wish to share with anybody. He gazed out the window again. The once light sky was darkening to navy-grey. If Danny could see, which he couldn't, he'd be able to spot that the tree outside his window was nearly bare.

*

Brown Leaf

The brain behind my brawn

The brine in the salty sea

Lilting forever

Like sun-baked seabream

Rippling rainbows of brown light

Against my brilliant eye

The stranger to the world

Known only to me

He feels just as much as you

Possibly more

I know him

The Interview

The thud of Saturday morning mail hit the door mat like a bass drum beat. Beyond the front door to Dunkinley trees swayed in wuthering weather, as Danny raced down stairs two at a time to collect the new prospectuses. Holding the satin finishes of their covers in his hands and smelling the fresh print he felt the gifts now in his possession had landed from heaven. He knew it was more than a year away, and he was premature with his plans but he couldn't resist repeating the delight when he tore open the plastic polywrap, and the allure of a full colour passport to freedom, dropped in his lap.

He looked at the names of the cities. Manchester, Cambridge, Oxford and Durham. Danny sighed. He had been hoping for York, as he saw parts of the city in a television programme a few days ago. His disappointment was not dimmed by the fact he only requested it yesterday. He supposed it was too early for it to be received.

A deep voice called from the kitchen.

'Danny. Your breakfast is on the table.'

Danny breathed in awakening smells of scrambled eggs and grilled bacon wafting from the kitchen. Not wishing to face his father with an armful of university guides just yet, Danny paused. He wanted the chance to look through them by himself first, unfettered and uninterrupted. Treading delicately as he carried them upstairs, a creaking step caused William Canterbury to peer round the oak door to the kitchen and cast a curious look in Danny's direction.

*

'Fraulinka was only five years old when she was taken from the Germans to the concentration camp. Her mother Greta, a German seamstress with a Jewish uncle, had died in childbirth. Her father Dolfo, a hardworking shop owner, born and bred in Germany to German parents, was bereft when they came to take her away. He struggled with his conscience days before the Nazis arrived, in their pristine uniforms and clipped military voices. Dolfo had dreamt of the hope of freedom every day for a year. He had thought of escaping through Austria and over the Alps, with little Fraulinka on his back. But the yellow stars had only increased day by day. His friends distanced themselves from them, and from him. Gradually he came to understand that it was only a matter of time, and time was running out faster with each hour. The tide of public opinion was turning; morphing into something so incomprehensibly ugly that society's only defence was to blind itself.

'They were sitting in front of the fire on a cold December night when they came for her. Their faces lit in the gleam of the burning wood. His: half invisible but clearly stricken; hers with eyes so full of fear they made the arresting SS guard cry. It took half an hour to separate them. As she was taken away in the truck with the other prisoners, Dolfo prayed she would meet someone who would help her survive. He prayed every day for the rest of his life.'

Louis Foss looked up at his A-level history class. Like Dolfo many appeared stricken by the tale.

'Samuel Mills – what did you make of Fraulinka's story?'

Samuel removed the earphones from his iPod and looked up at Foss' earnest and studious face. Danny glanced across, wiping away the water that stained his cheek. Samuel grinned into the questioning demeanour of Foss, and spoke.

'I thought it was an excellently told story, Sir.'

Foss frowned, and lifted his finger at his eyes and then pointed around the classroom.

'Mills – consider your classmates for a moment.'

Foss walked back to the front of the class.

'Class – Fraulinka's story was by no means unique. The Germans pursued any one with Jewish blood flowing through their veins. Their pursuit of Jews was relentless and their policies were devoid of mercy. Even the crying guard was still crippled by orders and the system he served, that he had to serve under fear of execution. This is one of the bleakest lessons history has taught us. The force of power is immense, and power in the wrong hands can be a terrible, terrifying thing.

'Your homework for next lesson is to write your response to Fraulinka's story. One thousand words please – give or take five percent. Class dismissed.'

*

The student bar gradually filled with chatting sixth-formers. Samuel Mills was attempting to serve six people at once and juggling bottles of coke while getting a tipple of something transparent – Danny supposed lemonade – for Head Deirdre Quinine.

Danny, Amanita and Tim sat in one of the airport-lounge alcoves, relaxing after a week of intense studying. Amanita scribbled frantically in her notepad for the Communiqué. Tim absent-mindedly gazed at her, and Danny supposed he was trying to fathom her incredible work ethic. The chatter from the neighbouring booth grew. Danny wanted to know who was gossiping but couldn't see behind him without making it obvious; Tim was glancing over his shoulder, and grinning at Danny in a juvenile effort to tease him. It was working. Danny shut his eyes and tried to absorb the words, some sharp, some soft and smothered with laughter. He wanted their conversation to infiltrate the myriad meanings swirling round his brain.

'...yes, but I didn't enjoy it. Not as much as with...'

Giggles and laughs made the rest of the sentence inaudible.

'I could see that she was enjoying it. Her eyes, did you see her eyes?'

A pause. More laughter and high-pitched screeching.

'It was that line, that line from the play. You know the one about pure lips?'

'I remember it.'

Danny thought he recognised one of the voices. The other, thick with sarcasm and giggles, seemed alien to him.

'How did it go? Something about imprints and seals?'

'I have it: "Pure lips, sweet seals in my soft lips imprinted/What bargains may I make still to be sealing?/To sell myself I can be well contented."'

Another, longer pause. Amanita was still scribbling away. Tim was playing with his drink mat, trying to flip it off the edge of the table and catch it. Danny was the only one listening to the two girls behind.

'Mmm. Such sweet words. I wish I could write like that.'

Another silence. Danny strained to listen, and glared at Tim as he coughed, irritating Danny's hearing.

'Would you try it again?'

The question seemed to arrive abruptly, a train emerging from a dark tunnel, at a hundred miles an hour to be met with bright white light. Danny knew he could not miss the answer, even though he knew not to what it referred to. He heard the rustle of someone adjusting their seating position; perhaps to lean in and whisper to a friend. He decided to take a risk, and turned his head to his right.

'Oh hi Danny!' came a familiar voice, and Danny knew he had made an irreparable mistake. 'I didn't know you were there.'

Sat before him, eyes shining and the soft lights from above making both faces gleam into Danny's brown eyes, were Sandi Burrill and Cherry Trove.

*

They decided on Wilfields for the interview. Danny thought it would make Amanita more settled, more likely to talk. It was also a place he could legitimately hang around after the interview, to do his best to ensnare Ms Dew in another delicious conversation that he could store into his memory bank.

Amanita was nervous. She kept pacing by the door while Tim tried to keep pace alongside her, offering vague reassurances.

'What if she tries to attack me? Even worse, what if she attacks the Communiqué?' Amanita said in a pleading voice.

'I'm sure she won't. I wonder if she'll be wearing those sexy tights. You know, the multi-coloured ones that become transparent under direct light,' Tim pondered, staring into space.

Danny was at the bar ordering drinks for the three of them when he caught a distinct whiff of Dew's familiar perfume. Before needing to look he knew beyond doubt it was her. He tried to halt his heart performing a somersault of delight. She was older. Mature. Out of his league. Like Phoebe.

Danny turned his head. The barman turned his head. Tim turned his head. Amanita stood in the centre of the room staring at the floor, blocking Bee's entrance.

'Shall we take a seat Amanita?' Bee said, her high-pitched voice an attempt at authority to mask her own quaking nerves.

Amanita paused, still staring at the floor.

'After you,' came the uncharacteristically quiet reply from Amanita.

Tim gazed on the pair. Danny wondered whether he should point out to Amanita she was blocking Bee's way, then thought better of it. She wanted it this way. She was going to make Bee walk round her.

Shuffling past with difficulty, and nearly tripping over one of her ridiculously high heels, Bee made her way to the bar as Danny passed her a drink and a beaming smile.

'Here you go, Miss Dew.'

'I've told you Danny, please call me Bee!'

Once ensconced in an alcove, Bee fished a dictaphone from her metallic coloured handbag. While it was open Danny peered into it, trying to spy inside the mystery box of feminine tricks. In one glance he thought he could see a pack of tissues, a lipstick encapsulated in a small gold cylinder, a packet of Lucky Strikes and a small silver jewellery box bearing the letters "O.P."

Amanita faced Bee. Tim sat beside Amanita. Danny sat beside Bee. Bee withdrew an extravagantly decorous fountain pen, its royal blue shaft bearing silver swirls along the barrel of the cylinder. She moistened her lips.

'So Amanita – where would you like to begin? Your troubled childhood? Your desire to insult intelligent and honest journalists with unsubstantiated claims? Or perhaps your whimsical editorials that denounce the noble motivations of the British media in trying to get to the bottom of the disappearance of poor little Penny Trikill?'

Dew's breathtakingly direct start transformed the atmosphere as fast as a pinprick on smooth pink flesh. Danny thought the interview was over, and was readying himself to lean over to stop Amanita punching Bee. But she hadn't moved, or blinked. Instead she smiled curiously. Tim leaned in, moving away anything on the table that could be hurled and cause an injury to Bee.

'I think I'd like to start with the Oracle please Miss Dew.' Amanita said, in a steady and polite voice.

'Very well,' Dew replied, sitting back with a slightly confused look on her unblemished skin.

'It began in the autumn of year ten. A small project with myself, Tim and Danny. The germ of the idea originated with our Literature professor, who still teaches us at Oliver Plunket's. Two years later the three of us have managed a team of twenty students, all writing stories, all delivering insight for the student body, all contributing to the achievement of a growing success story. Two years later we have six issues to our name. We have extended our distribution into schools in neighbouring counties. We have had the Oracle shortlisted for the best student newspaper in the country. We have made the Oracle work as an emphatic and serious piece of student journalism. Another drink dear? You seemed to have emptied your gin and tonic rather quickly?'

It was like watching a tennis match. Parries taking place in slow motion. Cunning positional footwork obvious to see. Instead of jotting in her notepad Dew stared straight ahead. When she smiled she bared pristine white incisors behind violet lips. When she spoke it was as if her tongue were lining compressed silver. Danny couldn't decide if the gentle eeriness made her voice more sexy.

'Did it ever cross your mind, my little flower, there are two sides to every story? That when you tried to take on a grown-up journalist you might run into, shall we say, a little difficulty?'

Bee's smile glistened like wet treacle.

'No,' Amanita said, glaring right back.

'I see. Let me ask you another question then. Why shouldn't the Amberleigh Post take legal action against the malicious slurs you've cast against its name and contributors.'

Amanita flushed. She drew herself up in her seat, wearing a haughty look Danny had seen many times before.

'Ms Dew you seem to have come here with no intention of covering my side of the story, the considerable successes of the newspaper I have overseen for the past two years and the future plans for the new sixth-form. You seem intent on diverting this interview into a personal slanging match over an issue it would be better for you to avoid.'

Amanita's bright pink face burned with the ferocity of righteousness.

'Oh and why is that?' Dew asked, danger lacing the question which hung in the air like the thick smell of school disinfectant.

'Why is what?' Amanita snapped.

'Why should I avoid the issue? Surely it is the issue? A young girl has gone missing. There were no intruders seen. There was no-one else around. There was only really one true explanation. Why the surprise when the British media concurs as one?'

Amanita stood up suddenly, taking both Tim and Danny aback. But Bee continued smiling, as if she had expected it all along.

'I tell you,' Amanita delivered, her voice ringing and commanding, 'they did not kill Penny Trikill!'

'Perhaps it was the father then. You know, the biological one. The one we never see.'

Dew's voice had descended to a whisper too silvery to be submission. Amanita froze at the words and stared at Bee with a venom Danny had rarely seen. Seconds passed as the glare between them maintained its steady intensity. Danny leapt up in shock when Amanita raised her hand and swung her whole body round to slap Bee as hard as she could muster. Amanita's hand print was marked clear and red on Dew's cheek.

'This interview is over,' Amanita said with decisive finality. She grabbed her hand bag and coat and stormed from Wilfields.

'Blimey. What was all that about?' Tim said aghast. 'I've never seen her so worked up in my life!' And she is one to get worked up!'

Bee said nothing but gazed at them both, still wearing a pretty smile and charming demeanour. Confused at the exchange and Amanita's exit, Danny looked helplessly into the soft warmth of Bee Dew's eyes. She winked at him and once again he was hers.

*

Rapid eye movement. Pellucid and vivid limpidness. Bee Dew was passing him in the hall. Only it wasn't Dew; she was morphing into Chardelia Foss. Chardelia was passing him again in the hall, just outside Flambeau's class, then Travershall's, then her brother Louis Foss. She was asking him again.

' _Might I have a word, Danny?' she asked, sweetly. Danny looked at Tim, who just shrugged his shoulders and skulked off, though Danny suspected a mischievous smile on his face as he walked off._

' _Yes, Chardelia?' Danny said, almost officiously as his heart hammered inside his chest._

' _I just wanted to say...I just wanted to ask you. Would you like to go with me to the Supergrass gig on Friday night?'_

Danny's eyes flashed forward through the weekdays. Chardelia stood waiting at the railway station for him. She wore a brown suede jacket. Her chopped golden hair cast trendy cuts across her face, caressing pale skin. Her beautiful pale face faded when she flashed her light green eyes, soft search lights protrubing from the surface of the moon.

' _Hello! How are you?' she gushed, enthusiasm etched on every shored curve and cute dimple of her gentle face._

Danny felt the strangest sensation. As if he were falling. Succumbing to her solace.

' _You look well,' he murmured._

' _So do you.'_

She beamed and made his insides melt. They took the upwards escalator to the shopping centre in the middle of Amberleigh.

The arena was large and wide. Danny bought her a coke and they both stood, tapping feet in time to the music.

She drove him back to her house. Chardelia lived alone now. The lounge was small and decorated in chocolate and cream. It looked out on the road, and the entrance hallway walked directly in from the paved street. It led to a kitchen exquisitely coloured in ivory white and rustic red. Two small canvases hung directly opposite the oval mirror. Chardelia said she had coveted the gleaming glass for years until she finally purchased it in a sale. The canvases were white and bore black serifed text. The borders were painted thick red, like rough lines of lipstick. The words sung into the kitchen, an alluring expression of the purity of Chardelia's personality.

Nestled snugly in the alcove above the entrance from the lounge stood proudly the red capital letters: 'HOME' next to a cream-coloured jug and pink and red vase. Danny was overcome by the delicacy.

' _Would you like a cup of tea Danny?'_

' _Yes please.'_

' _How do you take it?'_

' _Milk, no sugar.'_

' _Excellent,' she beamed at him. 'That's the perfect way it should be taken.'_

She showed him her picture of a giraffe. She liked giraffes as she felt, like them, she was clumsy and, like her they had freckles too. Danny thought her complexion was perfect.

They chatted over the small circular kitchen table into the early hours. Past concerts she'd been to, friends she'd made along the way, friends she'd left behind, past boyfriends. The slip was neatly done. She was currently seeing a guy ten years older than her. She wasn't sure. She thought it was over. But then it wasn't. She didn't want the hurt anymore. She was being heartbreakingly open with him. If he hadn't been completely absorbed in what she was saying, if he hadn't been dreaming, Danny would have found it a pleasant surprise. In the morning she made him some toast and tea while she cleaned the kitchen in grey jodhpurs, a green tracksuit top and marigold rubber gloves. Her hair was tied back across her fringe. She looked different again, her roman nose and forehead clearly prominent.

She went to change and get ready for the day. Danny strolled around the ground floor of the house. He admired her cookery books. Every Jamie Oliver book under the sun. Every Nigella book. Lots of Anne Tyler books. To Kill A Mockingbird. The Merchant of Venice. One hundred and one uses for a dead cat - some of them kinky. Chardelia had warned him about these the night before. He opened it a page where a man was furtively looking around while the dead cat lay prostrate on the bed. Chardelia said she'd been given it as a child. She told him how her favourite Roald Dahl book was Danny the Champion of the World and her favourite song was 'Carn't be Trusted'.

He wandered into the lounge. Books by Sean Hughes. More giraffes on the shelf. A hi-fi next to a lamp. The whole house was a living expression of her personality – whimsical, subtle and laced with immortal beauty. Danny was breathless witnessing it. He heard her footsteps on the half-finished stairs. She was coming. She emerged in a thin white cardigan draped over a grey top and blue jeans. Her hair was brushed down and forward, with her face set in the middle – the perfect image of symmetry, balance and beauty. The sun shone through the window and into her hair sending wisps of gold light to circle the room. And Danny. He wanted to run up and kiss her there and then but knew he would not be allowed. She was encircling him, getting closer and closer...until...

He woke up.

*

Grain Sky Sea

Honey-topped clouds curl across the bay

Amberleigh bay is mother to me

Rain-soaked pebbles glimmer and ripple

As virescent rays sweep silently

Sugar-stopped boils and candy swirls

Like cirrus clouds and citrus gums

Sweet-smelling mussels freshly caught again

To consume watery osmosis back to the sea

Baked-brick harbour walls shelter the boats

From the wailing tide that is a friend to me

Slippers and balls, Chardelia falls

In that pool

Forever lost

Forever

Cherry Trove

Bee gazed into Danny's eyes. Her molten eyes dripped honeydreams like liquid gold. He had to pinch himself he was the recipient of her gilded beams.

'Can I get you a drink Danny?' she asked while sucking on a mint.

'Sure. How about a coke?'

Danny tried to summon as much exterior calm as he felt possible, though his insides quaked like squirmy mantle.

'Ooh – a coke? Don't you want anything stronger?' Dew replied, flashing him a flirty smile.

Once seated the two of them, for Tim had run off to find Amanita, started to sip drinks and speak in quiet voices.

'She's a livewire isn't she?'

Danny nodded, thinking he shouldn't say anything against his best friend for fear of appearing disloyal, but hoping silent assent might allow Bee to open up more about Tommy.

'I mean, I was only doing my job.'

Danny nodded again, growing impatient.

'The girl clearly has problems.'

Danny said nothing, and gazed in his clear drink. It was time to change the subject.

'Miss Dew – I mean, Bee. Won't you tell me a bit more about Tommy?'

Danny spoke in as timid a voice as he could manage. He hoped it wouldn't betray the burning curiosity he felt about Dew's childhood past.

'Tommy? Who's Tommy?' Dew said irritably.

Danny felt flustered. For a moment his heart sank to his stomach but Dew's recovery was as effortless as it was perilous.

'Oh Tommy – little Tommy. My darling Tommy – how I wish I knew where he was now?'

Danny gazed at her again. The concealer and foundation on her face, clearly visible from their proximity, was beginning to grow crusty.

'We were best friends. Soul mates. He was my life, was little Tommy.'

Dew's sad eyes stared wistfully to the distance, giving definition to the otherwise elusive expression on her misty face. Danny felt frustrated and leaned forward to press his point.

'But what was he like? What do you miss about him? Don't you think about him every minute of every day?'

He had said too much. Danny knew it the instant he finished speaking. Dew sat back in her seat and didn't say anything for a moment. She considered Danny hard with a steely gaze before she spoke. When she did her voice was quiet but cold and determined.

'There's something else going on here, isn't there Danny? Tell me. Tell me everything. I will listen. I promise you I won't interrupt.'

Danny sipped his drink and after swallowing his head felt funny. He felt his throat grow an odd dryness. Drinking more to moisten the skin at the back of arid mouth, he held the glass to his lips until it was empty.

'Would you like another?'

Before Danny could respond Dew collected his glass and skipped to the bar. She returned in a matter of seconds, and plonked another short drink in front of him.

'Talk,' she commanded. Danny glanced at her cracked purple lips. He desperately wanted them to be pressed against his body. It was impossible to resist the promise of her temptation. Strangely, Chardelia Foss' image popped into his mind.

'It's Robin. My friend. She was only five when she disappeared. I think of her every day. I have no leads. I have no idea what happened to her. I just know that I loved her, in the way that only two children can love each other – innocently and with no threat of reprise or condition of forbearance.'

'How did you lose her?' Dew asked gently, sensing Danny's slow treads over the mental hot coals.

'I was only a child. I didn't know it wasn't safe to sleep in the street. We were just exhausted after a whole day running around and playing. If I could go back and hold her in my arms once more I would. If I could go back I would carry her to her house, tuck her up in bed and she would never have been taken.'

Small pools of salt water formed in Danny's tear ducts.

'How do you know she was taken?'

Danny gaped at her. The concept seemed almost unimaginable. His father had told him of the awful loss, of the terrible chasm that had opened up not just in his life, but the life of Robin's father. He had always felt deep down a man had abducted Robin. But was that because that was all he was allowed to know? Was there a deeper darker secret, one perhaps Dew now hinted at? Questions suppurated in his mind. A merry-go-round of nightmares. Poor Robin Vernal. Was she still alive? Had she suffered? He would have surrendered his childhood to find answers to these painful questions, to hunt down the elusive truth with the predatory aggression that lurked in his soul. Resolution would be sweet rain in a desert of despair. He had been abandoned by the fullness of the word. Abandoned by hope, abandoned by love, abandoned by Robin. When he spoke it was with the steady slowness of someone fighting fanatically hard to hold on to his truth, a precarious inner compass that guided his understanding of events, and the world.

'She...was...taken.'

Dew gazed softly at him and ceased her questions. Without speaking another word she withdrew her dictaphone and her metallic handbag. Brushing another golden lock from her temple she glided from Wilfields with a dainty wave of her hand. His drink still clasped in his right hand, Danny burst into tears, utterly spent.

*

A poster of a giraffe hung on the board behind Wonder's desk. The eccentric Professor gazed at it, while his bemused A-level class looked on.

'Can anyone tell me why I have hung a picture of this exquisite creature on my whiteboard?'

Danny doodled a picture of a giraffe in the top corner of the inside page of his notepad. Next to it he wrote a small heart and the initials R.V. encapsulated within. It hurt. Now more than ever for some reason.

Emily Duocorn's pale arm shot in the air. Danny glanced up and watched her face, framed by delicate strands of chocolate hair. She looked troubled, as if reminded of something. He remembered how she had once been best friends with Chardelia, when she was alive.

'Sir, the giraffe represents gracefulness. Grace is the ultimate ambition of the human soul.'

Wonder beamed.

'That is correct Emily. Well done. Take a pack of chocolate buttons.'

Wonder reached in the top pocket of his silver jacket to reveal a purple sachet of tiny chocolates. He casually tossed the pack to Emily who caught them effortlessly with her ivory hand.

'Grace is the soul's ultimate goal. Grace is food for the soul. Just like we eat healthy fruit and vegetables for our bodies, so we must act gracefully in order to keep our soul healthy. We must try and love one another, even our enemies, especially when it hardest for us.

'This tenet is at the heart of the Christian religion. This was the example revealed by the New Testament. It is prevalent in many other religions; indeed remember this: how much we have in common is greater than how we are different. There is more that unites us than divides us.'

A single tear dropped from Danny's cheek on his exercise book, smudged his drawing of the giraffe. Robin. Chardelia. Phoebe. If he wasn't careful all he would have to remember in his life would be a collection of painful memories. As he smoothed away the salt water with his hand he felt the touch of a friendly hand near to his. It caressed his damp fingers. Looking up Danny saw the pale face and blonde hair of Janna. Her crystal blue eyes and heart-shaped face made her seem an angel descended from heaven.

*

Today was nice. I held Danny's hand as we walked in pairs into assembly and we came out again holding hands. We played hopscotch and then we ran round the playground playing catch. Lessons were hard today. I didn't understand the subtraction in maths. Danny helped me with mine. I was glad when the lesson had finished. We walked home and then I went round to his for tea. We had chicken and chips and peas and orange squash. Then I fell asleep on his sofa but his Mum didn't mind because she knew it was me. She took me home and then I woke up just as Dad was putting me into bed. I managed to get my torch out so I can write even though no-one knows I am awake. I hope tomorrow is just as much fun.

*

As the driving rain began to fall on Plunket's, its A-level history students embarked on the slow walk from Amberleigh Castle toward Burnett mountain. The trudging mass of dark anoraks and luminous ski-jackets coloured the bleak landscape, adding a quirky anomaly to a grey day. Perhaps it was the recent study of the Old Testament in Wonder's tutorial that made Danny analogise the moving line of adolescents to escaping animals on the ark. Perhaps it was just the amount of room on the path to walk in pairs. Either way, Danny had the strangest sense this education outing carried some religious symbolism.

Louis Foss led the way. Danny had already shrunk from speaking directly to him. He couldn't describe why this was, including to himself. Then again, he couldn't express to anyone but himself the piercing grief Chardelia Foss's absence still gave him. Lifting his hood up in a sheltering gesture from the thick drizzle Danny glanced to the side of him. Other hooded figures tried to shield themselves from the sheets of rain blowing in off the ocean. The jagged stones on the path had become sodden and slippy. As the path ascended, the cavity beyond the hillside opened out a magnificent vista of Amberleigh bay. Danny instinctively stood the other side of his companion to prevent her falling down the cliff.

'I can't stand this bloody weather,' came the voice from the side of him.

Danny chuckled, placing his hand on her shoulder, and trapping a few strands of her coffee hair.

'We'll be nearly there.'

'About time. Don't know why we have to make such a stupid trip in such awful conditions. Is he mad?'

Danny smiled but then wondered if her comment about madness might in some other circumstance extend to him too. What was it to be mad? How could someone recognise their descent into such a state, and also bring themselves back to reality without fear of relapse or future offense?

The path finally led the class over the brow of the hill before it wound a labyrinthine route down to the ground. Its descent eventually met the deserted beach on the other side into which sizeable waves now crashed. The sea intermingled with streams of water running from the mountain. Louis Foss slowed down. Danny gazed at the ocean. It was the same random shifting feast into which Chardelia had been consumed. Perhaps that's why Louis wanted to lead them here: close to her watery grave. Perhaps he wanted her classmates, who couldn't save her no matter how hard they tried, to experience punishment for their failure. Finally he stopped, and faced his students. They had also reached a grinding halt. In the distance Danny could see the derelict twin-towered Brownleaf plant, and the symmetrical lines of birches either side. His neighbour had stopped too and removed her hood. Her cocoa-mocha hair fell on slim shoulders like rich water falling in a desert. Danny tried to restrain himself from looking at the gentle cavities of her dimpled cheeks and tempting copper lips. Her features lived up to her name. He was about to speak, but Foss cut across him with a surprisingly loud voice.

'Class – as part of your A-level in History you are required to learn a little of the modern history of the place in which you will take your examination.'

Danny heard Edmund Cloves state clearly in that case he was moving to London as it would be a damn sight more interesting. Foss continued unmoved.

'Amberleigh has become a sunny tourist resort on the north east coast of England. Holiday-makers flock here when the spring flowers emerge on these wild cliff-tops and mountains. It is a place of outstanding natural beauty. But Amberleigh has had a coloured past. It has not always been a jewel in the crown of the North. In the middle ages Amberleigh was fortressed against ravaging hordes of invading Swedes. A fortress once stood on this very mountain; now all that remains is a collection of old-looking and weathered stones.'

Foss pointed to a spot high above them, and to the left. Beyond some trees Danny could just make out a few grey wet-looking rocks, indistinguishable marks carved into them like etchings on canvas. He never suspected Amberleigh had rich history beyond the castle.

'That is not all. Our school, Amberleigh Castle itself, was built in the time of Shakespeare as a retreat. A sturdy and protected retreat, for artists, writers and creative souls. Many artists of the North were persecuted for not contributing more to the local economies, for not mining or farming the land, or providing a useful service. They all used to congregate in this castle when the persecution was at its peak. Here they used to paint, sculpt, play music and write poetry. It is even rumoured our patron St Oliver Plunket spent time here, writing a great treatise that has yet to be unearthed.

'When the local residents discovered that the Aesthetes, for that is what this group of creatives called themselves, sought shelter in Amberleigh Castle they decided to group together and storm the castle. Now the Aesthetes had weapons. They had bows and arrows and cannons, fortifications that remained in the castle from the time of William the Conqueror. But the remarkable thing about the Aesthetes was that they chose not to use any of the weapons. Even when the locals were bearing down on them with sickles and shears, with logs and batons, they refused to put up a fight. Sadly, and as you can probably imagine, none of the Aesthetes survived.'

Foss lowered his head for a moment, saying nothing. Danny gazed up at the congregation of old stones at the top of Burnett mountain. It was difficult to see but it looked as though they were arranged in a circle round something beyond his line of sight. The summit of Burnett mountain was a rare mystery they were not due to uncover this trip. Something inside Danny made him feel queasy. Foss had not continued his lecture and Danny thought he knew the reason why.

They proceeded to the gates of the Brownleaf plant and Foss stopped. For a moment he gazed through the gates and breathed in a discernible whiff of the saltsweet air.

'Everybody smell!' Foss shouted unpredictably. Samuel Mills looked bored and kicked a stone into the sea. Danny took a deep breath and smelled an odd aroma of coffee sweetness and cocoa freshness. He turned to Cherry who stood still beside him.

'Can you smell anything?'

Cherry Trove gazed up at him. For a moment her face was fixed with a steely glare before it gave way, melting to a smile Danny treasured as much as he was disarmed by it.

'I can smell...hmm – that is a delicious smell! What aftershave are you wearing Danny Canterbury?'

She grinned at him with a half-sarcastic laugh. Danny wanted to scoop her in his arms and claim her giggles as his own. The tantalizing nature of her temptation made him crave her more.

'Are you learning much today?' Danny asked, returning her smile.

'Hmm hm.'

Cherry nodded and fixed him with another direct gaze that shot through and made his throat feel dry. Again, before he could react properly Foss was speaking again.

'This plant, now abandoned and derelict, used to be a magnificent manufacturing base for one of Britain's most important commodities. Can anyone venture a guess what it might be?'

Lorraine and Hazel's hands shot in the air. Danny looked confused. Lorraine and Hazel never volunteered answers, even when asked.

'Yes Hazel?' Foss said.

'Sir – it was a chocolate factory. Producing the finest chocolate this side of the Pennines!' Hazel brimmed with enthusiasm. Danny was left in no doubt that Hazel was a frequent consumer of this variety of chocolate.

'That is correct Hazel. Yes, the Brownleaf plant used to be a chocolate factory. Now I realise many of you may be excited to hear this, but please temper your excitement with understanding: the Brownleaf factory is alas no more. It hasn't produced chocolate in over ten years.'

Danny looked behind Foss. His next question was anticipated by Edmund Cloves.

'Sir, if the factory is shut down, why are emissions of smoke rising out of the chimneys?'

Foss paused, and seemed to gulp. A long pause followed before he eventually responded quietly.

'I think it's time to get back to school now.'

On the walk back Danny and Cherry hung at the back of the snaking group of students. They giggled and played at trying to push each other over the edge of the cliff. At one point Cherry nearly lost her balance and Danny had to grab her to stop her hitting her head on a wet rock. As his hand went out instinctively to hold her back, it landed on her stomach. In that fleeting moment of physical contact his soul lodged a sensation both ripplingly warm and pleasantly pliant. Wearily grateful she scrunched his hair affectionately. She meant it as just a thank you, but Danny received it as infinitely more.

*

'Of course he was hated, but Nietzche was essentially right. He considered humanity with a cold eye, but if he is going to reach an objective truth I'm afraid that's the way it must be done.'

Cherry was on a roll. She slowly enraptured all the occupants of her alcove. Sitting atop the seat, her bare legs dangling between Sandi and Olive who, along with Lorraine and Mary, sipped margaritas disguised as cloudy lemonade. Samuel managed to slip the liquor into the usual supply of soft drinks and packs of salt and vinegar. He even laced the edges of the glasses with salt. Sandi had winced; she had thought it was sugar and licked it off with her ciggy-stained tongue.

'I mean he advanced beyond, basic morals to reach super-truths inaccessible to normal mortals.'

There was a brief pause before everyone burst into laughter. Cherry's mild scowl portrayed mock offense before her cheeks caved and she released a torrent of charming giggles onto the group of tipsy girls. Sitting between Lorraine and Mary, Danny's eyes remained fixed on the compelling poses and postures formed by Cherry's diminutive figure. Her over-sized flared jeans swayed, intermittently breaching the top of her trainers and gently caressing Sandi's cheek. Danny watched the interplay between denim and flesh like some fascinating dance of seduction. Did Cherry even realise she was doing it? Did Sandi mind?

Samuel brought another tray of margaritas to the table. Danny wondered where he was getting all the drinks from, and who would carry all these girls home if they carried on absorbing alcohol at the same impressive rate. There was his article to write for Communiqué – a brief history of UK abductions and the varied outcomes: discoveries, both jubilant and grim. He knew it would be harrowing research, and a new challenge for him to write it, but it kept the tone Amanita had set for the first edition: surprising; discursive; even more serious and contemporary than the Oracle. She had told Tim she wanted to hit the ground running. Tim's irresistible and helpless reply was an instinctive rebuff asking when was the last time Amanita went running. The smack around the head he received in return was not as hard as Danny thought he deserved. Through kind looks and warm smiles he detected a new softness between the two, and wondered if it would lead anywhere. For some reason Tim had not shown his face in the bar tonight. Perhaps he was in the back kitchen, washing glasses.

Sandi rested her head against Cherry's knee and feigned sleep. Or was she feigning?

The article was waiting for him at home; undeniably uncompromising and unremittingly unwritten. He knew he should leave but the warmth emanating from the group encouraged him to remain in the bar. The sight of five girls growing slowly toasted before his eyes was not the reason; in fact he found their raucous and unpredictable shouts of laughter irritating. It was the girl sitting directly opposite, her swinging knees directly in his eyeline. As he allowed his irises to absorb the light from her russet-brown eyes, the waves of her chocolate hair falling on cherry dimples; as he observed her swift facial changes and her sweeping political gestures to the other girls, her dynamic and unwitting leadership of the posse, Danny could not resist secretly admiring her, wishing he was like her. She had more courage to just say what she thought than anyone he had ever met. To be who she wanted to be. She was only five feet. How did small people find so much bottle? Perhaps they needed to be like that to survive?

Some other subject was being discussed and Danny lost the thread of conversation. He heard the word 'snogging' which reawakened his attention.

As he leant forward to listen closer Lorraine grabbed his chin and plunged leathery red lips deeply into his unsuspecting, coke-stained mouth. The protrusion of her tongue felt like thick and writhing, a fleshy saliva-dripping beast. Trying to push her back his right hand landed on her left breast and, with the consequent scream of delight from the other girls, Lorraine took this as encouragement and pushed into him harder. Wrapping her right arm around his neck she leveraged more depth with her investigating tongue across Danny's submitting lips.

Eventually Danny managed to squirm beneath her grasp and breathe sweet oxygen. He had no idea what it was all about; a drunken dare perhaps, but it decided him that it was time to leave. He nodded to the girls as he stumbled out of the bar, them giggling him an enigmatic goodbye. With her hair covering one eye and the other twinkling like an impossible star, Cherry watched him make his way to the door. Danny couldn't help wishing someone had dared Cherry instead of Lorraine.

*

Shortcake Dreams

Sprinkled with inky starlight cream

Crunched into the brittle bake

Awaking again from butter dreams

It crumbles on my brainy tongue

Like cocoa from snowflake foam

Winter welcomes homely streams

Of steaming thought that melt above

Passing through the lashing tide

Like love a wispy cloud that gloves

Us but cannot enclose

Those gleaming creams, sours and custards

Lying atop the aisles like prizes

The tartan packets are mute to fluster

A silent force known once opened

Surrender to tasty oblivion

Impasse

Missing

by Danny Canterbury

She was only five years old. This article was meant to be about abductions in the UK. Stretching back to the seventies. Past calamities, catastrophes of which time has only dulled the impact. Does anybody remember the missing?

In the end it was not lack of research that brought me to the decision not to write it. It was not laziness, or lack of wishing to please my overbearing editor. It was not pain either, nor a burning desire to relinquish the pressure of objectivity. In the end it was a dawning and overwhelming knowledge that to tell the story, to tell the emotional truth about UK abductions, I would have to tap into the raw gut-wrench that can only be accompanied by the unresolved abruptness of a small child going missing. I realised I could only convey that guttural gnawing by telling my story. My own personal, untampered memories of a taking, and how a part of my life – a part of me – has been stolen, and transformed into a pursuit to reclaim that lost innocence. In the end it was the niggling understanding of needing to face my fears.

She was only five years old and her name was Robin Vernal. This is her story.

I can still remember that night. It was like all the stars shone just for us, our personal twinkling black canopy that adults couldn't see. I never meant to fall asleep on the grass. I never meant to stay out that late. Mum had been watching us from the window all day. When the hallway lights went out I knew the day's playing was over. Robin held my hand as we sat on the paving slab which covered the water supply on our front lawn. I still remember the way she looked. Her boyish face, those bright eyes peeping out from a dancing brown fringe. Her voice was loud and sweet. I could have listened to her all day. Even then, at ten o'clock in the evening, she buzzed with new ideas for the next day's antics. When she spoke her eyes lit with a kind of spark I thought could never be extinguished.

That's what I thought.

Her smile gathered the force of earth's magnetic field, sucking you in and illuminating you. The power of a gravitational forcefield combined with the lightness of a sunbeam. You wanted to be with her, and it meant that when you weren't with her, you missed her. I hated that. Even then I could at least look forward to seeing her again. Now it's different. Different doesn't even cover it. Now reality has been unrecognizably altered. Innocence broke its promise of eternity, and abruptly died.

No words can describe the deep craving and utter poignancy that fills me from head to toe when I walk past her old house. An awful emptiness overcomes; a ghost haunts my heart.

She was only five years old.

What does anyone know at five, apart from that the world is only as big as your back garden and that playing with your best friend is like breathing? To say "I miss her" is just three words. How do you communicate the insidious ache, the unnerving presence of a cavernous void everywhere you turn and about everything you think? It's impossible to do with language. Yet that becomes my task here.

My only solace and sole consolation is that the person who took her never knew the purity of the innocence she shared with me. They never extended the hand of friendship as far as I did and they can never feel with what they took by force, and what was not rightly theirs, the deep serenity of contentment that comes with unconditional and freely given love.

When secrets that have lain dormant for years are revealed, when the closed door of opportunity is finally cracked open and piercing light embraces all those who held faith in love, when the spring flower emerges after a long winter and life is revived in ear-splitting and sight-blinding resurrection, that is the moment when words will forever fail, and I will rejoice in the utter completeness and satisfying finality of human silence.

*

Foss waited for him. Danny leaped the steps of spiral one two at a time. He knew he was late but it was unavoidable. Ian Phalanger had been trying to persuade him to try out for the school football team. Since Plunket's fifth-year had progressed to the lower sixth-form a change had taken place amongst the contingent of male adolescents. Previous footballing gods of the school had passionately abandoned the team. Ian knew not what they had turned to but Danny did. Going to bars, hanging in town, taking girls out, clubbing in Amberleigh. Football was still a preoccupation and the male gossip mill still revolved around Neville Southall's best save and Thierry Henry's latest superlative strike. It's just they didn't want to or at least didn't have the time to play it any more. Benjamin and Liam were still on the team. But others had fallen away including Squish Ambrose whom Danny knew was visiting Anjalie every weekend. Even Richey Athurston, the long-standing school goalie had looked doubtful when Ian confronted him in the student bar last week. The expression on Ian's face was hard to take when Richey shook his head dolefully. At least he had a decent excuse – he was starting a rock band and needed more time to rehearse. Danny didn't have a decent excuse. He just couldn't be bothered with the pretence anymore. He never really warmed to the fake male bonding and the testosterone-charged changing rooms post-match. Sure, the feeling of capturing a transient beauty on the pitch through an exquisite shot or a sublime pass still tempted. But the strength of its pull diminished in direct proportion to the blossoming attractiveness of the female year. The growing demand for their attentive needs to be met at every turn crept on the boys without warning, and conquered them silently.

Danny sighed as he turned the corner towards the history classroom. It had not been easy telling Ian but as an alternative Danny advised him to visit Tim, whom he was sure would still take a place.

When he reached the top of the stairs Danny saw Foss' lanky demeanour silhouetted in the doorway. Foss beckoned him in. It was the first time Danny had come face to face with Louis one on one since the funeral of his sister. As he saw her face through his golden hair and nervous smile, Danny's heart jolted. Taking a seat opposite Foss' desk Danny waited for the conversation to begin.

'So Danny, we are here today to talk about your career post St Plunket's. You have taken A-levels in History, Literature and Religious Studies. How is everything going?'

Louis wiped away a bead of sweat from his pale brow. Danny glanced out of the window. In the distance the dark grey sky enveloped Fourlawns with a light drizzle. It was not hot and Foss' perspiration seemed incongruous.

'Everything's going fine sir. So far.'

Danny stopped. He wanted to say more. He wondered if he should elaborate on his studies. There was a lot of work, and as usual Danny was confused about how he would balance it with commitments on the Communiqué. Outside school he found he had fewer hours to himself. Coursework and required reading were placing greater demands on his time. He didn't know how people like Samuel Mills managed extra-curricular activities, like running the student bar and maintaining several casual relationships as well. However, admitting to any of this with Foss was something Danny privately repressed. Something persuaded him not to say too much for fear of opening some kind of floodgate which, once opened, neither would be able to close.

'Okay then,' Foss continued, staring steadily at Danny. 'Let's move on to your plans for the future. Do you have any idea yet what you want to do when you complete your courses?'

Danny thought for a moment before responding. How much should he reveal? He thought of Professor Pry who had seen something in him two years ago and been brave enough to tell him. Since then he harboured secret ambitions, but how widely he wanted this information to travel was something he had not yet fully resolved in his mind.

'University.' Danny spoke suddenly, spitting out the word like it were an invader in his mouth.

'Aha', Foss said, and at once Danny understood. Foss was slowly unravelling Danny. He was proceeding to the core of Danny just like Chardelia had done so effortlessly two years ago. 'What will you read?'

Danny shifted in his seat. He knew exactly what he wanted to study at university. But to say it outloud to admit it to a teacher felt like walking into a trap. Any future diversion or digression from his proclaimed intentions might be construed as weakness or even failure. Strangely, his fingers trembled. Gazing up at Foss again, Danny saw kindly eyes smiling at him. A moment's pause and then their gaze struck him like a thunderbolt knocking the air from his lungs. Those other-worldly eyes blazed their jade gaze at him from beneath glinting tufts of gold hair. Like his sibling. They bored into him; it was like Chardelia was in the room with them. Like Foss, Danny started sweating.

'Literature, sir,' he said.

For a moment Louis said nothing. Then he stood and began to write on the blackboard. A list, a numbered list began to form. He began speaking again, his back still to Danny.

'These are the best universities in the UK for literature. You might want to consider applications for them now if your intentions to study literature are real. You will of course require top grades to read English; it might be easier if you thought about joining it with another, less competitive subject like philosophy or history.'

Danny gazed out the window. Darkness had fallen quickly. He could hear the rain smattering the ocean beyond. Although vast and uncharted, the sea remained sticky with memories. At least university would whisk him away from them with its absorbing bustle. Danny hadn't really given it much thought until now. The moment he said the word 'Literature' he felt a resounding conclusion had been reached. In his mind he had articulated his one true desire for life. Suddenly everything made sense. Floating strands of gossamer thought seemed to drop and crystallize in position. Louis' suggestion, whilst sensible and considered on one hand, seemed to reek of cowardice to Danny. If he was going to try for university to study literature, he wanted to do it on his own terms, and not sneak in the back door.

'No – it's just literature I want, sir.'

Foss turned to face him.

'Please, call me Louis.'

For the first time a wincing expression of pain crossed Foss' features.

'Yes, sir.'

Louis sighed and pointed to his blackboard list.

'Danny – these are the universities who take the best students across the country. To compete with them not only will you need top grades but you will need to read around your subject, you will need to be, not just an advanced level student, but super-advanced. Do you think you will be able to meet those demands?'

'Yes,' said Danny defiantly. Danny hadn't even thought before the word was out. It was all instinct.

'To reach these top two...'

Foss used his ruler to point to the two universities at the top of his list,

'You will need to plan your application now.'

'Now – but I'm still in my first year of A-levels!'

Danny felt piqued.

'Yes and you're already approaching the end of your first term. It's time to get a move on Danny.'

For a while neither of them spoke. It was abundantly apparent, clearer than Danny had previously thought that a future awaited him. All at once it was thrilling and sad. Exciting that new friends and new experiences awaited him. Sad for those who would not be accompanying him and who would be left behind. Through nature, misfortune, laziness or even via the divide of death.

The rain began pounding the window. Danny realised it was best to return home before the wind rose and the waves grew to a size that would endanger his walk back to Dunkinley.

'Well, if that's all sir?'

Danny spoke tentatively. When he received no reply he walked to the door and grabbed his coat. As he was just about to pass out of the exit, he heard Louis voice again. This time it was as clear and high as a flute.

'Do you ever think of her?'

The veneer had cracked. It had been Louis himself who had shattered it. On the tip of Danny's tongue was the question "Who?", to deny the underlying tension one moment longer. The confessing question had slipped out suddenly, but Danny knew he would not be able to fool Foss for a nanosecond. Instead he paused by the door and with his back still to Foss murmured words that did little justice to the heavy meaning they bore on the light air.

'Every single day.'

*

Danny watched her expression closely as the low sun tried unsuccessfully to cast grey light into the small press room. Crisp packets lay strewn across the floor, and drafts from the Oracle remained discarded in the printer. Amanita was not particularly happy that they were forced to share the press room for the Communiqué, now the Oracle had moved down to the lower school. The Communiqué was, in Amanita's humble editorial opinion, far more deserving than a paper produced by the lower years, even though it was less than a year old. How times change, Danny reflected silently.

Amanita pulled a sheaf of papers from her gargantuan handbag and flung them across the room to Danny who, much to his own surprise, managed to catch them.

'What is this?'

Amanita's polite voice was etched with irritation.

'The article you requested.'

Danny spoke bluntly, in a way that tried to prevent further questions.

'It's shit.'

Amanita adopted his abruptness, and wielded it effectively.

'Well don't hold back Amanita, tell me what you really think.'

Thick with sarcasm, Danny's voice made Amanita wince. She hated hearing her name used so derogatorily.

'Danny you can do better than this. You know you can. There's no research, there's no development. Danny – there's no real substance. We can't print this.'

Danny sighed and felt the unnerving feeling of deja-vu whenever Amanita's patronizing mode clicked into gear.

'We've been here before, haven't we?'

Danny was still trying to control his growing feelings of inadequacy from the fact she hadn't liked his article. He gazed out the window at the low, claustrophobic clouds. When Amanita didn't speak Danny frowned and kicked a crisp-packet half-heartedly.

'In all honesty, what did you expect me to write Amanita. Do you really feel I am the best person to write this in all objectivity? I poured my heart out in that piece.'

When Amanita spoke it was in the calm and measured tones of an editor speaking to a writer.

'Danny, this piece needs to be objective. You won't be able to make it as a writer if you don't master impartiality. That's what we're attacking the national media for. If we print this, we'll be just as bad as them!'

The slur was hidden amid the sense of mission and context Amanita's ebullience automatically expected others to share. Danny picked it up only too keenly.

'You fucking write it then if I'm never going to make it as a writer!'

He pointed with his finger and glared down at her. He had never used his physical presence to intimidate anyone before, but Amanita's dogmatic editorship required some apposite way to combat it. She took a step back and returned his gaze, more with curiosity than anything else.

Their emerging battle was interrupted as the door to the press room opened and Timothy walked in, decidedly not looking at Danny.

'Here you go,' Tim said in a low voice, passing a folder of papers and a brown paper bag to Amanita.

'What's that?' Danny asked.

'It's Tim's piece on the disbanding of the Upper Plunket's football team. They can't get anyone to play anymore. So he's written a retrospective of past glories, a tribute if you like.'

A fire rose up in Danny his self-control was not able to quench.

'Why the fuck does he get such cushy pieces then? Why can't I get to write about easy subjects like that? For God's sake, I bet that's going to be an emotional piece of trash as well!'

Two things happened at the same time. The first that Danny noticed was the sight and sound of Amanita gasping out loud, as if for breath, so shocked seemed she at his outburst. The next was much more definite, and immediate. It was Tim's fist connecting with his jaw, a sudden burst of pain, and the aluminum taste of blood slowly spreading within his mouth. He had fallen back, and had only been prevented from hitting the floor by a conveniently placed chair, into which he was now slumped as Tim towered over him.

'You know the thing about you Danny, that everyone absolutely hates, is that you're so fucking self-obsessed! Why don't you just fucking chill out and see life from other people's perspectives,' Tim shouted.

Danny was shocked. It wasn't the blood in his mouth causing his power of speech to paralyse. Tim had never attacked him before and Danny couldn't work out if it was the pain of his bleeding jaw or the outrage of this irrevocable betrayal that stung him most. Some line had been drawn in their friendship. Danny realised in that moment that if the rest of their lives were to pass, it might not ever again be broken down.

Amanita was between them quickly, entreating Tim to calm down. Danny took a moment to absorb what Tim had said. Self-obsessed? Why had he said it? Was it true? A sick feeling gripped the pit of his stomach and he couldn't stand. Instead he wiped his mouth with a tissue that Amanita was offering him with the one hand she wasn't using to push Tim back. She seemed to be the only one who now didn't look so shocked, and managed to remain composed.

'I suggest we all take a second and sit down.'

Amanita walked over to the wooden meeting table, hoping the two boys would follow, nervous that her absence would allow them to reignite their fight; that they might start beating chunks out of each other. Miraculously, perhaps because they were both scared at Amanita's calmness, they followed, sitting on opposite sides of the table. Amanita took a chair at the head of the table, as a counsellor would.

'Now I'm sensing that there is some tension...'

She didn't even get to finish her sentence. Tim was already speaking across her.

'What's between you and Cherry Trove?'

Tim's voice became demanding, and he bore down on Danny with fists planted firmly on the table.

'What?!' Danny said shaking, half-incredulous, half-amused by the unexpected question.

'You heard me, you fucking swine! You've been seeing her, haven't you?'

Danny glanced at Amanita, who looked as helpless as he did.

'Tim – is this really worth falling out over? Is it really worth ruining our friendship for? And by the way your flies are undone.'

He had meant it as a joke, but it only exacerbated Tim's anger. His other fist flew down on the table as he repeated in a commanding tone.

'Answer me!'

Danny's fuse was shortening, and he stood up.

'There's nothing between Cherry and me. What's it to you anyway?'

'You knew I liked her. So you've been hanging around her like a bad smell, haven't you? You can't stand it if I start liking someone – you have to push in, don't you? Anjalie Marjoram. Lorraine Carr. Janna Chisely. Chardelia Foss. Phoebe Forrest. Those last couple didn't work out too well though, did they Danny?'

Sincere resentment laced Tim's words. Deep down he envied Danny having such a string of relationships to his name, and would have preferred it to be him. However the jealousy underlying the genesis of Tim's words lay undetected by Danny. He interpreted the résumé of his past conquests as a catalogue of emotional failures. He could not let this pass. The bastard would get it now.

'What about Saffelia – I let you have old loony tunes, didn't I?'

Danny had tried to hold the words back but the rising heat of the argument forced them from his mouth like a verbal gunshot.

Tim looked startled. For a moment both of them said nothing; they knew they had reached an impasse, there were no more words to say.

Tim gathered his things together loudly and stormed from the table.

'Tim, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to...'

But it was too late. Tim was gone.

*

Silver Ghost

When the sea-mist rises I see her abroad

She's like a phantom feinting every time

Or feigning like the mist is wont to do

But I believe in ghosts of silver light

Because the earth thaws and heats when it wants

But spirits delineate their contours in light

Of their own, shimmering and glimmering

Above the earth's power, incandescent to nature

Singing plaintive songs like sorrows lost

To love, or pain or just to sorrow sweet

As it is. A sliver of that presence is enough

To tell me what I must do. How to act

With that one boy I once knew

He is waiting too. For my silver ghost

A Christmas Drink

Dappled flakes of snow fell thickly upon Amberleigh, coating its cobbles with silent frosting. Danny imagined the perfection of their hexagonal symmetry without seeing. Keeping his eyes shut, he pressed his forehead against the cold glass of the window pane. The grey-white sky poured transient catharsis from the pale gods, filling the world with winter light.

The term had ended abruptly. A pile of coursework mounted before a January deadline, and modular exams loomed in March. Danny could not see anything worth looking forward to. There was no budding romance, no ruthless distraction to numb over the widening cavity. As the limp season of frozen stasis progressed Tim's continued silence served to accentuate the gloom. A faint flame of hope flickered in Danny's innermost thoughts. A chance meeting with Cherry Trove. Perhaps they would bump into each other in Amberleigh's town centre? He knew it unlikely. She lived closer to the more verdant Forrardern then she did Amberleigh, but still he hoped.

Polly was decorating the tree downstairs. He could hear the television blasting carols from York Minster, a warm yuletide tradition. Something about the scene triggered mild serenity. Danny could not attribute it to the nearing of Christmas Day, but likewise could not articulate its precise origin. Perhaps it was a virus.

Staring at the hard-bound Shakespeare's Complete Works, which lay open on Danny's desk, he sighed. It covered the thin pages of the first issue of the Communiqué. On the other side of the desk lay the latest issue of the Amberleigh Post. Two houses both alike. Opposed.

He perched on his black swivel chair and allowed the momentum to carry him through a couple of revolutions, stopping it with his foot before the onset of dizziness gripped his blood. The words were exquisite. How could anyone have known to write like this, when no-one had written like this before? The perfect balance of diphthongs and rhymes, of sibilants and assonance, of adjective, noun and verb. He allowed the verse to flow over him, a feast of words, a sea of language, a river of melodious rhymes, to steal him of critical analysis, to swallow him whole, a beauteous, ravenous monster.

'You'd be so lean that blasts of January

Would blow you through and through

Now my fair'st friend,

I would I had some flowers o'th' spring, that might

Become your time of day...'

Danny continued to gaze at the page, as if staring for some length of time would unearth an astounding truth. After a few minutes, and with no ground-breaking or earth-shattering thought revealed in Danny's mind he turned his attention to the Communiqué. The bold shades of the photo on the front page screamed out. Amanita had discovered the capacity within her meagre printing budget to afford colour for the first edition. Their vibrance lent force to its call to action, not just for fellow students, but all Amberleigh residents with consciences, as she had put it in her scathing editorial. The simple photograph was by now quite familiar to most who watched television or had bought a national newspaper in the past week. The insistence of a sapphire-blue sea absorbed a vigorous lemon sun. Silver slits freckled the ocean, glinting mirrors reflecting ambient light from heaven. Beyond, ancient Greek hills cast dark shadows over one side of the water. Peeping out from beneath this shadow, from underneath a floppy blue beach hat, smiled the innocuous innocence of little Penny Trikill.

It was a picture of unfettered bliss, of an unspoilt holiday. Danny had dreamt himself into the picture frequently over the past week. Each time his imagination had scooped up the little girl and delivered her to eternally grateful parents. Each time he awoke amid the paralysing knowledge of his inability to help. It crippled his conscious thoughts, so he blocked it out each day, but felt less human because of it.

Inside the paper Amanita had decided to print his article unedited. She had not informed him she intended to do this. Indeed he had not spoken to her since the fateful meeting between the three of them. She had also printed Tim's article unedited alongside Danny's. A double-page spread with Danny on the left, and Tim on the right. Perhaps this was a subtle attempt from Amanita to reunite the two lost friends. Danny wasn't sure it would work. Not this time. He was still trying to forget that punch and rubbed his jaw tenderly, which still bore a scar.

Danny had to admit the rest of the first edition looked confident and professional. Amanita had written a piercing polemic criticising the British media for their part in stoking hysteria over Penny Trikill, whilst they offered few solutions or help. She pledged the Communiqué, though a small sixth-form newspaper, would offer unflinching support in shining the light of truth on the reality of the disappearance, and to challenge the inertia and predictability of defeatism in the British press, wherever it was found. Danny marvelled at Amanita's ability to make these bold statements that expressed over-reaching ambition for her meek school paper. Deirdre Quinine had written a short endorsement below Amanita's editorial, something no Head had done before for previous editions of the Oracle. It seemed a real graduation. Communiqué punched above its weight.

Finally, Danny reached for the Amberleigh Post and saw, as Amanita had pointed out for so long, what was the problem. For a moment he stared at the familiar logo: a tree shedding its leaves on the left side of the title, and a tree showing its first buds on the right. He knew not what it represented. Possibly the transformation which good journalism has on a story. If that was the case, he felt it was wildly inappropriate in their coverage of the Greek disappearance. Bee Dew had written the latest instalment which plastered the first three pages, but it was not until readers reached her column they discovered the true extent of her misplaced venom.

The interview with Amanita in Wilfields covered one column and in the adjacent column Dew had written a devastating commentary. Full of bile, Danny couldn't bear to read the whole thing again, but certain quotes leapt out at him, possibly because they had been highlighted unnecessarily in both bold and italics. It was not that direct insults wounded: words like 'naïve', 'meek' and 'profoundly pedestrian'; but that the approbation Amanita received from other sources was here used to denounce her. Words like 'precocious' and 'prodigious' had been applied sarcastically and cynically. Even though he had been temporarily split from his two best friends Danny began to regret the haste with which he had pursued a romance with the bewitching reporter.

It didn't last for long. He tossed the paper to one side and curled up inside his warm bed to imagine the delights of kissing the tobacco-stained lips that lay beneath the furious curls of Dew's gilded ringlets.

*

The winter holidays wore on with weariness, their freshness weeks before had quickly grown stale. William Canterbury took Polly and Danny to the local cinema to see a film about a school caretaker coming to terms with abandonment issues. Polly was moved, but Danny could barely see the point. Boy wins girl, boy loses girl, boy has breakdown, boy chases across the country to reach girl. It was a predictable story. It had ended with more hope than Danny expected. He thought the boy was on a road to ruin.

On the penultimate evening before Danny would return to school he received the call. William called up the stairs three times before Danny realised the person on the other end of the phone had rung for him and not his father. He had been listening to wistful folk-rock through his goji berry earphones and had the volume turned up all the way. They had been a present from Polly and he had barely ceased listening to them from the moment he tore open the gold-ribboned silver packaging.

'Hello?'

Danny spoke breathlessly, after rushing down the stairs and snatching the receiver from William. His consternation at keeping his caller waiting made him impatient to discover their identity. Dunkinley was great in many respects: the ocean view a treasure Danny prized permanently in his heart. But Danny wished the bloody phone line extended longer than the downstairs hallway, where everybody could hear your conversations. As the sweetness of the voice at the other end of the phone began it's lyrical sentence Danny staggered backwards on the stairs and found himself sitting on the bottom step, scratching his head.

'Hi Danny. It's Cherry.'

'Er...hi Cherry. What do you want? I mean...it's nice to hear from you. How did you get this number? I mean...that doesn't really matter does it? Only I'm curious. Did you have a nice Christmas? Of course you did. What a stupid question to ask. Well, Cherry it's been nice chatting but I really must go now...'

Danny's voice faded into silence and with no additional response at the other end of the phone Danny wondered for a moment whether Cherry had hung up. Perhaps it was a silly prank and Cherry hadn't called at all. It could have just been someone trying to catch him out, someone like Tim. That would be just like him after their argument. Then she spoke again.

'Would you like to meet me for a drink tonight?'

Danny's heart skipped a beat. It was definitely Cherry.

*

The biting winter wind rolled in off the ocean. As Danny walked down the cobbles into Amberleigh the frosty air was a refreshing distraction. Broiling nerves in his stomach made him seasick. She had called him. He could barely believe it. Sure, they had spent some time together at school. Sure, she had frequently offered mild affectionate touches. But he had always seen himself on the periphery of her group of friends. He always interpreted her little caresses as part of the deep enigmatic mystery of which only Cherry Trove knew the heart. To her, he was nothing more and nothing less than a fellow student. She was breaking the mold, she was attempting to reach him, she was inviting herself into his world. Danny didn't know whether to laugh, cry, punch the air or run away.

Wilfields was half empty when Danny arrived. The pungent smell of beer greeted his airwaves thickly, the old reminder of social grease. He could pick out no-one when he entered, as the pub atmosphere camouflaged the occupants. Both smoke and dust filled the air and Danny strained his eyes to the tables at the back of the bar. Finally he saw a figure silhouetted against the smoke. As he neared, the distinct contours of Cherry's lithe figure became visible. Her fragile posture leaned forward into her elbows which rested on the table; her chestnut hair draped languidly onto her shoulders. She wore a pale blue and brown striped jersey, matching blue and brown striped painted nails. Waving at him with one hand, and sipping what Danny knew would be a rum and coke in the other, she stood and embraced him as he moved to sit next to her. In her arms he smelt the warm aroma of liquor on her breath, and experienced again the dark, sweet intensity of her own personal smell. It smelt like Chanel, it smelt like Burberry, it smelt like desire and passion and love and affection and feist. It smelt like home. Desiring her was fast becoming addictive.

'Hey you!' Cherry beamed, and Danny's heart somersaulted.

'Another one?'

Danny pointed at her now empty glass.

Once seated with drinks, Danny suspected Cherry was becoming more than just tipsy.

'And the second guy I snogged was this squaddie from up near Snowfall. I didn't know what happened. One minute we were chatting, y'know, like you and me are now, the next thing he had his hand at the back of my head and we were, y'know, locking our lips round each other like hungry animals...'

She took another swig of her rum and coke. Danny was beginning to get hungry himself, and not for food.

'...we were all over each other for like, half an hour, then he went off and found himself this blonde. Only I knew it was bleached. You could tell a mile off – those roots were just so obvious! Anyway, I didn't care cos then I found a blond guy! Honestly – he didn't know what hit him. One minute he was chatting with his mates, the next we were chatting on our own, then we were dancing, y'know real close with his arms around my hips. He felt so strong, and safe, y'know?'

Danny didn't know, but was carried along in the momentum of Cherry's lustful story.

'Next we sat down and then there was like this just huge anticlimax. He was not with his mates anymore and then I thought am I just this great big slapper who keeps leading men on. He turned to me to say something, but then I just put my hand on his shirt and pulled him into me. And we kissed, for like ten minutes. It was nice, I sat on his lap, and I knew that he knew that I could feel his, y'know, underneath me, and it's not that I minded, but he was not going to get any of that, I wasn't in it for that and it was fun knowing more than him. He put his hand on my bum and I let him feel me up for about five minutes before I went back to my friends and he looked sad but I didn't really care it was only a bit of fun...'

Her throat unable to sustain her story for longer, Cherry went to the toilet. Danny sipped his coke. It was difficult grabbing on to a moment of stability during her constant flow of anecdotal snoggage. She was so fluid and couldn't stop talking. He wondered if he should lean in and kiss her like so many of her other conquests, but something he was not sure about stopped him. Why had Cherry invited him for a drink in the first place if not to regale him with deep-seated insecurities, and precipitate his own? As she sat back down Danny decided it was time to ask.

'Cherry?'

She turned to him and smiled. Danny could see she had reapplied flesh coloured gloss to her pursed lips and her cheeks glowed rosier than cox's apples. Something like hope reared up again, a two-faced beast that could stab him in the back as much as it could submerge him lingeringly on the lips. Perhaps she had applied her lipstick for him. Was it unreasonable to expect a kiss?

'I'm just wondering why you asked me out tonight?'

There. He had said it. He felt relieved, like at least he was one step closer to the truth before the evening was over.

'Well...'

Cherry paused, as if deciding whether to say something. 'I really liked your article in the Communiqué. I wanted to ask you about it. Y'know, about Robin?'

If the vibrations of a hundred window panes shattering could be felt within the human heart this sensation resounded through Danny the moment Cherry said the word "Robin". Something he had hoped might lead to romance had now re-routed, and was taking a one-way well-worn path to the chaotically unknowable place that was the darkness of his childhood.

'Yes..?'

Danny spoke tentatively, not revealing the inner torment Cherry had unknowingly unleashed. His ruthless eyes were already glazing over with salt water. Cherry hadn't noticed and blundered on regardless, oblivious to any pain she might cause.

'I wondered if you ever thought of trying to track her down?'

It was a miracle. In her drunken stupor Cherry unwittingly broke through the unspoken black assumption about his missing friend. This assumption, sticky and omnipresent in Danny's consciousness, hadn't even occurred to Cherry. Her sweet spring of hope refreshed his heart and made him feel lighter than air. He would have given anything for the courage to kiss Cherry on the lips there and then. She was right; he hadn't ever thought of it. The endless silence had drummed into him there was no hope, that Robin was lost forever. But Cherry, the feisty, lusty, special, dark ball of unstoppable fun and generous desire had seen something he hadn't. Over the years he had built a mental fortress against the possibility: it was incomprehensible, incredible, unthinkable to him that she might still be alive. Cherry had sneaked through the barricades. If there was the smallest strand of hope perhaps something positive might come of it, something good might actually happen. In her company he found himself wanting to believe in it more than the chance of resurrection itself.

'Where would I start?' Danny squeaked in a voice unusually high.

Cherry leaned over and kissed him lightly on the mouth, leaving a slight film of gloss on his blank lips.

'I've got a few ideas,' she said.

*

A thick frost covered the grass as Danny gingerly stepped from one grave to the next. Amberleigh graveyard was open for twenty-four hours a day, but it had taken Danny an accumulation of years to make the trip he knew was inevitable.

There were few people in the cemetery. The bright sun threw long shadows across the icy ground and Danny knew the earthly chill could not suppress the overwhelming warmth of love from dedicated mourners. He felt their pain and ongoing distress. Danny knew instinctively it wasn't a desire to hang on to the past or an inability to face the future that brought them here: it was the virtue Danny most prized and held higher than any other. Loyalty.

In one hand he carried roses, in the other lilies. As he stepped over twigs and clumps of bulrushes and dense weeds, Danny finally rested before a marble headstone. Elegant black script had been carved thinly into the edifice:

Here lies Eva Acacia

Beloved wife, mother and friend

'For all the life throws

For all that it stains

Everything departs forever

Yet love alone remains'

May 4th 1951- (unknown) 1984

Danny laid the roses gently in front of the stone and stood in silence for a minute. He had never really known her. At times he wondered what relationship they might have had. Him growing up. Him falling into her arms after seeking comfort. He shut those thoughts out, just as he had countless times before. Taking a deep breath, Danny turned back to the path, where the sun melted icy patches into shallow puddles.

Instead of walking along the path which led directly out of the graveyard Danny took a left across a hedgerow behind a dark oak tree. He had never been here before, but this was his real purpose for coming. As he approached the shiny black headstone his steps slowed. The name rang out in carved white letters, as bold as the personality it commemorated. Danny sighed. The grief the name provoked was more immediate than the last. Kneeling, Danny laid the lilies and allowed his eyes to close and shut the world out. As friendly darkness comforted his thoughts in the distance Danny heard a breeze blow through the beeches. The cold and burnt smell of frost reached his nostrils. Placing his hands on the ground the penetrating cold breached his skin and made him feel alive. The freezing sensation made him feel ready. As he opened his eyes the words flashed in front of his eyes in black and white. He still couldn't believe she was dead. Phoebe Forrest.

After a moment passed, Danny glanced at his knees, now drenched in the melting dew of the morning. Beside his knees lay a collection of chysanthemums. Their bittersweet smell rose to him like a wave of nausea. He struggled to rise and slipped on a loose pebble. If it hadn't been for a firm hand on his shoulder, helping him keep his balance, he would have fallen forward to hit his head on the headstone's sharp edge. Danny placed his own hand on the fingers resting on his shoulder before turning to discover the identity of his unknown companion. He smiled weakly as she laid another wreath of chrysanthemums next to his lilies.

'They were her favourite flower.'

Saffelia whispered as if she might disturb the spirit of her mother. Danny stood beside her and they both stared down at the grave.

'Saffelia. I'm so sorry. How can I ever say or do anything to make up for the incredible hurt you are feeling?'

Danny didn't immediately recognise the words flowing from his mouth. It felt strange, like someone else was saying them. Some obscure social conscience clicked into gear and he knew instinctively it was the right and appropriate thing to say. It was what Saffelia needed to hear.

Silence descended on the pair. In the isolation of that moment Danny noticed the pink and yellow beads interlaced with Saffelia's plaited blonde locks.

'Danny. Let me ask you a question. It might not be an easy question for you to answer. But it is something I have wondered about for a long time and I feel I need to ask you it, even if you are unable to provide an answer.'

Danny adjusted his feet and scratched his neck. Even now at the more mature age of seventeen he couldn't hide emotional leakage, his body language revealed deep insecurities.

'What is it Saffelia?'

The 'let's-get-this-over-quick' urgency in Danny's voice told him he would not like the question. It was too late. He had offered, he had promised to say or do whatever was needed if it would help Saffelia in her grief. Saffelia took a deep breath.

'Do you think you had an affair with my Mum because...'

The incomplete question hung in mid-air like a grenade with the pin pulled out. Saffelia glanced to the side of her, and discovered Danny had left.

*

He was running, running as fast as he could. His legs started to ache and he was losing the ability to breathe easily. Adrenaline surged round his arms and legs and he sped up, hoping the passing world would soon become a blur. The tap tap tap of his feet on the pavement was satisfying, and now he had reached a rhythm he felt he could maintain forever, he wished he would never have to stop.

*

Soft Hands

They make no noise like swooping blackbirds

My hands. They split the air in silence

And carve the land with deft jabs

While my eyes follow their trails and paths

Towards him. I know where he lives.

I have seen him walking along the sea path

Towards the school. Yet he does not think I exist

Except in memory. But my soft hands

Could show him my true purpose, my gift

Of gentleness could remind him of what we lost

That night when parting came

I believe he will receive me well

Even if he may not believe I am real

My soft hands will persuade and gift

Another memory, if nothing else

Hope

The spring term began, and Danny found himself relishing his new position of sixth-former. In a few swift months he would graduate to the upper-sixth, and the brink of his future would materialize, like the sun crowning the horizon. Whilst students from years below wandered Plunket's playground in the mauve and mustard uniform Danny had been strait-jacketed in for years, Danny now wore a black tee, stone-washed jeans and a rouge and violet checked indie shirt, which hung loose over his other garments. A new identity was forming, and he found himself expressing more of his individuality. Allowing his outer demeanour to portray his inner personality felt like stripping away an unnecessary barrier. The lower-sixth girls also felt freer in their clothing choices. Gone were the white and cream blouses which barely hid the rainbow bras beneath. Now crop tops and low cut tees proliferated with short skirts, flowing dresses and trendy jeans, with the odd belly ring being exposed by the edgier girls shirts. While the majority of boys wore jeans, tees and at the most, a cap as deliberate liberation from their previous incarnations, the girls were the true heir-apparents when it came to fashion and style.

Sadly, the academic work hadn't changed, and had only grown in quantity and intensity. With assignments coming out of his ears Danny wandered from religious studies, and an aggressively driven workload streaming out of Wonder, to history where the pace had quickened into the past. Now they were studying the early modern period alongside modern British history. Sometimes Danny felt sick thinking about it all. In literature, Pry had thrown chunks of Marlowe and Webster at them alongside their in-depth study of The Winter's Tale. Danny was enjoying the play. He sometimes felt literature lessons performed some kind of hidden therapy, but the change in speed at which they were expected to cover the material was frightening.

The weeks rolled on, and Tim still treated Danny with a liberal distance. They were not giving each other the silent treatment, but it was clear Tim nursed a lingering grievance against Danny. When Cherry approached him in the press room, in the playground, in St Basil's, in the Roasthouse, Tim responded by immediately leaving the vicinity. Amanita also seemed more removed from Danny than usual, and he had more difficulty understanding this growing divide. With Tim it was straight jealousy, and he could understand that. With Amanita, it was anyone's guess.

During one sunny morning the first flicker of the new season burst through. The mercury rose a couple of degrees and the year's first snowdrop encouraged the A-level class to leave the sanctuary of the student bar and for once spend a lunchtime outside. They sat on the wall separating the playground, in which a hundred games proceeded before them, from Fourlawns and the North Sea.

Danny was munching on a chutney sandwich a few metres from Tim, Amanita, Coco and Bryn when Cherry came trundling over, her slim black dress clinging to her slight figure as if it would never let her go.

'Hallo Danny.'

Cherry plonked herself on the wall between Amanita and Danny. Tim glanced at her shapely figure and shifted in his seat, but did not leave.

'Hiya Saucy!'  
Danny laughed. It was his new nickname for her, and he

was pleased if their mild flirting served not just to increase the sexual tension between them, but also annoyed Tim as well.

'Soooo...I was thinking babe we should look up those private detectives in the yellow pages this lunchtime. What d'ya say babe? Are yer up for it?'

They'd adopted this euphemistic way of talking to each other after Cherry learnt of Tim's small crush on her. Tim was oblivious to the lingo's true purpose, but Danny secretly revelled in the closeness it indicated, and the delicate intimacy it created between himself and the object of his ripe desire.

'Sure am, sweet thing. Lead the way!'

Danny hopped from the wall, grabbing the dainty hand Cherry extended. He distinctly heard an angry sigh from Tim and smiled with satisfaction.

In Bookshelf, the school library, the duo sat in a wooden study alcove and thumbed through pages of private detectives. How did you choose such a thing? Which ones were to be trusted? How much would it cost? How would you ensure you get the result you wanted? And much more importantly, how would he engineer the situation to carelessly, accidentally but deliberately caress Cherry Trove's flawless ivory hand.

'Danny boy – I think we're going to find her!'

She beamed at him as he turned the page.

'I think we need to use someone we know, I mean someone we can trust.'

He didn't want this dream to die, but refused to have it treated with casual flippancy. Danny's tentative voice was daring to believe. He didn't know any private investigators, and doubted if Cherry did either.

'We could always ask my father,' Cherry murmured, still turning pages avariciously.

'Why? Is he a detective?'

Cherry paused.

'Of sorts. He's a school teacher down at St Anne's. Does history and maths.'

'History and maths? That's a pretty unusual combination.'

Danny gazed at the rosy dimples in her cheeks, and the glisten from her sleek brown hair. The only consideration he was truly giving to Cherry's father was one day asking his permission to marry his daughter.

'Yeah,' Cherry said absent-mindedly, 'It's a real pain to be honest. Always interfering in my homework. Always wants to do it for me.'

'Are you kidding? That'd be great? My Dad's not interested in my homework at all.'

Danny stopped talking. Without realising his voice had been getting louder and louder. However it was not this that halted his speech. He had never spoken much about his family to anyone, not even Amanita or Tim. To find himself talking so openly to someone relatively new in his life was a shock. Danny put it down to the ease he had uncovered with his new buddy, who always seemed to find her way to his side these days.

'How could he help?'

'He's got access to all the school records in the country. There's a national database to track where students go after they leave a particular school, or start another one.'

Danny thought for a moment. Her idea was interesting. However he instantly imagined a few things which might make the value of it elusive.

'What if she never went to school? What if she was taken and lived abroad?'

Gazing into Cherry's eyes, he thought he saw a faint flame burn in the pupils of both. She returned his gaze with a stern inflection.

'Danny – how many times have I told you? Don't speak of her as if she's in the past! We need to believe she's still alive.'

Danny wanted to kiss her there and then. How had he become so lucky that this girl, with vivacious energy and contagious passion, had dropped into his life? All at once, in the comfort of her quiet dimpled gaze, he was in ecstasy. He did not reflect for a moment to think about how he should be trying to keep her there.

'I'll ask my Dad tonight if he has heard of her. Or if he can run a basic search for her. Shall I?'

Her question hung in the air as if framing a portentous moment. Danny hesitated. Did he really want to open this door to the past? An untamed and wild bundle of trouble had taken him to this point. Might greater dangers lie beyond the portal of knowledge? He gazed into the middle distance and was about to reply when Cherry slapped him on the back and spoke again for him.

'That's decided then!'

*

The press room was packed with contributors. Danny had never seen it so full before. Students stood by the door, by the window trying to get some air, on the floor at the front, on desks at the back of the room. The smell of newsprint hung heavy in the spring air. The computers had been pushed back and Amanita sat on the edge of her editorial desk, jubilantly swinging her feet. Delivering her latest address she had discovered a jaunty confidence and stylish swagger. Finishing up with a summary of how the first issue of the Communiqué had been received, she read out endorsements and comments from teachers, parents, and the local press. Danny watched her with awe. After a nervous start she had effortlessly grown into her role. Danny always knew her domineering nature was scary, but tempered it by knowing her bravery was the same insecure facade every teenager endured. Amanita just hid it better than others. Now everyone else was assuming this bravery was real.

'The Snowfall Star has wished us all the best in our endeavours, the Fairleigh Tribune and Brownleaf Herald have both donated adverts and the Himsworth Record have given us a platform in their next issue to describe the birth of the new Communiqué!'

There was a round of applause from the exhausted students and a happy chatter as Amanita beamed at them all.

'What about the Amberleigh Post?' came a solitary voice from the back of the room. Everyone turned to look who had asked the question, and Sandi Burrill stepped forward.

'I don't mean to raise the spectre of that awful article they wrote about you Amanita, but they are our local paper. Why do they hold such an animus against us?'

Amanita had been prepared for this question, and stood up. The irritation was clear in her tone when she spoke.

'I would have thought it was obvious. They are hung up on my focus on the lies the British media tell the country when some disaster happens abroad. More specifically, I have it on good authority their new Editor is about to be appointed and it is to be Bee Dew. So I wouldn't expect any congratulations to be flowing our way soon from the Amberleigh Post.'

After the meeting Amanita asked Tim and Danny to hang back for a short briefing. Tim had agreed, albeit reluctantly after giving Danny an icy stare. Deep down Danny would have liked to bury the hatchet with Tim once and for all. But he wasn't going to stop hanging around with Cherry for it, especially not now she was helping with his search for Robin. He wondered why he had not tried to search for her before, but buried the question beneath gratitude that Cherry had turned up and pointed him in the right direction. Tim must have been quietly reading Danny's thoughts as his next words cut him with acuteness to the precise issue on his mind.

'You're never going to find her, you know?'

Tim sat down glumly at the editorial table.

'Who?'

Danny was half-exasperated, and half-ready to pounce with latent anger.

'Who d'you think?' Tim said, not meeting his glare. 'Your precious childhood friend Robin Vernal.'

Danny looked at Amanita as if for consolation or support for Tim's attitude. But Amanita fixedly avoided his gaze. Walking over to the table she sat opposite Tim. Placing her hands on Tim's she lifted his chin up with her finger until they were eye to eye.

'Am I interrupting something?'

Danny stepped forward. If he was interrupting something he gave no sign he would leave them to get on with it.

Tim and Amanita pulled away from each other.

'No Danny, please sit down,' Amanita said. 'We need to begin planning the next issue.'

Danny sat down and Amanita sketched out her vision for the following issue of the Communiqué. She had worked out every page, every article and every contributor. There was to be a follow up to the Penny Trikill story. Amanita had even managed to track down a hapless local private investigator from Rhodes and planned to print the quizzing conversation she had had with him in the next issue. Danny didn't quite understand how she got hold of him or what purpose it served, but she seemed excited. Her bursting enthusiasm revealed it was a promising new lead the main papers may have missed. Tim remained silent until Amanita covered the sports pages, and he explained his plans for a cricket feature, ready for the start of the new season.

Eventually Amanita turned to Danny, frowning ominously.

'The thing is Danny, I think we need to get away from this whole Robin-obsession thing.'

Danny felt like he had been struck by a truck. It was unbelievable. Tim, yes, but Amanita? She had no motive to talk to him like this.

'What? It's highly relevant surely? Plus she was my friend. She is my friend.'

Amanita looked at Tim who said 'I told you so.'

Danny accidentally-on-purpose kicked Tim in the shins. Tim moved his chair so one metal leg stamped on Danny's foot.

'Danny, it's not that I don't care. It's just that we, well I, don't want you to get your hopes up. You might never find her.'

'Well I certainly won't without the help of you two!'

Danny felt like he had taken a punch to the stomach, one that hurt a lot more than the blow Tim had landed on him previously. Exasperation at their selfish attitude enveloped him.

'Danny- I'm afraid I've decided not to print any more stories about Robin Vernal. It's just not right. We need to maintain our focus on Penny and the disappearance in Rhodes. That is the current story, not one buried in the past.'

Amanita spoke with a patronising finality that made something snap inside Danny like a splintered twig. If she had decided, then so had he. He would no longer argue with her ruthless attitude. It was over and she only had herself to blame.

'Fine. Then I'm off the paper. See you'se later.'

Danny grabbed his bag. Amanita stood as if to say something, but she had no words left. She just stood staring at Danny. For some reason Danny didn't hold her gaze but looked directly into Tim for the final splice. Tim slowly turned his head and nodded towards the door.

'See you then mate.'

Without another word, Danny stormed out the door, barely able to stem the flood of tears from his eyes until he made it down into Pry's classroom. He couldn't believe what he had just done. Was it too late to turn back? But the door was already closed and Danny knew Tim and Amanita would be up there sorting the next issue by themselves. With horrible inevitability, the realisation struck him they had already discussed the possibility of him leaving the paper, and jointly decided they wouldn't do anything to stop it. He felt bruised and stained but worst of all, outrageously manipulated.

In the corridor he began running, the tears streaking his red face. He didn't stop until he reached Louis Foss' classroom at the other end of the corridor. It was an empty period for the History tutor. Danny peered through the window and saw the lanky blond teacher marking a pile of exercise books.

Danny gulped and wondered whether he should barge in, or knock, or leave quietly by the staircase. The longer he waited outside the door, the more difficult it became to make a decision. Eventually, unable to force the courage, he turned to the stairs. At that moment the door opened and out stepped Foss, his eyes covered by wire-rimmed spectacles.

'Danny? How can I help?'

Danny turned to face him

'Sir.'

Foss saw his reddened face, and the tracks of his tears.

'Danny! What is wrong? Come in. Tell me all about it.'

The soothing welcome he had expected from Foss was more relieving than anticipated. A wave of conviction mixed with bittersweet sorrow, rolled through him, tugging tides of emotion between the shore of his heart and the unceasing waves of his brain.

*

The fields blew the corn smell in his face. Corn and manure. As he moved further into the middle of the straw-coloured mass, the verdant power of intoxicating nature overwhelmed him. Pellucid light shone on the fields and frragrant aromas rose from the earth. A pleasing dampness squelched beneath his feet. He fell to his knees in silent contemplation. Clouds shifted overhead to reveal a taunting, insistent sun. You will lie down, you will lie down here, it seemed to say.

The phone call he just received had knocked him for six. He had needed to escape Dunkinley, the cobbles of Amberleigh and get out. The serenity of Fourlawns provided a relative escape. Here, he could be himself and work through an approach to the latest challenge.

An endlessly moving river of language flowed through his mind, speeding up so he could barely hold onto a single word. None of it would give him any power or motion, it was a relentless concoction of redundant gestures. The action was nowhere to be seen. As muddy water seeped through his jeans, reminding him of earth's primal juices, the familiar truth resonated through him like a bird singing in his ear. Language was nothing compared to nature.

*

Sandi Burrill stood at the front wearing a black leather skirt over black fishnets. Her swooping fire-engine top and leathery red lips sang to Danny like an invite of wild sex. He couldn't focus on his text. Instead he gazed intently at her tanned legs, her pouting mouth and her bulging bosom as she continued reading. When she finished she went to retake her empty seat, the one beside Danny.

'Thank you Sandi,' cooed Pry sleepily. Danny had never seen Pry this entranced with a student before. Perhaps she too was seduced by Sandi's wanton elegance. Sandi. She drenched the atmosphere with a personality as bright as the pallid sheen from her arcing breasts.

'I think we should discuss the passage Sandi has kindly read for us. Where shall we start?'

Danny knew precisely where Pry was going to start. The same place she started every single lesson. With him.

'Danny – why don't you take us all for a walk through Shakespeare's iridescent language?'

All the class' eyes turned to Danny.

'I couldn't give a fuck about his language. It's nothing compared to the torment real and living teenagers feel today. Shakespeare is nothing more than a late playwright. That is his legacy.'

The strangeness was not Pry dismissing him from her classroom, the strangeness was the hand creeping along his thigh to his groin, gently stroking the contour of his penis with her red fingernail. He looked to the side of him and Sandi's bright wide eyes were locked ahead, the attentive student waiting for her next instruction from the mistress.

As Danny grabbed his stuff in front of a furious Pry, he winked at Tim, whose slight smile would have been indistinguishable to anyone other than Danny.

Shaking Ambers

I love the Autumn. The amber leaves fall

Amid the rich russet glow of dawn

And yawn with the waking morning sun

That hangs low above the cornfields

Beyond the fawning town, away in the hills

That seep and filter soft light down the line

Of coast that spreads its shingle sand wide

Across the bay we all call home. The wonder

Of the fall is not just drooping light awakening

Or the sand of slushing leaves draping the path

While pupils trudge to school. It is not just

Golden apples crowning and picked and baked

Like birds in golden crust pies, brimming with

Sugar, Autumn's harvest reap. It is the telling

Of the story, an eternal story that life

Is lying, and in part dying to know

The end, that is not far away, while like

A peacock it spreads delicious wings of colour

And waits, for that deathly bleach

Talitha Cumi

The television blared into the darkened yet crowded press room. Someone shifted in the blackness, and a wooden floorboard creaked. Everyone hushed the unknown noise maker, reverting their eyes to the action unfolding through the disparate moving images.

A sea of turquoise and silver glimmered behind a familiar white-shirted journalist with bouncy blonde curls talking directly into the camera, as police cars and detectives moved behind her.

The screen changed and cut to an imposing Caribbean lady wearing a khaki blouse and a stressed look. She stood beside a pale and emaciated lady, wearing a decidedly grim expression beneath thick ginger curls.

Danny stepped forward from his position at the back of the press room. He had crept in at the end, hoping Amanita and Tim would not spot him. Unfortunately, he stepped onto the same creaking floorboard he had breached before. People in the room groaned, and he mouthed a 'Sorry' to Mary Oconee who sat near him.

The screen cut back to the smiling blonde reporter, whose heavily made-up face and pristine smile exuded impassive and callous objectivity.

Amanita switched the television off and the room filled with limpid light. She glared at the group of student journalists, as if they were responsible for the report they had just witnessed.

'What bollocks!' she announced. 'Who on earth could file such an underhand report except an insidious journalist with an ulterior motive?'

Silence greeted Amanita's outburst. No-one ever really knew how to respond to Amanita's eloquence, usually they just let her continue until a gap opened up for questions. Then Sandi spoke.

'It was strange she didn't mention any alternatives to the investigation that, presumably, the Greek police are now pursuing?'

Danny gazed at her, just as he had gazed at Bee during her flimsy report. He loved watching words being formed amid those cochineal lips. The supple movements of her glistening moist paint and red grease captivated him. Would it be enough to kiss them? To experience that soft application of love and affection and saliva during the ultimate feminine exaggeration, from her mouth to his own? Amanita was speaking again, but her words could have been anything.

'Well yes, that's an interesting point Sandi, and one we should attempt to answer in the next issue. Anyone else?'

A girl with long blonde hair and heart-shaped face raised her thin fingered hand. She stood at the back, not far from Danny, but also not so close as to draw attention to him,.

'Yes Janna?' Amanita called.

'I think this story is beyond Bee Dew but I also suspect it is beyond us too. It's not easy for us to comment on the development of the facts when we are so far away. How can we do it justice without some direct involvement?'

Other students nodded and made noises of assent before a pronounced silence followed. Amanita looked like she was going to say something but no words came. Again she formed her pale lips as if about to speak but it seemed she had lost her thread, or couldn't decide what to say. It didn't matter anyway, as someone else had started speaking.

'I have heard that, tomorrow, Penny Trikill's guardians will return to the UK. Instead of travelling straight to their home in Surrey, they will tour the UK to meet parents and friends of missing people. I have heard their first stop will be Amberleigh.'

Danny didn't know if it was the shock of seeing him in the press room or the straight sweetness of the information he delivered that made Amanita's voice falter or her hand shake. He smiled at her, just as he had when she made her first speech as editor of the Communiqué, and she visibly relaxed.

'Daniel. Please continue.'

No-one ever called him Daniel. He grinned and carefully explained how the two were visiting Plunket's the following week to speak to him directly, following a publicity campaign run by Cherry Trove's father to find his missing childhood friend, Robin Vernal.

*

Dust swirled round the oak panelled classroom. Wonder had taken his tutorial group into one of Amberleigh Castle's rarely seen rooms. Ancient paintings hung on the walls. A platform covered in red velveteen stood at the front, housing a towering bookcase, behind a mahogany lectern. All students faced their tutor, and they sat on flimsy wooden chairs.

Wonder said he wanted to show them what a university lecture might be like. Danny thought Wonder just wanted to show off. With his usual grandiloquent gestures, he pulled a thick leather-bound book from the bookcase behind the lectern and opened it about three quarters of the way through. He paused for a moment, staring at the words and murmuring some unknown mantra to himself. When he spoke it was with the deep authority and conviction only Wonder could muster.

' "Talitha cumi, Talitha cumi!" Can anyone tell me what this means?'

Danny was stumped. He was sure, in the same cold way he had thought a thousand times this year that if Chardelia Foss were still here, she would have known the answer instantly.

An alabaster hand rose into the air, like a dove being freed from a basket.

'Sir, it means "Damsel, I say unto thee, arise" '

Wonder smiled his familiar grin at Janna Chisely, and reached into his top blazer pocket for a pack of chocolate buttons.

'Oh no please sir, I mustn't possibly,' Janna said before Wonder had the opportunity to hurl the sachet across the room, 'I'm on a diet you see.'

A few of the boys in the class laughed, Danny included. Janna needed to go on a diet as much as Amanita needed coaching in dictatorial management techniques. Danny turned his head to Janna. She wore a floaty cornflower dress with ice white shoes. She looked like a cloud. He got the feeling from her appearance something was changing inside her. Something was happening to her.

'Very well.'

Wonder deposited the buttons back in his pocket.

'Jairus' daughter was severely ill when Jairus approached Jesus. He said these words to Jesus: "I pray thee, come and lay thy hands on her, that she may be healed and she shall live." Can anyone imagine the emotional state of a man who has to utter these words to a complete stranger? A man with power, many men at his command, the ruler of a synagogue? Desperation, love and faith intermingled in this man, driving him to Jesus like sinners to repentance. When Jesus arrived at the synagogue he was faced with the awful news the little girl had already died. Did he leave? Did he abandon her? Did he lose control? No. He calmly spoke soothing words. The five delicate words he uttered were: "Be not afraid, only believe." Be not afraid. Only believe. Who can imagine the courage of a man to say this in the presence of another, whose daughter has just died?'

Everyone in class held their breath. It had been a while since Wonder had delivered a Christian tale in his idiosyncratic and ebullient manner. They waited for his next move breathlessly, knowing the zenith was just around the corner.

'Talith Cumi, Talith CUMI. TALITHA CUMI!' Wonder exclaimed. Astonishment and awe bore down on the class from his youthful features, as Wonder's voice echoed off the window panes. "Damsel, I say unto thee, arise. And straightway the damsel arose, and walked. And he charged them straitly that no man should know it; and commanded that something should be given her to eat."

Wonder concluded and sat on the platform with the leather bound book open on his lap.

'Ladies and gentlemen. Religion is nothing. Faith is everything. You do not need to be at church for miracles to occur. You just need to believe. If you remember one thing from this course, remember that.'

*

The emotional and eventful week drew to a close. Danny had declared cease-fire on his argument with Tim and Amanita and rejoined the paper. Tim had remained quiet but the old smirks were emerging again. Amanita had interrogated him about the investigative work Cherry had initiated which led to the upcoming scoop. Foss had given him an 'A' on his latest history assignment, fifteen hundred words on the social and industrial conditions in seventeenth century London. Danny could now gear up for the next week's challenge of interviewing Winnie and Thea at Plunket's. Even better, Cherry Trove had agreed to walk home with him.

'I thought Wonder was on top form today,' Cherry said casually.

'Wonder, Wonder, Wonder. All the girls seem to go for him.'

Danny kicked a stone halfway down the hill.

'Danny?' said Cherry in mock-ignorance, 'whatever do you mean?'

They giggled as they approached the part of the path that swung by the meadow overlooking the sea. Here an old wooden gate barred their entrance to the field in which dandelions and daisies now sprang up. Cherry stopped by the gate, and perched her bum on the top rung.

'Come on Danny, I need a rest. Sit here and talk to me a while.'

Danny gazed at her slim body atop the broad plank. To him, she resembled a ripe fruit resting high in a tree. The ocean rustled like a sheet of tinfoil behind her. The leaning apple tree at the rear of the field divided up the vastness of the tide into two separate sections. Cherry kicked flecks of moss off the wooden diagonal crossing the gate.

'Come on Danny. Sit here.'

She patted the space next to her. His heart began palpitating. There was a chance. He wanted her. What would it feel like to possess, in his arms, such a gorgeous creature? To kiss the divine gullies of her dimples? To breathe in her coffee curls? To feel her bottom pink lip submerge beneath his? Slowly he levered himself on the top of the gate and sat tentatively beside the bob of her chocolate hair. When she leaned forward he caught a whiff of her sugary-odour and peach-shampoo smell. As she shifted, her hair moved gracefully like leaves on a branch. At first Danny stared at the ground. Then Cherry reached for his hand.

'Danny – I want to ask you something.'

He turned to face her. Now. Her face was only inches from his. Now. He could smell her soft translucent breath and her raspberry perfume. Now. Kissing her would be something unbelievable. Now. Something beyond his comprehension. Now. Some distant bliss he would happily surrender the rest of his life too. Now. It was coming. Now. He could feel it.

'Anything,' he murmured, his breath reaching her mouth, he was sure. Here it was: the moment he had been waiting for – a perfect spring kiss. A ruthless moment of spring lust that would never be over. A precipice of resurrection to unite their souls by conjoining mouths.

'Can you tell me if Richey Athurston is seeing anyone at the moment?'

*

Dissonance. The word rolled round his mind on an infinitely repeating track. It looked like innocence, written there in isolation on his pad. But he knew it meant something more. Distracted. Dislocated. The distance between your expectations and crushing reality. The bittersweet journey to make those two ends meet. Often painful, sometimes revealing, always necessary. It stood in front of Danny: a one way street. She hadn't really cared for him at all. Not in that way. Not in the way he craved, ached, longed for. Not in the way that gnawed at his heart and sense of self. She was perhaps just using him like any other stooge, for some friendly male company, for some light relief, to warm herself up before the main act came on. Danny was the support act while she found her real, right man.

Richey Athurston had started a band. He had also been at the same concert in the summer. What should he have told Cherry? That he was too busy to have girlfriends? That he was preoccupied with his guitar? Should he have told her that he was gay? Should he have told her that he was gay?

It was no matter. She was lost to him now. Just another vague remnant of a love that could never be affirmed. In an instant she had cracked the glass. Would she ever realise the extent of feelings he carried for her? An unbidden torch, brightly burning? Though a quiet soul outwardly, his inner flames sparked just as angrily and busily as hers. Was love anything other than an illusion, a mirror put there to distract us for long enough, while some greater drama takes place under cover of concealment? At least now Tim could be satisfied. It wasn't him or Danny that she wanted. No she wanted the ex-goalie of the football team, a fey diplomat, with the name of another who one day went missing.

No he mustn't think like that. Richey was his friend. But what had Richey ever said to him that was kind, honest or true? What had Richey ever given him apart from falsity? Perhaps he was just like the other girls, just another mirror to his desperation.

The dimming light across the ghostly sky told Danny it was growing late. He was tiring. The light in his timer lamp was fading but had not quite disappeared. As a sea breeze flowed through his open window Danny imagined it carrying out the sound waves from his ambient playlist like a mellifluous current. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply the salt air, hoping some miracle could bring Cherry Trove to his bedroom, perhaps on the back of Blake's "Sick Rose". When he opened them again the lamp had gone out completely. The room would have been totally dark had it not been for the luminous figure sitting before him in a purple nightshirt and a distinctly recognisable brown bob. Once again Danny stared into the eyes of his missing friend, Robin Vernal.

A paralysis claimed his voice. It was redundant anyway as she put one finger to her lips and extended her hand to his. He could feel her touch, ticklish at first, and then calm and reassuring. Oh. It was oh...too calm and reassuring. Like faith. He could not believe, he had seen these delusions before. Yet his eyes didn't lie. Here she was, sitting before him in his bedroom, radiating light. His saviour. He wanted to embrace her. As he reached out his arms to hold her close, she vanished and he fell forward onto the soft black duvet of his double bed.

Life was cruel, but dreamy desires are crueller, Danny thought.

*

The Tunnel

There is a light at the end of the tunnel

It blinks at me when the sun passes a cloud

Or it flashes when some motion reflects the shine

I walk toward it and know that hope resides

My feet are small and my shoes makeshift

Sandals that let the surf wash through my toes

Trapping and freeing grains of sand until the tide

That malicious, delicious wave of life rolls out again

It breaches the tunnel, often when the moon is high

These things they come in waves, it's just a trickle

A pouring stream from a fissure in the rock

Yet I stand and watch it as the light

The light at the end of the tunnel filters through

The rainbow is mine

Slide Show

The bus ride to hospital seemed to take an eternity. Winding round Amberleigh's narrow lanes it eventually reached the brief seam of motorway where it accelerated away into the dirge of exhaust fumes from other motors. Danny fumbled with his bag. Crumpled cellophane protected the flowers he had bought at the bus station. Would it be enough, he thought, as the nerves rose up in him again.

It had been a full year since Anjalie had started as a student nurse at Nightingale's. Most of his school mates had been born there. As a child Danny had embarrassingly nicknamed it the 'tinky-tail' hospital, due to an emergency circumcision he had undergone at the age of eight. He wondered how he would feel, seeing his son, now two years old and Anjalie wearing a nurse's uniform, bearing the full thrust of adulthood on her slim teen shoulders.

Corn and rape fields flew by the window until a small outcrop of houses appeared on the approaching hill. Before the bus reached the incline, it slipped off the motorway into a long and sloping driveway. It led to a redbrick building which overlooked the roads, trees and Amberleigh below. A flicker of childish fear shuddered through Danny, a stiff breeze of ominous doom reclaiming its determination to be heard.

When he entered the ward he saw Anjalie turning up the sheets of an empty bed. Sunlight poured through the windows and reflected the clinical whiteness of the room. Small bursts of colour: stickers on bedsteads and cards on lockers, interrupted the institutional aura the closer you approached an individual bed. At the entrance Danny stood motionless for a moment, watching her. He felt pathetic holding his battered bunch of azaleas.

She turned and saw him.

'Danny!' she squealed. 'How nice – are those for me? Thank you!'

She hugged him and planted a friendly kiss on his cheek. Danny gave her a cursory sqeeze. Her affection felt good.

In the hospital canteen Danny bought Anjalie and Ackley lunch. Ackley pointed and chuckled and pinched Danny's chips when he wasn't looking. Danny couldn't work out why Anjalie was laughing so much until he looked down at his plate and saw the mischievous Ackley gazing at him with wonder. Another flicker of emotion passed through Danny, a burning, awe-filled pride.

*

The press room had been painstakingly prepared earlier in the day. Danny was sure Dunstan Blackbuck had visited the previous night to clean and make the environment as appropriate as possible for the visitors. Danny paced up and down the creaking oak floorboards, a cold sweat beginning to coat his moist palms. Amanita sat owl-like in her editorial chair, and pretended not to notice Danny's anxiety while she designed the forthcoming front page of the Communiqué. Tim slouched in the windowsill, gazing out at Fourlawns and the North Sea lapping its jagged shores.

'What if they clam up? What if one of my questions offends them? I mean I'm just not an experienced journalist for this kind of story. Why did Cherry ever publicise this whole thing!'

'Oh for fuck's sake.'

Amanita rolled her eyes for the second time in ten minutes.

'Did I hear my name?' came a fourth voice, urgent and smiling.

Cherry waltzed in, carrying a tray on which rested three glasses of water. Tim sat up and switched his glances on the tempestuous sea below to the calmer water on Cherry's tray. She smelt perfect; the scent of peach shampoo emanated from her hair. As she approached, bending down to place the tray on the table, Tim and Danny sighed simultaneously. Danny had told Tim all about Cherry's secret crush on Richey Athurston and in that moment of shared despair he felt they regained their long-absent camaraderie. In that moment, the reassuring and comforting thing, only felt once missing, had rushed back in.

The nerves squirmed in Danny's stomach as Cherry moved two of the waters to one side of the editorial table, and the third beside Danny's dictaphone on the opposite side. It was really happening. He was really going to interview them. Tim and Amanita were moving to their positions at the side of the room and Cherry began fussing with the cushions on Winnie and Thea's seats. All they waited for now was the arrival of Winnie and Thea themselves. Danny expected a large troupe of people. Maybe a couple of security guards, policeman and publicity spokesmen. He expected them to be glamourous and distant, perhaps because he had seen them continuously on the television for the past year, and such seemed their large entourage when they made public appearances. For some strange reason he expected both to be wear dark glasses, even though the weather had become grey, turning it into an overcast day.

The press room door opened and Deirdre Quinine walked in followed by two haggard women.

*

The silent slide show flickered before their eyes. Grainy monochrome images of hundreds, possibly thousands of people crowded outside a rickety looking train carriage. Their weary faces portrayed the confusion from their hearts. Uniformed guards stood side by side of the gate through which hundreds more passed. A transition, a passing, a single movement from one thing to another. Hope to despair. Love to hate. Life to death.

The picture changed again. This time a solitary girl clutching a teddy bear gazed at the huge metal gates. The instant of that momentary shot pricked Danny's empathy to feel her childlike wonder. Her insatiable curiosity at being given life – and all that life contained – beaming out of the slide contours. Here was a unity shining. Amanita leaned forward as Foss waited before clicking the projector on again. Janna Chisely's attentive blue eyes fixed on the small girl. Mary Oconee was enraptured by the face. Click. The girl lay in a pool of muddy water, her teddy bear ripped to shreds feet from her head. Over her stood a tall imposing figure, glaring with malice in his eyes. In his arms rested a rifle. Click. The pool of muddy water now mixed with a darker substance, and Danny's classmates turned away.

'That is the horror, the true horror of the place the Germans called Auschwitz.'

Foss voice did not need to emphasise or embellish the terrible truth of the pictures he had shown.

'That particular girl shall always remain unnamed. She is a symbol of the treacherous depths to which humanity can and did sink, when it was given the opportunity. To take a little girl's life. An unarmed, helpless, vulnerable, unwitting girl, was nothing to these people. It was not just one, but hundreds, thousands, millions of them. We cannot say that this was a few monsters. It is clear there were many.'

Louis Foss walked over to the wall and switched on the lights. Students blinked as white light poured into their eyes.

'I don't think it is possible for me to communicate to you the sheer intensity of this tragedy to you with words and pictures. You need to see it first hand, to know that this was a real place, and remains a permanent memorial to the dead. Therefore,' Foss swallowed deeply, 'I am pleased to announce next term we will take our first history field trip. We will travel to Poland, and we will visit Auschwitz together.'

Foss watched his class. Students were looking at each other. A trip. Overseas? Danny was thinking of one thing and one thing only. Would Cherry Trove be going?

*

When I Escaped

He didn't like it when I left alone

When I wandered away from him

Like water drip drip dripping down the drain

He saw, I think, what was coming.

What was and is inevitable in life

His hold, so strong for so long, is fading

That iron grasp too tender to me

Is slipping into the nostalgia for her

He knows he cannot keep me forever

He knows my leaving is not a lapse

But a beginning that must endure him

When I escaped I saw time etched

Without his shelter, without his pain

And it excited me. Not for the people

The hundreds of people who would

Want to talk and harass me. But for

The silence. That silence will be mine

One day. When I escape for all time.

The New Oracle

The gleaming shop window radiated several shining propositions within. Like a glazed pane of artifice, a transparent mirror into the future, a dusted sheet of sand, the glass held Danny within its grasp. He beheld two items resting delicately in the display. One was a thick cylindrical tube, the other a rectangular metal box. One claimed to reveal the secrets of the skies, the other the enigmas of the heart. It was no use, he could not decide. Science or art. He could not have both, and yet he knew deep down this decision might mark his life in some subtle but irredeemable way. He pulled a pound coin from his pocket. It was Welsh and Danny smiled at the familiar sprouting symbol. With a deft flick of his right thumb the gold shrapnel was thrust upwards, circled three feet in the sticky air, and landed neatly in his left palm. He covered it with his right hand, and slowly, tantalisingly removed it to show the telling edge of the coin. It was decided.

On the counter the shopkeeper idly browsed the Amberleigh Post. Danny glanced at him, then at the glass cabinet where several of the selected items stood. There were a range of varying and increasing prices. Like a man in a western, Danny stood with hands either side of his pockets, ready to draw at any moment. The credit card popped from his wallet as a willing volunteer, an advocate for Danny's wishes. Fuck the coin, he thought as he carried the cardboard box up the hill and back home. Art, artifice, artificial – he did not care. Whatever it was, the depths of human nature infinitely more interesting than a few glittering dots in the great beyond.

*

Pry handed the marked essays back to her class. In characteristic style she paused with each student to share a little hard-earned wisdom.

'Pathetic Mr Benedict,' she uttered with disdain to a wide-eyed Johnny.

'Unremittingly bad,' she said in her lucid voice as Florence Croft received her single sheet of A4. Pry walked on, periodically bobbing on her heels as she glided down the aisle between desks.

'You know – I always love these moments,' Cherry whispered in Danny's ear, as all the hairs on his neck stood up and his heart-rate quickened.

'Why does she have to be so...sharp. Literature is supposed to be fun.'

She glanced at him as he turned his head and for a moment their eyes bathed in each other's gaze. It was falling into a dark well in which you knew certain bliss rested at the bottom. Danny tried to speak but discovered his mouth had grown dry. He tried again.

'You're obviously not joining the "Pry is Perfect" club, are you?'

Danny wished he hadn't said it. It was a flimsy line. But Cherry didn't seem to think so. She turned dark rose-wood eyes on him and, in an ironic gesture to show her cynicism towards Pry, fluttered pristinely eloquent eyelashes. Danny felt helpless.

'Master Canterbury!' Pry boomed as she stood in front of him. 'Another excellent piece. Class take note – Canterbury's description of Hermione's reawakening is a lesson to you all. Here is a piece of writing that displays rigorous depth of understanding to secure an excellent A-level.'

She began whispering to Danny individually.

'Your comprehension of Leontes' desperate grief, and the crystal waters of relief that wash over him when Shakespeare's miracle emerges, is spot on.'

Cherry rolled her eyes while squeezing Danny's knee. To have one sweetness follow another so soon seemed too heavenly to be real.

'There's something I don't understand about The Winter's Tale Danny.' Cherry whispered mischievously into Danny's already bright red ear. 'Perhaps you could explain it to me.'

Danny turned to her again. It was no use, he was helpless before her mischievous gaze. He would do anything for her. Her raised cheekbones, the button nose, her dark pools of eyes and the thin scarlet lips curled in a seductive smile. Together Cherry's features combined to cause dissonance between his warning brain and expanding heart.

'What is that?' he asked, a little more roughly than he intended.

'Antigonus' end – "pursued by a bear". Why didn't good old Shakes round off that bit more thoroughly. It sticks out of the play like a splinter from an otherwise polished wood surface.'

Danny gazed into her eyes. It was not her appearance that moved him, he realised, it was her precocious yet unassuming intelligence. It seemed to pour sporadically in intense bursts. He wanted to tell her he loved her, that he thought they should settle down together, have a family, always talk about books and literature and ideas and be forever one.

'It doesn't matter – I'll ask Richey.'

Cherry murmured and looked down at her exercise book, which she had doodled with purple and brown striped hearts. Within each tortured heart rested the initials R.A. It was too much to bear.

*

Sergeant Lombard hurried from the squad car and through the welcoming open doors of sweet sanctuary. Once within, the salty fried aromas of the local fish and chip shop, Ambercockles, greeted his airwaves like a warm arm round the shoulder. This was not a typical fish shop. Local catch from the docks filled frozen shelves and silver platters behind the glass cabinet. Silver bream rested upon beds of ice. Rows of cod and haddock, a couple of large crabs and an imposing lobster were scattered across the jagged crystals. Rays of sun from the skylight penetrated the glass throwing shades of colour across white walls, and transforming the shop into the treasure at the end of a mini-rainbow. On the opposite side to the fresh catch lay batter-beaten fish and vats of crispy yellow chips, asking to be gobbled.

Danny stood, waiting for his order of a couple of catfish and chips. Holding the tub of tartare sauce he had already bought, he heard the Sergeant's distinctive and friendly grunts.

'Hallo young Marster Canterberry!' the Sergeant announced in his idiosyncratic way. Everyone was young to the sergeant as he was nearing retirement age. However Danny, who had known the police captain since his youth, had always thought he looked old.

'Hi Sergeant Lombard.' Danny said 'I missed tea-time so I'm going to grab this and watch the sun go down over the dock.'

Danny always liked chatting to the Sergeant. He was notoriously rough around the edges. He had to be, he dealt with all of Amberleigh's criminals, usually just travellers passing through. When he heard about Flambeau and the treacherous antics of Tyburn and Pemberton he had rapidly returned from his sabbatical. Sergeant Lombard never gave much away from the substance of his job, but he always had a kind, gruff word for the local residents he looked after as well as policed.

'Sounds like a plan young Danny,' Lombard said scratching his bald head. 'Mine's a couple of cod for me and the missus and a couple of scallops please, young sir,' Lombard said to the boy behind the counter.

Danny nearly got the shock of his life. Standing behind the beer-battered fish and vats of oil was Samuel Mills, wearing a blue and white checked apron.

'Samuel – I didn't think gingham was your style?' Danny asked, half-laughing.

Samuel scowled at Danny while handing over the Sergeant's fish.

'Six pound seventy.'

Samuel held out a grease stained hand.

'There you go young Marster Mills.' Lombard handed over four shiny two-pound coins. 'Keep the change.'

Lombard walked from Ambercockles clutching his salt and vinegar package. The smell never failed to remind Danny of the luxurious foods that lay just minutes away beneath the deep blue. He watched Lombard settle into his squad car and drive away to the centre of Amberleigh. Danny wondered what Lombard would make of the disappearance of Penny Trikill had it been his patch. How would he have investigated the disappearance of his childhood ally Robin Vernal had he been in charge of the local force over a decade ago, instead of a mere constable?

Danny turned and Samuel was holding his order out for him, still scowling.

'Thanks Samuel.' Danny said sincerely. Samuel waved a light brown curl from his eyes and nodded curtly.

Outside the brightness was blinding. Danny stumbled on the pavement and into the road. A car thundered down the cobbles at twice the speed limit. Swerving to avoid him, it beeped its horn loudly as it passed. Danny swore and put his hand up to block out the sun. A glint of sunlight reflected off the rear silver bumper as the pale blue beetle continued its voyage through the centre of Amberleigh. It wasn't long before Danny heard a siren in the distance and knew Lombard had spotted them. He smiled.

He took his tightly wrapped paper package down to the front of the harbour. Beside one of the twenty pence telescopes a girl with thin straight blonde hair and blue ovals for eyes waited for him. She wore a dress the colour of the cloudless sky.

'Here you go.'

Danny handed over one of the catfish and chips.

'Did you get mushy peas?'

Janna smiled. She knew Danny hated the green sludge.

Danny bit into his fish hungrily. The batter's yellow crunchiness was immaculate. It split like brittle chards of gold dust. The fish inside was moist and tender, plump to the touch, holding its sea flavours in. One bite and Danny felt the translucent white flesh melt in his mouth. Janna picked at her chips delicately. It was as if she didn't want to disturb the fish, as if it were still alive.

Danny gazed into his empty fish wrappings and the few morsels of chips remaining. Then they averted into Janna's pale, questioning face. The sea lapped the white granite wall upon which they sat and spray hurled up their jeans and wet their tight-clad bottoms. Danny adjusted his position and unintentionally moved closer to Janna. She sat still, gazing at him.

All at once he was lost in her mesmeric eyes again. Her presence was as soft as falling on an old friend's sofa to surrender to blissful sleep. Their vulnerability betrayed their innocence. A misty thought rose above the desire – the crisp understanding that Janna could never fully comprehend how beautiful she was to boys her own age. Too much to bear, he put a hand out to steady himself on the wall. His fingers found Janna's and she held a steady gaze, vaguely aware of her mute power.

The sea spray doused them again, moistening their backs. Janna drew her cream jacket tightly around her shoulders as Danny spotted a fisherman with a low hat walk along the sea jetty.

'You know what it's like to lose a close friend, don't you Danny?'

The pregnant question hung in the air. Like the solitary sun revealed from behind an advancing cloud, it shone light on the vast land below. 'And so do I,' Janna completed, glancing down at her pale blue pumps, which swung against each other in the light breeze.

*

Liam Flicker had become the self-appointed conduit between Plunket's and Shox, the new nightclub that had opened on the edge of Amberleigh. With his tousled hair and strong jaw lines Liam had become a firm favourite among the lower-sixth students, especially Mary Oconee and Hazel Brock. When he passed the bench where everyone sat in lunch breaks, Mary and Hazel's eyes would drift onto Liam's tall posture, his satchel drooping at a jaunty angle and those piercing eyes which seemed to melt their teenage aloofness into a swirling broth of desire.

'Hi Liam' they cooed in unison.

'Oh hi girls. You coming to the next Shox party – it's gonna be called Rocks with Shox!'

Danny rolled his eyes.

'Sure thing!' Mary and Hazel said, smiling from the corner of their eyes.

'Cool. Better be off now girls. Keep it up.'

Liam pointed a cheeky finger at their cleavages as he picked up his bag again and sauntered down the hall. Mary and Hazel looked at each other and giggled. At the other side of the bench Amanita seemed to beckon Danny with her finger. Glancing over he saw she had the latest issue of the Oracle open on her lap.

'What's doing Am?' Danny said casually, looking behind her and through the window into Bookshelf, Plunket's library.

'I'm not sure what the lower school are doing with my fucking paper, that's what. Or should I say, I'm not sure why the lower school are fucking with my paper. Read this.'

Amanita thrust an editorial into Danny's hands and he read. It was written by Samantha Dew, Bee's younger sister, who Quinine had apparently appointed the new editor of the Oracle.

A New Era for Plunket's

After a sustained period of instability, with headmasters coming and going like foxes in and out of your gardens at night, Deirdre Quinine has established a new era of rule for St Oliver Plunket's school. No longer will the vast majority of conscientious students have to endure the impropriety and poor misconduct of a small select group of trouble-makers who believe the school secretly belongs to them.

Danny stopped reading.

'Well you have to admit she's got a point there. Headmasters coming and going – it's all true. And as to that bit about small groups taking over the school – well we're rid of Ursula Calcite and her gang, aren't we?'

It had been the first time Danny had mentioned the woman's name since the terrifying events of last summer. Amanita held his gaze.

'Danny – they don't mean Calcite and her cronies. They mean us! Read on.'

Danny followed her instructions and read on. He was shocked:

No longer will a poor state of dress afflict Plunket's. Loose shirts, ill-fitting trousers, non-black shoes or ruffled hair have tainted our public image. We need to make this indiscipline become a thing of the distant past. Quinine has bravely established that all students will have to pass an early morning dress test in which, they will also be subjected to a long-awaited smell test, the arrival of which will send the female contingent of Plunket's into raptures. Students, especially the boys, will be smelt at a distance of one foot and if it appears that they are emitting any kind of odour incompatible with the new approved scents of Plunket's they will automatically be ordered to take a shower and refresh themselves with a standard Oliver Plunket Scent of the Summer (or Whiff of the Winter), both of which are full of the smells of violets and marigolds. The female students will be particularly pleased to find that each smell inspector will, by necessity, also be female.

If Danny's eyebrows could rise any higher they would have shot up into space. He clenched his fist.

'What the fuck!' he exclaimed as he read on.

In an effort to contain the worst excesses of student behaviour – vandalism, binge drinking at school, speaking or writing inappropriate messages in student periodicals, kissing, cuddling or holding hands in the corridor, make-up, black tights that resemble even in the vaguest way a pair of fishnets – Quinine has set up the Impropriety and Inappropriateness committee. This committee, to be headed by myself, will form immediately and will be a mix of students, parents and teachers – to ensure complete equanimity. Each student in the committee will wear a badge to show the ultimate aim of the exercise – to improve student behaviour –the badge will be marked IMPROV.

Quinine does not rest there. She is also reviewing the new school charter for the upper school to see if recommendations and suggestions can be implemented there also.

Finally I am pleased to confirm, as I am sure many of you have wondered, that the new edition of the Oracle will not contain inappropriate articles on issues not concerning those directly relevant to the students and teachers of St Plunket's. Therefore school results, sports successes and triumphs in the classroom will take precedence over playground gossip and music reviews.

I welcome you all to this new, and improved Oracle.

S.D.

Danny held the paper out in front of him as if it contained something he had just picked up off the street. He dropped it in Amanita's lap again and watched her expecting to see the shade of tears in her eyes. Instead she looked quite calm, almost amused.

'What the fuck is this little bitch doing?' Danny said, his fist still clenched.

'I think it's pretty obvious what she's doing. What's more worrying is Quinine reviewing the upper school charter. We've only had it five minutes. She can't do that – the whole point of having a sixth form within the school was to introduce differentiation. If she's going to standardise everything and make everything the same – what's the point? I might even leave.'

'You're not serious?'

Danny's eyebrows again leapt to his forehead. Amanita leaving her studies before completing them was more improbable than a badger winning the lottery.

'Deadly serious. My editorial impartiality has been encroached.'

Danny looked at his palms and the dusty floor for a few moments. He was thinking hard. The fragility of reality had been uncovered again as it came crashing down.

'Why can't we get some decent Heads of this school? Why do we always have to end up with some bloody nutter? I thought Quinine was alright, that she was a bit more sensible than the others, that finally we had got someone who knew what she was doing. But it's the power, isn't it? It gets to them all in the end. They think they're almighty and develop this God complex. Amanita – we're not going to leave this untouched in the Communiqué, are we?'

Amanita twirled a brown curl hanging over her ear. Beams of lemon light shot in through the door.

'I don't see how we can rebut it without risking Quinine overturning me as editor. It seems she didn't really like the way I edited the Oracle,' she mused.

Danny sat up straight and glanced at her homely brown eyes. The sense of stability Amanita always afforded him now seemed under threat.

'You're not going to let this run without response.'

He said it almost as a statement but it hung in the air for minutes like a rhetorical question. Danny gazed at her again. He thought he saw the fire of rebellion burn slightly, but steadily in her expression.

*

Trips

The day we went to Flamingoland he nearly got arrested

He thought a policeman recognised him

I watched the slender birds, standing, waiting

On one leg, like pink wafer biscuits, my favourite

While he tried to evade their glance

The policeman shuffled off but a sterner gazer

Remained. Watching. Waiting.

Like the tide out at sea waiting to come to shore

Eventually he came and... I do not know

What happened. What happened to him

Because it was all over so quickly. One

Moment he was there the next he was gone

Like a vanishing, like a polishing off

"Don't worry about him. He won't bother us any more"

He said in that way I knew the subject was closed.

"Look at the flamingos" he said "Aren't they pretty?"

Snog

'Come on I'll give you a leg up.'

'I can't believe we're doing this,' Danny moaned.

The stickiness of Saturday evening condensed their teenage impatience. The humidity had arrived swiftly, a dramatic twist in spring's tail. The days had rolled on cool North Sea breezes, blowing through Amberleigh with almost interminable frequency. Then, one morning Danny awoke and everything was different. Flies buzzed less busily. Spiders hung limp in the corner of his bedroom, too hot to move. Even the sea which usually carried refreshing winds like a natural fan had become a calm puddle no earthquake could disturb. The gentle lapping of Amberleigh shore had been sabbatically muted to a sporadic hiss.

Tim had called round at five, following a much-proclaimed fashion jaunt to purchase a new pulling shirt in town. After Danny had spent a good two minutes laughing at its neon audacity, Tim threw on Danny's aftershave with abandon.

'Steady on – my Gucci is not cheapn' Danny had exclaimed, only to be greeted by Tim's ready smirk. A couple of hours later they were situated directly below Mary Oconee's bedroom, hiding behind the huge maple tree which shielded them from view of Mary, Dawn and Hazel. The trio paraded above in scanty underwear. Tim tried to give Danny some purchase so he could climb the tree and possibly overhear their conversation. Although not enamoured with this part of the plan, seeing as they were there already and Tim only just revealed this development, Danny reluctantly agreed.

He struggled to fix his ankle firmly on the flat bark. With an almighty push from Tim, a groan from Danny and a gentle shaking of the firm branch, he was prostrate on the rough wood. A few feet closer to Mary Oconee's conversation with Dawn Russet and Hazel Brock, Danny inched even nearer, towering over purple-black maple leaves. The thick branch leaned close to the ground, but held Danny's weight. Each word grew more distinct.

'...Yeah I know. He was all over her wasn't he. If he only knew.'

It was frustrating not knowing what or who they were talking about. If only they could mention a name.

'He wouldn't. He's only got eyes for one thing.'

'Yeah – these!'

Danny heard a pause in conversation followed by eruptions of high-pitched laughter and giggling. His legs astride the branch, Danny clutched it closer, precipitating that curious feeling in his abdomen again. Occasionally flashes of Mary's bare bottom spilling out of a red thong became visible when she rested against the window ledge, her pert cheeks as ripe as Cox's finest.

'I want a cigarette,' said Hazel, a gravelly fry underlining her voice.

Seconds later, plumes of pewter-blue smoke billowed past Mary through the open window.

'I'm hot,' Mary said. Danny saw her abstractly reach behind her and undo the matching red bra clasp. 'How true', Danny thought as he watched the pink flumps of her pliant flesh tumble on her pale mid-riff.

'Can you smell something?'

Mary glanced over her shoulder. Tim stood behind the tree so as not to be seen. Danny crouched beneath the branch, hoping the foliage would cover him. Damn Tim, Danny thought. He's wearing too much aftershave. They would be smelt out.

After a furtive look at the bushes Mary seemed satisfied the unusual odour was part of the normal thick air of a spring evening in Amberleigh. She turned back to Dawn and Danny peered up again, reluctant to make any move that would give him away.

'So it was a trip you say Dawn?' asked Mary. 'Looks nasty.'

There was a pause in the conversation and another larger cloud of slate-grey smoke wafted from the window. Danny felt something pregnant in the potent air. The next words he heard were Hazel's.

'Don't bother lying Dawn. That bastard's been at it again. That cheating desperate vitriolic...'

'Please don't start Hazel,' Dawn pleaded.

'... double-crossing piece of scum.' Hazel finished. 'Why don't you just report him Dawn? I can't understand why you stay with him.'

'It's nothing. I tripped I told you.' Dawn said, but Danny could hear her sobs.

'If I could only get my hands on him I'd give him something of his own to think about. My knee is pretty useful when it comes to boys like this.'

'No Hazel, please don't! You mustn't say anything. He mustn't think I've been talking about it.' Dawn said, her muffled voice thick with tears.

During another pause Danny inched further along the branch to hear more. His leg brushed a twig which fell and landed on Tim's head.

'Ouch!' Tim said automatically. The instant he said it Danny knew it was too much. The three girls appeared at the window and stared down at Tim, all decked out for the club.

'Timothy Gaunt! What are you doing in my front garden?' Mary shouted down, half exasperated, half-amused She rapidly covered her front with a towel Hazel had thrown at her.

'Oh, hi ladies,'

Tim glanced up at them and saw Danny perched precariously behind a convenient clump of wide green leaves. 'I was just passing and thought...I wondered if we'd be seeing you down at Shox later?'

Mary smiled, but Hazel was at the window, cigarette dangling from heavy lips.

'Bugger off Tim! This is a private conversation.'

Her dismissal was laced with charm, as she winked at him and mouthed 'I'll see you later' when out of her companions' sight. With the three girls watching him, and not wanting to give Danny's location away, Tim stalked helplessly down the street. He threw a few backward glances toward the tree Danny was marooned in. For now, he was alone.

Fortunately for Danny the trio of raging teenage femininity retreated back inside the bedroom. Thick sweat dripped sluggishly from Danny's forehead on the wide leaf sprouting from his branch. Breathing heavily and heart thudding against his ribs like a caged animal, he thought quickly. If they weren't enamoured with finding Tim lurking in the garden it was doubtful they would react positively to discovering another hormonal teen boy up the tree. Especially one within a few arms reach of the window. He heard their voices mumbling about getting Dawn a new boyfriend. Had what he heard been enough? Was there an easy way to escape? The obvious answer was yes, yet the perilous and compelling dilemma froze Danny's nerve. He remained, listening as intently as a deer about to be struck fatally by a lion.

'The rose or the violet?' Mary asked and Danny could see her hold up two bras.'

'The violet definitely,' came Hazel's voice. 'If you get lucky tonight, then it'll give you an added edge. Very classy.'

They all laughed. Danny smiled with them, and dared another inch along the branch to hear better.

'What are you doing up that tree Danny Canterbury?'

Danny had not been expecting the sudden and horribly familiar voice rising from below. Having thought any chance of being discovered would come from the bedroom window into which he had been eavesdropping, and with it some warning, shock rippled through his young limbs. As the recognition of whose voice it was finally lodged in his summer-thick brain, he lost his grip and fell, tumbling to the dry but cushioned grass below.

*

Tim visited the following morning. It could have been worse, Danny knew. A broken ankle would not keep him out of action for long. He would be able to recover before the trip to Poland, at least. Tim solemnly regaled Danny of the night's exploits at Shox, as if he had been forced into battle alone.

'You should have seen Sonia Fox. Skirt up to here.'

Tim motioned to his waist.

'Almost a belt. And her top! Mate, they were practically hanging out.'

Danny closed his eyes and winced at the pain from his foot. Images of Sonia wearing her red low-cut top, impossibly tight, popped into his mind. He imagined her carefully lined lips, puckering up.

'Sam was there as well. Can never really talk to him though. He's always a bit....I dunno, just a bit...can't put my finger on it. Like he's trying too hard to be someone greater than everyone else.'

Danny gazed at his feet, recalling the moment his ankle crumpled under his weight on the soft dry straw of Mary Oconee's garden. He had writhed for a minute, intense pain throbbing across his calf. He had not been able to tell immediately which limb of his body had succumbed. Samuel Mills had stood, steady and malicious, looking down at his ankle, twisted and still.

'Was it a fall, or did you dive?' Samuel had asked, his eyes hidden behind mirror-protected sunglasses. Danny saw reflected there his image on the ground, motionless and pathetic.

'Shall I call someone?' Samuel had said, a curious expression breaking on his mouth. Not quite a smile, no urgency or shock were drawn in the lines of his face. He had stepped over Danny and reached in his shirt pocket for his mobile phone.

'I think my battery is low,' he said staring at Danny's leg. 'That looks like it could be nasty. I'd better ask Mary if I can use her phone.'

That had been the last Danny had seen of Samuel that night. He had not known if he had called his father who had rushed him to casualty. Mary had put on some sensible clothes and waited with him. She had brought a blanket out for him to rest on. Danny couldn't believe he had been so stupid.

'I can't believe I was so stupid...' Danny said to Tim, who was now eating a handful of Danny's grapes.

'I know, me neither.' Tim said absent-mindedly.

'I can't believe I was stupid enough to listen to you!' Danny said emphatically, holding Tim's gaze for a brief moment, before bursting into laughter with his oldest buddy.

*

Cherry's abstractness from Danny grew. He tried to ignore the cold sense of isolation it left him, but he couldn't ignore her flirting with Richey Athurston. She wielded fawning smiles whenever he accompanied her up the stairs, and Danny watched on, a deep pit of envy boiling in his stomach.

They were all moving as one, a molten mass of Religion students. Wonder insisted they hold the next class in Pinnacle One – a small dusty disused classroom in the tower opposite to Professor Pry's classroom. He bent his head as he entered and the students flocked in behind him, anxious to inspect their new studying environment. The room smelled of wheat and sand. The windows were latticed with thick iron and shaped like a steeple, the top points converging in rough arrows directing to heaven. There were no chairs, just a giant crimson mat. On it stood tiny stools, each no higher than a foot. Wonder invited his students to sit on them.

Danny took a stool near the back and took in the surroundings. With nothing else in the room apart from mothballs and cobwebs Danny had a growing sense the room concealed secrets more significant than the room's immediate appearance portrayed.

'Imagine one of your friends. No, imagine your life-long best friend, sitting beside you. You are comforted by their proximity. You cannot dream of a single person in whom you would trust and confide more. You know that you will be friends forever.'

Wonder's voice echoed off the wooden floorboards and the stone dome ceiling. Their tutor looked anguished, terrified of something. Danny glanced at the window again and in the distance he saw the copper-green soup of the North Sea congealing idly like a silent witness to the class. Wonder stood.

'Now imagine how you would feel when you discovered that same friend had betrayed you, and was preparing to turn you in to the authorities for a crime you did not commit.'

The class remained silent. They were seated in a circle while Wonder towered over them from its centre. It was a strange experience being in this eerie room, and Danny longed to know its secrets.

'That is what happened to Jesus, in the garden of Gethsemane. Judas' betrayal with a kiss shows how sweetly duplicitous evil can often be. Jesus had already endured Judas' denial of his deception. At the last supper, in a room very like the one in which we are now sat, Jesus told his disciples one of their number would betray him that very night. Of course they all denied it. Judas' disguise remained intact, but Jesus knew with divine melancholy he was right. He had endured the pain of wanting to believe in their protests whilst still carrying the bittersweet burden of knowledge. His realisation of his followers' inevitable flaw.'

Danny glanced down at his mending ankle and then up at Wonder. He saw the dull gloom of the ocean's dim greyness shine on his cheek, and smiled in response.

*

At the centre of Amberleigh town, waters rippled in the stone fountain. A silver orange dusk played idly with the idea of twilight. Groups of teenagers lingered in gangly forms: sitting languidly on the edge of wet stone, standing in front of closed shop windows, posing at passing girls who hurried past, applying fresh coats of lippy and lighting sleek ciggies.

Danny had cast aside the plaster encasing his foot for the past few weeks. Tonight he was finally going to get his rocks off at Shox – Amberleigh's only nightclub. As he walked down familiar cobbles toward the fountain, he reminisced about one of his first impressions of Tim. His mischievous face had grinned across at him from the other side of the football pitch after a steaming tackle. Now he stood on the edge of the fountain, his lanky form observing the local talent wending their way through the throbbing bars and pubs of Amberleigh's old town.

Danny was not used to clubbing. The few times he ventured in the past year resulted in lots of standing about, being pushed in the back on a crammed dancefloor, and slinking into airport-lounge style sofas. To fit with the pulling crowd, the lusty activity for pubescents, he had tried desperately to catch the eye of someone who didn't look repulsive. Having hoped like hell they would smile in response, the only gleaming trophy had been glistening failure.

This evening he wore the classy mauveviolet striped shirt he'd bought the week before. He felt almost like a debutante – this was his coming-out evening, and remained determined to let nothing spoil it.

Tim dangled something in front of Danny as he approached.

'What is that you're waving?'

Danny again smelled his own breath and dropped a mint on his tongue at the same time. Perhaps it wouldn't be the last action his tongue would see that night? Tim tossed the keys again into the air as several girls turned their heads to look at him, nearly tripping in their high heels.

'Keys to a flat. Charlie Shackleton's sister is out of town and he has said we can use it tonight – should the need arise!'

Danny rolled his eyes and walked in the direction of the nearest pub. Permitting himself a quick glance down the road, he saw a petite brown-haired girl in the distance. Her smile made his heart leap. It was Cherry Trove, he was sure of it. She was smiling right at him. As she approached Danny stopped walking, hanging back from Tim as he advanced to get the drinks in.

'Hi Danny! Out on the pull are you?' Cherry gushed, her eyes sparkling with sweet sambuca.

For a moment words absented Danny. A light sweat formed on his brow. During weeks of nursing his broken ankle, fantasies of sharing a lingering kiss with Cherry on the dancefloor had raged intensely. He knew she had set her eyes on another but maybe, within the dim cloisters of her lusty and interrim dalliances, there was still a chance for them.

She wore a short black top that clung to her chest and stomach like it had always been part of her body. Her white skirt bore tiny black flowers, multitudinous and randomly scattered. As it fluttered gently in the slight breeze, Danny's heart matched its rhythm. It seemed like his hormones had been driving him to this night, this hour, this moment. As the allure of her short presence bewitched, he felt he should pinch himself as a reminder he was not dreaming.

'I am here with my mate Tim,' Danny spat out clumsily, immediately regretting the inanity of his statement. Cherry seemed unfazed. I love you, Danny thought. How can I tell you I love you?

'Yeah I'm with the girls – Sandi and I will be in Shox later. You coming?'

Danny nodded as Cherry winked at him before wandering down the road into a distant pub. He had thought the evening would be a pleasant one. His soul shook as he contemplated the impossible opportunity: the excitement of a first snog with Cherry Trove. She wanted to see him in Shox! She. Him.

Inside the pub, and sipping his pint of coke Danny suggested confidentially to Tim perhaps he would be the one borrowing the keys to Charlie Shackleton's sister's flat tonight.

*

The bass inside Shox throbbed like a pulsating heartbeat. It warmed and drew in those who happened to pass nearby, like it exerted a gravity all its own. Danny and Tim stumbled past the bouncers, wielding cheeky smiles like weapons in a war of teen lust. Danny brushed his hand through his hair as he passed over a fiver to the cute girl on the entrance. Only two glass doors separated Danny and Tim from the night's deliciously uncertain adventure.

Blaring dance beats hit their ears amid a cacophony of startling girlish chatter. As they proceeded down the staircase they slowly made their way into the belly of Shox's central dance floor. A narrow platform overlooking it was littered with naked female flesh, their modesties barely covered. A couple of girls, one short and blonde, the other brown haired and fat ,sipped cocktails and watched the dancers below.

'You can have it large mate – I'm going in for the little one.'

Tim joked as Danny took a gulp of his drink. He gazed through the mists of coloured lights and cigarette fumes for Cherry but couldn't see her. Clouds of stage smoke filled the club like bubbles of teenage hedonism. As the thick bass prompted the throng of bodies to writhe and grind on the dance floor Danny was reminded of a Roman orgy he'd discovered in one of Louis Foss' ancient history texts. To walk from a calm and civilised town centre street into a mass of seemingly crazed youth, created an incongruity of wonder inside Danny's mind. The club sizzled with bacchanalian desire. Occupants pushed themselves hard into oblivion as though it were as natural as buying a loaf of bread. At first glance the dance floor appeared as a flailing monster – one body with many arms and legs, their owners indistinct and indistinguishable. After a while Danny began to recognise a few: Sol Castle was dancing gentlemanly with Mary Oconee who smiled, shining crimson cream lips at him as she pirouetted on the spot. Over by the DJ, Dawn Russet argued with Samuel Mills, who was trying to attract the DJ's attention. Bee Dew sat a few metres away, watching the incident with amused interest. She looked pretty in a dark purple top and black skirt. He noticed a few others: Benjamin Sprite chatted up some girl Danny didn't see straight away due to her position behind a pillar. When she emerged the straight golden hair of Amatory Poise came into view and Danny gulped at Benjamin's audacity. How would Nick Fasco – her much older and very muscular boyfriend – react if he saw the two of them fervently flirting?

Johnny Benedict danced with a group of lads including Liam Flicker and Richey Athurston. Hazel Brock snogged some tall boy Danny didn't know and Lorraine Carr was on her own, dancing with her eyes closed. It was a strange scene. Danny reflected how odd it would be to return to class and spend time with these people in the measured and cold environment of study, to try and forget their debauched, experimental antics. Just as he was about to leave, to try and rein in Tim from making a fool of himself with the short blonde, he saw her. A beautiful twirling woman, concave chest and cream cleavage heaving as she slid effortlessly in the middle of the mess. She wore a thin silver dress revealing bare shoulders which stopped just above her knees. She gleamed in the disco lights like a stream of dancing fire. Sandi Burrill, the siren of Plunket's lower-sixth, seemed to be having the time of her life.

*

A few drinks and dances later Tim and Danny began flagging. They collapsed in a nearby alcove from which they made out a few others by the dimness of their glowing cigarette tips.

'I'm toasted,' Tim said, sipping on his beer.

'I'm Danny, nice to meet you,' Danny said, kicking the table absentmindedly. He was about to add another aimless remark when someone sat down next to him. He casually turned to see who it was and found himself looking in the eyes of a drunk Cherry Trove.

'Hallo Danny!'

She hugged him instantly before releasing him just as unexpectedly.

'Great night, isn't it?' she shouted, slightly unnecessarily as they were only inches from each other. Inches, Danny thought.

'I've just been hanging with the girls across town and have finally made it!' She looked at Danny as if she expected a medal for making it into Shox. Danny gazed at her, not sure how to respond, savouring the dark intensity of her eyes, as they burnt hunger into him.

'Met a few boys you know, there's so much talent on the town tonight. A few of them followed us here.'

Danny looked at her again. Should he move in and snog her? He had the opportunity, he had the conversation going. All he needed was the nerve. She. Him.

'Well I'm off for a quick dance. See you'se later!'

Cherry shouted before joining Sandi on the dance floor and grinding inappropriately, and with desperate sexiness to the Spice Girls. Danny looked at his empty palms thinking he had travelled from Everest to Death Valley in a millisecond. Cherry's company had made him feel more alone.

Amanita sang quietly to herself in the corner. The Prodigy blared from the speakers and Liam Flicker lurched onto the dance floor as if the opening siren was a clarion call to his heart. Danny moved to sit next to Amanita.

'Hi babe. Rough night?'

'Danny: these things are always rough, you know that better than me.'

'What's on your mind?'

'I was just thinking about a few things. The Trikill's campaign for an amber alert. They're quite ambitious. I just wonder if I'm going to make it as a journalist. Sometimes I wish I was as ambitious as they are – you know have that kernel of strength to go all the way. Sometimes I doubt I have it.'

Danny looked at her feet, crammed ridiculously into gold high heels.

'I think you're fine the way you are. I wouldn't change you one bit.' Danny said quietly.

He hadn't meant it to sound as profound as it came out. Amanita leant over and kissed him on the forehead. At that moment the air was rent with flying liquid. It seemed to miss Danny on its journey to its intended target. As Danny saw Amanita's dress become soaked in blackcurrant flavoured vodka he twisted his head in time to catch a purple top dart past and out the club door.

'Don't worry, Danny. She can't compete with me in the paper so she has to resort to these cheap tricks.'

'I wonder what she's so angry about,' Danny said aloud, although he was mainly speaking to himself.

As the DJ began to round off his set he and Tim had a last couple of dances, but Danny couldn't see Cherry anywhere. He wanted to track her down. He wanted to see if there was any chance in the reckless despair of the early hours for a quick and easily-forgotten snog. But he knew he would never be able to forget it if it happened. He knew the taste of Cherry's lips on his would last like a lifetime's memory. He swung on the spot, straining his eyes for one last sight of the little ball of mischief. Resigned to another night of pulling failure and concluding she had already left for the evening, presumably with the girls, he sat back into a nearby alcove, empty apart from two people in the corner, enshrouded by the dark. The swirling lights kept their identities momentarily hidden. Danny sat for a few moments, reflecting on the evening's events. He could not call it a raging success but it had not been a complete catastrophe either. His foot had received a good coming out party, he chuckled to himself.

His chuckle was barely audible compared to the deep sexual groan rising from the corner. Danny turned his head to rest his eyes on the couple, now so closely entwined it was difficult to see where one began and the other ended.

Danny was sure the hair on the back of the boy was familiar. Thick black curls, a broad face and chin that reassured with diplomatic solidarity. Yes, it was. Danny was pleased he had recognised the distinctive expression of Richey Athurston. Danny smiled to himself. So Richey was finally getting some. Good for him.

He turned to the girl and like a sweeping paralysis, like a fainting fit, like the irretrievable draining of blood his heart wrenched twenty feet to the deepest darkest pit of his stomach. It felt like dropping from a trapdoor in heaven and being thrust into a private hell.

She had chosen him.

She.

Him.

Not him.

Another

She was kissing him.

Her lips enveloped Richey's with ravenous teen hunger. Her pink lip gloss left light stains on his cheek as she devoured all parts of his mouth. She was not stopping. Her ravishing greed for his tongue was all-consuming. It was not a mistake. Neither was he. It was intended. Despite Danny staring, gawping, his soul crying out in despair they carried on snogging like a couple of fornicating rabbits. The shock fell through him like an old friend. It embraced him and told him that this was what life would be like. Richey Athurston had been chosen, sought and claimed by the devilish charms of the school minx. Now Danny understood, he felt cheap and used. The sugar and sweetness was on the surface. It encased a heart of corrugated stone. In the race to claim romantic targets. Cherry Trove had won.

* * * * *

The soft sun faded. As it receded, dusk once again threatened to steal the twilight. Janna Chisely and Chardelia Foss pedalled hard on their zooming tricycles. Chardelia's purplegold wheels spun and clattered behind Janna's crimson-cornflower frame. Sky blue ribbons fluttered in Janna's blonde wisps as she laughed into the empty horizon, stretching into the sky like an ever-elastic canvas.

'I'm going to beat you,' Janna called as the wind kissed her ivory cheekbones. Right behind her, Chardelia's green tracksuit top shielded her from the rushing breeze. Her small legs barely reached the gold-crested pedals. Her purple pumps made contact with the hard rubber and each time she pressed down she felt soft resistance.

' _I'm going to beat you!' Janna echoed again. Her lead increased as the two small girls sped down the empty quiet country road._

A car appeared in the middle distance.

' _Janna – there's a car coming,' Chardelia shouted, still metres behind her friend. Janna stared into a nearby field at two deer, their heads poking up above the verdant hedgerows. The car's engine growled louder as it grew larger in Chardelia's eyes._

At the last second Janna turned her attention to the road. Her tricycle swerved to the left, into a muddy ditch. Chardelia slowed down and peered at the car as it passed, the unseen driver oblivious to the two racing angels.

' _Are you okay?' Chardelia asked._

She stared at Janna's blonde hair and the blue ribbons now drenched in the squelch of damp mud. However her face shone with excitement.

' _Did you see that car come past? It nearly had me. It nearly had me!'_

Chardelia looked into the open. An outline of a distant forest merged with the darkening sky. The deepening indigo made everything intense. Something close to despair threatened to swallow her whole. It couldn't have been. It was not her car. It was not her father in the driving seat. Or was it? A thin breeze swept down the road and Janna and Chardelia shivered in unison.

' _I think we should be getting back,' Janna said, climbing out of the ditch, and dragging her tricycle with her left hand. 'I want a hot chocolate,' she said simply._

Chardelia stood where she was. Her golden hair swayed slightly in the darkness. What did it mean? She felt utterly alone. The thought crossed her mind if she should keep her secret to herself. The concept this would be her destiny, her final wish, the pounce pony, the one deliberately left behind so others could advance to the future free of the flaw, was yet another unformed idea in her unconscious. Yet it ate away at her. The troubled expression on her face caused Janna to rest small pink hands on Chardelia's shoulders.

' _What is it honey?' Janna said, affection warming her voice._

A pause, an uncertainty. And then release.

' _Did you see who was in the back of that car?'_

' _No – I was too busy trying to get out of its way. Who was it?'_

Another pause, a hateful moment, a wish they could stay forever in this time, the eden of their childhood. Then the crashing force of reality blundered through; an unrelenting bully. Chardelia spoke in a quiet voice.

' _I think it was Robin Vernal.'_

* * * * *

The Great Ship

I climbed it faster than he could chase

It must have been that old war wound

He said. I know the war he is fighting

The masts towered over me until I ascended

Then I towered over everything which makes a change

From being beneath everything

My crow's nest view carries vistas to the sea

And a sight of those chasms and gullies

That define Amberleigh's pocket of land

My eyeball's strain, even the rainbow one

While my legs, unused to this much standing

Ache, and eventually he reaches me, at last

Coming to claim me once again and I squeal

Delighted once more he has made it

A great ship, a bigger boat than ours

Statue

Once more Danny felt the warm embrace of the black angel. He'd forgotten the countless times he realised words were an inadequate tool, a bumpy vehicle to express the melancholic richness of his flailing imaginings. The water ran over his wrists, ruthlessly cooling his body as sticky humidity washed through the window and crawled truth over his curved, broken form.

She had done it. It had been a simple and effortless twist of the knife. The annoying thing was its cloying consistency with her efforts. The subtlety of the meaning was sublimely expressed – not overstated but firm and resolute. Assertive. I will have my fill. Bitch, Danny thought. He wanted to thrice hit her over the head with his better words, his richer thoughts, his ascendant conception. But it would not come. His ideas and beliefs were overshadowed by the menacing darkness of romantic disappointment. It hung: a lantern of void and blackness in a bleak summer sky. Beneath her blustering exterior she'd managed to disguise just how much more reserved than him she really was, , and that really fucked him off. She had kept more within, played each card exquisitely. The thought crossed his mind that even when she met him, even when she implicitly agreed to be with him, she knew. There was someone else, there was always someone else. He was the dupe, the exercise in order to enrage and deliver her true quarry, with her tempting eyes and frequent touches. Her eyes expectant, always waiting for the next move from man. 'What's the plan, Danny?' She had cooed from time to time. She wanted her life made up for her. She was a wolf in sheep's clothing. She was a good time girl. She was a slutty little schoolgirl struggling to grow up. He hated her. He loved her. He wanted to hold her, to experience the sensation of her cuddling him, squeezing his arm whilst snoring softly in his embrace. He had never felt before the warm and physical expression of love, of being needed, wanted, that her pressure on his arm had told him in an instant. That was it. That was the task words could not achieve. They would never reach that pregnancy of meaning with just one flick, one brush, one slight intuitive leap that her raised eyebrow offered. She had used him. He had allowed it to happen, as easy as falling snow on the branch. Why did he continue to let it happen? He had told himself he had wanted it, but what did he really want? Sex or love? Love or sex? Life continually seemed to throw this conundrum his way and whenever he took a guess it was the wrong one, he had picked the door behind which rested a big fat red cross. Someone was telling him the path he was on was destined for dreams only, a solitary road to ruin.

*

Carried away beyond the sea. A solid gold inspiration, a phrase to remind him of that reassuring, glorious, yet underestimated concept. Home. As Danny stepped off the train onto the empty platform at Amberleigh rail station, he breathed in the warm saltiness of the air, a sensation that never failed to stir his soul. Wherever he would wander he knew his heart would remain here, always waiting for him to return. Walking alone through the cobbles of Amberleigh brought an onslaught of nostalgia. It was early Sunday morning, and no shops had opened yet. A few cars trundled along rain-soaked lanes on their way to mass at St Swithin's, Amberleigh's local chapel.

Danny took the path into the centre of Amberleigh, past the local arts shop – Amber Canvas, past Slick Nicks, the hairdresser owned by Nick Fasco, fiancé of Amatory Poise, past O'Donnells the local sweet shop. He turned off on Floriemore Road, the lane that took him down to Amberleigh's harbour, where intermittent twenty pence telescopes lined the beachfront wall. It was quiet here. The sun-bleached houses backed onto cliffs that overlooked the vast ocean like steady eyes, refusing to budge their persistent observation. On he strolled amid flowers and bushes peeping through iron railings to private drives. They filled the road with the scents of fuchsias and marigolds. Custom-designed houses seemed to flourish in Amberleigh. As the cliff ascended Danny glanced at the wood-panelled house with deliberate oblong windows, and the dark haired man behind them, peering out at the coastline beyond. The house behind, which Danny could barely see, was Kaydel Lodge, a superior house oft rented out to passing dignitaries. The white walls and an open attic window looked out over the wood-panelling, on to the North Sea. Through the window Danny thought he heard the distant sound of music: lush strings and tempered beats, drifting in his ears, carried over the sea and far beyond, like an immortal truth.

Winding round more houses, the road eventually led down to the harbour. Here the distant isle of Fourlawns provided a soothing counterpoint to the headland upon which Amberleigh Castle and Plunket's school stood. The bay swung round and through the ocean like a scythe through corn. The meeting of land and sea came unexpectedly, like a miracle or gift from God. Fourlawns seemed to ascend from the lapping waves like an angel. Danny imagined it had risen through the water over centuries to stake divine residence among the mortals who wandered on the mainland.

Few people wandered Amberleigh harbour at this time of day but Danny watched an old fisherman preparing his boat for a day on the rising tides. Although his hat covered his face, Danny felt there was a familiarity to his gaunt features and stooped posture. Like a drug filling Danny's lungs, the sea air was an opiate on which no dealer could ever set a price. As the gilded sun disappeared beyond cumulonimbus Danny reflected on his youth in Amberleigh. The childhood years playing football outside on the cobbles. The trips into town with William to buy the week's food. The emerging profundity of knowledge that time slipped away as surely as the sea beat its insistent drum against Amberleigh harbour. Thoughts of being alone intermingled with yearnings for companionship. They drove a fork in his thinking, conflicting his soul. He knew not which was the best route to take. The time to decide was arriving. Danny could smell spring's relentless passion, transformative and potent. Seasons cared not for how many souls they touched or how many lives it metamorphosed. Shooting roots and sprouting petals, emerging rodents and carpets of grass. It was simply there, a constant reminder of the unnerving and underlying power of nature over humanity.

*

Water spurted out the top of the marble structure like lava from a volcano. An eruption of sanctity, a river flowing from God. Sandi Burrill jumped when the first drop struck the nape of her neck.

'Ooh – I'm getting wet!' she exclaimed, dropping her tuna mayonnaise and cucumber sandwich.

Shoppers walked through town; hurrying to complete errands before the lunch hour expired. Now Danny's year were in the sixth-form, students were allowed to wander beyond the confines of Plunket's for their lunch breaks. Although supposed to be back within the hour, no one ever checked. Seeing as afternoon registration began two hours after the last morning lesson finished, mini-chasms of time now existed into which the lower-sixth poured their own stories and created their own dramas. Danny had been surprised when Sandi approached him at the end of History to ask if he would accompany her down the cobbles for a lunchtime stroll. It had still only taken him two seconds to accept.

Sandi's tender fingers fished into her handbag for her cigarettes. Her decorated fingernails withdrew the white and red striped packet, politely extending one of the pale orange and paper white speckled tubes, and offering it to Danny.

'No thanks,' Danny smiled back.

'I know, it's a terrible habit isn't it?'

Sandi drew the offered cigarette to her own lips and allowed it to bob above her flesh-glossed bottom lip. Danny watched her finger deftly flick the lighter, and the flame erupt from the shiny metal. Submerging the tip in the impossible heat, the glistening smoulder was accompanied by an eruption of pale fumes. Sandi exhaled deeply into the humid summer air. She held the offending poison between two fingers bearing deep scarlet varnish.

'Did you have a good time at Shox the other weekend?' Sandi asked tentatively.

It was on the tip of Danny's tongue to say he had experienced the worst time of his life. Opening verbal floodgates seemed inappropriate in the face of her meek question. Something inside him stirred, adding to his defensive reinforcements. Spurred on by Sandi's intransigent unknowability, he bowed his head and whispered back.

'Yeah – it was okay. How about you?'

Sandi sighed as if the question caused her pain. She drew heavily again on her ciggy and gazed directly at Danny as she breathed out, thick plumes of tobacco smoke billowing across his face.

'Yeah it was okay,' she said steadily, not smiling. Sandi remained looking at him, as if waiting for his lead in continuing the conversation.

'Do you know what revelation I heard?' Danny asked, his mind desperately searching for a new topic in which to direct their chat.

'Nope. What?' Sandi asked. She crossed her legs, which as usual were enshrouded in gleaming tights.

'I heard Louis Foss may let us cross the girl-boy dormitory floor when we go to Poland.'

Sandi gazed at him again. The purposeful steadiness of her wide eyes seemed to destabilise him, and he adjusted his position on the fountain edge.

'That is indeed a useful revelation.'

Sandi smoked intensely until the tool of her addiction had become a smouldering dreg, stamped out beneath her black, high-heeled shoe.

*

Professor Pry positioned a statue on the desk before her A-level students. The marble structure faced the class: its quiet beauty, motionless and still. Danny stared at the curves. Even though the carved stone was stationary, its posture had a dynamic power Danny thought would fascinate any observer.

'What do you think is running through Leontes' mind at this point in the play? Michael Vitus – what are your thoughts?'

The class turned to look back at Michael Vitus. He sat tall and quiet; a silent authority at the back of the room. His penetrating gaze was not deterred by Pry tapping her heel impatiently for his answer.

'I imagine,' Vitus began, 'that Leontes' mind is overshadowed with pain. All the memories of Hermione while alive, the happy, joyful, glorious memories, even those that were melancholy, are now turned bittersweet before the juxtaposition of the present state of affairs. The still, cold and unmoving reality of a body whose life has left.'

Michael's bass voice echoed around the room, and Pry looked impressed.

'Good answer,' she murmured.

Danny spent the rest of the lesson watching Cherry Trove and Richey Athurston throw each other sickening glances. At one point he spotted them hold hands, beneath the desks. Finger by finger their palms came together until they were utterly entwined. It was a dramatic counterpoint to the anguished trauma raging in his brain.

'For your next piece of coursework,' Pry started after they had spent ten minutes discussing the purpose of Hermione's revival with their partners 'I would like you to write fifteen hundred words on why the preservation of Hermione in The Winter's Tale may be perceived as Leontes' blind pursuit. Class dismissed.'

The stampede of clod-hopping Doc Martens and the clip clop of thick girl's heels rang over the wooden floorboards that led away from Pry's domain. Danny hung back, still watching with compulsive envy as Cherry's arm reached across Richey's back when they exited the classroom. Lethargically he picked up his copy of Shakespeare and tossed it in his bag carelessly, gazing helplessly into the empty classroom.

'I would have thought that you would have more respect for master Shakespeare than that Danny?'

Pry considered him curiously from across the room.

'Yeah. So did I.'

Danny's voice was resigned to whatever lecture Pry was about to treat him.

'I thought you may have learnt by now the fickleness of teenage love.'

Pry's voice grew softer as she approached Danny's desk.

'Do you not remember us studying A Midsummer Night's Dream two years hence? Love before twenty is a flighty, unreliable mistress.'

His soul momentarily punctured, Danny rose up, back straight as a board. Flames began to burn in his cheeks.

'Yes well I am still a teenager Professor Pry, and I can also vouch for the terrific force of those "flighty" feelings.'

Pry perched herself on the edge of Saffelia's desk.

'You misunderstand me, Danny.'

Pry's voice was as soothing as the plumage of a soft white swan.

'I am not trying to insult your emotions. I am trying to tell you that this does not look to me like the beginning and the end of the matter. As far as Miss Trove and Mr Athurston are concerned, I believe you may get another chance.'

Danny moved to speak but faltered, not knowing whether to reprimand Pry for taking too personal an interest in his intimate affairs, or to respond with a element of optimism at her pronouncement. In any case it didn't matter, as Pry was now pointing firmly to the door.

'Now, please Master Canterbury – I have marking to do.'

*

Amanita rolled her pen between ink-stained fingers and chewed on the top, a pensive expression drawn on her ruddy features.

'What did she say again?' she asked Tim, who sat at the editorial table, greedily tearing chunks out of a helpless plum with his bare teeth.

'Something about wanting to help out with the Amber-Europe campaign. Said she could use the Post to promote it. Said we should all be working together on something as important as this.'

Amanita scratched her chin, and swivelled her chair so she faced the wall, away from Tim.

'I don't trust that woman,' Amanita said carefully.

'Neither do I,' Tim said, nibbling the remaining flesh from the stone of his plum.

'What did she offer you for imparting this information?' Amanita asked.

Tim stared at her in disbelief.

'Nothing. She just gave me the information,' Tim replied, straining to hide the tension in his voice.

'That's sweet and touching of you to cover up for her Tim, but I think we'd all appreciate a little honesty here. I know what her reputation is like. What was it – a kiss, a snog, or did she give you head in Wilfields' toilets?'

Tim's face grew bright red. A slight sideways glance from Amanita on his burnished face told her all she needed to know.

'It's fine Tim, I'm not offended.'

'Well I am,' Danny burst out from the sofa. 'She never gave me head when she tried to arrange the interview with you!'

The joke broke the atmosphere, and the three of them laughed. Danny looked round at the cheery faces of his friends and reflected how long it had been since the three of them had laughed together like this.

'I would like her to be helping out with this...' Amanita said, musing again on the possibility of involving her mortal enemy in the drive to find Penny Trikill.

'How can you trust her?' Danny asked in a pleading voice. 'How can you trust Winnie and Thea, come to think of it?'

Amanita looked at Danny hard. The wind whistled through the cracks in the window frame and Tim tossed his plum stone into the empty waste paper basket in the corner. The dull thud it made as it collided with the side of the metal bucket split the silence.

'I hope you haven't forgotten your promise,' Amanita said in a quiet voice.

'What promise?' Danny said exasperated, knowing full well which promise Amanita referred to.

'I think we need to get on,' Tim said.

'Okay,' Amanita continued. 'Letters to the editor first. Danny it seems we have had quite a response to your interview with Winnie and Thea. Sonia Fox has written in to say she appreciated hearing the inside story of the disappearance, but she is reserving her judgement until the whole matter is resolved.

Danny looked at Tim and Tim looked right back at Danny. Tim was the first to chip in.

'Well that'll be the first time Sonia Fox has reserved her judgement in anything, including whether or not to keep her skirt on after a wild night out at Shox.'

'How would you know?' Amanita asked politely, but Tim had turned away to look sheepishly in his bag.

'The next letter says it admired us for trying to take a lead on such a big issue, but felt we weren't able to apply the appropriate sense of sensitivity the issue needed.'

'Let me guess,' Danny said, 'Samantha Dew?'

'Correct,' bleated Amanita. 'Next up is a rather confused letter. It says: "I hope the people who took little Penny are found, or caught or whatever. I hope they get what they deserve, but I fear in a society like ours they will never be found, or maybe the whole thing is a conspiracy or something like that. I don't know. Anyway the interview made for interesting reading. I'm glad Danny was the one to write it." This one was signed with just two initials.' Amanita looked up at Danny, bracing herself for something. 'The initials were R.V.'

Danny looked up at the ceiling.

'A cruel joke?' he offered.

'Yes, it must be Danny, but here's the thing I don't get and I have read the letter over and over again. The letter or note or whatever is sincere – if it was someone playing a joke they might have said things much worse, or provocative, don't you think?'

Danny was still looking at the ceiling, trying to portray the image of not caring, trying to forget the pounding beneath his ribs that Robin Vernal could still be alive and trying to contact him again. It was too much, too tantalizing. The sigh he gave to Tim and Amanita was not a sigh of weariness at someone tricking him, but a sigh that for the next couple of weeks the possibility of Robin's existence would fill his mind with grim melancholy and a gnawing yearn to see her again.

'Okay – articles for the next issue. In line with Deirdre Quinine's wishes we are required to cover school issues closely, but in our own inimitable style...Timothy I'd like you to cover the minutes of the next PATS meeting to be held – ' Amanita broke off to flick through her diary, in which Danny was sure every social event in the school life of Plunket's was listed, ' – to be held next week in Amberleigh town hall. I'm sure it'll be an interesting evening.'

'I'm sure it won't', Tim interrupted. 'Why am I landed with this piece of junk?' Tim complained, pulling a bag of cheese, onion and pickle crisps out of nowhere, and opening it loudly.

'One of the items on the agenda is the formation of a new buddy system in Plunket's where an older student gives a younger student advice once a month, on, well, on any issues they might be dealing with at the time.'

'Why would that be of interest to me?' Tim asked, echoing Danny's unspoken thoughts.

'Because it's for females only.'

Tim looked at Amanita carefully.

'So would an older student be, obliged to, you know, give the younger student any coaching or training in the, you know, sexual arena?'

Amanita ignored Tim and turned to Danny.

'Danny – I'd like you to write the report of our forthcoming Polish trip. The journey, the students and teachers who are going, the atmosphere and the ambience. Will that be okay?'

Danny looked at the floor, silently entering euphoria. At last, he thought, a real writing challenge.

'I'll do it,' he murmured.

'Good.' Amanita said. She paused thoughtfully before adding. 'You know you two are so my bitches.'

The resulting shouts and insults hurled at Amanita echoed down the staircase, along the corridor, to the other end where a silent witness stood and waited, breathing in every syllable.

*

Danny groaned beneath the weight of books in his bag. It was heavier than usual, having to bring the guide his father had lent him for Poland. He'd also collected up the prospectuses, or 'prospecti' as he liked to referred to them, for his chosen six university applications. It would be another year before he would need to make the applications, but he needed them to do further research, if only to see the likelihood of him hooking up in his chosen cities.

Waiting in the corridor where the sixth-formers hung out before class, he pulled out the Poland guide and flicked through it. No sooner had it emerged from his wilting bag then five friends had surrounded him. Liam, Benjamin, Hazel, Mary and Sonia.

'Hey Danny, what'dya got there?' Liam said, pulling the guide clean from his hands and going straight to the photos in the centre of the book. One displayed a cathedral sitting atop a hill overlooking a river, upon the banks of which sat a golden dragon. Another showed a huge square, with a large building and tower in the centre, reminiscent, Danny thought, of Covent Garden. The final photo showed a complex of redbrick buildings, bright and vivid on what was surely a glorious summer's day. They sat behind a fence, and a wrought metal gate with a curved arch over the top, bearing illegible markings. Danny swept the book back with his left hand.

'It's nothing Liam. Haven't you got better things to be doing, like chasing girls or working on your quickstep?'

Liam had continually been teased about his disastrous dance lessons with the late Ursula Calcite a year before. If it wasn't the quickstep it was the waltz or the rhumba or the tango.

Liam grinned generously and sat down on the bench.

'Seriously Canterbury, I have heard those Polish birds are not too shabby, and what's more, they're not as stuck up as the local talent. They'll put out after only one drink.'

Danny looked Liam in the face.

'Is that all you're interested in, Liam?' he asked gently.

'Yes – what else is there?' Liam grinned back before standing up again. 'We'll have to figure out a way of getting out of the dorms at night though. The local nightclub is within walking distance. We're already arranging the rendez-vous with the girls dorm. Want in?'

Liam offered his hand and held it out to Danny as the question lingered. He had never done this before. Polish girls, Danny thought. He had seen a few pictures Samuel had been intent on showing him. Downtrodden and confused he had thought, but not without hidden prettiness. He shook Liam's hand firmly and Liam winked.

'This'll be one trip we'll not forget.'

In history Foss ran through last minute arrangements for the trip.

'Our itinerary means we will fly in on the Friday night. We will stay at a hostel on the edge of Krakow. The following day we will visit the town centre and you will have some time for shopping. On the Saturday evening we will all eat dinner with the owners of the hostel, and another grouping of sixth- form students who are also visiting from Devon. Then,'

Louis looked pointedly at a few people – Danny, Liam and, for some reason, Samuel

'We will all have an early night, for the following day we will visit Auschwitz. We will get a train service and a bus will take us to the gates of the camp. For those of you who have no idea of what to expect I recommend you read about it beforehand. Visiting Auschwitz for the first time is not an experience for the faint-hearted.'

Foss looked at his history class. Danny could only imagine what he was thinking. Perhaps he was thinking of Chardelia, at peace now, like all the Jewish victims. Perhaps he was thinking of something else.

'On Sunday evening we shall all meet together. To share our thoughts on the visit with each other. Then we shall have an evening of music. A local guitar player will be in residence at the hostel and has offered to stop by our group to share a few local Polish songs.'

Liam Flicker and Cedric Claw looked at each other and rolled their eyes.

'Our flight back to the UK leaves on the Monday morning and we will need to be at the airport for eight o'clock in order to make our flight back. This means we will be rising at six o'clock...'

Louis was interrupted by a loud groan from his class. He increased the volume of his voice.

'There shall be no exceptions.'

'That's the attitude sir,' Cedric was saying, 'just like the Nazis.'

Danny felt the chill in Foss' disposition immediately. His face, usually loose and amenable, grew rigid and red. Lines materialised in his forehead and cracks curved in his cheeks. His voice had been monotonous and bored but now it turned deadly soft, laced with danger. At seconds he was standing by Cedric's desk, staring down with vivid green eyes – Chardelia's eyes, thought Danny – at the petrified, displaced Claw.

'What was that you said boy? Dare you compare me to mass murderers?'

Foss leant down and whispered something in Cedric's ear. The next thing Danny saw was Cedric slump in his chair with his head to one side. He had fainted.

'Flicker and Cloves – please remove Claw from this classroom.'

Shocked, Liam and Edmund got up and dragged Cedric, one arm each around their shoulders, out the classroom. For a few moments no-one said anything. Then a pale hand rose into the air.

'Please sir, you were explaining the itinerary?' Rosetti Duocorn asked.

'Yes, yes that's right Rosetti. On the Monday we will fly back to the UK. I shall expect everyone to be dressed and ready to leave the hostel at six forty-five sharp. The bus leaves at ten to seven and takes an hour.'

When the class had finished, Danny hung back, waiting for the last few students to disappear through the door.

'Yes, Canterbury – you wanted something? What is it?' Foss asked irritably. Danny knew he would have to tread carefully.

'I was wondering sir...'

It was no good. He was going to need some pressing.

'Yes?' asked Foss, the question hanging in the air like a bullet waiting to strike Danny in the chest.

'I was just wondering, if maybe you were a bit hard on Claw? I'm sure he was just being silly as usual.'

'I'm sure he was,' Foss said, breathing a sigh of relief.

Danny looked at his teacher. A deep shade of gold glimmered in his hair, complementing the green tinge emanating from his olive eyes. Just gazing at him Danny received the strongest impression so far of what a struggle Louis Foss' life was, and how far Danny was from comprehending the truth of it all.

'How about you, Canterbury? How's it going in your quest for your childhood friend? Robin, isn't it? I read your interview with the Trikills – very good, I thought.'

'Thank you sir,' Danny said, blinking at this unexpected praise.

'You must never give up in your search Danny, even if it becomes difficult. In fact when it is most difficult that is exactly when you must not surrender to disbelief or weariness or indifference. That is when you might be the closest to her.'

Danny shuffled his feet and allowed his eyes to drift to the milky-blue sky beyond the window and then back again to Foss. Wild emerald eyes sat beneath a golden kiss-curl which folded down his long roman nose.

'Do you think she will ever return?' Danny asked. Again the question hung like a portent had just been opened that had for years, decades, or perhaps millennia remained concealed.

Foss released into Danny's eyes a gaze of such bittersweet pity he involuntarily stepped back.

'Danny Canterbury – I cannot answer that question for you. You must look inside and answer it for yourself. Class dismissed,' Foss said, even though there were just the two of them standing in the otherwise empty classroom.

Beamish

Miniature village from history

Reminds me of his story and His story

But what about my story

The sun bakes the cement beneath my

Parched sandals, warming my soles

And making me squint

Yet the train box beyond looks dark

Cast in violet shadow

Like a silhouette that remains apart

A violent secret, the truth we both share

But I bag a candy ball and pop it

While my moist gums weather away the sugar

Like that hard boiled cube was destined for me

And they keep me quiet

On the row back home

Dr Dermot Thimball

Olive Spritser and Benjamin Sprite stood facing each other before Wonder's front desk, masquerading as a makeshift altar. Wonder, looking ridiculous in a cassock, stood between them. He grinned like a playful prankster, with the glee of one who had succeeded in implementing some hilarious jape.

'Dearly beloved,' Wonder called out, while Benjamin rolled his eyes and Olive checked the gloss varnish peeling from her nails. 'We are gathered here to celebrate the joining of this football prodigy and this netball honey.'

Olive raised her eyebrows as Wonder spoke, secretly trying to suppress her delight that Wonder had called her a 'honey'. Benjamin remained oblivious.

'Best man – do you have the rings?'

Wonder looked over at Danny standing to the side of Benjamin, holding a metal keyring in one hand, and an embarrassing piece of twine wrapped with some tin foil. He placed both in Wonder's outstretched palm, breathed a sigh of relief, and stepped back.

'Benjamin, repeat after me:

"I Benjamin Xavier Sprite..."'

It was no use. The class' giggles, which had been underlying the scene since its beginning, now erupted into deafening hilarity. Danny too couldn't help himself from laughing. Dawn Russet had to put her fist in her mouth to stop herself from falling over with the force of the comedy. Benjamin's middle name. Benjamin rolled his eyes, and hopped on the spot, nervously.

'Ladies and gentlemen, Benjamin's middle name is nothing to laugh about. Francis Xavier was a very important saint. Born in a castle much like Amberleigh's, in Spain in 1506, Xavier became a founder of the Jesuit order. He travelled, and devoted much of his life on missions in India and Japan. Sadly he was only forty-six when he passed away on an island in China.

'It is important we all have a go at this. I would like you to get into pairs and spend five minutes planning what you would say in your vows if you were to be married tomorrow. Remember, marriage is the only sacrament not a gift from God – it is a gift you give to each other. Be careful to be honest and spend time practising saying your vows to each other. I will be picking a couple at random to come up here and recite their vows in front of the rest of class.'

Danny was paired with Dawn. She strolled over from the other side of the classroom. She wore a stone-washed pink tee that strained at her chest. Wavy brown hair fell like rainfall over her shoulders. Bearing coral-stained lips she offered a faint smile to Danny as she sat beside him.

'So...'

Danny began, not failing to notice Dawn's mauve mascara inadequately covered the slight bruising he saw around her eye.

'So?' Dawn retorted, defensively.

'Do you know what your vows at your wedding would be?'

'I've got a pretty good idea, yes.'

Dawn spoke sharply in clipped vowels and pinched consonants.

'Well why don't you go first then,' Danny said, 'I need a bit of time to think up mine.'

Dawn reached for Danny's hand and pulled it towards her. Danny was not expecting this, but didn't pull away. There was something strange and alluring watching Dawn murmur vague promises in his eyes. The index finger on her right hand stroked the knuckle on his left.

'With this ring I thee wed, with this body I thee worship. I promise to love, honour and obey – yeah and the rest you fool! Like the fuck I'd marry you after what you've done to me. All my friends think you're a loser, that you have to...'

Say it, Danny thought. For God's sake, say it.

But it was too late. Dawn was in tears and Wonder was only a step away with his magical handkerchief, ready to escort her away into his world.

*

Tapping his foot steadily in time to the music blaring through his walkman, Danny waited for his sister. The beat rang in his ears insistently, a cascading flow of refreshing sounds. At moments like this, when smooth vocals of an American supreme complemented a soothing backdrop of mellow strings and soaring melodies, Danny wondered how poor his life would be without sweet music. Sometimes he felt it was too much to not launch himself into the near-empty car park with the force of a million rock postures and air-mic gestures.

Polly's deaf support group ran every Saturday afternoon. She'd started going three years ago and to date had never missed a single one. Danny didn't know many others who attended; it was a rule of the group that no-one who was not hearing-impaired could enter the room once the meeting began. Danny knew many came from the local towns and villages surrounding Amberleigh.

At three o'clock out trundled Polly, carrying her duffel bag, smiling at Danny in imitable innocence. She signed to him – 'Where now Bro?'

Danny reached out his hand and signed back.

'How about I take you for a coffee?'

Polly jumped up and clapped her hands in delight. As he waved her ahead, she walked to the café while Danny wiped a moisture from the corner of his eye. His sorrow derived not from pity that Polly had never heard the sound of music. Neither was it because Polly had never heard the sound of her family or anyone else for that matter. It was because he had never heard Polly's voice. She was already at the counter ordering a caramel macchiato for him. He smiled at her as she gazed eagerly back at him, holding out a piece of blueberry muffin as a tantalizing tempter.

*

As she perched over the reception desk, and Deirdre Quinine's long legs stretched out, her bum strained against her russet skirt.

'Benjamin, darling – could you reach the file on the top shelf for me?'

Benjamin jumped off his stool and reached up and in his moment of helpfulness, Danny caught Deirdre gazing at Ben's bottom. What a hypocrite, Danny thought. He had been approaching Benjamin to ask if he wanted a quick game of five-a-side after school. Now that Quinine was clearly eyeing Benjamin up Danny was caught between the corridor and the trophy cabinet, not wanting to disturb Quinine's private fantasy. If anyone walked past they would ask Danny what he was doing in the middle of the reception area, watching Quinine watching Benjamin. He would be rumbled and the silent illusion would be shattered.

At that fearful moment the two oak doors to St Oliver Plunket's swung open. A man who Danny thought looked like Indiana Jones stood silhouetted against the light. He was dressed in a tweed suit, waistcoat replete with stopwatch, and a brown brimmed hat rested lopsided on his broad skull. Striding into school, he gazed left and right before deciding upon approaching the reception desk. Danny noticed the man's left hand shook, or rather vibrated, at an imperceptible rate. In his right hand he carried a scruffy brown briefcase locked with gold clasps. It looked like it might collapse at any second. Quinine received her sheaf of papers from Benjamin and, glancing once at the arrival of the guest, hurried into her office.

Danny sat on one of the chairs and decided to wait until Benjamin became free.

*

It was only later in the day Danny discovered the identity of the mystery guest. Sitting quietly in Bookshelf, Plunket's school library and flicking through an encyclopaedia of Shakespeare's contemporaries, the door opened. Quinine and the man in the tweed suit entered.

'Ah the further adventures of Christopher Marlowe!' Quinine exclaimed as she approached Danny's desk.

He looked up, a confused expression crossing his face.

'Actually it's John Webster at the moment Miss.'

Danny cast his eyes again on the man in the tweed suit. He gazed upon Danny with soft hazel eyes. They seemed to express intrigue. A moment of silence divided the conversation whilst Quinine recovered from her miscalculation.

'Daniel Canterbury – may I introduce Dr Dermot Thimball? Dr Thimball is here to speak to you about...'

Quinine's voice faded. She looked to the ceiling for inspiration how she might express her next thought. She needn't have bothered as Thimball interrupted her, entering the conversation directly. Close-up his face looked crinkled and tanned, like someone had scrunched up a brown paper bag. When he spoke his voice was as clear as crystal waters absorbing sun from a translucent sky.

'I am here from a group who represent journalists within the local area. I am here to speak to you about a story we intend to run in the next few weeks. It's a story concerning Robin Vernal.'

Although Thimball successfully grasped Danny's attention, Danny was not sure he wanted to render this recognition outwardly. Not to this man, not just yet. His trust in anyone mentioning Robin was still gossamer thin. Quinine stood wavering. As if deciding whether to leave or pull up a chair and direct the interview. Danny fingered the page in his book lazily, giving no indication what Thimball had said was of any interest whatsoever, even whilst his heart performed a somersault. Eventually he decided the break the ice, and sell his politeness.

'Would you like to sit down sir?'

With Danny's sharp look connecting with her hazyviolet eyes, Quinine excused herself. Thimball rested his briefcase on the table and withdrew a plastic folder containing some papers. Danny peeped at it and spied a couple of newspaper copies. Beneath them gleamed the laminate shine of what could only be a photograph. He rested his briefcase back on the floor and sat, facing Danny, still considering him with intrigue.

No-one else studied in the library apart from Dawn Russet, who assisted putting books back during lunchtimes. Danny heard her snuffle from behind one of the bookshelves. A cold had been passed from class to class round the school. It seemed Dawn had succumbed.

'Aren't you going to ask me what this is all about?'

Thimball spoke again in that clear voice that reminded Danny of television news reporters. Presenters who place their stresses on words in such an obvious way so as to be permanently patronising to their viewers.

Danny found it difficult to know how to behave. A strange man had been introduced who claimed to know something of Robin and a newspaper story. Inside his stomach squirmed with anticipatory delight. Outside he hesitated, not wanting to surrender too many of his precious memories, and fragile hope. Accepting to this stranger a possibility he might see Robin again, might tempt him down an irrevocable path leading to emotional destruction. Besides, what did this man want? It can't have been purely to provide Danny with information.

'I have a story to tell Danny Canterbury, and I would be grateful for you to listen carefully to what I have to say. You may decide to act upon it, you may decide to do nothing. In any event it is imperative I pass on to you information I have uncovered. It may have an important bearing on your future, although it is impossible to say what.'

The man's haunting vowels and punctured consonants rang in the empty air. Again Danny felt he was listening to someone reading the news. There was something demeaning about the grand words he chose. All those words that began with 'imp'. Danny's eyes widened and when he nodded for Thimball to continue, he resolutely avoided admitting to himself he was half breathless at what Thimball would say next.

'A few years ago, about ten to be exact, I was working on a newspaper in a small town not far from here. It was called the Brownleaf Herald. It was a nice little paper – small, provincial but with an honest eye for the community it served. I joined as a graduate trainee – there were two places at the paper, the other was given to a girl who had also just graduated. Together we worked closely on the newspaper, and learned about the profession of journalism under the guidance of a brilliant editor – a man named John Copter. Myself and my fellow trainee gradually sought bigger, more dramatic stories. We progressed through the ranks until we both attained the status of senior writers, still under the pupillage of Copter. He supplied all his staff with strength and self-belief. We produced incisive local stories as a result, and forged closer links with the community. It was a golden time – we all worked as a team and our little unit felt like a mini-family.

'Sadly, a great tragedy then occurred. Out investigating a local murder one day, John Copter was struck by a car on the country roads outside Forradern. He was killed instantly. It is impossible to communicate to you just how devastated we both were by John's demise. He was like a father to us both. One minute he was there, the next he was gone. We mourned his passing and the whole community turned out for his funeral. It was a time of deep sadness but also profound togetherness.

'We now faced a gaping hole in our lives, but also in our livelihoods. The much-respected editor of our paper was gone, and there was a vacancy for a very big and powerful editor to fill. It crossed my mind to apply for it, but my female colleague, who had grown and developed with me, convinced me not to. She said it would be distasteful to think either of us could hope to succeed him so soon. I respected her opinion greatly – not as much as Copter's, but now he was gone there were few others I trusted more. She told me she intended to leave the country to recover from the death fully. She even told me she was changing professions; that she was going to do voluntary work overseas. I didn't want to work on the paper either without her or my former editor. So I decided not to apply while I decided what to do next. The next week, I discovered my female colleague had secretly applied for the editorship, and being the only senior applicant in the pool, succeeded. She now became my new boss.

'For me it was a huge betrayal, not just because she dissuaded me from applying for a position in retrospect I knew would naturally have been mine, but because she used the memory of our editor and mentor to progress her career. I have never forgiven her. Shortly after that I left the Brownleaf Herald. She eventually moved on to a bigger paper, where she would capture national stories. You may have heard of her...'

Danny barely needed to hear anymore, the trade mark treachery had already led him to the identification. Nevertheless Thimball continued.

'She's just won the editorship of the Amberleigh Post. Her name is Bee Dew.'

Danny's eyes kept a steady gaze on Thimball, even though his heart raced. Thimball could see Danny was ready for him to continue.

'I can see my revelation has not surprised you. I did not think it would. Bee has never been afraid of making enemies. I think in journalism any fear like that would get you found out quickly. But she seems to make a virtue of generating hatred.'

Thimball gulped. He seemed vulnerable, and Danny now saw the creases and bags under his eyes were like trenches of doubt.

'There is something else; there is always something else. I should declare a personal grievance against her, before I tell you anymore, lest you become too swayed by my naked subjectivity. I do not wish for you to find this out further down the line – it might cause you to discard my story as revenge. Maybe it is, but I think it is more than that. Bee and I had an affair for several years. I believed I loved her; I believed she would leave her fiancé for me. In the end I discovered it was a game. She dumped me when she discovered I couldn't provide her with children. The one reason she dated me, and took me as her fiancé was, to excuse the pun, impotent.'

Danny looked down at his hands. He felt slightly embarrassed. Why was this strange man telling him all this? It was not proper, in the middle of the library, in the middle of the day, while the sun was shining and afternoon lessons beckoned. If any time was appropriate for this conversation, it should be under moonlight, somewhere secret, when they had both had a couple of drinks, and their voices were gravelly from smoking too many cigarettes. Like in the movies.

'Excuse me sir, but what has all this to do with Robin Vernal?'

Danny carried steely kindness in his voice.

'I am coming to that Danny. I implore you not to be impatient; impatience can deprive you of the one thing which you are searching.'

This seemed a curious phrase to issue, for someone who didn't know Danny from the next person but Danny did not interrupt. His own curiosity was now aroused.

'As I was saying, Dew dropped me impolitely like a ball in the ocean. It was an effortless and easy experience for her, no doubt, while I was left with no John Copter and no partner to share my life with. I don't mind telling you it was an exceedingly dark time of my life, and during it dark thoughts imprinted themselves on me as a consequence. But I made it through. That is why I am here. I do not wish Dew's obsession for her own career to destroy the only hope that exists of finding Robin Vernal alive again

Thimball's closing statement struck Danny like a silver arrow through the heart. Hope, again, alive. Another believer. Where did they all come from? From beneath rocks, or just beyond heaven's veil? Danny's jaw dropped. Not feeling able to articulate words while he collected his thoughts, a pleading passion grew in his eyes and begged Thimball to continue. The story raised more questions that required satiation. However, instead of answering them Thimball asked Danny a direct question.

'Tell me Danny, were there any distinguishing characteristics about Robin?'

It was a question that returned memories of sitting in a soft-lighted room and being gently spoken to by a pretty lady in uniform, knelt on one knee, wearing a flat, police blouse. Danny knew Thimball had stolen the question directly from the police report into her disappearance. Old hopes and fears now intermingled with the new ones. Where would Danny start – Robin's insatiable appetite for playing in the street, the laughing and giggling that dominated her face, the smooth childish dimples on her tiny rosy cheeks, the bouncing brown bob that framed her face and made her into a chirpy and playful feminine manifestation of her namesake. In the end, Danny knew what Thimball was fishing for, knew that Thimball already knew himself – he just wanted to have Danny confirm it. Now Danny was the one with the information to relay.

'Before I say it, before I tell you what I am sure you know already, can I just say this? Over the past year there has been a lot of talk on the news about missing children, abductees if you will. There is absolutely no reason why Robin Vernal should be prioritised over any of the others. She should be no more important to you, me, the authorities or the impertinent national media than a small child who goes missing in Liverpool, Brixton or Aberdeen.'

Thimball looked at him curiously, and Danny gazed right back. A battle of wills was breaking out. Thimball could tell Danny did not want Thimball to know just how much Robin meant to him.

'I understand Danny. There is an equality in your mind not present in the minds of most honest journalists. Class is a peculiarly British obsession. The media generate substantial profits by cashing in on it, and yes, because of this they may indeed perpetuate it. It is an honourable statement you make, but let us be honest with each other. Your childhood friend, your one loss has haunted you through your school years. Believe me this may well be your one and only chance to find her again.'

Thimball ceased talking to pour emphatic silence into Danny's eyes. A sparkling silver tear crowned at the edge of Danny's duct. For a moment, Danny allowed the silence its seat, like an angelic monarch, reigning in a kingdom of oblivion. Then Danny broke the atmosphere with the solitary admission he had not repeated in a decade of monochrome.

'Robin's left eye showed all the colours of the rainbow.'

*

Bursting

I watch the bees burst inside the flower

Into the popping apex of the stem

Into the fizzing postures of loss

Into the centre of the petals

Searching for cherished chutes of pollen

I see the shifting felt mass of cloud

A canvas of triumph floating vast

Throughout the artist's palette

And wonder

Then, I gaze at fate, and people

Like they are my friends

Like they know me

And rescue me

Then I forget again, and I breathe.

Amber-Leigh

Danny fingered the edges of Dr Dermot's Thimball's card, repeatedly pressing the sharp corners into the ball of his thumb. They were not piercing enough to draw blood, no matter how hard he pressed. While he bled emotion inside, his skin was thick, calloused, resisting. He turned the card over. On the back Thimball had written a time and a location. No more. This would be the appointment Danny must meet. A promised time when Thimball would elaborate more on the circumstances in which he had explored Robin's disappearance. Stem-thin hopes flourished inside Danny like dormant clumps of wild flowers, gushing and wilting, to spring alive again. He glanced at his watch.

'Fuck,' he exclaimed out loud. He was late.

As he rushed down the first floor corridor, shoelaces trailing on the polished aertex floor, the delicate vision of the cover of the book he was reading for his private lesson flashed in his mind. A woman resting in a warm comfortable looking whicker chair. She was reading a book and sitting in a living room, in front of a fireplace above which hung a framed picture of industrial diagrams. Her hair was tied at the back in a brown bob similar, Danny thought, to the one Robin Vernal wore, when her hair was not loosed, wild and free.

Louis Foss awaited Danny in his study. Danny knocked twice before hearing the high-pitched Foss speak in his flute voice: 'Enter.'

Danny had never been in Foss' office before. The roof was shaped like a church, the ceiling curving from the window towards the apex. The small latticed aperture looked out onto rampant, thrashing waves below. The filtered sound of water broke from the rocks at the bottom of the headland and carried on the wind sweeping off the ocean. It was neither ceiling nor sea which captured Danny's attention. It was the books. Hundreds of them. Foss' desk seemingly struggled under the weight of book piles. Above and either side of the window sat five small bookcases, that were nothing compared to the massive rack of full shelves on adjacent walls. They even hung on the door from which he had entered the room. When he shut the door the entrance camouflaged into apparent invisibility. Danny's eyes ranged over the books: books on gardening, children's books, books on literature, history, politics, art and philosophy. One entire shelf contained every Penguin nineteenth-century classic, while another held a range of dictionaries and thesaurus. Opposite shelves bore books on God, world religions, as well as volumes on human sexuality. Danny had never seen so many books crammed in such a small space before. It was an imposing sight, even for a growing boy of seventeen.

Louis Foss perched on the desk facing Danny, and beckoned him to sit on the only chair in the room. Masses of papers, essays Danny presumed, sat on book stacks of varying heights in the middle of the room. Danny tried to negotiate a path to the seat without forcing any papers to topple, but encountered a few wobbles as he moved.

'Have you read the story we discussed?' Foss asked kindly.

'Yes sir. I've read it.'

'What did you think of it?'

'I...er...thought it was good. Yeah, I liked it,'

Danny spoke hesitantly back at the young teacher. Foss looked at him sternly.

'Is that what you are going to say when they ask you about it at your university interview?'

Danny blushed.

'What you need to convey is that you understand the themes of paralysis central to the overarching coherent narrative that runs through each story in the book. You need to demonstrate you can speak confidently about the downtrodden characters, and how their environment precipitates their subsequent actions. You should comment on the quality of language used, and try and ascertain what motifs and symbols this particular story contributes to the whole collection.'

Danny glanced round him, at the bursting shelves, at the wealth of literature stored in this tiny room. Foss looked at him kindly again.

'Go on, Danny, have another go.'

*

'The Amberleigh Post reported at the weekend that the missing persons fund has now reached half a million pounds.'

A cold breeze blew through cracks in the window. Amanita had collected local and national newspapers in their weekly discussion of news for Communiqué, and gradually flicked through the pages of the paper now operated by her nemesis.

'It seems someone we all know is particularly happy about it.'

Amanita rolled her eyes in a gesture to Tim and Danny to indicate she was reading Bee Dew's column.

'Miss Dew says "It is with great pleasure I can report the generosity of the Amberleigh community in contributing nearly twenty thousand pounds towards this total, through jumble sales, fetes and the sponsored bunjee jump by my colleagues Paula Milljug and Rosanna Hartley. Thanks to their local spirit and gusto we can stand proud as one of the highest contributing communities in the UK to the missing persons fund..." she goes on with similar drivel for another two paragraphs. Honestly, when is someone going to relieve that woman of her terrible writing?'

Tim was playing hopscotch at the other end of the press room, and paused, balancing on one leg.

'I always said she was bad news.' Tim said absent-mindedly.

'No you didn't Tim, you said she had sexy legs and a bust you wouldn't mind...'

'Yes, well I was young and innocent then, wasn't I?'

Tim cut her off irritably.

'I don't think you were ever innocent.'

Amanita put the paper down and wiped a brown curl from her forehead. Danny reached for a copy of the Daily Mail and began to flick through it.

Tim landed with a thud on one of the squares in his make shift hopscotch, and a loud bang came from the room below in response.

'Sorry!' Tim bellowed.

'I thought only girls played hopscotch,' Amanita said, curling her lip.

'You thought wrong then, didn't you?' Tim replied, taking a seat at the editorial table and drumming his fingers onto the hard polished surface.

'How about a review of that new nightclub that's opening up in Fairleagh for the next issue of Communiqué?' Tim asked, hopefully.

'Absolutely not,' Amanita replied, standing up to leave.

'Wait a minute,' Danny said, looking intently at the paper. 'Fuck me!' he exclaimed, staring as if he could burn a hole through it with his eyes.

'I'd rather not,' Tim replied, 'I'm not sure we're right for each other.'

*

As the sun set on a somnolent Saturday evening, torpid sheets of silver mist descended on the rolling hills and satin fields surrounding Amberleigh. Birds flitted from tree to tree, occasionally tweeting half-songs whilst daffodils bloomed lazily below. As the frozen season's grip on Amberleigh loosened it made way for the softer snow of benign cherry blossom. It scattered the roads, blowing delicately from trees into random paths.

A cool breeze traversed sprightly leaves on the patio behind Wilfields. It led directly to the precipice the deep waters below. Danny smelled the chlorophyll rush, rising steeply to him from swift currents. It mixed with the salty sea air. Trees budded with maddening frequency. Life was beginning again, just when the alien intransigence of winter made it look like it had been dead forever.

At the edge of the beer garden Danny rested his arms on the rickety wooden fence and gazed into the distance. Somewhere out there, he thought, lay peace and heaven. Somewhere unattainable, like the untouchable horizon where the sky meets the sea. Was it possible? Was it perhaps true the girl he once lost, and had accepted he would never see again, could return to his life like the oncoming spring after a cold winter? The hope was too deeply cherished and china-fragile for words. He dare not believe. The weight of optimism and excitement could crush him if it reverted to disappointment, his life's default setting. Clouds crossed the headland, scudding the vast sky with pewter shades. A light drizzle fell. On the sea, a panoply of colours reflected on the rippling water. It felt like a fleeting flash of Godly inspiration. Danny knew without looking up. He glimpsed the bow in his watch's reflection. Stunning colours streaked across the sky as if they had been there for eternity.

A hand grasped his shoulder and Danny turned around to face Dr Dermot Thimball.

'Let's go for a drink,' he said.

*

'I have a lead.' Thimball said, sipping on his bourbon.

Danny stared into his deep brown eyes, similar to his own. His penetrating gaze held a question he would never verbalise.

'A few weeks ago, there was a sighting of a teenage girl outside a school in France. Locals said she was called Minerva, and had been seen regularly for a few months in the area. She didn't attend the school, but could often be seen outside the school at the end of the school day. Then one day she stopped appearing. One of the schoolchildren's parents recalls seeing a gentleman who would come to lead her away with his hand, whenever she was seen.'

Thimball took another sip of his bourbon, while Danny looked out the window. The wind stirred the trees, tossing their branches hither and thither, in some random rhythm. He had heard these stories before – in newspapers, on the television, from the police when Robin first went missing. None of them came to anything. Why should this one be any different?

'What was striking about the continued reappearances of this girl was that the primary school children flocked to her when they saw her. One particular parent, Constance Barthes, reported Minerva had a way with the little ones that was, well to use her exact words...'

Thimball fumbled for a crumpled piece of paper in his tweed jacket.

'She was "enchantement". Enchanting.'

'Anything else?'

Danny gazed into the glass, studying the way the wind affected the sway of the grass and how the grass held on, deeply rooted despite its short height.

Thimball paused to down the rest of his syrupy drink. Ice cubes jangled as he slammed the glass down on the shiny mahogany.

'You know there was Danny. You must have guessed by now. The little girls noticed the mysterious stranger had, what one called, a psychedelic eye.'

Danny finally poured his cautious gaze back into the doctor. He watched grey hairs peep from behind his ears and, like corrugations in cardboard, wrinkles form on his yellow forehead. There was a truth and honesty to the man's perseverance. His sincerity struck Danny as a counterpoint to Dew's hyperbole. Whatever he was doing, he was doing not out of personal gain but to further some concealed mission.

'There could be hundreds of girls with the same condition as Robin.'

Danny's retort was as blank as it was misleading. He did not want Thimball to detect his heart was leaping through walls.

'There could be, indeed there probably are. However, there is something even more specific that ties this sighting to Robin.'

'What's that?' Danny asked, instinctively.

Dr Dermot Thimball reached into his tweed jacket again and this time pulled out a small rag doll. It's bright pale face was lit by spiky yellow hair and a bold red smile curved across the fabric. Her blue gingham dress was tatty and gave the doll the appearance of being old and discarded.

'Constance gave me this doll. She said Minerva had passed it to her young daughter as a leaving present.'

'It's a doll,' Danny said, remembering Robin's sweetness but beginning to feel his hopes fade once more. Did Thimball expect him to recognise significance in this. 'What use is this little doll?'

'Before I tell you I must explain something. Constance Barthes and her little daughter Sophie live alone in a region of France that is notoriously poor. Constance herself left school at sixteen – she is not what one would call a worldly woman.'

Danny's frustration and anger was beginning to boil over. Just when he had come so close, just when a glimmer of golden hope shone through the door of despair, Thimball waffled on about his weak sources. It was too much. He could feel his face burning up, that glimpse of possibility being crumpled in the flame. About to burst, Thimball held up his hand for silence.

'Sophie Barthes told me the little doll's name herself.'

Someway, somehow, Danny knew the answer a millisecond before Thimball spoke. When he finally did, he uttered the two words that, as children, always meant home to both him and Robin.

'The doll's name is Amber-Leigh.'

*

Gorse

The force of fiery bolts and blows

Crowns the wasted isle like fire

Its ring surrounds and hounds the gorse

My precious gorse, a wild animal

Waiting for me to tend

When winters bring watery skies

Bitter and twisting winds

Welts on weather like horns on horses

Then does the real gorse blow and away

And sing to my heart.

In dimming Autumn the leaves coat

The dancing rushes and smother its spirit

With a richness of decaying mulch

The odd head kneads through

To weedle me out again

Auschwitz

The plane hurtled down the runway like a cannonball thundering through the nose of its host. The flight had already been stopped twice: once while taxiing as a problem with the flight manifest was resolved and once again on the runway's edge. Apparently ground staff spotted fluid leaking from the nose cone. Danny would have preferred the airline kept this information to themselves, and fed them some lie like birds on the runway that needed to be frightened away. As the engine roared and the cabin windows shook, Danny glanced over at the two girls who distracted his thoughts from the burning excitement of the Robin investigation. Sandi and Cherry. Cherry's head rested on Sandi's shoulder, who gazed out the opposite window, at the streaming Newcastle rain.

Gradually, Danny began to sense the plane slope upwards. The sinking feeling in his stomach combined with stretches of cloud rushing past his vista told him the plane was finally ascending into the grey misery.

It was a two-hour flight to Cracow. As the Boeing 757 shot through the mist with advancing speed, Danny reached down for his bag. He pulled out a copy of his itinerary for the few days they would spend in Poland:

Day 1 – Fly to Cracow, settle into hostel, rest and dinner 7pm.

Day 2 – Visit to Auschwitz main camp and then back to Cracow for afternoon. Dinner in Cracow

Day 3 – Visit to Auschwitz Birkenau and then back to Cracow

for afternoon. Dinner in Cracow

Day 4 – Day in Cracow exploring local castle and caves

Day 5 – Study day, diaries to be completed, evening gathering,

Jewish reminiscences and songs.

Day 6 – Fly back

As the plane wobbled through the clouds, Danny shut his eyes and was asleep before his head landed on Amanita's shoulder.

There was a momentary sensation of being squeezed: a gentle pressure, but a pressure nonetheless that served to remind Danny the escape from his slumbers was a forced one.

He awoke to find himself looking into a plump face bearing magenta-stained lips. The soft smell of earthy tobacco and the cooing voice of Sandi Burrill drifted over him like heat haze.

'Come on Danny, it's time to wake up. We're about to land.'

Unbeknownst to Danny, Amanita had swapped places with Sandi during the flight. This she had done, to try to persuade Cherry to write another philosophical diatribe for the Communiqué. Danny burbled something incomprehensible as he awoke, removing his head from its nestling spot between Sandi's ample cleavage as the landing gear whirred and clicked into place. Home.

'Fuck it, I'm dying for a fag,' Sandi exclaimed as Danny rubbed his eyes.

'Sandi – I thought you weren't able to make it on this trip. What made you change your mind?'

The water in Danny's eyes prevented him watch Sandi make a backwards glance across the aisle.

'Oh, this and that,' Sandi said breezily. Leaning across him, to point out the approaching city through the window, she inadvertently supplied a glorious eyeful of the two hemispheres that were her heaving breasts. 'Look!' she said, and Danny obliged.

When he gazed out of the window he saw frost-covered fields, barns which lay open and inside them, haystacks coated with frozen white like icing sugar. In the distance formed an accumulation of towers, buildings and spires which Danny knew instinctively must be Cracow. They had arrived in Poland. Pope John Paul II's home.

'Is it Sandra?' Danny asked, tentatively.

She beamed at him with a pristinely symmetrical smile. 'No. It's actually short for Sandrhina. With an 'h'.'

The engines whistled as the rubber wheels touched down, and when the pilot activated the speed brakes it felt like the plane was flying into a hurricane. Danny could see the flaps doing overtime, halting the metal beast to a slow canter. It turned off the tarmac into the gates and Danny felt the distinct relief only solid earth can bring. Amanita passed by Sandi to retrieve her possessions.

'Come on Canterbury – we're here!'

Amanita grabbed up The Diary of a Young Girl – her reading matter for the journey.

*

As the whole troupe bundled onto a tram at the edge of the city, Danny caught his first real glimpse of Cracow. Close up it seemed seven shimmers of grey and intesely rainy. Darkening cloud cover stole in as they approached their hostel.

Louis led the students up a frost-bitten path to the green front door, and lifted the heavy brass knocker. A woman with long brown hair appeared at the crack.

'Hullo Sir. Can I help you?'

'Yes, we've arrived from Amberleigh, England – we're staying for five nights.'

As they huddled under the enclosing veranda it started to rain. Dripping damp ash Sandi had to extinguish her sodden cigarette as a moist Cherry Trove rushed into her arms, seeking solace from the cold wet.

Soon they were all ushered inside and shown to dormitories. Danny was sharing with Tim and Louis, Amanita was sharing with Sandi and Cherry. Danny was quick to note with envy that due to an uneven proportion of girls and boys, Janna Chisely and Sonia Fox had to share with Samuel Mills.

Danny lay back on his bunk and closed his eyes. He could see the plane hurtling down the runway, snow falling upon green grass, covering the earth like a shroud. Here in the East, the spirit of death felt closer than the energy of hope. As he dozed a mirage of images – white violets and pale lilies – fell through his mind as he relaxed into the soft pillow.

After a shower and a brief exchange with Tim about the bareness of their room and the spartan environment outside, they trundled down to the stone-walled refectory. As ladles of boiled cabbage and stewed lamb were dished onto thin plates Danny reached over Tim to help himself to something resembling a watery form of mashed potatoes. After they'd all finished eating, albeit plates still full with slop, Louis stood to say a few words.

'Ladies and gentlemen, tomorrow we will begin our trip round Auschwitz memorial museum. This will be a more profound experience than any of you could imagine.'

Sonia Fox rolled her eyes.

'A few rules. You will not be allowed to take pictures in Auschwitz. You must at all times show deference to and not interrupt the guide. Finally, please, please do not go wandering off on your own. The place we are going to visit was a site of mass murder. Please show due respect at all times.'

Danny glanced over at Louis who looked as serious as he had ever seen them, and then at the dewy softness of Cherry's eyes. He felt his heart stir with a lingering melancholy apart from their upcoming visit.

*

The glowing sun cast ethereal auburn shadow on the tracks beneath the train students were boarding. Something about the day felt wrong. Smiling students, wearing satisfied grins, taking a day trip on a crisp spring day. They were travelling into the heart of hell. Inside a place where unspeakable acts of horror had been inflicted upon humanity. Ipods and digital cameras popped out of people's coats and pockets, despite Foss warnings. Perhaps it would change when they arrived at camp, Danny thought.

The train pulled away from Cracow Central and into the brightening Polish landscape. Danny sat gazing out of the window, mentally comparing it to the fields outside Amberleigh, that bordered the stunning coastline along Northumberland. Tim and Amanita sat opposite, and began chatting about their night's sleep.

'Bloody Polish kids – I couldn't get a wink last night.'

'Are you sure you meant "wink"?' Amanita said, receiving a glare in retort. 'I had quite a nice dream last night, although I woke up a couple of times in the night. I don't think Sandi and Cherry are quiet sleepers.'

Tim and Danny looked at each other and smiled, communicating silently beyond Amanita's grasp.

'Besides,' Amanita continued, 'I don't think it's that cold here. I mean this morning it looks like it's going to be a gorgeous day. Certainly no need for girls to double up to get extra heat...'

Something caught Danny's eye. A mass of train tracks lay ahead. Beyond stood tall poplars, swaying gently in the breeze. The train slowed and Danny caught sight of a sign that said "Oswiecim". It was too close to the German to be a mistake. The train halted. They had arrived.

*

Sand and gravel crunched beneath Danny's feet as he tentatively placed one foot in front of the other. The sun hung in the sky like an interrogator's glare. Suddenly it was hard to stand, and he felt his leg crumble underneath him. As the whole world span, as his face sped towards the floor he caught a glimpse of the phrase which had endured for years. Rightly or wrongly it arched over the main gates to Auschwitz. Arbeit Macht Frei.

Janna was the first to the scene, her blonde hair flowing back and forth as she glided forward to Danny's aid.

'Lift it up on my knee. There, now close your eyes and rest. Here, take my coat as a pillow. I don't need it anyway – it's too hot here.'

'It certainly is,' Danny mumbled, praying for some God to take away the pain. But it was no use, he thought. The painkillers were back at the hostel. He did not know what was worse, the stretching, bending sensation in his ankle, or the torture of knowing where he had stood. In places where the Germans had bricked up prisoners as punishment. In walled courtyards where industrial murder had been committed so casually. In rooms where no sleep or rest could feasibly have taken place. In rooms shut off with walls of glass to keep in the mass of hair, spectacles, shoes and toys taken from the Jews as they arrived at the camp. And finally, most disturbingly, in grey brick hovels the Germans used to masquerade as showers. An ugly metaphor for the ethnic cleansing they perpetrated. Dirty sheds where solid blue discs of death were dumped, without a care, without a thought, without a wish of hope for the millions of souls they sent so shamefully from earth.

The tour had started innocently enough, again another comparison with the arrival of the Jews that was hard to bear now. They had been a group – Amanita, Tim, Sandi, Cherry, Janna and Danny. Safety in numbers. The rooms were unbelievable. As they passed through each, Danny could feel a little piece of his spirit left behind in them. By the time they arrived at the gas chambers the mind was full up, unable to store any new cruelty or trespass against the gentle peace he had grown up with. Full to capacity – he could literally take no more new information in. It was too much. The overload poured into Danny like fresh snow covering old. He had asked for five minutes alone as they left the coffins. He should have guessed that Janna would watch him as he struggled to retain his posture in the blinding sun.

As they perched on a wooden post near the gates a kind Polish lady offered him a glass of water. How often had the prisoners been offered such kindnesses? How frequently had the thought even crossed the guards' minds? Were their minds even their own? The cultish brainwashing of a society begged a question so terrible many refused to pose it. Could it happen again?

Danny sipped the drink and felt flooded with warm relief. Janna returned his smile, as Louis Foss appeared behind her.

'Are you okay, son?'

'Yes sir,' Danny replied.

'Good. Wait here. Zatasha here will look after you. Janna, could I have a word please?'

Louis took Janna a few metres away. Danny could see them talking but they were out of earshot. Louis' face became contorted, almost pained. Surely his falling could not register such a reaction. And why wasn't Louis talking directly to Danny? Did he think that Janna and him were an item again? If he did he didn't like to think where he was getting his sources.

The sunshine poured down optimism as if from an alien land. Danny imagined it trying to take root and sink beneath the clagging soil, offering rebirth from history. Janna walked back to him. Wordlessly she placed her arm round his trembling shoulders and squeezed his upper arm.

'I don't like it here, Danny,' she said in a quiet voice.

'I can't say I'm that fond of it either.'

Danny wiped a tear from Janna's cheek.

'I guess the people who visited here fifty years ago felt the same, and they didn't have a choice.'

Janna curled into the curve of Danny's shoulder. As the sun fell in a cornflower sky it crested the top edge of the highest camp building, beginning to merge with the landscape once more, throwing honeycopper canvas into the air.

'What did Louis want?' Danny whispered in her ear.

'Oh nothing,' Janna replied. 'Just something about Sandi and Cherry going missing. I'm sure they'll turn up soon.'

As the sun met the edge of the trees in the distance, trees that concealed the entrance to Birkenau, shafts of olive green and lemon light fell through the gaps in the camp buildings, casting long butterbronze shadows. Nature presented hope wrapped in a perfect package. For however many years' prisoners were trapped here, they at the least had that – the unspoken promise that the revolving earth and its star brings. Life goes on.

*

The small social hall was packed to the walls. A few students rested on old metal radiators which emitted lukewarm heat. With most chairs arranged in a semi-circle Danny couldn't get out of his head the similarity of their seating arrangement with the arch he had collapsed under earlier in the day. Sandi and Cherry had finally been found, in good spirits. Arriving after a surprisingly tasty dinner of cold sausage, cabbage and potatoes had been consumed by the majority, the pair escaped to their rooms to change before Louis had admonished them privately. Rumour had passed from student to student they had engaged in some extra-curricular debauchery. Caught with two local Polish men in a bar in the centre of Oswiecim who had taken them both back to their apartment. Danny didn't know if it was true, but was intrigued to see Sandi's fire-engine lipstick, usually pristine, smudged around the lines of her lips.

About to speak, Foss now stood before them, a book resting in his pale hands.

'There is a story. One I haven't yet told you about Auschwitz. It is a well-kept secret, not one that has been widely reported like Anne Frank or Primo Levi, or even in the compendiums of popular scholars like Laurence Rees.

'A father – Josef Steinberg a man who loved his child beyond our comprehension, was sent to this camp in the year of nineteeen-forty. He was sent with his daughter, Ingeborg. Although kept apart from the moment they were captured, Josef never gave up hope of being reunited with his daughter. He never stopped believing she was alive.

'Brutally separated by the brutal barbed wire fencing and armed guards patrolling at every turn, Josef had no way of even attempting to see his daughter. One day as he ate his lunch – a dirty crust of bread and some muddy water – a group of German guards came over to him wearing grins. One spoke to Josef.

' "There he is – the man who still believes his daughter is alive. I tell you little man, your daughter was killed last week by my friend in camp B."

'Josef looked up. All the guards were armed, but their guns were in their holsters. Quick as a flash, with the burst of energy he had received from his slice of bread, Josef leapt up to the first guard, grabbing his gun first of all, and then held his hand up to the guard's throat, nearly choking him. Josef said just one word.

' "Never."

'At first the guards were shocked that a prisoner had attacked them. They stood back uncertain what to do. As Josef wrestled the first guard to the ground, another overpowered him and pistol-whipped him before retrieving the first guard's gun.

' "You must be either very brave or very stupid." The second guard said. 'I fear you will be punished severely for this incident.' The second guard looked into Josef's eyes and saw resisting determination behind the weariness of the daily grind of camp life. He stood back. The first guard wished to shoot Josef straight out but the second guard restrained him and led him away with the other girls.

'Word spread quickly around camp that Josef was now marked for murder. But Josef didn't care – all he cared about was seeing his daughter before he died. Josef was placed in solitary confinement, inflicted with unreasonable loads to carry and sent on chamber shift – disposing of all the dead bodies that were killed in the gas chamber. The first guard was eventually transferred to another camp in Dachau, but the second guard remained. He saw Josef often and exchanged stares with the determined Jew, but never a word did he speak to him.

'After a while Josef heard from a friend in his hut that the British were putting together a deal with the Germans: if the Germans would release Jews from Auschwitz, they would agree not to bomb the camps. There would be one train leaving the camp for the edges of Western Europe, to safety. Horrifically it was quickly nicknamed "The survival train". All of the friends Josef met at camp became obsessed with getting a ticket for this 'survival train'. Josef became appalled at the extent to which his fellow prisoners sank to get a seat on this train. They became divided; they bribed guards with promises of hidden money, they fought over who was more worthy to reach the train; they argued over who was a lost cause. It was not a pretty picture. Josef became preoccupied with securing a ticket for the train – not for himself, but his daughter whom he still believed was alive.

'As time wore on little more was heard about the survival train. The prisoners began to forget. While they sank back into focusing on their depressed lives in the camp, Josef however never gave up hope. His one precious, constant thought was that he could still save Ingeborg, wherever she may be.

'Asleep one night in the hut – on the cold wooden slats we have seen today – Josef was awoken by a hand gently pushing his shoulder. As he opened his eyes he glimpsed a face he never expected to see. It was the second guard who had pistol-whipped him that day months before. As Josef wiped his eyes with grubby fists, he could make out the picture of a small piece of card being waved in front of him.

' "Here. This piece of card will take you to freedom, with me. You are a brave soul. You deserve to fight. Join me on the survival train."

'Stunned, Josef quickly woke up and read the piece of card. On it were written the words: 'This ticket entitles the bearer to safe passage from the camp of Auschwitz.' The second guard placed his finger on his lips, and within seconds he disappeared. But this encounter had not gone unnoticed. Josef's neighbour had overheard the conversation and decided himself to steal the ticket that would grant him freedom, and survival instead.

'At this point I wish to pause and ask you all your thoughts on the story so far. Specifically, what would you have done in this situation? You have a shot at saving your life, but it means robbing someone of their own. What would you do?'

Louis Foss' question hung in the air like a noose, waiting for someone to insert their head inside.

Michael Vitus spoke from the back, with his deep booming voice.

'It is in our instincts to fight for own survival. This instinct is more primal than morals. The neighbour was just acting out human nature.'

Louis nodded, and opened out his arms inviting further opinion.

Reluctantly, and slowly Danny raised his hand.

'But how could you live with yourself if you did manage to escape, knowing the life you were living was someone else's? Surely in those circumstances it would be better and stronger to accept your own situation. In the final reckoning life is a short sensation for all of us. I read somewhere that life is but a fleeting robin rushing from a cold window into a warm and throbbing tavern, before rushing out of the opposite window again. We all need to account for what we do while in the tavern.'

Danny realised he had unconsciously stood up while speaking. His cheeks had grown red as embarrassment emerged, he sat down again.

'An interesting perspective, Danny.' Foss said. 'Let us return to the story.'

'As soon as Josef received the ticket he resolved himself to do everything in his power to pass it to Ingeborg, his daughter. However his neighbour waited until Josef had sunk back into sleep, and stole the ticket from him. Little did the neighbour know Josef had no intention of using the ticket for himself.

'Upon waking Josef immediately realised what must have happened, but he did not say a word to his neighbour. Such a great reward had been placed in his grasp for such a fleeting amount of time he had no time to feel disappointed, although the small spring of hope he had been carrying for his daughter was now wilting and drying up.

The day of the departure of the survival train approached. As the prisoners murmured among themselves about who would be the lucky few it turned out Josef's neighbour was the only member of their hut to have received a ticket. On the chosen day he approached the gates on the edge of Auschwitz, grinning to his fellow travellers. The remaining inmates of all the camps were allowed to crowd round and watch, to say goodbye to their friends.

'When the neighbour passed his ticket to the guard Josef thought the guard looked at it for an inordinate amount of time. The grin on the neighbour's face faded into an anxious question. The guard nodded to his opposite number, who was also armed. Josef craned his neck over the people in front of him in time to see both guards raise their pistols. Simultaneously they both shot his neighbour dead.

'A great cry went up from the crowd, and people ran to their huts for fear of their lives. Josef stood still. In a current of knowledge flowing his way he understood the bullets were meant for him. This was the second guard's wish: to destroy the hope of any inmate witnessing the murder. The switch had offered Josef a second chance at survival. As Josef's mouth opened a small child ran from the opposing crowd into his cold arms. She hugged his ribcage so hard it nearly cracked. When he gazed down at the child embracing him, tears of joy welled like renewed springs of innocence and hope in his weary eyes. In the intermingled crowd watching the train's despatch, Ingeborg had been returned to him.'

Foss ceased talking, glancing at the students staring up at him. Sandi Burrill had crept in by the door, and was weeping noiselessly.

*

Stones

Smooth and domed like drained husks

Passive and strong like time

You cannot break them, they laugh quietly

But you can play with them

Softly, if you wish

Strangers crunch down on the path

Like the stones are not there

I know every inch of them

But do not say, or even sound

They will remain, like me

I juggle them in the cave below

Where I live and toss them

Against the cold hard roof

They do not crack

They are impermeable

Descent

The fountain light of all our day

by Danny Canterbury

(for the Communiqué)

I was born on a cold yet sunny autumn afternoon. The leaves around the hospital grounds were blown by a languid north wind. I was a big child, bigger than my sister, I was told when old enough to understand. The nurses thought I was a delight and a joy: a little baby who couldn't stop giggling and grinning. When I was at my youngest the tears never came.

My first memory was of sitting in a pushchair in our kitchen, being strapped in by my mother. There is a photo of me in a light blue anorak, smiling at an unseen camera. It hurts me every time I see that picture. It doesn't capture what my memory retains. My doting mother carefully allowed me freedom and liberty to move in my precarious seat. I didn't know anything else apart from the love my mother had for me. That was the warmest coat a little boy could have.

I remember eating ham sandwiches in front of Pebble Mill. I remember watching Godzilla before going swimming on a Saturday morning. I remember the staircase which turned one hundred and eighty degrees halfway up, and which I had nightmares about. Burglars in stripey shirts and black wooly hats breaking in through the window and sneaking up the stairs where we used to keep the stores of toilet rolls. Me, lying in my bed, unable to move, unable to speak, paralysed by fear. A silent cry echoing in my mind, torturing my soul.

I remember playing football and army in the street where we lived, running with the mindless euphoria of youth, along with the other boys who lived there. Rolling around in the grass for all seasomns – in the summer, autumn, winter and spring. The weather never seemed the impediment it is now, just a shifting canvas of seasons in which to pitch our playtime. The water fights in Dunkinley's front garden when Polly became old enough. The races up and down the street. Using the swing in our back garden as goal posts, using our garage as an army base. Using the sloping drive as a skateboard ramp, using the walls and hedges as obstacles to leap over and hide behind. Playtime was an eternal sport back then, never to be stolen from us by adulthood. We were all Peter Pans, and never wished to be anything else but free.

The only tempers to our unbridled liberty was when the weather ceased our play and we were forced in by furious rainstorms. Even then beakers of orange juice and chocolate digestives awaited us like rewards from some all-seeing unseen benevolence. The warnings about not eating mars bars when the poison scare was reported. Not venturing further than the end of the woody snicket, not crossing the main road were our boundaries. The thought of transgressing remained just that – a thought never to be broached. The one warning we never took seriously was saying no to strangers offering us a lift with free sweets. I mean, come on – free sweets! However, it never happened. Even sweet Robin was asleep when she was taken.

I have been often asked whether my childhood has become a blight on my life. A painful reminiscence, eternally coloured by a single event. The truth is, as I grow older I remember more about how happy I was as a child. Robin's taking throws this joy into stark relief. She was the most glorious of all of us. A smiling floppy brown-haired ball of innocence and fun. When I think of the pain I feel, it is only a magnification of lost innocence, that everyone who has ever been young should be able to remember.

Wordsworth connects Nature with childhood irresistibly in his Ode. He tells us 'in our embers is something that doth live that Nature yet remembers'. Maybe that remembering is richer, and more beautiful, for the neverending pain it supplies.

*

Bottles of Budweiser passed from hand to hand. Tim slunk in a corner, sipping his drink alongside a tipsy Amanita. Cherry had wowed everyone with her karaoke version of Chris Isaak's Wicked Game, slinking sexily on the classic's high notes, emphasizing her penchant for teen seductions. Mary sat on the bunk bed chatting to a disturbed-looking Sandi. Danny found it hard to believe just hours before they had strolled around mass graves, pits of brutal murder and scenes of moral devastation. The strength and resilience of teens was perhaps a remnant of the childlike spirit Danny was ruminating upon.

Sandi thrust a bottle into Danny's hand, and he smiled at her beaming face. A mixture of smoky black mascara and mauve gloss mouth floated in front of him like a hologram – almost alien in its beauty. The breeze from the open window moved a hair from Sandi's forehead down to her eye. She flicked it away with a deft turn of her head.

'Here. Take it.'

Danny grasped his fingers around the neck of the bottle, but refused to sip. Alcohol was inappropriate, he felt. Sandi gulped hers back and plonked herself back on the bed next to Mary.

'Come and sit down Danny.'

She winked at him through a desperately thin veneer of satisfaction. Sandi was perturbed by something.

'You know, Mary, this trip has been awesome. I mean, tragic and devastating obvs yes, but you know, awesome as well.'

Sandi spoke seriously. The record player switched tracks. In the temporary silence Cherry swung like a dangling bulb in the middle of the room, waiting for music to resume.

'I just can't comprehend how we would have even attempted to think ourselves into these positions for our coursework, without visiting the camp first hand. Don't you agree?'

Mary blinked and offered a smile in response. Sandi adjusted her feet and her white slippers fell on to the wooden floor. She wrapped her feet in the blanket and snuggled into the gap between Mary and Danny. In a half somnolent state she whispered.

'Danny, baby, please don't take this the wrong way.'

Danny sat up and the hairs on the back of his neck straightened like a regiment of soldiers. Had she discovered the way he had been looking at her? How could she? He had been his usual, surreptitious self.

'I'm just wondering why you hadn't bothered to look for Robin Vernal before now. I mean I know it's probably none of my business, but seeing all those graves earlier. Thinking about how long you've had to endure this speculation about where she might be. If she'll ever be found...Why didn't you try and track her down?'

Mary sat up, looking engaged.

'Yes Danny, why didn't you?'

In the silence created by the end of Cherry's karaoke rendition, other faces turned toward the asked question, gazing in on the comfy trio on the bed like a spotlight.

Praying for the record to restart Danny shuffled his feet. It was all he could do to distract the unwanted attention from himself. He hated moments like this. All eyes and ears were bent to the response to Sandi and Mary. Anticipation was condensing into criticism and imminent attack, he could feel it. There was no right way to reply. Like a prayer being answered, the record player erupted into sound again, this time with the dulcet tones of an earthy female vocalist called Faith.

'This is a nice song,' Danny murmured. 'It reminds me of my mother.'

Sandi grabbed his chin and pulled it towards her. At one heartstopping point he thought she would plunge her molten purple lips on his. Instead she cooed her soft voice like birdsong in his ear.

'Come on Danny, what do you think?'

Danny released himself from Sandi and rested his hand behind his back to support himself. Now he faced Mary and Sandi and they gazed at him, an audience rapt with what he was about to say next. Danny sighed and relaxed into the sponge-like mattress.

'I don't know. There was a reason, I think. Something to do with concentrating on what was in front of me. After the police interviews were completed I was back in school, back to normality. My Dad encouraged me to get myself back into my old life. I couldn't adjust – Robin was gone. But the challenge everyone kept setting me was to ignore the past and focus on my future. That's what I've been trying to do ever since.'

Cherry slinked across the room to the new song, a romantic ballad about overcoming separation and distance. Danny sensed interfering hands turn down the volume, and conversations being muted.

'I guess there was something else as well.'

Danny gulped. He had never told anybody this before, let alone proclaim in the way he was about to, even if with a group of close friends.

'When I began at Plunket's it struck me that I was beginning a new chapter in my life, without Robin. There was something I couldn't shake off at that moment. I started getting dreams, visions of Robin appearing to me in the middle of the night. It was like during the day I was a normal teenage school boy but in the night she was haunting me, and I woke up every day in a cold sweat. I carried a determination to shake off my disturbances. It did cross my mind to try and seek her out again, but...'

Danny's voice faded into the pregnant hush. The stereo had been switched off. Cherry, Amanita, Dawn, Samuel, Tim, Mary, Sandi and Olive sat cross-legged on the floor, devouring every word, like Danny was a teacher reading them all a bedtime story.

'But what?' Sandi said in a light whisper.

Danny paused, permitting salty wetness to form in his left eye. He tried not to move lest it roll down his cheek and be interpreted by the lads as a signal of weakness. The dimming light in the room swung gently in the spring breeze that flew in from the window. A gentle tip-tap of a drizzle hit the pane, and the ghostly moan of tree branches echoed as they passively submitted themselves to the changing seasons.

'...but I didn't want to make it worse.'

At this point he earned the courage to look Sandi full on. He gazed down at her crusty painted face.

'I didn't want to face the pain she might be dead.'

*

Louis Foss stood outside the hostel, waving goodbye to the generous hosts. Danny slipped within earshot of Sandi to hear her whisper to Cherry.

'I'm going to miss this place.'

On the coach to the airport Amanita sat beside a begrudging Tim, who had still seen no action, while Danny sat next to a mournful Dawn Russet.

'I love this landscape,' Dawn said, gazing out the window. 'All the haystacks and fields. It's so rural and untouched by...by...'

Dawn couldn't put the finishing touch to her sentence but Danny knew what she meant. Poland offered genuine humbleness. Compared to the brittle self-conscious and solipsistic Brits, it was refreshing. They'd made friends with locals around the hostel. Everyone had welcomed them gladly, without reservations. Danny wondered if it would be the same the other way round in England. Not likely, with the Daily Mail in full swing.

As the coach pulled from the motorway on to the airport slip road Danny heard the huge groans of surrounding aircraft as they approached the runway from the air. The coach quickly entered a traffic jam. A road running the perimeter of the runway was logged with cars and buses. From the window Danny watched the peaceful undisturbed trees, before his vista filled with the grey belly of a Boeing 757. It's twin engines whirred and beat an urgent rhythm as it descended toward the reinforced tarmac.

The nerves rumbled in his stomach. This would only be the second flight he had taken in his short life. Glancing across the aisle at Sandi and Amanita, he watched them chat avidly, the picture of calm. Danny wished he was like that. The few wobbles and shakes he experienced on his way out gave him enough to think about for the trip back.

They checked in with Louis Foss guiding them. He lined them up, trying to seat as many of their group together as possible. When it came to Danny, lingering at the back of the queue, staring at the people rushing around like bees in a hive, Louis was shaking his head.

'Danny – I'm afraid we're down to the last few seats. You're going to have to sit on your own.'

Danny nodded silently, not wanting to give Foss another problem. His stomach squirmed inside at the thought of spending the whole flight with nothing but his own company to assuage his tilting doubts. He dumped his bag on the black conveyor belt and attempted a smile at the sexy yet surly check-in clerk.

'Upright please,' she barked, not looking at Danny.

Danny rearranged his luggage to meet the airline's requirements.

'Now listen to me,' she said, her bright red lips moving like lizards through undergrowth. 'Have you packed these bags yourself?'

Danny nodded staring up at her thick coat of cream foundation.

'Are there any sharp items in your hand luggage?'

'No,' Danny said, wondering if he looked like a criminal.

'And have you accepted anything from anyone else to take onto the aircraft?'

Danny wasn't sure how to answer this question – what was the correct answer? Was he meant to have taken something on board? Nobody told him. He was about to answer when Foss put his hand on Danny's shoulder and said to the clerk.

'No, he hasn't.'

'That's great sir,' the lips moved again like a lightning strike, 'but I need to hear it from the boy.'

"The boy." That's all Danny was to this woman. Just a random passenger who was holding her up in doing her job.

'No, I haven't taken anything from anyone. Why, do you want to give me some of your loving to take with me?'

Danny raised his eyebrow while he delivered his punchline. The woman sat back and scowled while she punched a few keys into her computer and printed out the boarding pass.

'Your gate is G and you are expected there by 2.15pm. Don't be late or the plane will leave without you. And we wouldn't want that, would we?' the woman said in a patronising voice.

'Definitely not. I'd hate to spend a minute more in this airport than I absolutely had to. I'm glad I don't have to work here.'

Before she could respond, Danny had marched to the departure gates, Foss following with a sly smile crossing his pale face.

*

The queue leading from the departure gates snaked across the airport like a human freight train. Danny sipped the remainder of his bottle of water, knowing his vital substance would be removed, forcibly if necessary, when he reached the gates. It was a deterrent against terrorists, but how ironic that to prevent the merest hint of death they would make you relinquish the purest source of life.

Danny untied his shoes and belt. It was an odd feeling, like getting ready for bed, only in the midst of crowds of vulnerable witnesses watching on. He placed his bag and jacket in the grey plastic. A uniformed lady guard looked him over, unsmiling. The image of the Nazis rushed back in his mind. He watched his belongings trail on the conveyor belt into the scanner. Millions of Jews arriving on a train and after their long, weary, putrid journey came to an end, they were casually slaughtered. He walked through the detector, waiting for the beep he knew would come. The gates, Arbeit Macht Frei, arching across his head. They must have known that to attempt to escape through these would have meant a gun shot in the head as surely as the beep resounding in Danny's ears. An unneeded, unwarranted death. These people were no threat. Innocents driven towards the brink of death because of one man's hatred.

Danny settled in his seat and read the inflight magazine all the way through. Then he withdrew his book and placed it in the pocket in front. While passengers still entered the cabin, he adjusted his seat back and forth, and played with the air conditioning. He nearly summoned a flight attendant by pressing the wrong button. People fussed and fiddled around him as he gazed out the small window onto the wing. The solitary engine hung off the metal canvas like a mini black hole. Readying to suck all the runway air like an enormous hairdryer in reverse.

It took twenty minutes for the passengers to settle themselves. Calming music piped in from the loudspeaker system. Danny tapped his foot impatiently. Finally, they shut the cabin doors. The aisle seemed to clear as the flight attendants paraded down it like a catwalk. The cavalcade of pouting red lips closed overhead lockers and checked everyone had their seatbelt fastened securely. Danny was being strapped in. There was no escape.

The ignition and low hum of the engines woke everyone up from any stupor in which they might have been languishing. Danny felt the cold curve of his spine straigten, attentive and alert. His head moved from side to side, as if looking for some terrorist to make himself known and demand the captain taxi immediately for the runway and make for a small Middle Eastern country where they would all be executed.

The safety videos came on. Slowly but surely, as Danny shut one eye and looked out the window, he watched a tree in the distance shift its position against the background of the hangar. They were moving.

After a few more minutes they turned onto the runway. This was the irresistible moment, the swivelling of the plane was foreknowledge that the transition into a sudden rush of speed was imminent. The precise moment was known only to the pilot. A small gain on the tarmac and then, once again, they were being thrust forward down the runway like the devil himself was behind them all, doing his utmost to push them all into hell.

*

The flight passed smoothly for most of the journey. Little turbulence disturbed Danny and he even managed to drift into a light doze. In his dreams, pictures of Cherry and Chardelia passed by him. He stood watching them dancing, in an empty hall somewhere in the depths of Amberleigh Castle. It was the captain's announcement that woke him, and he discovered to his own misfortune that the right side of his cheek was sticky and wet; he had dribbled in his sleep. As he wiped himself down he listened to the confident overtones of the man in control. 'Ladies and gentlemen, we are now beginning our descent into London Gatwick. I would ask that you return to your seat and secure your seatbelt. Crew, ten minutes to landing. Thank you.'

The instant the public address finished Danny felt the bubbles pop in his ears. He looked through the frost-stained window. Still sailing amid grey clouds, the colours of British weather, Danny felt the slow drop of the plane as the captain eased the metal beast forward. They were cascading through masses of water condensed into a shifted manifestation. Perhaps Chardelia was sitting on a cloud somewhere. Everything felt in order as Danny glanced out of the window, one hand resting on his single volume of The Winter's Tale.

If there was one thing Danny remembered with more unsullied clearness than the clouds through which the plane dived, it was the jolt he felt before he saw the flock. It wasn't like watching a mass rising of wings from the ground, their subtle and delicate shifts in flight drawing sublime forms and fleeting symbols in the sky. This was a sudden onslaught of black, being consumed into the seemingly static cylinder. A thrilling burst of ruby and amber flames erupted from the cavernous engine like licks of fire from an invisible furnace. Everyone screamed, and the plane plunged.

A few seconds later oxygen masks dropped like corpses from the ceiling. Like invaders from Mars had hitched a ride and waited for their moment patiently. Stewardesses wept silent tears as they buckled into their seats, disregarding the panic amongst the passengers. The middle-aged lady sat beside Danny nodded to him, and spoke.

'Well, I've had a good life. This is the end. I am ready.'

Danny hadn't. He didn't want to die yet. The plane filled with an awful, smouldering smell. He glanced at the engine again, and saw a stream of jet-black smoke pouring out of the back in amorphous shapes. He was not ashamed to admit an adrenaline surge of danger intermingled with the terror.

Danny could tell the captain had flicked the mike switch, but was choosing his words carefully. Broadcasting empty static for a few seconds, the whole cabin felt the fear in the cockpit. The controllers were out of control. It was the worst feeling in the world. Eventually his voice cut through the whistling air, rougher than before but Danny was still able to pull out the Eton syllables.

'Ladies and gentlemen, we are descending fast into Gatwick following a bird strike. Please make yourself aware of your nearest exit and follow the stewardesses' instructions.'

His voice broke suddenly as the plane lurched, descending at an even steeper angle, before the nose rose up again and everyone let out a communal gasp for breath. Passengers retrieved mobiles to punch in goodbyes to loved ones, ignoring the hitherto instructions about leaving them in flight mode for fear of interfering with the computers onboard. Bullshit, Danny thought calmly. If they were such a danger they would ban them completely from flight. Such a powerful and secure industry, they could do anything they wanted. Except keep a plane in the sky when nature's finest decided to make its move. Not a terrorist, not a bomb, not even a gun-shot, but a fucking eagle was taking this plane down.

Danny looked around for Amanita and Tim. They were embracing in a seat a few rows in front. He looked further forward, Louis Foss was sat back in his chair, as if in a state of complete relaxation, as if he was almost asleep. He listened to the gentle whistling sound of near-silence. At the redundant engines still trying to spring into life, like the sound of a squash ball in a tumble dryer. It was not enough thrust to drift the plane from its destiny. The gentle noise of soft sobs and plangent cries filled the air but there was no panic since the screaming ceased. People were reconciling themselves to their fate.

Danny looked out and saw houses and grass and roads and cars rushing rapidly to meet them. In the distance he glimpsed a British Airways hangar. They were close. They might make it.

There was another problem. The knowledge struck Danny like sun being consumed by black cloud, more piercing for the isolation it gave him. More frightening because of the strung-out consequences it predicted. He had not heard the landing gear click into place. If both engines had been taken out by a whopping bird strike, it was possible they too had blocked the landing gear from opening. What if a hulking bird corpse was now stuck underneath the landing gear? They would be done for.

In the fields either side of Gatwick runway blowing grass became visible. People prayed. Stewardesses repeated a mantra over and over, like it would save them: 'Brace for impact. Brace for impact.'

The nose lifted in the air, and Danny saw fire engines and ambulances lining the runway. He heard the screech of speeding metal hit the black tarmac. From somewhere inside his unconscious, stepping forth at the rate of a million-per-second, came enchanting images of a little girl running up and hugging him. She was pedalling on her favourite tricycle, she was playing swingball, she was dressing up in a veil in a mock wedding, she was laughing so hard her sides hurt, her brown fringe falling over smiling eyes. She was tugging at the foot of Danny as he lay in her garden, she was curling up in his arm and falling asleep. As he looked out the window it seemed as if white light gushed in from an alien source. An overwhelming smell of gasoline poured into the plane, matching the wave of sensation surging inside the broken, daring Danny. He shut his eyes and waited for the ineluctable, inexorable end.

*

Woirds

They're weird are words

Woirds like droids

Mechanical devices

Unthinking

Unfeeling

But malleable, or malteatable

Or mouldable, or mouldy

They fascinate me

They enchanterchump me

With delickable geelightfullnesses

The words eye cherryish

Beclome two claimour me

Amouritous senstationary gravishers

Theze woirds tard myner

Awake

Danny tried to stem the dripping blood from the gash on his forehead. A nurse had passed him a box of tissues while he waited for attention. He couldn't believe the opportunism of the British media when he watched the news later that day. Not only had they sent crews to the airport and the hospital, but packs of journalists, like blood-sucking leeches, now crammed themselves around the managing director of the airline as he walked into the press conference. They asked repeatedly if he was going to resign. As if he could stop a bird strike, Danny thought. Did they think this man was God?

After the terror he had been put through, after the drama the one hundred and thirty-two passengers and six crew had been thrust into, Danny felt nothing but relief and compassion for all the people who worked hard to bring him back to safety. Like acid on an open wound it angered him to see morally dubious humans casually disregarding sensitivity in order to scavenge their story. Their only concern was to be at the front of the feeding frenzy. Theirs was a weak, temporal, attention-seeking need, irrelevant to the real stories existing in the collective consciousness of Brits across the country.

He pulled back the plastic orange seat in frustration, and watched as a small crack appeared at the top, splitting the back of the seat.

'That's got to hurt. The chair I mean.'

Louis Foss sat on the adjacent chair, sipping a steaming cup of coffee. He handed Danny another as he drank.

'Thanks sir.'

Danny murmured, embarrassed his outburst had been witnessed. Still, not self-righteous enough to blush. Foss relaxed into the chair, gulped his coffee and smiled.

'Can I ask you a question sir?'

'Of course. Go ahead.'

Danny took a sip of the molten brown fluid. It nearly burned his throat so he couldn't speak. He took a moment and tried again.

'Sir. Were you scared sir?'

Foss smiled again, shaking his head gently from side to side.

'That is a good question Danny. I bet many of us were scared on that plane. It's nothing to be ashamed of if you were. What we have been through is an exceedingly frightening experience, that no-one should have to endure, especially at your age. To have to face the possibility of death, well it comes to us all some day. It makes you question things. Re-evaluate your priorities. Sets everything in sharper relief, and reveals the true values of life. Still, I need not lecture you on this Danny – you have been through more than most, I know.'

Foss paused.

'But as for me, no I was not scared.'

They both drank the dregs of their coffees as a nurse passed them. The television cut to regular programming. Danny watched as members of public tried their hand at singing in front of unimpressed judges. The white walls, the bright lights now crowded Danny. He longed to exit into the dark night. The unasked question hung in the air. A portent through which both of them were waiting to pass. It was five more minutes before Danny decided the eloquent moment had arrived.

'Sir. Why not?'

Louis glanced at the television. A girl with golden hair and jade eyes danced and gyrated in front of the scowling judge as she sang sublime jazz.

'You see that girl up there. Does she remind you of anyone?'

Danny didn't answer. He didn't need to. Foss continued.

'Every day I wish she was back here. Every day I wish that she hadn't been sucked into the plan. It was not necessary – for a girl of her age. She was only fifteen years old for fuck's sake! But Chardelia was always sanguine about her fate. Towards the end, she told me she knew she would die one day. What better way to do it than in the process of saving hundreds of others. I'm a family member, I can't supply an objective view of it. When the birds hit the plane, I was thinking of one thing and one thing only. I was soon to be reunited with my darling sister.'

The grip on Danny's polystyrene cup tightened. He struggled to hold back tears he knew hid behind his irises. Foss turned to look at him. Danny had never seen Foss' face this close up. The pallid white skin and light hair belied a sharpness softened by kindness.

'Danny, on that plane I was in supreme comfort. It didn't phase me as much as I thought it would, as much as it should have. Every day since her death I have taken comfort from the fact she had some choice about her end. She could see it coming. She decided it herself. She could have taken the easy route, but she chose not to. Don't you see? In the final reckoning, she knew it was her choice, just like it is all our choice how we react in times of magnificent peril. We were not going to get off that plane alive. Therefore the rest of my life would be decided by how I decided to act there and then. It was up to me. I decided to be calm and not be scared. It wasn't much, but it was my choice.'

Foss drained his cup and stood up.

'I have to check on the others.'

Foss wandered away and left Danny alone with his thoughts. Danny was sure Foss had meant to assuage any feelings of survivor guilt, but his mind was raging. What about Robin? She didn't have any choice did she? It wasn't her choice she was abducted by a psychopath. Was it?

Danny stood and paced the corridor before turning back. The clinically white hospital lights seemed harbingers of some impending relevation.

It wasn't Robin's fault, it wasn't her decision or choice she was taken, but Danny had been asleep for ten years and was only now awakening to his responsibility. He was her best friend. He had been sitting on his hands for years. Too many years. Taking exams, revising, writing for school papers while her decision had been taken from her. But he had a decision to make. It was clear as the spring evening. He could choose what to do from hereon in. What is a man, Danny thought, if he stand by when a moment of clarity calls him forth? What would he have been if death has summoned him on that plane? It could have been ruthlessly over in an instant, in a blinding flash of fire. But it wasn't. God had given him another chance. He had to find her. He had to find her. She was his and he was hers and nothing would matter more as long as he lived. Danny decided. Robin Vernal was his destiny.

*

Tim called it the fragrant wave. The unanticipated waft of perfume that accompanied a teenage honey taking a seat beside you. It was a calling for a decent man to make an approach. It was a familiar speech of Tim's. Never allow a beautiful girl to leave without being chatted up first. Don't let her leave unkissed he once said to Danny, receiving a stern glare back.

On the park bench outside the hospital Sandi Burrill took the place next to Danny. With shaking hands she lit her last cigarette. As she exhaled, Danny felt her body vibrate. It reminded him of the airplane shaking as it hurled across the runway. Sparks flying into a blanket of foam that had lain there to prevent the fuel igniting. Foam which had encased the windows and sealed in a view of peaceful white serenity.

'That was a close one,' she said finally, after she rapidly smoked halfway down the white barrel. 'I have to tell you Danny, I thought you and me were both gone from this world.'

She ran her hand through her hair, and Danny noticed for the first time a mole hidden behind her ear. There was no time to waste, not even for idle chit-chat.

'Sandi – can I ask you something please?'

'Sure,' she replied, moistening the filter tip on spongy lips.

'I want to find her. I want to do this right. No half-measures – I need to know the truth, over and above whether she's dead or alive, I don't care. I just want the truth.'

'How can I help?' Sandi asked. Danny smiled back.

'I need to find out a few facts about Robin's disappearance. There's a few things I don't know about the night she disappeared – I never managed to weed them out of the police. Like why did nobody see a car with Robin in? It was still light. Why has nothing been heard about Robin in the national media? Why am I the only one who feels her disappearance? Why was there no word or protest from her father after she left? And, I guess something I have wondered for a long time but never said to anyone, why wasn't I taken too?'

There it was – he had finally articulated the question that lingered at the back of his mind for years.

'Danny – have you ever heard of the Brownleaf Spring?'

'What?' Danny was caught, surprised between his outburst and this strange new train of conversation.

'Have you ever heard of the Brownleaf Spring?'

'No. What is it?'

Danny was irritated his list of queries had not even received an acknowledgement.

Sandi smiled as she withdrew the cigarette and blew a long straight stream of smoke into the London evening.

'My parents used to tell me the story of the Brownleaf Spring when I was a little girl. They used to tell me to be good and one day I'd be able to drink from the Brownleaf Spring which was, they told me, a fountain of chocolate. They told me Bernard Brownleaf used to have it in one of his factories – one of his chocolate factories. It was there as a reward for workers who had put in an extra effort. They could fill their flasks up in the fountain for their journey home. Receiving a flask full of warm Brownleaf chocolate from the spring was a specific honour. It was a way of generating goodwill amongst the workforce, motivation, camaraderie and teamwork.'

'Then as I grew older I heard different stories about the Spring. Some of my school friends told me it was not a chocolate fountain at all but a brown tree that only blooms once every twenty Spring's. A really weird older uncle told me he had heard a myth it was a metal coil that used to power a mysterious machine which produces everlasting youth. Teachers told me to forget about it. All but one: my history teacher at school who told me the Brownleaf Spring was a blessed and holy stream of water that pours from a clifftop onto a beach below, somewhere in one of the Greek islands. Apparently Bernard Brownleaf named it when he discovered it on one of his journeys there. People used to stand underneath it and let the water fall on them in order to heal any ailments they had. Despite lots of research I never found any mention of this in history books. I suspect my teacher was making this up to come on to me – it would be just like him.'

Sandi's voice trailed off. There was something she had said that registered. But why was this relevant to Robin?

'Sorry Sandi. How is this going to help me find Robin?

Sandi looked at Danny, and he could see in the kindness of her full face the shine of innocence warming him.

'It's a childhood memory, Danny. I think you need to remember your childhood to discover the key to finding Robin. Have you tried hypnosis or regression?'

It was an idea. He hadn't thought of it. Perhaps he would have to.

Amid the fading light the entrance to the hospital was suddenly lit by flashing photographers and a procession of gleaming black range rovers. Sandi and Danny both stood and turned around. Emerging from blacked-out windows walked a haggard looking official. After a double-take Danny realised it was the Prime Minister. Vigorously shaking the hands of nurses who had come out to greet him, the serious face poured an intense beam on those he addressed. This was now a disaster zone, and political capital could be gained from appearing to lead at such a time. Danny didn't want any part of it. He didn't even want to meet the man himself.

'Shall we take a walk?' Danny asked.

They strolled round the perimeter of the hospital and up the base of a hill. For a time they watched more planes coming in to the newly-opened Gatwick. Danny was sure the PM would have visited there first before making a statement. Probably on the tarmac with the broken plane visible in the distance, praising the extraordinary courage of those on board, and the skill of the pilot who ensured no lives were lost as a result.

Danny smelled the acrid smoke rising the plane's husk. Because of it he nearly stumbled and fell as he walked up the hill. He reached out his hand for balance, and Sandi grasped it. The softness of her pale skin stabilised him. He felt her steadiness seep into him. It remained all the way as he continued his journey to the summit.

*

'Hip noses – yeah, I know. I told her she should have the surgery. I mean, it wasn't that it looked completely ugly or out of place or anything like that really. It was just that it would be an improvement, and if you've got the means then I mean what the hell? We all need a little pampering from time to time don't we?'

Cherry Trove dangled her little legs over the cliff precipice and sipped on her rum and coke. Samuel Mills and Ian Phalanger stood behind her, looking down at the crashing ocean below. Sea spray rushed up from the bottom, and the dark shadow of Amberleigh Castle behind them obscured the sun.

'I have never spoken to her.' Samuel said. 'I'm afraid she might try and stalk me.' They all laughed. Cherry finished the last of her black liquid and threw the empty glass downwards where it smashed on the rocks below. She watched as the impact made the shards split and scatter like silver glitter.

Ian removed headphones from his ears and smiled at Cherry. She smiled back.

'Hey Ian, is it true you're giving up football?' Cherry asked.

Ian nodded, grinning. 'Richey says I can join his band – The Gibbons.'

Samuel and Cherry looked at each other before bursting into fits of giggles once again. Ian was not amused, having been proud that Richey had asked him. He walked over to where Danny was sitting, on a bench opposite the trio. Unbeknownst to them, despite wearing his iPod prominently, he had not played a single song since they had parked themselves there. It was a strain, but he had caught drifts of their conversation, and picked up Cherry's flirting demeanour. She had trapped two new flies in her web.

'Hi Danny, how's the ankle?'

Danny's ankle had been the one injury that revisited him since the plane crash. He rubbed it and some of the soreness dissipated.

'Okay thanks Ian.'

Like classmates who had also gone to Poland, Danny received some attention since the event at Gatwick. He found many of the male members now looked up to him as some sort of war hero.

'The Gibbons are playing at Wilfields tonight – do you fancy coming along to see us? I'm the new bass player.'

Ian found it difficult to keep the pride from his voice.

'Perhaps,' Danny said, 'are you expecting a big crowd?'

'Hopefully!'

Ian walked back inside the Castle. Danny was about to follow when he saw Tim and Amanita chatting by the entrance to St Basil's. About to go over and join them, something about the way they were talking made him stop. It was an unusual feeling, seeing as they were his two best friends, but so intense and hushed seemed their conversation Danny felt he'd be interrupting something. Fishing in his pocket he pulled out the number Sandi had given him. He looked at it: was he really going to do this?

He dialled the number on his mobile and waited for the rings to click in. It rang four times before a polite and well-spoken woman answered.

'Hello, this is Dr Bartholomew's office. How can I help you today?'

*

Amberleigh had transformed into a fusion of rainbow colour. Flowers and animals emerged from a long hibernation. The town blossomed in bloom like an unstoppable vector of vibrancy, a compelling rush of life. Birds flitted from tree to tree, trying to decide on a new home now feathers and branches need not protect them from piercing cold. The world was a free place again.

Danny ran down Floriemore road as fast as he could. The clouds cleared and sun rays evaporated the remaining puddles from the cobbles. His chest stuck out as he commanded all his urgency and haste. Already late, he knew Sandi would be waiting outside the surgery.

'Ready?' she asked, ciggy bobbing from matt cerise lips, a croft of silver ash by her feet.

'Ready.' Danny said, looking straight at the polished oak gleaming on the panelled door.

Inside the Doctor's consulation room Danny beheld a mixture of rich mahogany and muted cream. Plush carpets and dark leather sofas lent the room sophistication. Beech lamps stood in unobtrusive corners. Statues of vaguely erotic postures adorned the mantelpiece, beneath which a log fire rumbled, throwing out waves of subtle heat.

Dr Bartholomew sat on a black swivel armchair behind his desk, beneath a sash window that looked out at all of Amberleigh. The houses, the castle in the distance, the coastline and the great North Sea today flickered grey-green in sweeping sunlight. He bore a long curling moustache and spoke with a deep baritone.

'Have a seat, Mr Canterbury.'

Danny sat down.

'And this is?' The man gestured toward Sandi, who looked mute in the presence of such an impressive room.

'Oh, this is my friend. Sandi.'

'Please be seated Sandi. We will begin momentarily.'

*

'You are asleep but you are awake.'

The undulating baritone filled Danny's ears, commanding unconscious images. '

You will remain calm at all times. When I ask you a question, you will answer slowly. Is that clear?'

'Yes,' Danny replied, at ease.

'You are five years old. What do you see?' Bartholomew asked.

'I am walking along the coastal path picking flowers to make perfume with my friend Robin.'

'Very well,' Bartholomew said. 'It is later in the day. What are you doing now?'

'I am riding my bike down the cobbles. Robin has fallen off and I am rushing to see if she is alright. A man is watching us from across the road but I don't notice him as I want to help Robin.'

'Let us stop there, Danny. You have a freeze frame of that moment in your mind. Robin is ahead of you. The man across the road is watching you. Tell me, what does the man look like?'

'He is old.'

Sandi shuddered.

'What else, Danny?' Bartholomew continued, his voice steady and self-controlled.

'I cannot see. Robin has hurt her knee. I need to help Robin.'

'You are helping Robin, Danny. Just remain in that picture for the moment. Tell me what do you see about the man across the road?'

Danny paused, breathing fast. His growing gasps were audible to Sandi across from the bed on which Danny lay.

'I cannot see him. He is a man. He is wearing a hat.'

'But it is spring time, is it not Danny? Why is the man wearing a hat?' Bartholomew continued, not hesitating.

'He is wearing a hat so I cannot see his face,' Danny uttered faultlessly.

Sandi neared the edge of her seat. Leaning forward, she waited for the next question in this sequence. For the conclusion and identification of this unknown person. But it never came.

'Okay Danny, when I count to five you will slowly awaken. One. You are feeling drowsy. Two. You are aware of the presence in this room of your friend Sandi. Three. You can feel the light on your eyelids. Four. You are becoming awake. Five. You are awake.'

Danny opened his eyes and felt a uniquely refreshing verve descend.

'Is that it?'

'Yes, Mr Canterbury.' Sandi rolled her eyes. 'Can you remember anything of what we have discussed?'

'Have we started the questions yet?'

Danny looked puzzled.

'Good.'

Bartholomew nodded discreetly to Sandi to keep her silence.

'We have finished for today Danny. You may go and I will see you the same time next week. Miss Burrill – may I see you for a moment please. Danny you may go, please pay my receptionist on the way out.'

Danny looked round at the room. What did he want with Sandi. Was that it? He had barely let his head touch the pillow before he was getting up again, grabbing his coat and leaving the doctor. He could not remember anything. A backwards glance to Sandi told him she would meet him outside.

The sun was beating down on the bay unfettered, and a sea breeze carried fresh air along the cobbles. Down the hill Danny saw the road twist and wind its way toward the centre of Amberleigh. It was the oddest feeling. Whatever the doctor had done, it felt like he had been granted new life.

*

Stranges

Softly lofty motions

Of conceptual lace

Of Lancaster bombers

Flying and fleeing

Our land

Grand gestures like chores

And charms reveal the world

To me impeached imprinted

Sealed and sorrowed

In subtle advocacy

Avocados glimmer and harden

Gliding their green flesh

Into a forest of florets

Strange language camouflages

A stranger stronger world

Cherry Wine

Wilfields was packed. For the first time in the year people queued to enter the small beer cellar. The radio blasted something retro and loud from the eighties. Danny felt the bass pulsating the floorboards as he stepped into the old wooden shack. Smoke and alcohol stuffed the air and amid sounds of people chatting and drinking, joyful shouts rose from the crowd.

Richey Athurston stood on stage, twiddling a few knobs and checking audio equipment. Behind the small platform hung a black sheet on which had been painted a picture of three gibbons surfing on ice. The guitars stood on professional looking guitar stands. The drums lay dormant, the bass drum imprinted with the same picture that hung above. At least their marketing was consistent, Danny reflected.

After a few drinks, Danny settled into the crowd. He said hello to Rosetti and Emily, Ian and Benjamin. Hazel and Olive were eyeing up Nick Fasco despite him bringing fiancée Amatory Poise who draped from his arm like a glittering decoration. Florence Croft and Michael Vitus were trying to chat above the din in a nearby alcove. Danny craned his neck but couldn't see Sandi or Cherry. Cool hands reached from behind him and placed warm palms on his cheeks. It was Amanita.

'Hi Precious!' she exclaimed, giving him a big hug. She was drunk, and Tim followed behind, rolling his eyes as he walked.

'Alright Danny?' he asked, still looking uneasy. Danny nodded in response and waited for the band to take to the stage. The lights dimmed and while waiting for the three musicians, people cheered. Instead, Cherry Trove walked to the front of the stage. She wore a tight white dress and copperpink tights. Danny thought she looked demonically divine.

'Good evening ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls. Are you ready to rock?'

People cheered.

'I said are you ready to really, REALLY ROCK?'

More people cheered. Danny was transfixed. He knew she was a tease, but a stunningly pretty one.

'Please welcome on the stage, The Gibbons!!'

Richey Athurston, Ian Phalanger and Bryn Straw walked on stage. Richey grabbed the lead guitar, Ian the bass and Bryn sat behind the drums.

'This one's called "Lost and Found"'

Richey growled into the microphone, before picking out the opening chords, and sending the audience into dancing, drunken rhapsodies.

To conclude their set, The Gibbons played a cover of a current chart dance anthem, lighting up the packed pub with insouciant beats amid a soaring chorus. After the gig, Cherry walked back on as the house lights were turned up, and the band disassembled their equipment.

'Ladies and gentlemen, The Gibbons!' She applauded. Everyone in the audience knew she was Richey's girlfriend, and started booing her, especially the girls. At the side of stage, Richey wandered off to the bar and ignored the crowd. Danny watched him closely, his excessively long sideburns marking him out amid the throng. Liam Flicker joined him and patted him on the back.

'Great set.'

Danny wandered over, and offered to buy a round.

'Cheers Danny,' said Richey as he lifted the amber nectar to his lips. 'That first song was one we wrote especially – it's about, you know' and here Richey looked Danny directly in the pupils 'losing someone and then trying to find them again. I reckon you know a bit about that.'

Richey sipped on his beer, still absently gazing at Danny as Liam proceeded to tell him about the rave festival he was attending next weekend.

What was in Richey's mind? Danny thought quickly. Did Richey know something about the search Danny didn't? He grabbed his glass tightly as his thoughts spun out of control. There was something. Something hidden in Amberleigh. Something that would reveal the secret to Robin's disappearance. He could feel it. Feel it in the attitude of the locals. From his friends. He could feel her close to him, but couldn't put his finger on the exact nature of the concealing.

Cherry Trove wandered over and ordered a rum and coke.

'Oh hi Danny!' she exclaimed enthusiastically, pursing her lips and draping her left arm unconvincingly over Richey's much taller shoulder. 'How are you? How's the search going?'

'Oh, you know, okay,' Danny mumbled, staring at the black beads of coke sticking to her liquid lips. 'I haven't found anything out yet, but I'm hopeful we'll have some news on little Penny soon.'

'Oh!' Cherry replied, as Richey shrugged her arm away and absorbed himself in conversation with Liam. She whispered confidentially. 'No, I meant Robin. Have you managed to find anything out about Robin?'

Danny took a last look at her cute face. Her childlike dimples belied a feminine sharpness he only now appreciated was the deceptive fuel that powered her through teenage life. It was a coping mechanism. Disguising her own insecurities by claiming control over others' desires. He had wanted to kiss her so often. He had wanted to hug her slight body against his in the hope it would rub off some magic of love, the feeling of being wanted by someone so alive. The feeling was fading away. Attempting to hold on to it was a futile as chasing a rainbow.

'Yes Cherry. I know that's what you meant,' he said ruthlessly. The night was over.

*

In Danny's mind Burnett mountain stood as an imposing fiend waiting to do battle with Amberleigh Castle. The summit of the mountain seemed to consume all light that came within its grasp. At the base of Burnett sat a squat, buxom young woman. Make-up plastered her otherwise striking and fresh face. She smiled at the waving flowers which sprang from behind a rock. Daffodils seemed to wink at her as they moved in the wind. Enthusiastic dancers about to burn out. She lit her first cigarette of the day and carefully pushed the Marlboro packet – the same rich shade as her lips – back inside her handbag. As she exhaled, temporal relief rushed her lungs like the friendly return of obliterating desire.

In the distance she saw two chimneys stand erect like sentinels. It could have been the early summer mist or a fog descending but the merging of the cylinders with the backdrop seemed fused by slate-grey emissions from the factory.

Sitting on a rock atop Burnett mountain, Danny surveyed the scene below. He had been watching Sandi for the past ten minutes. She was eminently fuckable, he thought. How would she react if he leapt on her? Not kindly, like most girls he reflected, sighing and slowly traversing down the side of the mountain invisible to Sandi.

'Hi babe,' she said as he turned the corner.

'Been waiting long?' Danny asked, knowing full well how long she had waited.

'Not long, my little chicken.'

She drew on her cigarette and stood to meet him. 'What no hug, for my favourite little journalist?'

In that instant the image of infernal Bee Dew scuttled into his mind. Paranoid of her clandestine activity he arced his neck to make sure she or anyone else was not rampantly eavesdropping.

'Where to?' Sandi asked, after Danny embraced her, and smelt through the stale smoke her sweet scent of vanilla fudge.

'We could take a walk along the beach. The tide is out and it's a pleasant morning.' Danny followed Sandi's glance down at her shoes. Luckily, she was wearing pumps.

As they strolled down the damp sands, Sandi's hand swung idly by Danny's side. Her red nail varnish reflected in his eyes. As the sun emerged from behind a weak cloud, he wondered how her fingers would feel, to hold and squeeze.

'Do you think Bartholomew is on the right track then?' Danny asked, nervously.

Sandi fished into her handbag for a mirror and a small gold tube. She murmured words of assent as she reapplied scarlet gloss to her bulbous lips,.

'I can't remember what happens in those sessions, Sandi. It scares me.'

'What scares you more? Not remembering something I have witnessed with my own eyes, or never discovering that which is buried deep within your own heart. Something which may lead you to the truth?'

It was eloquently done. It was as smoothly applied as the glossy grease permeating her lips and imprinting the salty air. He gazed at her. Even with all the artifice and paint she was irresistible. He wanted to feel her lips smudge his with their dark femininity. It was on the edge of his thoughts to lean in for a kiss. She was close to him, maybe she was expecting some such move. But there was no precedent – no invitation. Should he be so presumptuous?

'Danny, why are you looking at me like that?'

Sandi cooed softly, looking in his eyes and returning his fierce gaze. Oh, to kiss those lips, again and again.

*

As they lay among the sand dunes, eyes pointing heavenwards, Danny could smell again that strange warm scent. It drifted from the factory behind, teasing his nostrils with tantalising vapour. Sandi lay next to him, her breasts accomplishing the unusual achievement of retaining their upward poise against gravity's will. The tide rolled several hundred yards away, a lifetime from disturbing them. Seagulls flew overhead, sailing on shafts of welcome summer breeze. They drifted gradually toward a trawler emerging from behind Amberleigh headland. Their squawks were the only intermittent noise to pierce their ears. That, and the gentle hum of the sea air filling Sandi's tempered lungs.

Danny's hand grasped at the sand. The gritty yellow crystals dissolved through his fingers and back onto the soft amorphous mass. Sandi's palms lay close by, her pale knuckles extending to meticulous cerise nails. He glanced at her hand, and once again at her chest, rising and falling, like the cadence of a pop song. The hour passed, and relaxation seeped into the pair's shoulders. As the clouds cleared, burnt away by a precocious sun, the warmth precipitated a pleasing accumulation of somnolence to descend on the duo. Heavy with the weight of the week their eyelids drooped and sleep claimed them like prodigal children.

*

'Seygo Dinnyhopper. Seygo Pollwhopper si revy darett. Si oyu?'

Danny smiled at the message his sister had scrawled across the inside of his copy of The Winter's Tale.

She pretended not to notice, silently reading a book on her bed when he entered her room. As usual, her ghetto blaster echoed some grunge tune, exquisitely chosen, at the height of cool. Not for her own benefit Danny knew. This was her signal to the outside world that she was not to be disturbed.

He signed slowly to her, knowing she could see his reflection in her table mirror.

She smiled but did not turn his way, reaching instead in the top drawer of her dressing table for a piece of gum. She chucked one in Danny's direction, not without significant velocity. It hit him on the head. She smiled again.

'Thanks Sis,' Danny signed. 'Can I talk to you?'

Polly Canterbury sat up and considered him curiously. She was growing into a young woman. Too quickly, Danny thought. She had taken to dyeing her hair a vicious shade of mauve and her small raised cheekbones lips now wore vague shades of blusher.

'What is it?' she signed, putting down an edition of Collins' The Moonstone.

Danny began to move his hands. How could he express the tumult of feeling, the experiences he was about to narrate generated? He tried his best to make his hands reflect the internal dialogue his brain conducted with his heart.

'Do you remember, my dear sister Polly, when Dad used to drive us back here after an evening out? He might have been picking us up from some after-school hobby. Or when we made trips to the theatre to see the pantomime? As our car turned the corner into our road and we caught sight of home, did you feel the same as me? A unique feeling of contentment? The mock-Olympic races we used to run as little children up and down the cobbles. Pacing each other to see who could reach end of the street in the quickest time. I miss it, Polly. It gave me a happiness I now only remember through nostalgic memory. Polly – do you remember bath time on a Sunday evening? You know, after Songs of Praise but before Antiques Roadshow. We would be plunged into that steaming water washing us clean before we would descend down the adventure staircase to have our nails cut in front of a television programme where a speedboat dived in and out of the needles off the Isle of Wight. We would eat tuna sandwiches and chicken soup for our teas before being sent to bed?

As a child you do not see the love and tenderness with which you are cared for. You only think of the desire to stay up longer, to watch programmes that have been forbidden, to eat something more exciting. Polly, my adorable sister, what I would give now to have that former happiness returned to me. To us.'

Danny rested his hands and gazed at the bleached sunshine pouring in through the open window. Polly's ghetto blaster still whirred, but the music had slowed to a lush, gentle melody. The late grunge singer's blank lyrics filled the room with a fog of desperation and hopelessness. Polly moved her hands as she mouthed the words she wanted to say, if she had been granted the power of speech.

'Is this about Robin?'

Danny blinked to wash away tears that may have formed if adrenaline hadn't built in his veins. He continued signing, matching the despair of the music with his wish to purge himself of unresolved thoughts.

'There were things I didn't like of course. I hated being made to sit at the dinner table until I had eaten all my sprouts. I couldn't stand the anxiety of going swimming on a Saturday morning. To the swimming pool that resided within a pyramid. I was afraid they would make me dive beneath the water and that I wouldn't be able to breathe. I still have nightmares about it Polly. I still have visions that I see her, her face cheekily covered with chocolate from the secret place. It's only through these visions I remember how much we played before she was taken. She was taken – she was taken! Aaaarrrgh! Fuck!'

Polly's face turned to one of sudden alarm, but she remained seated next to Danny, and placed her small hand over his, squeezing it hard.

'SOME BASTARD STOLE MY FRIEND!'

The words must have travelled far out across the ocean. Polly embraced her brother, feeling the power of love soar higher than his heartbreak. Now that adrenaline had claimed its victory the tears followed. He wept profusely into her shoulder. He fell into his sister's love as easily as a lamb frolicking in spring sunshine. As he couldn't control his shaking body any more, his tears intermingled with the purple hair dye Polly had been using to attract the attention of one Samuel Mills.

*

Once again they crouched upon tiny stools in that high, disused room. The one with latticed windows that pointed skywards. Wonder had brought in a wine glass. From his flexible grey briefcase he pulled a dusty bottle of wine. Placing both on a wooden stool in the corner, he turned again to face his students.

'Ladies and gentlemen – what you are about to witness is a magic trick, nothing more, nothing less.' Wonder pointed to Benjamin Sprite. 'Please sir, if you would be kind enough to pour me a glass of wine from that bottle in the corner?'

Benjamin, the school sports star, rose reluctantly. He had only taken the subject as an appeasement to his mother. He resented having to be inside on a glorious day when he could be out practising his cricket swing. Walking to the bottle he cast a glance towards Danny who, like all of them, looked on eagerly. Awaiting the majestic miracle with breathless anticipation.

Benjamin lifted the cork from the bottle easily. Picking it up, he began to pour into the wine glass, the edge of which glinted the sun's glare like an impeccable diamond. Nothing flowed from the bottle apart from a small spring of clear liquid. Through the sunlight a miniature rainbow formed as the transparent fluid flowed. The religious studies students laughed. Benjamin shook the bottle, but to no avail. There was no wine to pour, but simple water.

'Thank you,' Professor Wonder said, satisfied at Benjamin's ritual humiliation. 'You may sit down.'

With eyes as hard as peach stones, Benjamin returned to his stool, kicking an idle piece of accumulated dust in the process. Wonder wandered over to the bottle to check it. Danny studied his face intently. It wore a puzzled and slightly capricious expression. He returned to face the class.

'Would anyone else like to try?'

No-one volunteered.

'How about you, Danny?'

Wonder asked in a tone of voice that indicated it wasn't really a question, but a command in camouflage. Danny hesitated, for a moment pretending to see something out of the window. The sun had disappeared behind a cloud and the resulting greyness had darkened the room.

'Apologies for disturbing you, Mr Canterbury. Perhaps your mind was drifting to absent friends. Perhaps Miss Robin Vernal was at the centre of your thoughts?'

The class gasped. Nobody, not even a teacher, had dared to be so insensitive. Danny fixed his gaze to Wonder. Wonder returned his look with equal force, and that irritating sparkle in his right eye.

Danny stood and walked to the wooden stool. He reached for the bottle, again hesitating. Benjamin's humiliation was now his. They would be brothers in Wonder's master plan. As he lifted the bottle, it felt surprisingly heavy. He tipped the neck so that it kissed the diamond edge of the glass and viscous red fluid flowed thickly from the rim of the bottle, abundant and fast. Danny had to quickly tip the neck back up to stop the glass from overflowing. The glass now stood, absorbing all the light it had previous reflected. A full glass of red wine, perfectly potent.

'Cherry, my little darling, would you like a sip of your namesake? For this is, I believe, cherry-flavoured wine?'

Needing no further invitation as far as alcohol was concerned, Cherry uncrossed her slender legs, enveloped by shiny black lycra, and catwalked to the wooden stool. She wore a flimsy black top, through which a claret bra could be distinguished if you looked hard enough. Danny was looking harder than most.

Cherry reached for the glass, the pinky finger on her right hand carefully stroking the foot of the glass with loving admiration before she thriftily brought the glass to irrepressible lips. The red liquid quickly disappeared, gushing down her throat in waves the pleasure of which was known only to Cherry. Draining the glass, she placed it back on the wooden stool and returned to her seat, re-crossing her legs prettily.

Wonder gazed at her with considerable concern and amazement etched on the young lines on his face.

'Ladies and gentlemen, what you have witnessed is a simple trick, the secret of which I may choose to divulge at a later date. For now, I would like you to concentrate your minds on the astonishment you felt when Danny poured the wine from the meek-looking bottle. Hazel Brock – can you tell us how you felt?'

Never afraid of bringing herself to the forefront, Hazel stood up and pronounced to the class.

'Professor, I was thinking Danny would be left with the dregs of water from the bottle. I was truly shocked when the wine surged forth.'

"Surged forth?" thought Danny. This was not the usual language of Hazel. Perhaps she had been reading some trashy love story, or worse watching a lurid porno.

'Anything else,' Wonder asked. Danny got the distinct impression from Wonder's tone he was driving at something specific. Hazel's next comment was highly irregular, even for her.

'I do not suffer the random whims of a foolish man.'

Wonder did a little jig on the spot, in response. He did not seem remotely fazed by Brock's reply.

'Class, imagine a room full of joyful wedding goers, draining the wine clear with a full few hours before the end of the evening. What do they do? They turn to Jesus and ask him to turn water into wine. The venue was Cana – and what is the lesson? Does anyone want to venture a guess?

Danny thought he knew. He raised his hand and at Wonder's invitation, spoke to the class.

'I think the lesson is that, similar to the miracle of wine from nothing flowing, faith can materialise when all around everything looks desperate.'

'Very good,' Wonder murmured. Throwing a pack of chocolate buttons at Danny, he performed another jubilant jig.

*

Washing

Washing mashers and rashing thrashers

Crashing bashers and clashing nashers

Trashing hashheads and flashing dashers

Smashing gashers and lashing cashews

Thrilling grills and lulling pulls

Mulling wills and sullied gulls

Billing hills and drilling kills

Silly pills and filling bulls

Reckoning

In the darkened and plush hypnosis chamber Bartholemew stood over Danny. The theatre of oblivion was the name Danny had given to the room of his misremembrances. This time, under Bartholomew's instruction, Sandi sat in the waiting room outside, examining the latest shades of Rimmel in Cosmopolitan.

'One, two, three. You are asleep but can still speak.'

Danny nodded, sensing overwhelming benevolence bear on him, inviting him to submit and comply.

'You are running along the beach with your friend. Where are you?'

'I am running along the beach with Robin,' Danny replied calmly.

'Good,' Bartholomew uttered in his tremulous baritone. 'You both stop. Why?'

Danny shifted in his seat. Bartholomew's eyes darted to Danny's position, noting the movement on his pad.

'We both stop to look at the factory. Robin...' Danny's voice faded into sleep. Bartholomew waited, counting to ten on his doctor's watch.

'Yes, Danny. You are in a safe place and no harm will come to you. You were saying. Robin?'

'Robin...is going inside the factory. I am running after her. I can't keep up, she runs away from me into the darkness...'

Bartholomew breathed steadily, glancing at Danny's brow where beads of perspiration had begun to crown.

'Okay Danny. You and Robin are now in the factory. What can you see?'

'There is a metal girder in front of us, and all around us are more metal girders. It's iron, I think.'

Bartholomew smiled, allowing Danny to continue.

'I see windows in the distance, and tables with empty wrappers on them. There are seven pipes on the far wall. Robin says they are the colours of the rainbow. Red orange yellow green blue indigo and violet. And gold. The smell of chocolate is everywhere. It fills me with excitement. I cannot see Robin. She has disappeared. I take a few steps and find she has vanished down a hole in the floor to a room below. I peer down the hole and see her waving up...'

Bartholomew listened intently as his heartbeat sped up. The clinical observations had been surrendered to the story: he had forgotten to observe his patient. Danny was now covered in sweat, his breathing had become heavy and blood pumped frantically through the veins in his wrists. Regretfully, Bartholomew decided it was too dangerous to continue.

'One two three four five!' Danny's eyes blinked open. He could feel clammy residue over his face and hands. As he sat up gingerly, he glanced at Dr Bartholomew and allowed his puzzled expression to ask the question.

'I'm sorry Danny. We went in a little further that time. I think we should leave it there for today...'

Bartholomew was interrupted by his patient.

'...no – we end this now. You were taking me somewhere. We need to reach that destination Dr Bartholomew. I need to know – I need to know the information my unconscious mind is concealing from me. There is something. Isn't there?'

Danny fixed his gaze on Dr Bartholomew with as much piercing focus as a seventeen-year old can muster. Bartholomew closed his notepad and sighed. He reached for a small bottle of purple pills from a cabinet behind his desk.

'Danny, I am afraid that is the end of this week's session. Please take one of these a week until then,' handing over the bottle of purple pills. 'They'll keep you calm. I'll see you the same time next month.'

Danny stormed from the room, his face still sticky and wet, his hair askew. Racing past a bewildered-looking Sandi, he opened the door onto the street and breathed in deeply the sweet salt of the Amberleigh coastal air. A couple of elderly ladies passed. Their looks of alarm halted Danny. It must be odd for weekend shoppers to see a distressed youth emerge panting on the polite cobbles. Sandi followed, and rested her warm palm on his shoulder.

'Danny – what is it? What have you found out?' He turned round and embraced her. The squashiness of her ample body comforted him. As he squeezed her greedily against him he breathed in her warm fudgey scent, sobbing hard into the creamy nape of his friend's neck.

*

Pry led them proudly into the grounds, beyond the edge of the playground, on to a circular copse overlooking the cliff's brink. Here sat the literature group. Copies sat in their laps of the Shakespeare text they had been reading all year. It was a pleasant day – not overhot. A mild breeze shook the leaves, blowing through endless varieties of mountain flowers that bloomed at the precipice.

'I will read,' Pry declared, holding her copy out in front of her as if it were a medal of honour.

"I'll not put

The dibble in earth to set one slip of them;

No more than, were I painted, I would wish

This youth should say, 'twere well, and only therefore

Desire to breed by me. Here's flowers for you,

Hot lavender, mints, savoury, marjoram,

The marigold that goes to bed wi'th' sun,

And with him rises weeping..."

'Perhaps someone can tell me what function Perdita performs in The Winter's Tale?'

Some rocks scrambled loose on the edge of the mountain. Danny watched a few students throwing pebbles into the vivacious sea in the distance. As the sun appeared from behind a cloud, it lit the face of one of the girls. A thin slick of lilac grease shimmered on her lips and a streak of gold glimmered above black eyelines. Without thinking, Danny murmured to himself.

'A lost Bohemia. Nature and artifice are everywhere.'

'Absolutely! Well done Danny – Perdita serves to remind us that nature and art often go hand in hand as companions, although they are essentially opposites of each other. Perdita is a figure to remind us of what is, or can be, lost. To extend the word slightly to "perdition" we find she is an indicator of spiritual destruction, However, Shakespeare leads our Perdita through pretty gardens, abundant with the best flowers spring has to offer. We are invited to view her pastoral care as a form of spiritual fulfilment. But where did you discover the reference to Bohemia?'

Danny looked as confused as Amanita, who raised her eyebrows in a show of solidarity.

Pry's intention, as the rest of the lesson proceeded, was for everyone to have a go at performing a part in the play. Danny was allocated Leontes. His expression of desperate astonishment when seeing Amanita's Hermione revolve back into life was laughed off by everybody, including Pry herself.

'Hmm – maybe you're better creating the page, rather than acting,' she had said with a girlish giggle as Danny picked up his books at the end of the class. Amanita strolled with him on the walk back to the castle.

'Just one issue left of the Communiqué before the end of term Danny – are you ready for it?'

Amanita spoke half-smiling, half nervous. About to list all the examinations and coursework he had to prepare for ahead of the Communiqué, Danny rounded on her. However something in her glance at her feet told him Amanita hinted at something deeper.

'The media are proceeding at quite a pace now,' Danny said.

Amanita stared at him, reaching a finger to adjust his collar where it had become displaced during a heated 'acting' moment.

'We will follow this story to the end. Mark my words.'

Danny smiled as he watched her march back into school. He remained for a moment, gazing out to sea. The spray rose from the rocks below like angel mist. He felt a tap on the shoulder and turned round to see Robin Vernal standing there.

He blinked, and she was gone. In that sun-bathed instant Danny must have dreamt it. Yet he brought his hands up to his face, and saw that a purple slip of paper was wrapped around his little finger. It was similar to the one he had shown Albany Foss two years ago. Was this one going to be blank? He unrolled it, his heart surprisingly as calm and steady as his grip. It might have been a mistaken vision, and something left from the class, that he had absentmindedly picked up and twirled around his finger. It was difficult to tell, such was the heightened state he found himself in these days. He read the words three times before repeating them aloud to himself. It was a short but sweet message, something he might have written to himself, or more likely one of the girls had written to another, as a confirmation of a secret rendez-vous. Yet it was filled with hope. He said the words again, and they made him happy.

"I'll see you in the spring."

*

The man in the tweed jacket sat opposite Danny in a crowded Wilfields. If anything he looked wearier than the last time Danny set eyes on him. Constance Barthes was very much on Danny's mind. He didn't wait for Thimball to pour the drink in his glass before he asked the first question.

'How do we know this woman isn't just after publicity, or even money?'

'We don't. Not for certain,' Thimball said flatly. 'But Danny consider the facts. This poor girl was beaten as a child. She left school to have her only child, which she treasures more than life itself. I do not think this woman would lie. Besides it wasn't as if she made some great pronouncement about the doll's name. I would never have discovered the clue had it not been for a small comment she made to her daughter in passing. She told Sophie not to forget her little doll. It was Sophie who at that moment piped up – "No no Amber-Leigh come here." In French obviously.'

Danny sipped his ginger beer and concentrated. The lead was too tempting He almost wanted it not to be true so he wouldn't have to bear the huge disappointment should he stuff up the equally-sized opportunity. Opening his mouth to speak, he saw Thimball was ahead of him.

'I am afraid there has been another development, which may mar the lead we found in France.'

Danny raised his eyebrows, signalling Thimball to continue.

'The trail in France has gone cold. We don't know what has happened but nobody has seen Minerva, nor the man for the past four weeks. Further to this, no-one is willing to talk about it. It's almost as if the whole town has been issued with a commandment of silence from the local council. You see, Danny, this was not a large town and many locals depend increasingly on passing tourists to their famous abbey for a living. The story of a missing girl, possibly kidnapped, being seen as resident in their town is not something they want to be put on the map for. They fear the consequences would be detrimental and long-lasting should the national media blow hot air into it. You see Danny, small minds exist in France, as they do here. We can't get anything more out of the people there. It's disappointing and frustrating I know, but there's little point in us pursuing that location any more. I've pulled my contact out of there.'

Danny thought furiously. It seemed unjust and unfair of this man to dangle an especial lead before him, and then viciously remove it just as Danny had warmed to the story, and readied himself to act. Pulling his thoughts and composure together he stared Thimball down.

'Dermot, may I call you Dermot? You called this meeting. I believe you had something more to tell me than this, which you could have simply related to me in a letter, or an email, or a phone call. Is this it? Am I to now lose all the hope of regaining my childhood friend which you instilled in me ? What steps are we now to take to elevate this matter to even an inch closer of recovering the situation. As well as my own sanity,' he added, more quietly.

The man in the tweed jacket sighed and looked at Danny. He rubbed his stubble hard and sipped on his beer.

'There is something else,' he whispered as he brought his glass back to the table with a flourish. 'Something rather interesting, given recent events in the British media.'

'Pray continue,' Danny said, inner rage threatening to pierce his outward politeness.

'I can't tell you today Danny, we have to wait.'

It was too much. Danny brought his own glass crashing down on the table, spilling ginger beer everywhere, and chipping the dark mahogany with a splinter of glass.

'What! You can't tell me? Are you out of your fucking tiny mind?'

Dr Dermot Thimball picked up his hat and smiled at Danny in a bittersweet way.

'I need to confirm a few facts before I tell you. It would be irresponsible of me to relate any more. I am sure, after you have a little time perhaps, you will understand that I am doing this for your own good.'

Danny stood up in a torrent of anger, clearly signalling his intention to walk out without saying another word. Something stopped him, and he hesitated. The thought of walking back into the cold dark ignorance after resolving to put all his effort into the search for Robin, came to him like a cruel joke. He positioned himself to ask another question.

'Before we leave each other please tell me this: does this piece of information, which you cannot relate to me, does it in any way shape or form relate to the human being we have been discussing named Robin Vernal?'

Thimball stood up again and put on his hat, even though it was evidently a bright sunny day outside.

'Yes, yes it does,' he said in a satisfied tone of voice, before walking out of Wilfields with his Indiana Jones posture and demeanour upheld.

*

A million sparkles reflected a thousand rainbows off the inside of Janna Chisely's beautiful gold watch. She pulled the buckle to her, locked and then, in an absent-minded motion, released it. Her gaze was fixed upon something in the window, something with a platinum shine. Danny grabbed her just above her slender hips and tickled the ribs he'd oft kissed two years since.

'Ow,' she squealed. 'Danny Canterbury – if that is you I'm going to give you a slap.'

'Looking for some glam? Or an engagement ring, perhaps?' Danny asked cheekily with one eyebrow raised. The cheeky charm of his brushed brows was becoming his signature gesture. Janna pushed her bottom out, upon which rested finely embroidered blue jeans adorned with gold lining. She smacked her right cheek with a satisfying thwack.

'I don't need any,' she said, 'take a look at that.'

A pregnant silence hung in the air until Janna withdrew her derriere and Danny brushed a brown curl from his forehead. An awkward moment passed between the pair. Danny remained stationary, forcing Janna to suffer the embarrassment of the over-eager ex.

'I never meant to hurt you, you know.' Danny blurted from nowhere. It was like a stream that started as a trickle. After the seal had broken it transformed into a fully-running river.

'I needed time to think. I'm just a young guy, I'm nothing really, I guess I just wanted somewhere to hide away. We were both young. So much happened in that year. I needed time – to process it all. Didn't you find it easier without me there?'

In the corner of her sky-blue iris a welling tear gently encroached Janna's mascara. It told Danny a different story. He stumbled over words as he raced with himself to be rid of them. An explosion of erroneous eloquence.

'But Janna – you have to understand. I was just a boy. A boy who had only ever wished of finding and being with and loving and making love to and seeing forever in his future – a girl like you! You, you, you! When it came I didn't know what to do. I temporarily forgot who I was. I was forced with a choice. Find myself or succumb to a relationship I knew wouldn't work. I had built you up too much into something you could never be. I never meant to hurt you.'

Danny's voice faded at the look of shock and horror in Janna's expression. It looked like her fears were coming alive, and he had delivered them, once again.

'You bastard!' she screamed, making a few people who were passing throw her castigating looks. Janna didn't care. 'I fell for you completely. You never gave me any indication it wasn't working for you. What was it Danny that tipped the edge? Something my ex said? All those times I let you kiss me on my breasts, all those times you told me you loved me, all those times you said you'd never let me go.'

Janna's voice altered pitch. She spoke in a dangerous whisper.

'It was all a lie wasn't it? It was a filthy fucking lie.'

Danny stood helpless, waiting for the onslaught he knew had been a volcano waiting to erupt for two years.

'It was her, wasn't it. I'll never be as good as her, will I? You'll always be back in that underground chamber, won't you Danny? You'll always be watching her fall into that green river, won't you Danny? You'll never know, will you? My life has taken a backward turn since you left me. Since you let me fall. You'll never know! YOU'LL NEVER KNOW BECAUSE YOU'LL NEVER CARE!'

The tracks of water stained Danny's cheeks. Yet he still stood helpless, staring at the one living woman with the nascent power to undo him. Something had made him see Janna in a new light. She could switch from excruciating tenderness to mysterious humour to feline attack with sublime dexterity. It made his head hurt, what she had said.

'She gave her life for you, Janna. I'll have to live with the choice for the rest of mine. This conversation is over.'

Amberleigh fountain gushed nearby. Danny walked over and washed his face in the water steaming off carved plateaus. Those curved dishes would forever hold the fluent and rhythmical waves. They crashed off the cold stone, onto colder stone below.

*

Timothy Gaunt pushed the button. Again and again. Flicking through photos with increasing rapidity. The black background on the computer screen was difficult to read, especially when words were only available for a few flashing moments, briefer than a moment's thought.

'Hold it, Tim. You're going too fast.'

Danny leaned in front to prevent him striking the return key again.

'Fast is the only way to go mate,' Tim retorted, reverting to the mouse and settling on a defining image: they were just walking on the stage, the singer lost in his huge white Stetson and impenetrable cool. 'They say they've gone to the Dodecanese to record their next record. Something about the lush summer inspiring a return to the abundant jangliness of yore.'

Danny looked at Tim with extreme scepticism.

'Honestly mate,' Tim nodded earnestly.

'It's nearly time for us to go,' said Danny, looking at his watch. He knew Amanita would be waiting for them both upstairs.

'Hold on a sec, Am can wait a couple more minutes. There's something else I want to show you.'

Tim flicked a few keys and typed something into the search engine. It wasn't long before Danny was gazing into a page full of thumbnail photos. A hundred faces smiled at Danny from behind the blinking cursor.

'What is this?' he asked hesitantly, fearing he might not want to know the answer.

'It's a site I found the other day. It's a social networking site for A-level students – it's great. This is the place to meet women Danny. Look – Amanda and Isobel are on here.'

Tim clicked on a shiny blonde face which led to a different page with bigger profile photos, one of which displayed the young lady's exposed cleavage. Danny looked on it pityingly. Although pert and buxom she was no match for Sandi Burrill.

'You can swap essays and everything. I tell you my coursework is a piece of piss now.'

'Go back,' Danny instructed

Tim clicked and diverted back to the page displaying the thumbnails.

'There,' Danny pointed to a young lady with blonde curls and an irresistibly cute face.

'Bugger me!' Tim exclaimed.

'I'd rather not,' Danny replied. 'I don't know where you've been.'

'We know her!' Tim continued. 'She's no A-level student'.

Danny nodded and wondered in silence why this woman was cyber-loitering on a website meant for students much younger than she. There was only one conclusion Danny thought as he gazed again into glitter-red lips and furious curls. There must be a story in it. To a stranger she wouldn't have looked out of place. Possibly she would even pass for an eighteen-year old. The always startlingly pretty, Bee Dew.

*

Wendy

Wendy walks west with water

Johnny japes gingerly jousting jest

Grace grins gushingly gone green

Carlton collapses kindly kissing Carla

Locket

It was a Marjoram day. Anjalie came skipping through the verdant foliage like a pastoral heroine. Her eyes flashed as her lithe body twisted within the liberal constraints of her pale olive dress. In her hand she held a small palm belonging to a small boy who skipped with equal fervour.

Danny had managed to prise them away from Gabriel for the day. A swift breeze blew clouds across the sky like a lawnmower gliding through grass. Like the constant glitter of mysterious glass. Ackley sat opposite, sucking his thumb and pulling funny faces to Danny, who smiled with unexpected contentment.

Was there something more? Should he have taken the unseen and anticipated move of marrying the pregnant girl? She was not his to marry, she had found another. It was not that she was perceived as not-a-stayer, not an intellectual like him and Tim and Amanita. There was yet a spark of life's cheekiness in her disposition, a quality for which he hadn't been given the words to articulate. She smiled at inopportune moments. Danny often thought she was mocking him, but then he noticed her display it with other people too. He began to understand it was a necessary quirk of her sprightly character. Anjalie Marjoram – a spinning ball of life, exuding energy at every bounce.

'Look. Look what he's doing now Danny,' she called, 'he's showing you his lunch!'

Ackley had grabbed a crust of bread and was tossing it in the air before catching it with supreme wonder in his wide eyes. Danny grabbed a crust and tossed his in the air as well, matching the rhythm of Ackley's efforts. It was a symbolic gesture, a communal bond. The simple joy in unusual symmetry reaffirmed, in Danny's mind at least, that little Ackley was his father's son.

*

Collapsing in his armchair at the end of a long day, William Canterbury reached for his steaming mug of coffee. He sipped slowly at the edges of the Arizona rim. Sweet, hot caffeine flowed through his mouth and into the soft belly. William had endured many turmoils and anxieties. He knew with immeasurable certainty they were not yet over. Danny watched him relax carefully, folding his own legs beneath himself, which he did whenever he felt insecure.

Polly Canterbury sat at the opposite end of the sofa, quietly persevering with her tapestry. She weaved the needle in and out of the canvas grid with furious speed. Gradually the picture of a wooden chest spilling a rainbow of precious jewels was building.

The television blinked into life. William sighed as dramatic chimes ended. An ageing presenter spoke into the camera with entreating eyes but a voice streaked with appalling seriousness.

The shot panned wide and revealed a plasma screen the ageing presenter was addressing to consult with his colleague. Channdale stood in a light short-sleeved shirt against a background of a pale building. Rustic tufts of brown hair poked above a gleaming forehead. A white roman nose protruded from his eager unblemished face. In the foreground stood bleached rocks and brown olive trees.

Danny sat back, aghast by the perpetual repetition and lack of incision. The journalism was bored and tired to him. There was clearly little they could convey, yet in their official flap the media laboured the same points in an attempt to capitalise on what was, Danny had to admit, a startling new development. He counted to five and on the fourth beat the phone rang with what he knew would be a difficult call.

Polly carried on stitching, but she could tell the phone was ringing due to the flashing red light on the top of the phone. She looked at the display idly and signed to Danny.

'It's Amanita.'

Danny picked up the phone as William left the room to carve some cake.

'Hello my darling what can I do for you today?'

'Are you watching the news?'

'No,' Danny lied, and smiling at the same time from knowing that Amanita could see through him like a window. 'I'm watching a documentary about plane crashes.'

'We're going,' Amanita said. Her voice was firm and as determined as Polly's stitching. Danny sighed.

'Where are we going Amanita?'

'You promised Danny. Don't forget your promise.'

'Amanita, my delightful little friend, I'm afraid I don't have the slightest idea what you're blithering about.'

Amanita continued with relentless steadiness.

'Make sure your passport is up to date, I'll book the tickets for the three of us. There's a good deal on in Thomas Cook at the moment. You can pay me back next year.'

'Lovely!' Danny said sarcastically. 'One thing Amanita, would you mind telling me whereabouts we're going.'

Amanita finally lost her temper.

'RHODES! Don't you know? We need to investigate this. This is the coup the Communiqué has been waiting for. We've got an in because of your interview. Don't forget you promised to do what is necessary. I'm...'

Danny cut her off.

'Do you think I'm going to get on another plane after what happened last month?!'

'Danny you promised!' Amanita sounded hurt.

'Yes, but that was before a bunch of eagles tried to destroy my life in a metal tube travelling at a hundred miles an hour. That kind of thing can really put a crimp on someone's day.'

Silence greeted Danny at the other end of the phone. He paused, and added.

'I'll think about it.'

He hung up and turning to face Polly, he smiled. Polly signed back.

'You're going.'

*

Standing on the cliff staring at crashing waves, Danny used the rare moments of solitude to reflect on the upcoming conversation. Wild flowers peeped out from the cold exposed rock beneath him. The late summer evening delivered fireflies that buzzed around them. Pale chickweeds and violently coloured soapworts fought their way amid chlorophyll-fueled weeds, angry thistles and the odd orchid.

He had chosen not to meet in Wilfields this time. It was too trivial a rendez-vous for this particular dialogue. It felt good to meet somewhere natural. Somewhere he could run, or shout, or scream if he needed to. At the edge of the headland, the castle overlooked with dramatic portentousness. This was the place where he wanted to discover the truth, the significance, a new nugget of hope in his search for Robin. A lone red tulip bloomed at the cliff's rim, but refused to buckle to the growing wind.

Danny had arrived fifteen minutes early on purpose. He needed a moment to think about Amanita's request. Would he go? Was it a question of whether he should submit, or was it a demand for loyalty to the promise he made those months previous? The spiky dilemma thwarted his thoughts at every step. At the centre of the story, at the heart of the quandary, between, quite literally Danny thought, the devil and the deep blue sea, was a fear that had not diminished since he saw his golden friend consumed by the toxic green two years ago. It was not a fear of flight or plane crashes, it was not even a fear of not being true to himself. It was a fear that, quite simply, he would make the wrong choice. Each path looked to contain weariness and hardship: there was no simple option. There was just pain, and the strength needed to endure it.

The sun was setting now. In the distance he could hear groups of first year girls chattering in the oncoming twilight. A new dawn would follow the dusk. As the school year neared its end, like a train finally beginning to emerge from a long tunnel, life seemed rudely abundant. Danny tried to think himself into their mentality – that feeling of the world overpowering your every move, wanting more than ever to love and be loved, not realising that the true hearth lay in the warmth of good friends.

The clouds above were becoming indistinguishable against the indigo sky. Light was failing, but as it fell it lit a new hope that he clung onto as closely as the memory of Chardelia Foss. A tweed jacket and distinctive wide-brimmed hat silhouetted the horizon, and grew larger in Danny's vision. It was not a fantasy now, Dr Dermot Thimball was making his slow way towards him.

*

'Hello Danny. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.'

Danny looked directly into those tired eyes, adjacent to the crinkled crow's feet.

'I will come straight to the point. I believe I have irrefutable evidence Robin Vernal is still alive.'

Thimball's gaze into Danny's face was soft and steady.

'I have received a report from a contact. A journalist today working within Greece, following the story of little Penny Trikill. A report which states Robin Vernal was seen and identified by an unknown source.'

'Where was she seen?' Danny asked.

'She was believed to be wandering on a small beach on a Greek island – an island that is distinctive because of its waterfall directly onto the sand from the cliff above. The waterfall is fondly known locally as the "Brownleaf Spring". The source walked straight past her and saw, beneath curls of brown hair, the rainbow-coloured eye. He knew it was her immediately.'

'Who was the source?' Danny asked, impatient for answers.

Thimball sighed and turned slightly away from Danny.

'Who was the source!' Danny demanded, his voice growing louder as a small bird flew overhead and nested in a nearby tree.

'I am afraid I do not know. The source only communicated this revelation to my contact in Greece upon condition of anonymity.'

'Then how do we know it's a bona fide identification?' Danny asked, irritated and intrigued at the same time. 'How do we know this contact isn't just making it up?'

Thimball looked at him, a mixture of exasperation and thoughtfulness in his gaze.

'We know it was bona fide identification, Danny, because of this.'

Thimball held out his palm, to reveal a flash of silver.

'She dropped it on the beach and the unknown source picked it up and passed it to my Greek contact.'

Thimball tipped a delicate silver chain and a heart-shaped locket into Danny's fingers. Danny turned it over. The last gleam of sunlight as it fell below the horizon made the small, sand-filled engraving duller against its background. The letters were obvious. In a moment of clarity Danny held in his hand what he had not seen last for twelve years. It could have stood for anything. A recreation vehicle, a return voyage, a resurrection of vitality. In the end, there were only two words it could stand for. As Danny gazed in wonder at the small and financially worthless piece of jewellery, he understood the true value of things that transcended earthly drives. The initials R.V. meant to him only one thing. A crucial step closer to his childhood friend. As he turned back to look at Thimball, he was sure he felt the soft violet breath of a robin caress his revealed skin.

*

Technokillers

Crimsonscarlet Russetrust

Rougeruby Copperberry

Citrussun Apricotbronze

Jasminepeach Honeyauburngold

Forestolive Jadebottle

Emeraldpine Silvercoral

Seacornflower Skycerulean

Azurepewter Neptunedusk

Dawntwilight Purplepuce Lilacmauve

Rhodes

The sheer sea sparkled azure brilliance. Reflecting light turquoise and silver stars back at the sun, its calmness dominated a pale blue sky. Viscosity lapped the slender shore. A stunned Danny trod on white sand. He felt the summer splendour of environs more serene than Amberleigh. As his neck warmed quickly he detached the jacket he had brought in case of cool evenings. Removing his shoes and socks – he would not need them anymore – he submerged his toes beneath the crumbling crystals.

It was a stupid idea to wear jeans this morning. They now became bonded to his legs by sweat as his pores opened, screaming for cool relief. Darting behind a bush he removed them before replacing them with decorated boxers that could easily substitute for bermuda shorts in the Greek heat. Retrieving his sunglasses from his jeans he bundled them in his drawstring bag and marched back to the beach. The sand cascaded between his pale skin and his feet sank deliciously with every step. A balmy breeze cooled temporarily. The baked earth crunched satisfyingly underfoot. When Danny exhaled he found the stress and toil and drama from the past year melt in his wheezing lungs.

The beach was deserted. In the distance he spotted a steamer sat on the horizon. A dazzling sun rose overhead and beat heavy rays into the bean-green waters. Gazing into the transparency Danny watched the ripple effect camouflage tiddlers as they swam gracefully amid shallow pools. Amberleigh felt far away. This was his summer mission. With a bit of luck he would be able to relax as well. Rhodes could become his.

Back at the large villa, in one of the two bedrooms Amanita unpacked her clothes before folding them up and arranging them in the wardrobe. She took great delight in assigning order to what had been crumpled in the belly of a plane for a few hours. Tim lay on the bed reading a sports mag.

'Hey Danny how's the weather?' Tim asked, peering over the edge of his page.

'Very appealing,' Danny murmured, silently laughing at the contrast of Tim's laziness with Amanita's irreducible purpose.

Amanita swivelled round. She wore a flattering salmon top, allowing an inch more cleavage than when in the UK. Khaki shorts extended halfway across her thighs, and added an "I-mean-business" tone to her brisk uniform. Small red fish dangled from her each of her ears and light gold Max Factor adorned her lips. In the pellucid Greek light she looked comely and Danny noticed Tim's eye rest on her figure also.

'Right boys – we have work to do,' Amanita said.

Tim turned back to his magazine.

'I'll have that!'

Amanita leaned over. With a low swoop the front of her top relaxed in Tim's eyeline. Gazing at the rich curve of Amanita's breasts Tim was momentarily distracted and did not notice Amanita whip away his sports mag with a swift left hook. Unfortunately for Tim she only grasped one magazine. Her confiscation served to reveal another magazine in Tim's hand, less sports-related. Indeed Tim was too busy staring at Amanita's chest to notice the periodical cover now resting in his hands, nakedly displayed photos of other women's chests.

'Timothy!' Amanita exclaimed.

'Yes breasts.' Tim murmured, still gazing.

'No more breasts for you this weekend. We're here to cover the story.'

Tim sighed and looked to Danny for a vote of sympathy. Danny raised his eyebrows.

'Amanita, you better be careful or you might get a bit of a shock one day.'

'Timothy, you better be careful or you might get a bit of a whack one day.' Amanita rebutted with expedient wit.

Something was puzzling Danny.

'Amanita, I'm just wondering why we hired a five-bed villa when there's only three of us. Weren't there any smaller places available?'

Amanita glanced sheepishly at Danny. He saw the sudden mystery in the film that descended over her eyes.

'Yeah – there were,' she murmured without further explanation.

Tim, bereft of his reading material, now joined in this line of investigation.

'So why did we hire a five-bed villa Amanita?'

Tim used his gaze to affirm his request for a direct answer.

'My God! If you two applied this investigative skill to the disappearance, we might already have solved the story for the Greek police and gained a beautiful coup for the Communiqué in the process.'

Danny and Tim rolled their eyes in unison. They waited, not uttering another word, knowing silence was an obstacle Amanita could rarely overcome without submission.

'We have hired a five-bed villa,' Amanita said, exasperation seeping into her voice, 'because the costs wouldn't work any other way. Between five of us it works out more affordable.'

Tim and Danny looked at each other in confusion, and then back at Amanita.

'But Am, it was just us three that flew out,' Tim asked as Danny watched him think furiously who the other two would be. Danny had a funny feeling...

'Yes. The other two flew from Luton.'

Amanita's admission sealed Danny's knowledge.

Tim stood on the bed. His full height crisped the ceiling, and he had to bend below the hanging light as he advanced toward Amanita.

'Tell me – who else is coming?' he demanded, facing down Amanita inches from her heavily perfumed face.

'Why don't you just wait and see?' Amanita said, half- smiling. She did not flinch but welcomed Tim's proximity. At that moment, Danny heard a light knock at the front door to the villa, followed by a familiar voice. The rushing force of realisation collided with unexpected happiness. It coursed round Danny like a steam train surging to its destination. He poked his head round the door frame and saw two girls, heavily laden with bags and suitcases. They were dressed more seasonally than him – in shorts, sandals, tees and sunglasses. Radiating beaming smiles, they both bore a lustrous gleam of many days spent either in the sun, or the tanning shop. In the past twelve months, Danny had forgotten how radiant they both were.

Tim budged past Danny and glared helpless at the first of the two girls.

'I should have called. I'm sorry,' he confessed at the reprimanding gaze shooting at him from beneath Amanda's brow. Isobel stepped round Amanda and embraced Danny, kissing him lightly on the cheek.

'I've missed you. How are you?' she said.

'I'm fine. I can't believe you're here. How? Why? How?'

Amanita emerged from the bedroom, looking extremely pleased with herself at the reunion. She joined in the laughing with the two girls. Amanda explained.

'Our tutor had seen copies of the Communiqué produced by Plunket's sixth form. They gave us copies of the recent edition in the hope of encouraging us to produce something similar. We saw the names of you three as the editorial board. When Tim didn't return my calls, we decided to get in touch with Amanita. Amanita called us a couple of months ago saying she anticipated a trip to Rhodes with you two and would we be interested in coming along for a holiday and to reunite. We had no better plans, so here we are!'

Tim and Danny turned once more to Amanita, who winked at Tim and stepped into the kitchen.

'How about a tuna salad for lunch?'

*

Danny dipped his foccacia in the pungent balsamic and allowed the salty rosemary smell to fill his nose. Strictly speaking the bread was more Italian than Greek but everyone loved it no less. Amanita had prepared a large bed of little-gem and purple radicchio for fresh cucumber and sweetcorn to sit on. Large arancia beef-tomatoes, oozing tangy crimson juice, were littered with freshly-picked basil leaves from the plant on the veranda. A couple of delicious looking tuna steaks filtered olive oil on the sweet fruits below.

Amanda was as talkative as a parrot but Isobel remained silent. She reminded Danny of the first time he met her on that crowded station many months before. He stole occasional glances at her as she picked at her radicchio, unaware he was being watched himself by Amanita. Tim ate hungrily and obliviously. He picked hard-boiled eggs from the salad and carved a luscious piece of tuna steak, wolfing it down with some of the seeping tomatoes.

After lunch Danny wandered on to the veranda. He gazed out at the wild bushes and exotic flowers that brushed the villa. Sipping quietly on home-made lemonade left by previous tenants, he ruminated on the unhurried nature of Greek life. How the presence of the vast calm blue surrounding the coasts permeated every aspect of the island's life. Wildly he wondered if somewhere out there, amid the rising hills and olive groves, Robin Vernal could even be hiding, or better yet, wandering around free. The cool pressure of soft fingers at his elbow interrupted his thoughts.

'Beautiful, isn't it?' Isobel said.

'Yes, very much so.'

Danny tried not to let his face betray the complex anxiety racing round his mind. What did Isobel expect from him? It had been one year since they had last seen each other, but together they experienced an intimacy he had not encountered with previous conquests. The sudden splicing of their relationship, the lack of tainting of the months in between seemed to have preserved the momentary epiphany they had shared. Danny was happy she was here, but worried she would expect something he could not give. Since they last saw each other Danny had begun a new quest, that had not yet reached its destination. If Isobel intended a true re-union he feared he might never reach the end of his road. The lead would be forgotten, surrendered to the shallow haze of romance. Isobel spoke again.

'Do you still feel lost?'

In the middle-distance a goldfinch flew from an olive tree and came to rest on an azalea a few metres beyond the portico. The gold lining crested its head, setting it apart from those birds Danny regularly saw in Amberleigh. The sparkling sea continued unabated. In the furious summer sun it projected a vista of calm. Across the verdant lush of the inner island the clean smell of pine floated down toward the coast. Danny breathed in deeply. Slowly and filled with hope he whispered his response.

'No. I don't feel lost anymore Isobel.'

She smiled and reached for his hand. Again the coolness surrounded his knuckles. The suffocation of revisited allure. Danny resisted remembering the hearth of comfort in a living room in Hertfordshire.

*

From the balcony of their hillside villa Rhodes town appeared a hodge-podge of shanty sheds and bazaars. As they gazed smoke rose up sporadically and varied aromas originating from the cluster infiltrated the air.

'It's not there,' Danny said to Isobel. 'I was expecting to see a tall spire emerge in the mid-distance.'

'Why?' Isobel asked, brushing a translucent curl away from her honey skin.

'Oh no reason.'

Danny gazed over the shimmering jasmine sea. Young infants and young parents wandered among seaside shops. They were dressed in tees and shorts, summer dresses and wide-brimmed hats as a foil to the overpowering sun. Rhodes smelt like something foreign – something more akin to the East than Europe. Weird sounds erupted occasionally from the ocean. It was a charming island but peculiar with it.

'How were your exams this year?' Isobel asked, her painted lips glimmering coral in the sun's reflection.

'Oh you know...'

Danny's voice faded. Thoughts crowded him amid the suffocating beauty of the isle. He didn't know what to say. So much had happened since their encounter. How could he describe in tools as rude and blunt as words the various steps, paths and emotions he had taken to arrive at this moment? This moment where they were reunited on an island where he hoped to solve not just one but two missing mysteries. Perhaps ignorance was the best route. Ignorance was, after all, bliss. Isobel remained quiet and followed Danny's gaze out to sea where a million more enigmas remained undisturbed.

*

Even at two in the morning the humid air of Greek summer was relentless. Danny tossed in his crisp white sheets. With his goji headphones he tried to shield his ears from Tim's snores. His noise now was a counterpoint to the pleasure of the relaxing first day. A barbeque on the terrace had been followed by a hilarious game of cards. Tim had feigned idiocy whilst playing whist. At one point, goaded by Amanita, who asked that he pick a card at some point today, he replied, 'Okay,' waiting a few seconds before adding 'Do I have to show you the card?' In a fit of pique, Amanita had exclaimed: 'Well, we're not bloody telepathic are we?' Danny, Isobel and Amanda had rolled around on the beds in laughter so fierce it hurt. As the sun slipped over the horizon, casting its salmon-violet glow on the wall of their villa, the girls had begun making cocktails. Tim and Danny had remained on the balcony, looking for all the world like two grumpy old men, casting aspersions against the ravishing, invulnerable earth. It was the early hours before they retired and Tim had taken at least half an hour to quieten down, the five chasers he had downed in the evening sparking his adrenaline.

Now it was silent. Danny's mind had found the repose it needed to accelerate into wild theories. Thinking furiously, he gazed at stars twinkling in the inky sky. It was tempting to allow thoughts to marinate the one thing he reminded himself he must not hope for too avidly. She was out there: he knew it. Even if it hadn't been for the encounters with Thimball and the building up by Cherry; the interview with the two, the vague but still unflinching support from Amanita; the plane crash – the unnerving certainty; even if it hadn't been for all that, he hoped the small flame inside would still have kindled eventually.

What would the new day bring? He woke up each morning wondering when life might throw him something concrete instead of endless curve balls. Tomorrow was the day the Greek police would hold a press conference, and Amanita dearly hoped among their statements would be a comment on the recent developments.

Danny surrendered trying to sleep and sat up in bed. He listened to the ocean lapping in the distance, and cicadas tail-shaking in the night. Having dismissed slumbers a sudden hunger gripped him. He found his legs leading him to the kitchen.

It was dark amongst the white tiles. Danny had to feel his way to the fridge as his eyes acclimatized. When he opened it, light filled the room, like a moon relinquishing its moment of eclipse, like a glow of treasure emanating from the white chest. Bowls of hummus and tzatziki sat amid punnets of strawberries and flourishing celery sticks. Danny grabbed a baton of the corrugated green rush and the chickpea dip and perched himself on a stool. Gazing out of the window into the melting indigo night, he munched happily.

A few minutes passed. Danny heard a noise. It was the squeak of a flap of wood on a ceramic floor. A door creaked and he heard the tip-toe of someone from the girl's room approach the kitchen.

Amanita shuffled in, dressed in a soft white dressing gown adorned with the emblem of a care bear.

'Don't laugh,' she whispered, 'it was a present from my Dad.'

Danny didn't laugh. He knew that what Amanita had just confided in him was almost as precious and as rare a piece of information as the current location of little Penny Trikill. Amanita helped herself to hummus, dipping her index finger into the lemony goo.

'Lovely,' she slurped, pulling herself onto a stool opposite Danny. He couldn't tell whether it was the early hour of the morning or the glow from the fridge, but the moment felt as though all pretense had been stripped away, revealing only honesty. Amanita grabbed a stick of celery and dipped it in the hummus, generously.

'Think we'll find her?' she asked, gazing into the beige pot.

'That all depends on what the police say tomorrow, doesn't it? I think they've got a better chance than us.'

Danny replied, relishing the green freshness against pungent garlic, tangy lemon, and melting chickpeas. Amanita turned her face closer to Danny.

'I wasn't talking about Penny,' she said.

Danny paused. His eyes fixed on his friend.

'What do you mean?'

'You came out here to find Robin didn't you? I don't blame you. If it was me, and I had a chance of being reunited with a long-lost loved one I'd do exactly the same.'

Amanita scraped her celery round the rim of the pot.

'How do you know?'

'Danny Canterbury, do you think I haven't been following the story? Do you think I don't know what you know?' Amanita asked, exasperated.

'I don't know,' Danny said. 'What do you know?'

Amanita glanced at him, undoing the top button of her dressing gown to show unblemished flesh, pure and pale pink.

'I know Thimball is chasing her; I know he met you before you came out here.' Amanita said simply. 'Danny, I don't want to disappoint you, but have you considered the possibility that the same person who kidnapped Robin might be still at it? Have you considered the possibility that little Penny might have succumbed to the same monster who took Robin?'

Danny's head sunk low and he stared at the white tiles. They reflected a grey yellow from the fridge's beam.

'She's still alive, Amanita,' he whispered.

'I never said she wasn't,' Amanita replied.

'You didn't need to.'

Danny closed the fridge door and plunged them both into sudden darkness.

*

Pewter Slate

Greyness warms me

Like toast teasing my belly

It belches inside me

Brings me peace

Its pewter coppice of staidness

Its reassuring desire of numbness

Not quite death, nor life either

A soothing contemporary visage

That makes no claim

That stakes no sound

Other than its own passive request

A life of hermitude

Of silent indulgence

To indulge in silence

God's secret gift of love

Grey.

Rock Idol

Paparazzi dotted the broad avenue that swept through the olive grove which led all the way to Rhodes Police Headquarters. Amanita, Tim and Danny walked three abreast down the dusty road. At first it was quiet and peaceful. Cars parked either side like lodged furnishings, and salt currents drifted through jade trees, adding to the serenity. As they approached, noises grew. The chatter of agitated people excited those on the periphery, drawing them in. Photographers hung back gossiping idly, their bulky cameras swinging like scythes across their chests. Others stood coldly to attention, like lepoards stalking prey amid menacing undergrowth. Waiting for a movement, or a trigger to set off their million flashes a second.

Isobel and Amanda had departed to the beach for the day to work on their tan. With their fun-filled day already planned, Amanita had a job reining Tim into this trip. The lure of watersports and jet-skis and the girls' nubile bodies exerted persuasive pressure on his sensibilities. Danny suspected Amanita may have had a word with the two girls prior to this trip, advising them this was a Communiqué matter and they need not attend. But he had no proof of this.

The front of the police station was indistinguishable from surrounding residences. A small Greek man emerged from a door in the plain wall and Danny realised with shock it was the main entrance. Photographers swivelled, startled into life. On realising the man was just a humble police officer, they returned to their cigarettes and conversations.

Amanita halted Tim and Danny, standing in front to prevent them taking another step.

'Now, you two, listen,' she said.

Tim cocked his head to one side. His sunglasses almost slid off with the attempt at cool he was executing. Danny nodded for Amanita to continue.

'Whatever happens today I want both of you alert. As your editor, we must capture every aspect of this drama. We may well see an end to this case while we are here on the island. It is up to us as responsible student journalists to do the story justice.'

Tim raised his eyebrows.

'Tim – you will carry this,' Amanita handed over a small digital camera, to which Tim sighed painfully. 'I want you to capture anything relevant to the story. This does not include tasty blondes or double-D breasts.'

'Danny, I'd like you to make notes on how Thea and Winnie behave – how do they look – scared, tired? What are they thinking, how are they reacting to how events unfold. Is that okay?'

Danny nodded, pulling out his notebook and silver pen.

'Hang on a minute – what are you going to do?' Tim asked, justifiably Danny thought.

'I'm going to be covering the story stupid!' Amanita said, somewhat loosely.

They continued on the path and searched for a spot they could rest until the press conference began. Walking past besuited journalists and photographers, they looked surprised to see three teenagers in holiday clothes in this area of town. A lectern stood on the road in front of a wide press barrier. On the green directly opposite the police station stood a multitude of cameramen and pretty young ladies smoking languorously. Wearing gazes pointed from fierce eyes as they brushed back immaculate hair and checked their lipstick in the camera's reflection.

Danny spotted a broad olive tree offering shade and rested his back against it. From here they could visualize the whole scene. Amanita and Tim stood round him, Tim avidly taking snaps of the scene with Amanita's digital camera.

'Tim – I hardly think this is relevant...'

Amanita spoke tentatively. Glancing up Danny could see her nerves setting in. A flash of gilded light caught Danny's eye as he watched the moving throng of media behind his two friends.

'Tim – give me that camera a second,' Danny asked, knowing it contained a powerful magnification. Before Danny could wrestle the camera from him, Tim had taken a picture of an attractive brown-haired girl standing at the opposite end of the green. Danny took the camera and focused it back on the mass of people. He zoomed on the area where he saw the flash of hair. He saw her again, distinct and unique. A familiar button nose and cigarette drooping from burnished lips. Danny clicked the shutter.

'What have you spotted Danny?'

Amanita spoke while fingering something inside her handbag.

Danny gulped and gazed into the photo he had snapped. There was no doubt. It was blurry due to using maximum zoom, but identification was indisputable. It was her. Over Tim's flailing arms he passed the camera to Amanita and spoke.

'I don't think you're going to like this Amanita.'

Amanita gasped when she saw the photo and immediately craned her neck to see if she could see her in the flesh.

'What the fuck is she doing here?' Amanita shouted.

No-one really had time to answer as the Greek policeman Danny saw earlier was re-emerging from the station but with more purpose to his stride. Flanked with people, two of whom Danny recognised, the group walked steadily toward the lecturn. A split-second of inaction flourished into momentum. Hazy chat sprang into startled life. An almighty scrum erupted on the green as the pack of journalists, cameramen and paparazzi moved as one to the front of the barrier. It was like the rush to the front of a pop concert, like the one Tim and Danny had attended months before. Danny and Amanita looked at each other in a helpless and silent admission that they were at the back of the pack. However, Tim was nowhere to be seen. The feedback sound rang out of a microphone being switched on. Electronic amplification echoed across the plain. The voice spoke in confident English but with gentle and lilting cadences that surrendered it as a second language.

'Good afternoon. My name is Dimitri Peleus and I am the Commander leading this investigation. We would like to make a statement and then we will have a few minutes for some questions. Today we have released two suspects in the enquiry into the disappearance of Penelope Trikill.'

Danny paused. It was the first time he had heard anyone use her full name.

The police commander paused to take a breath. Danny stretched on tip-toes to see over the huddled mass. If he hadn't known better he would have assumed the endless flashing of lights meant a bonfire had been lit beyond the group of journalists. The paparazzi clearly had plenty of batteries left in their flashes.

'We are continuing this investigation at a fast pace, and due to a recent development we are receiving new intelligence and new leads...'

A collective gasp went up from the journalists, and Amanita leant forward to hear more.

'...by...the...hour.'

Amanita began scribbling incredibly fast in her notebook. She was writing so quickly Danny couldn't read the words.

'We would ask the press and media to co-operate and provide us with the space we require to conduct this investigation with the due importance it requires. I will make another statement tonight at nine pm.'

The commander indicated to the press he had finished, and pointed to a journalist for a question to be asked. Both Danny and Amanita jumped at the voice that slid at the Greek policeman. Sweet and honeyed, it contained a seductive depth artificial and out of place in such natural surroundings.

'Bee Dew, BBC. Please can you tell us the nature of the lead you have received recently.'

Her question was asked politely but also with unblanching assertiveness that the commander took it in his stride, before smiling and responding.

'I am afraid I cannot reveal that at this time.'

Danny and Amanita looked at each other. Almost struggling to believe Bee Dew had infiltrated the ranks of the BBC, they listened carefully to the next questions fired at the commander:

'What do you think will be the outcome of this enquiry?'

'Do you think you're going to find her in the next twenty-four hours?'

Some of the questions were stupid in their expectation Peleus would answer them. All were rebutted with the standard response given to Ms Dew. Then another question rose from nowhere. The voice was male, and familiar.

'Please can you tell us the number of officers currently involved in the enquiry?'

The commander smiled, and glanced at the young man who had asked.

'What is your name and your paper young man?' he asked kindly.

'Timothy Gaunt, The Amberleigh Communiqué.'

Everyone turned to look at Tim, standing on the front row of the press, digital camera dangling from his neck. Danny saw Bee Dew cast an irate glance in Tim's direction.

'We recently increased the number of officers working in Rhodes from fifty to two hundred officers following the recent development.'

Again the people of the press gasped as another bout of wild flashlights went off like fireworks. Tim snapped a final picture before slinking back to his two friends.

'That is all,' the commander announced. 'I will see you again at nine pm. Good day.'

With that he and several police officers escorted themselves to a waiting SUV with blacked out windows before it drove off. The journalists and photographers disbanded, returning to reconvene in smaller groups and report back to their editors in London, Paris, Rome and New York. Danny didn't have to go far to reconvene with his editor. He brushed brown hair from his eyes and breathed. His adrenaline had started to surge.

*

Back at the villa Isobel and Amanda hugged their new media hero, and played music loudly across the ocean to celebrate. Amanita slouched in her armchair, bearing a mixture of astonishment and frustration, anger and pride.

'I can't believe it, I can't believe it,' she kept saying to Danny on the walk back as Tim danced a jig around them both.

'What can't you believe?' Danny asked mischievously, 'that the Greek police have let the suspects go? That they've had a new development leading them to relocate another one hundred and fifty officers from Rhodes? That Bee Dew is working for the BBC?'

Amanita looked at him square in the face, her cheeks aflame and her normally calm hair growing wild in the thick heat.

'I can't believe my scoop was stolen by our hungry little elf, and that it is his image being broadcast on several different news networks!'

Danny smiled, happy with the day's work. Underneath the gruffness he knew even Amanita was secretly pleased. She just didn't want to show it – yet.

Isobel and Amanda appeared more tanned than in the morning. They had bought presents for the rest of the group including a decorative notebook for Amanita bearing images of Greece on the front, a lively Greek music CD for Danny and a football for Tim. For the group they had a couple of bottles of champagne.

'Let's get pissed!' Isobel announced as soon as they walked through the front door.

Later that evening, they sat on the spongy sofa and listened to Danny's music on the naff stereo Amanda had brought with her. Isobel curled in Danny's arms at the foot of the sofa. Amanda danced drunkenly on the rug across the polished floorboards. Tim and Amanita remained at the dinner table to discuss the next issue of the Communiqué. Tim was showing more interest in how the editorial developed, what angle their story would take and just precisely how many centimetres would be the photograph of him asking the killer question to Greek Commander Dimitri Peleus.

'We need some disco lights and a mirrorball,' Isobel shouted to no-one in particular. Danny got up and danced with Amanda for a bit while Isobel looked on languidly. This was the life, Danny thought. Sandwiched between two gorgeous women, forgetting about everything that caused him stress in life. And a step closer to finding a resolution to the story of missing Penny Trikill.

The burning Greek sun rose just after five am on Sunday morning. All the others were fast asleep, especially Tim, whose snoring had awoken Danny. A wave of withered thoughts descended on Danny. Whereas last night was carefree and exquisitely liberating, this morning serious questions reared their displaced heads, as piercing as liquid metal. He decided it was time for a change of scenery.

As he strolled from the villa into the Rhodes countryside, a song he hadn't heard in years rushed back into Danny's mind. There was little accounting for it; perhaps he had heard it echo from one of the coastal bars. Walking along the hillside path for an hour, Danny gazed at the groves of olives that grew thicker as he ascended. They glowed emerald and auburn in the strengthening sun. Some bleached ruins lay on the high side of the hill. After a further half an hour of wandering Danny sat for a while. The serenity here was addictive. He thought he would like to live somewhere like this one day, when the crowded fears and suffocation of British society were just another passing cloud in a vast and plaintive sky. The peace seemed to sublimate his soul, make it purer. After this quiet repose he decided to clamber higher up, before the fresh morning sunshine gave way to midday humidity. The energy he expended ascending higher refreshed him. Here was cooler air and light breezes. Along the edge of the narrowing path wild mountain flowers grew. Danny had no idea of the names for them, but they looked pretty all the same.

The path led past several goats who peered at him with curiosity. The ruins led all the way to the top where an old goathouse stood. It took him another hour to break the back of the peak, which was deceptively high. Spiky olive branches bent and sprouted from almost impossible angles. Just when he thought he'd reached the top, another brow revealed itself. Once atop the summit the vista was spectacular. Danny could see all across the bay to the adjacent shore. Here he viewed steep cliffsides and charming beaches, distant castles and a carpet of bristling groves. The graduated tint of the cerulean sky met the cobalt ocean, a union of blues. Here, Danny felt free.

He withdrew his notepad to begin doodling. First a picture of a girl with chopped blonde hair. Then an abstract piece, shapes loose and undefined but abundant with symmetry. A light wind rustled through bone-dry trees and Danny thought the sound resembled melodic strings. He began composing a poem, a sonnet, something he had not attempted since last year. He wasn't sure he'd perfected the rhythm, or placed the stresses in the right points. It didn't matter. Occasionally he looked up and saw the arresting Mediterranean sparkling like a sliver of God's calm. Here he was away – literally in the middle earth, an oasis of harmony.

Again a lilting melody sounded behind him. Danny realised it wasn't the trees; it was man-made. Looking round he saw a beach in the distance. Small dots, probably children, played beneath a source of some lucid focus. He could not see what, but it looked like they were happy. Turning to his right he saw the old goathouse, only this close-up it didn't look like a goathouse anymore. Danny saw it was a rustic villa that had been refurbished. A purpose built extension had been erected on one side. On the top tilted skylights and through these open windows Danny directed his attention. The wind had stopped yet the music continued.

An old man stooped along the path that led to the villa. He was arriving from the opposite direction to Danny. As he approached, Danny saw that he was not that old – maybe late forties, early fifties – but his idiosyncratic gait had lent him a world-weary air. He wore a grey beret, an odd choice of headwear for a hot Greek island Danny thought. His sunglasses nearly covered his whole face, reflecting the ocean and mountain vista back at any one who looked at him. Coming to a halt near Danny, he perched on a nearby rock.

'I walk around here every morning,' the man said. His accent was warm. 'It's great for writing.'

With a skipped heartbeat and a jolt to his brain Danny realised his identity. The face he could not see, but the voice was definitive.

'My friends and I have rented that villa for a couple of months, while we work on our next project.'

Danny gulped, and recalled the website Tim had viewed when they were back in Amberleigh. Could it really be him? The same person he had seen on a stage from a much greater distance than this nearly a year ago?

He glanced sideways. The man was now proffering his hand for Danny to shake. Danny stumbled over and shook it. His tongue rose to the top of his mouth with dryness.

'What's your name?'

'Danny Canterbury.'

'We're aiming for a lighter, less condensed sound with the next one. Strong on strings and lush melodies. We want it to feel the essence of summer. I am sorry if the noise from our makeshift studio disturbed you?'

Danny nodded, awestruck. He wished he could think of something to say worthy of the artist before him. Expecting Danny's modesty and silence the man continued.

'I hear there is a commotion in the town this week. You know, it is a strange thing,' the man said, almost as if giving a lecture, 'the disappearance of the little girl. I was walking through the fields over on that mountain over there,' the man pointed at a nearby hill, currently cut off by an inlet of sea and the beach Danny had spied earlier, 'and I could have sworn I saw a little girl very like the one we see on the posters and on the news and in the papers and, seemingly everywhere. She was just climbing up a tree. I was probably mistaken. Probably a different girl.'

The man removed his sunglasses. Danny allowed the glittering blue clarity to impale him. He wore three-day old stubble but the resonant lyrics he had listened to in his bedroom for the past three years emanated from those eyes. Danny didn't believe, looking into those eyes, the man truly thought he was mistaken.

'I saw two women in the town as well last night. They were in a café with that journalist, you know the ostentatious British one with blonde curly hair. I expect she was trying to get an interview. Or maybe they were chatting about something else – I didn't see a dictaphone.

'Danny – may I call you Danny?'

Danny nodded, still afraid he was giving his idol the appearance he was a deaf mute.

'Danny, it is a strange thing being a celebrity. Journalists, well they always seem to have the same questions, the same angle, nothing original. That is perhaps how I may have acquired a reputation for being a bit of a mystique. There is also the troubling fact – you cannot easily report things to the police without undue attention. Or accusations of interference. Perhaps you will bear these things in mind for me?'

Danny nodded again, not knowing what he was agreeing to.

'It is an odd, amorphous world out there. Many things are reported but they are not what they seem. Misquotes, misrepresentation and sensationalism. These are the true tools of the media trade. If you are clever you can play them against the media. If you are complacent, you succumb.'

'I think you're...you're amazing.'

Danny said, finally. It had been fermenting ever since the man introduced himself.

'Thank you. Please,' the man fished into the top pocket of his white linen shirt and produced a card, 'this is the number of my PA. I'm happy to give you a few lines for an interview if you review our next offering in your student newspaper.'

Danny was shocked.

'How...how...how do you know about our newspaper?' Danny faltered as the man got up to leave.

'Call it,' the man shouted behind him as he wandered back to the villa. 'I'll be reading.'

Desolate Soldier

Drooping into sea mist

Whistfully remembering the stop of his arms

As he kneeled down beside sea

To pray

He is come again my ghost

A wanderer through time

When clocks kick back their linear line

And forget.

He lays a wreath beside my living skin

His breath of sadness marks no air

For he is dead, this desolation of mine

This soldier of time

Reconstruction

As Danny walked back into the villa he smelled the reassuring aromas of grilled bacon and tomatoes. Amanda was cooking in the kitchen and singing along to the radio in a breezy manner.

'Hallo Danny,' she cooed. She wore a frilly nightdress which peeped through a navy blue dressing gown. 'Fancy brunch?'

About to reply in the affirmative Danny paused as the figure of Amanita glided in, dressed smartly in blouse and skirt. Jet black tights clung to her ample thighs and made her appear older, and professional.

'He hasn't got time for breakfast. We're heading to Rhodes town in a couple of minutes.'

Amanita's firm voice told Danny there was no point arguing.

'Are we?' Danny asked. 'Are we going for breakfast there?' he asked hopefully.

'Nope – we've got work to do,' Amanita said fluidly.

Danny eyed the bacon under the grill, the rind growing pale brown and crispy just the way he liked it. Amanda gently lifted the rashers onto thick white bread and squeezed brown sauce which oozed deliciously over the pork.

'Can't I just stay for one sandwich?' Danny asked, awaiting the rebuttal which came as reliably as certainty.

'Do you want to be a professional journalist or not?'

*

For the second time that morning Danny embarked on a walk. For the second time his destination was unknown.

'Where are we going?' he asked Amanita, trying to follow her strict pace. He was already tired from his morning climb.

'Into town.'

Amanita spoke abruptly. Danny waited to hear more, but nothing came.

'Would you like to add anything?' Danny asked.

Amanita fixed him with an icy glare.

'I'm a bit disappointed with you Danny. Where were you this morning? We're here to cover the Trikill story yet you feel it appropriate to go off wandering at any hour just so you can get a bit of sun or fulfil your solipsistic needs.'

Danny stopped walking. It was one thing being marched into town on the heels of a new lead; it was another doing it while undergoing a tirade from your angry editor who was also supposed to be your best friend.

'I think you had better apologise if you want me to accompany you any further,' Danny said equably.

Amanita faced him again, fury raging in her domineering eyes. Danny knew she hated anything getting in the way of a good story, but also knew she needed him. Wherever they were heading, it was clearly a two-man job, or at least a one-woman one-man job.

Amanita breathed steadily and then spoke.

'I'm sorry Danny. We're going to the holiday complex where Penny disappeared. The media are staging a reconstruction of the events leading up to her being taken in the hope it will jog people's memories. I only just caught it on the BBC world service this morning. I daresay the police commander might have mentioned it in his press conference last night at 9pm but we were all too drunk to notice. Hardly professional are we?'

Danny walked on in silence alongside his editor. He could imagine Amanita's aghast reaction when she saw the news report this morning. What had happened to Danny this morning was also brewing. He knew he would have to tell Amanita what he had discovered. The encounter had been special and private – a pivotal moment he would remember for the rest of his life. Until he told anyone it was just his. He wanted to hold onto the memory as long as possible.

As they approached the path which led to the wide expanse of sparkling ocean, Danny turned to Amanita and said:

'There's something you should know.'

With reluctance shining in his tired eyes he relayed the meeting with the man on the hill, and what he had said. Amanita listened carefully, and during her hearinghe saw her irritable anger fade.

'I understand you want to keep this quiet. Let's discuss it later. We need to concentrate on the reconstruction now.'

Her cool palm on his let him know she was not dismissing his account, and that she would return to his disclosure.

*

Nestling between a white-washed wall bordering a gravel road, and a swimming pool of pure blue, sat an old holiday apartment. Danny and Amanita approached from a path winding down from a grassy hillside, parched and yellow from the incessant sun. As they walked from the hustle of the main road which led away from Rhodes town, an eerie silence descended on the complex. There were a few photographers and journalists hanging around but nothing like the number the day before. A hastily erected road barrier cut them off from reaching the apartment directly from the back, so Amanita decided to try going round the other way through the complex.

'It won't be any use,' Danny had said. 'If they've got barriers here they'll have them the other side as well won't they?' Nevertheless Amanita wandered off, passing Danny the digital camera to capture important snaps.

It was another blisteringly hot day. Danny scratched his forehead and pulled his cap further down his forehead. There was a shop nearby, so he entered and bought a couple of bottles of water. He would give Am hers when she returned.

As he lifted the bottle to his dry lips, the smooth transparent fluid passed through him and raised his spirits. The short drink precipitated incredible thirst so he downed Amanita's bottle then went to buy two more, along with a bread roll which he picked at while drinking his third bottle of the morning. As he discarded the bottle top in a bin he noticed a woman with shoulder length hair walking towards him from beyond the barrier. She wore a dark top and was carrying a young girl asleep in her arms. She walked through the barrier and carried on along the road to Danny.

Danny didn't pay any second thought to the woman as he passed but then he noticed a man in the distance carrying a black machine on his shoulder, seemingly tracking the longhaired woman. As the woman carrying the girl got closer, so did the man carrying the video camera. With a shock Danny recognised the three branded initials on the camera – BBC. This was a British reconstruction.

Danny took a couple of pictures with the digital camera and then glanced again at the barrier. There was now a gap created by the woman with long hair, and no-one seemed to be watching. He rushed up to the steel gate and sidled past inconspicuously. There were more cameras filming a scene down the road which bordered the apartment, and to Danny's surprise one of the key cast, was someone he had seen before. She was arguing with a woman in her mid-forties, and dressed in an unbecoming flowery black dress.

Danny gazed at the two people as they resolved their dispute. Something must have happened as they separated briefly and then Danny realised they had stopped filming. The scene was for the cameras.

*

Amanita and Danny reconvened in a local café over a lemonade and a Serrano ham sandwich. A few locals looked them over as they talked animatedly, and Danny put a finger over his mouth to indicate they must be quiet.

'What did you find?' Amanita asked before Danny had a chance to ask the same thing.

'Nothing – you?' Danny replied deftly. It was time for Amanita to show her hand.

Amanita sighed.

'I circled round to the swimming pool and sat in the bar for a while. I even ordered a drink.'

'Oh yes,' Danny was intrigued. 'What did you see?'

'Nothing much, there wasn't a great view to be honest. Just some people in the distance. As you guessed they'd erected another barrier the other side of the swimming pool, so there wasn't much I could do. Then I saw them – Winnie Trikill and some other woman talking, and then shouting and being filmed doing it. Not much of a reconstruction if you ask me...'

Amanita's voice tailed off in frustration. Danny looked her over. Lines were forming on her forehead and underneath her eyes hung grey bags. She was tired, and stressed about something.

'What's bugging you Amanita?'

Danny finished off the last piece of ham on his plate.

There was a pause while a distant police car went past, its siren blaring.

'Is it me or...'

She was hesitating, not sure of what she was about to say. Danny waited.

'Is it me or do you think Amanda is taking Tim for a bit of a ride?'

The unexpectedness of Amanita's comment forced Danny to laugh involuntarily.

'Do I what?!' Danny replied, straight into Amanita's serious face.

'You heard me,' she fought back, stiffly.

Danny sipped his lemonade and considered. Isobel and Danny. Amanda and Tim. What else was there for Amanita to think about when she was in the villa? That explains why she was in such a grumpy mood this morning and why she didn't want to stay for breakfast, Danny thought. He chose his next words carefully.

'I think they look good together. Amanda seems generous and willing to please. But Amanita – they live miles apart. Whereas you live just down his road.'

Amanita looked at Danny without speaking for a few minutes. She nodded and seemed to accept something.

'You have had an exciting day Danny. Your encounter with a rock hero was unexpected yes?'

Danny was about to reply but Amanita said this with such smoothness he double-taked.

'Did you know they were up there?'

Amanita smiled enigmatically, and carried on.

'What did you think of what he said?'

'I think...'

Danny reflected back to the morning. The subtle unshaven man chatting to him on a rock, steep on a mountain close to an isolated goat barn. All their songs, lyrics, history, legends of those long departed from the group. The bellowing high notes, the growling low notes, the echo of his beautiful plaintive, the lush strings bleeding emotion. Danny had spoken to the maestro, and the maestro's words, as always, had had a purpose.

'I think,' Danny continued, 'I think he was trying to tell me something...'

'Oh Danny, have you not worked it out yet!' an exasperated Amanita exclaimed. 'From what you told me, he saw something crucial to the investigation but he didn't want to go to the police himself because he doesn't want the attention from the press.'

'But he could go confidentially, I'm sure something could be arranged if he wanted to confide...'

'In Greece? I don't think so. Besides, images of a famous front-man entering a police station are not going to be good publicity shots for their next album. No, it is my hunch that he knows or suspects something but wanted to pass it on to someone more capable of investigating. He sat on that hill every morning waiting for a lone passer-by and you happened to be the first. That goat-house as you call it is not so much a goathouse inside as you think – it's a multi-million dollar studio. It came up on the searches when I was looking for a villa for us.'

'So you knew they were there?' Danny demanded.

'I knew they were recording in Rhodes, and when I found out about a studio I put two and two together. I picked a villa as close by as I could...'

'Well for your information,' Danny was laughing now, 'It was nearly a two-hour climb to their...studio.'

They paused, allowing their lunch to settle. Danny gazed at the sunshine filtering from the parched hillside, and the cameramen wandering past the café window. He closed his eyes and pictured Robin Vernal walking forward, beneath a waterfall, pouring sweet droplets onto sand.

'What now?' Amanita asked.

'I think we need to do a little exploring and investigating of our own.'

*

It was sunlight like Danny had never known. White rays bleached the sand and burst through the sea's surface fermenting turquoise and cerulean seafoam against rust-stained rocks. The whole island seemed lit by the incandescent quality of its reflective surface. Plants, trees, rocks and paths. Goats, insects, birds, people. All contributed to a carpeted landscape of illuminated light, as if all were players in some pre-destined mystery directed by the divine.

As the tide sweeped in again encroaching on Danny's naked toes, he breathed slowly and stared across the white sand. The water spun neon blue back to his eyes as undercurrents swam and soared beneath the surface. White surf prickled the sand across the wide expanse, leading the eye to a solitary sprinkling of water at the west of the beach. Danny strolled over, fixing his gaze on the glinting flow. He could smell salt breeze roll off the ocean, but this water was as fresh as the melon he'd eaten for dessert at lunch. As the dazzling stream crashed onto the sand it created a shallow pool at the bottom, separate from the sea, but which filled steadily. Slowly it trickled a channel into a gully along the base of the cliff. Sunbeams pierced the fluid transparency and cast tiny rainbows on the rock behind.

Amanita strolled further along the beach. She stood at the edge of the sea and looked back, at the village and the rolling hills in the distance. There was not another soul around.

Danny didn't know what he was looking for but became transfixed by the cascade of crystal droplets. They fell from a rough-hewn surface above. Removing his sandals he stepped into the shallow pool, allowing his feet to be submerged beneath sodden sand. Darting fish deftly fought their way between these two abrupt intrusions. The lapping water breached his ankles. Each drop from above created ever increasing and perfect concentric circles.

It could have been the sun flashing upon the scales of a fish through the water; it could even have been a forgotten piece of jewellery sunken into some part of the beach. A single flash of gold erupted in Danny's eye and the instant reflex of his head upwards was so sudden Amanita called out to him.

'What is it Danny? Have you seen something?'

Danny didn't reply immediately but allowed his eyes to continue searching for the source of the interruption. It could have been an hallucination, an illusion or trick of the sun. Danny suspected it was within these shades of grey the truth usually resided. Gradually, using stealth to defeat haste, Danny's eyes lifted upwards, following the line of the rocks and the light green lichen which clung to it, and the grey granite, older than the island's first inhabitants. Ever upwards, following an irresistible momentum towards the summit, Danny's eyes rose. The impression of the sun intensified causing Danny to squint. Still he persisted, retaining a vestige of vision.

Amanita had been walking, now she was running. Her eyes fixed on the same cliff Danny perused. The sea gave way with little splashes as she ran, her pony tail became loose and her hair grip fell in the sea, quickly gripped by the defiant undercurrent.

Due to the bleached rays of the sun overtaking visual comprehension, it was nearly impossible to concentrate one's eyes at the top of the cliff for more than a moment. Danny's hand tried to block out the worst of it. At the top of the hill he glimpsed the golden image that had first caught his eye. As he persisted he gazed with increasing clarity. It was not a trick of the light, a reflection of the sun on water, or some item of man-made artifice like a silver necklace or a gold ring. It was not even the reflection of sun on pink flesh or tanned skin of a face or limb. Staring upwards with no care for the sun that caused Danny's tears to fall in the pool, he realised with profound and eliminating logic he had seen the sight his eyes were now fixed upon before: on posters, on the television, in the photos he had been shown.

Above him, blowing gently in the sea breeze that blew off the Aegean sea was the golden ray of innocence he had been searching for. It was the reflection of the sun upon a small girl's russet and lemon locks of hair.

*

Winter Morning

The air breathes a cold shroud around

And sea gusts shout ghostly moans in wind

Whispers of what-she-said what-she-did

When love was mother to me

Would I remember that reality

On this windy winter morning

Or is it the other mourning

I am chasing, like rain

She touched my hand once

Yes, I remember. Like lightning on my skin

Like a thunder strike from heaven

Until it broke that tree

The Climb

It had become another childlike race, similar to the one Danny used to play with Robin. Amanita and Danny clambered up the cliff with furious speed. As they ascended the fifty feet to the top thoughts of their safety were cast aside as swiftly as Amanita's fish shaped hair grip floated into the ocean.

Danny reached out his hand to help Amanita fasten her grip on a rock jutting out of the cliff-face; Amanita directed Danny's eye to a ledge where they could take a breather.

'She's still up there. I can see her. She's talking to someone.'

A pause.

'Are you sure it's her?'

Another pause.

'Let's keep going.'

They were on the move again, hoping with the lactic acid burning through their muscles the little girl would remain put. With only ten more feet to climb, an inevitable sense of foreboding dawned that had been only an inkling at the base of the cliff; Danny saw they would be the most difficult. A sheer vertical incline towered above, with only a handful of plants peeping from the sun-bleached rock. With even fewer dents in which to insert their hands and feet Danny wished he had joined all those rock-climbing aficionados back at Plunket's. He moved his palm flat over the smooth rock, which was surprisingly cool.

'I can't see a way up,' Amanita said, clinging onto a thick vined plant which sprawled the east ledge of the rock face.

'I've got an idea,' Danny said. He began moving sideways across to Amanita, towards the vine.

'Is that thing strong?' he asked, giving a few of them a pull.

'Don't do that!' Amanita yelled. She clinged tighter, worried the vine would split at any second and she would be sent plummeting downwards into the shallow rock pool.

Danny wedged his left foot into one of the vines and tugged at it with his foot. It was tight against the rock, and did not seem to give any when he adjusted his whole body weight onto it. One hand at a time, he began to climb it. Amanita hung on, looking downward at the beach below.

Step by step Danny was making progress toward the top. The brow of the cliff was approaching. As he placed his right hand on the edge, gripping firmly on a protruding rock, he glanced upwards and saw only uninterrupted blue sky.

The little girl seemed to have disappeared.

With one almighty push and a disappointed sigh Danny heaved himself up, allowing the flat ground to once more take his weight. As he did, the vine abruptly snapped and the rope Danny had climbed to get to the peak fell down and splashed into the rock pool below. Adjusting himself quickly so he could see, he peered over the edge and saw Amanita, red-faced and gripping tightly to a rock.

'Danny Canterbury – I am going to kill you for this!'

'Hang on,' he shouted. Danny looked around. The scene was deserted apart from a distant car on the road beyond. There was nothing he could use to pull Amanita up. A straggly brown vine hung limp and useless from the cliff top. What he needed was a strong rope to pull her up. The sun beat down and tiny beads of perspiration fell from his forehead onto his eyebrows and into his eyes. Wiping away the sweat he looked down at the helpless sight of Amanita clutching the grey granite, her ruddy cheeks puffed out and terror bulging in her eyes.

'Danny! I'm...slipping...'

Danny could only watch as Amanita's stumpy fingers gradually lost their grip on the rock. There was an irresistibly heart-stopping pause when Amanita hung in mid-air, when all time seemed to stop and the thought of a heaven-sent reprieve seemed just as possible as the inevitable. It lasted but a millisecond, and Amanita dropped like a stone to the beach, creating a thunderous splash into the rock pool below. Danny stared. There she lay, prostrate, her eyes gazing up at Danny, lifeless.

Danny continued staring, not knowing what to say or do. Climbing down now would be suicide. Yet he couldn't leave Amanita like this.

'Amanita? Are you okay?' he called, praying against all the gods of science, logic and plausibility that Amanita would respond. In that moment Danny recognised just what he had brought his friends to. Near-death experiences so he could save Janna Chisely from a watery grave. Into the dangerous forest, full of darkness just so he could claim his revenge on an innocent teacher. Now he was at it again – searching for the killer story, the revelation of his childhood friend being still alive, the claimant of Penny Trikill's existence.

'Danny – I'm okay. Just a little sore. Go on – find her!'

Danny gazed down and smiled, relief pouring over him in thick waves. She still wasn't moving her legs, but she lifted her hand and gave him a thumbs up, making concentric circles in the rock pool with her elbow. There was no more Danny could do on the beach. He had to move on.

At the summit of the cliff, metres from where a small stream tumbled over the edge, Danny Canterbury stood. Before him sat a flat plain of grass extending for several hundred yards. Beyond it, Danny sensed a road. A faint hum of motors passing echoed, and the blurring of his vision in the mid-distance indicated motion. Stumbling over a rock, Danny moved towards the road. As he grew closer, he saw a stationary range-rover, gleaming red in the afternoon sun. It could easily have been a mirage. Danny's water supplies were dwindling. Yet the flawless blue sky cast a subtle counterpoint to the sight of this vehicle, just parked off the main road. There was something too specific and non-mirage like about the silvery orb that dangled in the front window. No doubt some expensive air freshener. The license plate was British not Greek, and read: 'C0PT 3R5'. However it was neither the air freshener nor the license plate that Danny stared at now. It was the person sitting in the front seat, casually gazing back at him while she tapped cigarette ash onto the grass below the driver's window.

'Hallo Danny. Long time no see.'

She smiled, and memories of the first time he met her rushed back like water to an untouched cavity. Her harlequin tights, her dreamy mauve lip gloss, her effervescent blonde curls. Bee Dew opened the passenger door and Danny climbed in.

*

'Where is she?'

The question reverberated round Danny's mind. He could hear it in the growling rhythm of the car on the gravel road. It was the question that had accumulated, that had framed his thoughts, reveries, and existence throughout the entire school year. As Dew accelerated along the coastal road, and into high mountains away from Rhodes town she lit another cigarette. With one elegant purple nail she deftly switched off the CD player which had been bleeding some flailing effeminate tune, and blew an elegant spiral of smoke through the open window.

Danny tapped his feet against the black carpet of the car's upholstery. It was the tempo of his mind, of the sound of tyres against shingle, of friction created from seemingly smooth beginnings. He would talk to Dew in a second, but he longed to be allowed this second of remembering. Remembering the hope he'd felt as he stepped foot on the thick white sand.

'Where are we going?'

Danny glanced at Dew, impenetrable in the dark sunglasses covering the top half of her face. Slim and honey-coloured, Dew's hand rested on the top of the leather steering wheel. In between delicate fingers she squeezed the butt of her cigarette.

'Nowhere exciting darling. Back to my apartment. I thought we could have a little chat.'

'Where is she?'

Danny bored his gaze into her face.

'Who?' Dew answered in a bored voice. 'Robin Vernal? I thought you were the man to answer that question, Canterbury?'

Danny flinched in his seat. Why had he agreed to get in the same car as her? Even now when he looked at her, driving carelessly and casually through winding mountain roads, he knew he should despise her with the utmost loathing. When he looked at her, however, he could only imagine what it would be like to lay down with her naked, and experience the scent of a dangerous woman.

The car wound round the curve of a cliff overlooking a cornflower blue ocean. To Danny's surprise the car ascended the narrow road. It led away from the town nestled between two headlands below. Gazing out of the tinted windscreen, Danny spied their destination – a modest looking villa set back from the highest mountain's edge. The views, Danny thought, must be something else. Crushing small rocks beneath dusty tyres the rover reversed an even narrower drive and onto a flat plateau at the front of the villa. Dew unbuckled her seatbelt, clamped her cigarette between her teeth, and opened her door. 'Here goes fuck all', Danny thought.

*

Clinical surfaces reflected white into Danny's eyes as the relentless Greek sun baked Bee Dew's apartment.

'Mojito?'

Dew slunk into a huge refrigerator and pulled out an aluminum ice bucket.

'I'll pass.'

Danny grabbed an empty glass next to the sink, and filled it up with ice cool water from the tap.

Once Dew had poured herself a strange algae-green looking drink, she took a long portentous sip and lit another cigarette. She sat back on a stool and considered Danny with flashing amber eyes.

'Let me ask you a question Canterbury. Why did you and your pathetically small-minded school chums come here? This is a big story. It requires a big girl to handle it.'

Danny said nothing, and drained his glass. He perched on a stool standing by the breakfast bar.

'I mean, those news reporters out on the plain waiting for the ridiculously inept Dimitri to give them another statement – they mean business. This is a cut-throat industry Danny. Only the strong survive. Are you sure you want to play the game?'

Danny filled his glass again with the pure transparent fluid. He let it roll down his throat, cooling his stomach while he said nothing. For a moment the image of a broken Ursula Calcite, in a classroom alone and betrayed and open to confessing, came into his mind. Danny wouldn't trust another confession.

Wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead, Danny sat still and waited for the moment. Dew said nothing more, but sat opposite him on the kitchen breakfast bar, gazing at him.

'There are two problems I have to pick with you, Danny.' Dew said. 'One of them has to do with an old friend of mine. The other has to do with a very young friend of mine. Tell me, would you like to have sex?'

The question came from nowhere. Danny was shocked by it, but even more surprised it was not him who said it. He shook his head instinctively, but could not remove his eyes from the BBC news reporter in front of him.

'Then why did you get in the car with me? You must have had some reason?'

Bee took a long drag on her cigarette and returned Danny's gaze with a wink.

Suddenly from somewhere outside echoed the sound of a car pulling up on the loose chippings. Danny looked out of the window, as Dew moved towards the door with a bored look.

Two people were alighting from the car, two people Danny had met before. The door opened and it was the casual nod that one gave to the other, as she walked over to a white cupboard and pulled a white sheet out, which revealed to Danny the cruel extent of their sublime deception. So open-mouthed was Danny he did not hear the approach from behind which smothered his mouth with chloroform. The rest was darkness.

*

Fallow

The lulling shallows secrete my soul

As sea shifts up my hole

The selsa salsa sleep

Inside my sleeting cavity

Fingers tickling around my teats

Trembling toes shake and crunch

My bones beside me only

Funt Font Fount Fountain

For I am fallow

Once again

Beneath the Hatch

Distant voices echoed down, barely audible through the dank basement air. Danny opened his eyes, saw where he was, and retched. He had been conned, but the feeling was filtered with slight relief, as so had the rest of the world.

Bee had been in on it, but so had the others. Danny had discovered with one opening of a door just how much evil there could be in the world. Sinister evil that paraded as concern. A manipulation of appearances that pretended despair.

The hatch opened and a shaft of brilliant light cascaded down, as if someone had just switched on one of the sun's rays. Holding a tray in both hands, a little girl with a button nose and lemon hair slowly walked towards Danny. On the tray stood a glass of water and a bowl of olives.

'Mommy said I had to bring you these,' the girl said, while a voice from beyond the hatch laughed.

Danny thought about making a run for it, but they would soon catch up with him even if he made it out of the villa. Who knows, they might even kill him.

'Stay awhile,' croaked Danny, not wanting his captors beyond to hear. Miraculously, the little girl sat down.

'Would you like to play a game?' she asked.

'Okay,' Danny said. 'What game shall we play?'

'How about I-spy?'

'Okay you start.'

'Okay...'

The girl's voice faded as she thought of something. Danny looked at her, as the light from the hatch touched her hair, lighting up a rainbow of colours in the air.

'Penny!' a voice came from beyond the hatch. 'Come along now, that's long enough.'

'But Mom, I'm playing with the man.'

'NOW!' came the voice back.

'We'll play it later,' Penny whispered, and she leant over and kissed Danny gently on the cheek, before stepping lightly back up the stairs.

Several hours later, after Danny had slept for a while and recovered the lost energy from his climb up the cliff, Danny's hunger gave way and he tried one of the olives. It tasted deliciously bittersweet. Untempered and fresh. He spat the stone out onto the dry floor and tried another, which tasted just as good. Soon a collection of olive stones accumulated on the floor and Danny was chomping his way through the bowl with carefree abandon. It was like being a child again. He remembered once, when small himself, sitting in front of the stereo eating cherries until he was sick.

When he reached the bottom of the empty bowl he gathered all the stones up in it. He left the bowl near the crack of the hatch, which like a square eclipse permitted thin sheets of light to peep through. Sadly, and with increasing foreboding, he moved back to his spot and slept a few more hours.

*

The second opening of the hatch awoke Danny. It allowed a grey mist instead of bright sunlight to fall from above. He had dreamt of a slim blonde goddess deluging him with soft kisses, before she morphed into a huge bumblebee and stung him. With his throat parched and crying out for fresh water he stood on knocking knees determined to face down his kidnappers. The face that emerged from the gloom was not one he had expected. The women's voices could be heard from outside.

Amanita Walmer's bedraggled form fumbled forth. Limping, her right leg bore heavy bandaging The hatch closed decisively behind her. She passed him a bottle of water from the two in her hands. Sobbing she rested her head on his shoulder and said simply, 'I'm sorry Danny.'

'What happened?!'

He was incredulous to see her.

Amanita embraced Danny and released a few anguished cries into his shoulder. When she had calmed, he sat her down and stroked her hair. With a deep breath Amanita began.

'When you left me in that pool, I couldn't walk very well, so I rested there for a bit. It was in the shade and I didn't fancy a long walk in the baking heat.'

She gulped half the bottle of water down in one.

'Eventually when I tried to stand up there was a tall dark lady standing behind me. I didn't recognise her, she was wearing large sunglasses and a wide brimmed hat. She helped me up and took me to a local café for a drink and chat. She seemed extraordinarily interested in what I had been doing and what we had seen.'

Amanita gulped again, but this time without taking a sip.

'She forced something into my nose and made me sniff it and then I...I must have passed out or something, because next thing I know she's carrying me on her shoulders into this villa and then they're pushing me down into this basement where I met you. I'm sorry, Danny! They must have been watching us. I think we got too close. How on earth are we going to get out of this? Danny – they could kill us!'

Amanita's sobs poured into Danny's shoulder and he realised with her comforting weight how out of their depth they were. Amanita shrieked with fear, and Danny shivered at the thought that they could easily be left languishing in the dirty cellar for a long time. A thin but impenetrable veil descended across his consciousness. Trying to block those thoughts from his mind, the face of Bee swam back into view. He cursed the thought of the duplicitous bitch, and the couple she was in concert with.

Danny concentrated furiously as Amanita's sobs faded to a low moan. He glanced around to see what he could use. It was dark and there were cobwebs everywhere. In one corner stood a fragile looking broomstick, in the other an old-looking fridge. Above them metal struts held the foundations of the villa in place, but these were as irremovable as they were hard. There was nothing Danny could think of. They were trapped. There was only man who could save them now.

*

'I wasn't jealous when I first found out. I wasn't jealous at all. You know it's weird, watching you two this year. The envy between you two over little Cherry Trove was so thick sometimes I could have cut it with a knife and served it up with slices of gravy. It's been such a long year. So stressful, you know? Sometimes I wished someone would come along and take the Communiqué off me. Then there were times when we published something really great, like our coverage of this story and I felt so proud and happy. I guess I never allowed myself to process that part of the happiness was being close to a certain sub-editor. There's nothing there from his perspective, that much is completely obvious to me. But this year the affection has grown, especially when you temporarily left the paper. We only had each other then, you see. So when I saw just how much sense he and Amanda made together, it did get to me. It still does. She's a lovely girl, bubbly and kind. I couldn't fault her kindness or generosity at all. But, quite apart from my own feelings for him, something inside me tells me he could do better. She is not his equal. That feeling won't go away. Maybe I'm not objective or impartial in this; I don't care. I need to call it how I see it. I need to do what I need to do.'

They had been locked up for hours and hours. Danny sensed it was the morning of the following day. They had awoken and fallen into loose ramblings. It had become one long confession.

'If they go...I mean if it becomes serious, I don't know what I'll do. I suppose go back to my books and my studious mask. I'll ever be the friend, one corner of the triangle, always permanent, but all sides are different lengths. He was on my mind constantly as the plane leapt out of the sky and onto that tarmac. Sometimes my thoughts consume me so much I want to reach inside my head and rip my brain out. It hurts so much, it's so...persistent...and insidious. I hate it, this constant insistent demand to think. Why were we built like this Danny, when the people we are attracted to have exactly the reverse qualities? Why is it when I go to sleep at night, and the many articles and editorials running through my mind and the coursework deadlines and the teachers' attitude towards the paper and the national competition and the bickering between you and him and the interview with Winnie and Thea – why is it that only the image of Timothy Gaunt can comfort and place a slight smile on my face?'

Danny shrugged. The dry air combined with the dank stench was making his throat gag. He stroked Amanita's cheek with his little finger.

'What about Dew?'

Amanita's expression changed instantly. The soft doe-eyed look that had lain on her features transformed into hardened lips and narrowed eye-brows. Yet she remained silent and Danny had to nudge her.

'I...am...not...surprised...she has a hand in this. Danny, the woman is pure evil.'

Danny persisted.

'But you – even before, you seemed to have a reason to dislike her. "Dislike" is perhaps the wrong word. "Loathe" may be a better one.'

' "Loathe" is too good for that bitch.' Amanita said, rubbing her head with her palm, as a sliver of gold eye-shadow came off in her fingers. 'Do you want to know why I wear this?' Amanita held out her hand which had gold glitter coating her forefinger. 'It's a tribute. A small one, I admit. Most people who know me understand I never knew my father. My mother told me it was golden eye-shadow that first attracted her to him. It made her eyes seem deeper, rounder. More full of mystery. She told me a story over and over again of their second date when he first kissed her and some of her eye-shadow got caught on his cheek. He lifted it off with his finger and said he would treasure it forever. Some might say it's sentimental, but it's always stuck with me.'

Danny said nothing. He knew talking about her late father was a conversation best conducted with reflective silence.

'I never knew him. I suppose it's my life's greatest tragedy. It's what drives me perhaps. My mother constantly tells me he would have loved me unconditionally, and I know of course she feels the same. Still there is that slight...emptiness. Danny – I wish I had known him, if only for a few days.'

The pervading darkness made the silence more intense. Danny rested his hand on her cold clammy leg, and let her continue.

'I was only eight when I saw the newspaper's retrospective report come out. It didn't even have a by-line for the editor's name. But I found out, and I have known ever since. It's not easy for a single mother to bring up two girls, but it's made even worse when society is set against them so harshly. When I was little I had an even bigger weight problem than I do now – it's a genetic thing I had no control over. Thankfully, I am able to manage it a bit more now. But when I was born my pupils were not set properly in my eyes either. It's a strange thing when someone's eyes are not correct. They could be the kindest most beautiful soul in the world but the power of appearances is so intense. My eyes did not lend a particularly cute appearance to an already abnormal baby. This reporter wrote that the mother was now destined for a life of despair. That the children's lives would inevitably be disappointments to the world. That education was something so far from our grasp, it was no use our trying. You have got to remember Danny, things were different back then. It was more acceptable to say these things in the context of a time where single parents were seen as a threat to society. Where kids hanging round on street corners, not that I ever have, are instantly assumed to be connected to crime and drugs. This reporter didn't give me and my mother a chance. Most of the report was about the incident, but she summed us up in one paragraph. A paragraph where she had time to make this claim, a claim that I have never forgotten and every day fight against. She said that it was a good job my father never knew me as he probably wouldn't have wanted me anyway.'

Danny gasped. He had never heard of such breathtaking cruelty, such audacious distortion of true journalism.

'Bee Dew, reporter for the BBC. Some people think she's the perfect print princess. Some people say the cream will always rise to the top. Danny promise me one thing if you promise me anything – don't ever believe a word of it.'

*

It was late. Danny knew it from the exhausted and weary way his eyelids pushed themselves up. The second day of their ordeal began with no end in sight. All the two had to sustain them was a bottle of water and a small crust of olive oil soaked bread. It was not enough and Danny was beginning to feel the effects. He bore stomach cramps, which came and went, irritating his sleep patterns. His throat was now searching for any sense of moisture. He had sucked his thumbs dry so they were now shrivelled and white. A pounding headache grew, accompanying a brittleness in his limbs that impeded attempts to stand.

If that wasn't enough the atmosphere inside their dungeon had grown unbearably humid. Danny had stripped down to his underpants in order to prevent buckets of sweat pouring from his tired limbs, and losing further fluids. Amanita was already down to her bra and panties. She looked intolerably weak and had already lost pounds in the searing heat.

Danny didn't want to think about the future for them. They might be left for dead, which might give them a realistic chance of escape. Or they might be kept sustained for killing at a later date. Either eventuality carried equal weights of delight and dole. A loud crackling sound erupted again from behind him and he moved towards Amanita to hold her hair back while she vomited yet again. When she had finished, he pulled her back into his arms and cooed softly in her ear until they fell into restless, painful slumbers. Danny dreamt of Chardelia Foss. He dreamt she was grown up and she was standing waiting for him at a bus stop. She looked magnificent...

In the rafters of the metal poles supporting the foundations, a small humming bird looked down at the two children, for that is all they are, and sensed divine happiness between the two. It flew across to another perching point and looked down again at the helpless pair, who were both too big to fit through the small hole in the wall which allowed the sprite access to the pure cerulean sunlight and vast Aegean sea.

*

Rye Ming Vase

I ran through the field of rye

Waiting for the creeping snake

To break my stride and capture

My dancing spirit

But my sprite is too lively

For her. It's too delicious for words

To take me then release me

She would have to know what's in my soul

Her sloppy floppy hat condemns

And slides beneath her wishes

She waits like a slitherer

Slavering with deceit

Revealed

The world blurred in front of Danny's eyes, metamorphosing into a dream landscape. Clouds shifted. A sapphire sky held the silver sun aloft like a glittering prize. He walked along a paved path towards a destination which filled his stomach with jitters and nerves. He breathed deeply and counted to ten. If only the sun wasn't so bright, if only the day hadn't arrived so quickly. If only his mind wouldn't build the encounter up as an overdramatic fairy tale, he could escape to the safety of his peers or the ignorant sanctuary of his home. But no, he had agreed to meet her. It was too late to back out now. As he climbed the ramp to the station, he glanced to his right and there he saw her. There she was, stationary, sitting on the bench and looking outward, as if waiting for something. He would have to walk up behind her.

' _Hello Chardelia.'_

Danny smiled into eyes the shade of a hundred emeralds bound by golden ribbons. To him, she appeared a glowing angel.

' _Oh hello!' Chardelia exclaimed. 'Was there a bus stop behind me?'_

Danny couldn't believe how nervous he was. It was only by looking into those rock-pool eyes he could steady himself. Rays of intense and embalming jade, violent rhododendrons, olive yucca, bottle green irises.

' _This isn't the most attractive part of town,' he mumbled as he led her past the crumbling parts of the city._

Again that smile, like silver sunshine breaking through a cotton cloud, hit him full force.

He pulled out a leaflet in the tourist information centre.

' _Here. You might be interested in this.'_

It was an advert for a forthcoming play of Danny the Champion of the World. She gushed with excitement, and Danny smiled.

Inside the Ruft Lavern, a small public house hidden away behind a discreet alleyway in the centre of Amberleigh, Chardelia picked the chicken and bacon salad with balsamic. Danny chose the same, but then changed while ordering to a chicken tikka masala. He pulled out the leaflets he picked up at the information centre. One for a museum displaying ancient coins, another for Amberleigh Castle, another for a local museum of modern art.

Chardelia reached over and looked at it.

' _I quite like modern art,' she said, reviewing the leaflet,' but I've no idea where this is.''That's alright,' Danny said. 'I know where it is._

They walked through the centre of Amberleigh, past gothic churches and sandstone colleges which formed the historic part of the town. Danny guided her down a path which he knew led to an open green and verdant meadow. She took a photo.

' _I don't like people in my photos,' she said, trying to judge the moment when two lovers hand-in-hand might exit her picture, 'I prefer the buildings or fields or rivers to be people-free.'_

Danny moved to the left side of her, so he would be less in her way when she took the picture.

On arrival at the small but neat Amberleigh Modern Art gallery, Chardelia paused, gazing up at the slanted glass windows sunk into blue pebble-dash.

' _Let's go inside,' she said to Danny, still entranced by the light pouring into the gallery from the hazy sun._

The first room they entered accommodated a grand piano in the centre of the room. An eleven digit number was posted to the wall in blue and white neon.

' _Shall we call it?' Danny asked._

' _Why don't you try it?' Chardelia said. He didn't._

The piano was playing something familiar by itself. On a sideboard by the wall Chardelia ambled over and read the plaque.

' _Oh wow,' she said. 'Look at this!'_

Danny walked over. He stood next to her. He breathed in her soft perfume, violets and butterscotch, he thought. There was something mesmeric and fragile and angelic he couldn't bear to plunder.

The plaque read that the piano played Moonlight Sonata but certain notes were missing. It played the tune the moon beamed back to earth after the original composition had been beamed to the moon in morse code. It was called EME – Earth-Moon-Earth. The effect was oddly settling.

' _I've heard this tune before,' Chardelia said thoughtfully._

' _So have I,' Danny said. 'It was the theme tune to Manic Miner, a computer game I used to play on my Amstrad when I was five. It's not Moonlight Sonata, or whatever. It's,' Danny paused listening again to the lilting strains. 'Yep, definitely Manic Miner.'_

Chardelia laughed. He'd done it. He'd found a way to make her smile.

They ascended a spiral staircase, into a room filled with black and white photographs. They were of waterfalls, mountains, streams and snow-crusted trees. Danny was in heaven. Chardelia's jaw fell open with wonder.

' _Wow – Ansel Adams!'_

The photos struck sublime awe into Danny's soul. With Chardelia by his side, amid the open and honest beauty of the natural world portrayed in distinct stills, as if just for him, he knew he should treasure and memorise every single second for posterity, for writing, for his own sanity that he had reached this particular apex. It wasn't like that. The dream-like landscape was changing. Chardelia moved from photo to photo. A graceful gazelle, inspecting each with a gaze so sad it made Danny concentrate his eyes not on the art, but on Chardelia instead. The living, breathing, effortlessly natural person before him was far more fascinating than the captured frozen scenes they had come to see. He felt like he had visited many places the walls displayed; they reminded him of fresh scents of wild forests and the comforting sounds of mother earth. The ethereal environs of Mono Lake, the sheer granite face of El Capitan, the shimmering surface of the Merced river, and the dramatic angel-crested rush of the magnificent Vernal Falls. Yet it was not the accumulation of all this exalted power in one room that caused his heart to quicken, but the hope of shared laughter with close friends and a journey travelled from one point to another. Human existence was not designed to stay in one place, Danny reflected. It was designed, however painful, torturous or tragic, to keep moving forward, wherever forward may be.

He chanced another glance at Chardelia, and her chopped sandygold hair. Her roman nose protruded from beneath her fringe with the elegance of a perfectly constructed sentence. Her natural grace and charm held far more allure than the static cliffs or trickling waters of Adams' photos. She turned her head, her eyes catching Danny looking at her. She smiled, and his heart skipped another beat, like a tune as irregular but just as fitting as the EME Moonlight Sonata they had heard downstairs.

They moved into another room which, when entered, greeted them with a high red wall and some black writing on it. Danny read it, but Chardelia beat him to it. She was a fast reader.

As they moved to the side of the wall a golden cage appeared, with a smaller golden cage within. On the bottom lay wood chippings and in the cage, stunning in multi-coloured coats, were two animals. A seated peacock and a trotting peahen. They moved round the exhibit to a rug suspended in mid-air that displayed planes, angels and butterflies. On the wall was another photo, this time a close-up of a tree in a forest. In the middle of the tree was a carved decoration. It was difficult to see whether the carving had been made of the tree's orginal bark, or whether it had been added to the tree. Chardelia didn't like it.

' _I hope it was a tree they were going to cut down anyway,' she said. Danny said nothing, still thinking how much he wanted to hug her._

The rug suspended above their head looked like an accident; an incidental occurrence. It looked too simple to be part of the exhibit. Chardelia stared up at it.

' _A flying carpet?' she murmured._

' _Hardly – you can see the strings,' Danny replied. She laughed again, and his stomach lurched._

He was not certain about her motives or her intentions. He was held in a position so tenuous, yet at the moment so charm-filled he could not see a way to escape. She was demure, she was precious, unutterably special. He was nothing compared to her, or so he thought. He desperately wanted to tell her his hopes and dreams but the thing that was stopping him was his own intimidation of her. He knew he would have to overcome a river of fear running through his soul to level with her.

As they began another pilgrimage on the cobbled streets of Amberleigh, Chardelia started talking about the photos.

' _They were so striking. The photos were far more impressive than the golden cage with the peacocks.'_

' _There's an art and poster shop just down the road, we could have a look for some prints of the photos if you like?'_

' _Sure.'_

'I wanted to take you to this bookshop-cum-café. It served the most decadent cakes and all the books were arranged by a virtue or vice rather than more ordinary sections. It made for an eclectic mix of titles!'

They passed the façade where the bookshop had stood. Danny felt sad it had disappeared, but even sadder he not known about its demise. Perhaps an indication the shop was built more for browsing than for selling. Or perhaps an indication that books were in decline.

Inside the poster shop, Danny and Chardelia browsed the posters and he showed her several from Ansel Adams. They came across several prints from children's tv programmes: Windy Miller from Trumpton, a group shot from Camberwick Green, characters from Pigeon Street.

' _Long-Distance Clara was my favourite,' Chardelia admitted. 'She was so cool.'_

Danny rummaged in the pile and found a print dedicated to Long-Distance Clara, and showed it to Chardelia, who exclaimed with delight. Making her happy seemed to be so easy.

' _I remember when I was young I used to sit in front of the tv with a small table on which I had my lunch and I used to sit and watch Pigeon Street.'_

With the image of a small Chardelia sitting taking dainty bites of her ham sandwich spinning in his mind like the spokes of Windy Miller's windmill, they left the poster shop and headed to Starbucks for a cup of tea.

' _My brother and me – we're very close,' Chardelia admitted in a confidential manner that made Danny feel privileged to hear her words. They were seated on a brown leather sofa in the coffee capitalist centre of the world._

' _He writes in his spare time, you know. Before he moved jobs, to become a teacher, he was a communications officer at a teacher inspection agency. He's just getting himself settled again after he split up with his girlfriend of six years. One minute they were together forever, having their whole future mapped out, marriage, kids, house, the whole lot. The next thing I'm zooming down to London to help him move out, both emotionally and physically!'_

Chardelia seemed exhausted at telling Danny this. He looked at his shoes. Her care and devotion to her brother was something he warmed to the more he discovered it. He thought of Polly, sitting at home educating herself without noise or sound, and for some reason felt ashamed. He looked at her again, virescent jade eyes gleaming at him with something like the filial love Polly sometimes shared with Danny. Her delicate white hand had left itself on the empty patch of sofa between them. He glanced at it, it was only a momentary glance, yet it was enough for her to subconsciously spot it, and withdraw her hand to her lap – unthinkable territory.

' _You know, I think I would love to open a florists shop instead of working in computers. A florists with a cake shop at the back perhaps. Near a hospital. In a country location, near trees and open space. So I can finally be free.'_

' _A florists?' Danny asked, rather stupidly._

' _Aha,' Chardelia nodded._

*

Danny awoke, his heart racing. The vivid dream of Chardelia had made him perspire profuse sweat and he shifted to find himself cold and clammy. Looking down at his torso he saw the contours of ribs materialise through his chest. He had lost too much fluid in the past two days. When he opened his mouth the effort of speech hurt, and when his words eventually came they were only a croak.

'Am, are you awake?'

Amanita stirred. Her eyelids opened halfway, and beneath them her irises bore a surreal dream-like expression.

'I don't think we're going to make it Danny. They've left us here to die.'

She cuddled closer to Danny and languidly dropped her arm across his chest. The ultimate act of submission to the inevitable.

Danny did not know whether it was something inside or a minor irritation from the way he had sat – a spider crawling up his back perhaps, but he stood up rigidly like a board. This was too much.

'No,' he said firmly. 'We're going to get out of here.'

Danny's statement coincided with a crash from the wood above them. An axe crunched loudly through the hatch. Splinters of sun fell on shards of wood falling onto the dusty concrete. The axe curved again and Amanita and Danny embraced in fright. As it swung and connected for a third time the axe finally destroyed the rest of the hatch. For a moment there was a horrible ambiguous, pregnant silence.

'Danny? Am?'

Despite their arguments and disagreements , despite their jealousy and rancid envy over the previous school year, Danny had never been more delighted to hear the voice of Timothy Gaunt.

'Tim!'

Amanita shrieked. With a new-found energy she ran to the hatch, which now looked precarious. Sharp slivers of wood threatened to cut and chafe their near naked skin.

A couple of arms dropped down the hole and with fumbling and struggling Tim's muscular engines helped Amanita escape from their prison. Danny looked round. Would he have made it out on his own? There was now, he saw in the fresh light of day, a barrel in the corner, on the top of which he saw a few nails. In the reflection of the gleaming sunshine, the chunky metal head of a brand new hammer. Thankfully, he did not have to consider now how he might have had to use it. He grabbed an arm and Timothy pulled him up out of the dark and into the light.

*

It was clear from the tipped over glasses and scattered cushions that the culprits had fled in a hurry. Danny and Amanita sat on stools at the breakfast bar while Tim and his companion, Dimitri Peleus, made them cool drinks and served them soft fruit. Everything was silence. There was no appetite for talking until Danny and Amanita's energy reserves were replenished.

Squinting hard out of the window, such was the shock of brilliant blue light thrust upon him again, Danny saw a few mountain goats curiously pass by on the hill beyond. The sound of goat-bells gradually overtook the familiar hissing and crackling of cicadas amid the shrubs. Danny sipped his drink slowly, allowing the amber-nectar fluid to gradually restore his senses. He tasted the soft peaches in the bowl in front of him. With each spoonful he devoured the diminishing remainder with more relish. Tim munched on an apple and gazed at them both carefully but fondly. Amanita's attention was lost in her drink and her food, but Danny could see Tim watch her anxiously.

'I don't know what would have happened to us both if you hadn't have come,' Danny said, with feeling.

Amanita nodded, her mouth full of pineapple.

'It was Amanda's pressure on me really,' Tim said.

Danny looked at Amanita, who glanced guiltily back.

'She was insistent we phone the police when you didn't come back the first evening.'

'Where are they?' Danny asked.

'Isobel and Amanda are back at the villa. They wanted to come but, well...' His voice trailed off, and Danny had an idea of what he was trying to say. Isobel and Amanda would not be able to fully understand the way Tim felt about his two lost friends. Besides there wouldn't be enough room in the car for them all.

Tanned and moustached Dimitri Peleus looked at them all and coughed, about to speak.

'One of the leads I received in the search for Penny was a call from an elderly Greek resident who mentioned only in passing he had seen a red range rover with a passenger matching your description and driven by a television reporter. "The one with the blonde hair and all the make-up". He was sure it was her. It was all we had to go on, but luckily I was able to track down Bee's address from the BBC team back in Britain. We knew you were down in the hatch when you said "No" rather loudly. We were just about to leave when we heard you.'

It was too much. The heat, the dryness, the sheer coincidental nature of it all fell upon Danny in a sweeping wave of emotion. Tears flooded his empty peach bowl. Amanita followed but before Danny could reach over and commune their joint despair Tim was there, patting her arm and allowing her to cry into his shoulder so that a wet patch grew quickly on his shirt. Dimitri continued.

'I should add that the BBC team in Britain have been instructed not to pass on details of my enquiry to Ms Dew. We now have a warrant out for her arrest.'

Danny didn't know how to put his next question into words, so he tried the simplest form he could imagine.

'Do you know?'

'Know what?' Peleus replied, leaning forward and applying his keen gaze to Danny's face.

'She wasn't alone. She's in with the family,' Danny spat out, tears still crowning his irises. He had been a fool to believe in them.

'You mean Thea and Winnie?' Peleus clarified. Danny looked down into his peach bowl, unable to carry on. He just wanted to go home now.

'No,' Amanita said, finally lifting her cheek from Tim's chest. 'Danny meant the Trikill family. Penny is with them.'

The statement resounded around the otherwise empty villa. Tim and Dimitri stood in silent shock for a few moments.

'But that means...' Tim said.

'Yes it does,' Amanita replied.

'We have to go,' Dimitri said conclusively.

*

Danny had never been inside a Greek police car before. The white and blue reflected the colours of their striking flag. A cross and stripes in the colours of their nationhood. Piercing sea-blue and crisp cloud-white, the shades of their heritage. Sea, sand and sky in simple and natural union.

They raced through mountain roads with a speed that caused the three passengers to hold onto the car's handlebars with fearful tightness. Dimitri's expression was as calm as any other Greek driver on the road. Danny looked down occasionally to watch the Aegean sea pound the rocks below, at little beaches and coves that looked as beautiful as they were inaccessible. At spiky olive branches and groves of lemon trees that rose up out of nowhere as the car ascended and descended with tremendous pace.

Like a rocket they continued on the unbordered Greek roads, twisting and turning like a helter skelter. The long grass and trees passed by like a moving blur of jade and fern.

'Where are we going?' Tim asked Dimitri from the front passenger seat.

'Back to the police station,' Dimitri answered. 'We must get a search party out for the Trikill family. The little girl may be in danger.'

How are we going to find her now, Danny thought but was interrupted by Amanita whose loud cough prefaced her desire to speak.

'Dimitri. Stop.'

'What?' called Dimitri, still pushing down hard on the accelerator.

'We have to stop,' croaked Amanita, 'we can't go back to the police station,' she said as he rounded another cliff-top corner where assorted cars sat in a layby while the occupants took photographs of the stunning aquamarine view.

'Why?' everyone asked simultaneously.

'Because,' Amanita said, lifting her arm to point to the lay-by, 'that is Bee Dew's car.'

Peleus slammed on the brakes, causing some of the tourists to turn their heads in alarm. They all looked round and Danny immediately recognised the bright red range-rover sitting there, with the same distinctive number-plate: C0PT 3R5.

'That's it,' Danny exclaimed.

'I saw a group of people crowded on a hillside we passed five minutes ago. It took me a moment to recognise the little girl standing on her own away from the group. She was picking poppies. It was lemon-haired Penny. By the time it registered, we were already speeding away. That's definitely her car though. Danny?'

'That's the one,' Danny said. 'We should get out and go search for them.'

All four of them climbed the narrow rocky path up the hillside where Amanita had spotted the family and Bee. Danny found it tiring, and his limbs ached from their recent imprisonment. He helped Amanita when she stumbled a couple of times. Peleus led the way. Taking his belt and holster from the police car, he wrapped it inside his jacket lest anyone be disconcerted by the sight of the gun beneath.

In the fields Danny spotted numerous varieties of wild flowers. The native purple thistle gave the fields a subtle pink hue but on closer inspection there were lilting snapdragons, tempting teasels, rushing globe thistles, halting bluebells, gorgeous peonies and sublime little pennyroyals.

Danny paused for a moment to catch his breath. The persistent heat was unrelenting even though early evening beckoned. Amanita rested on his shoulder while Danny bent down to detach a flower. He released a fragile white orchid from its stem, gently pushing it in his pocket.

'For someone special,' Danny said to Amanita, who watched curiously. Danny prayed he would get the chance to give it to her.

As Dimitri topped the summit of the hill he paused. With hunched and searching eyes he looked around. At the last second of his three-sixty degree survey he indicated Tim to stop and be quiet. Danny scrambled up to see. As Dimitri pointed, crouching behind a large rock, Danny saw them: a small group of people stood in the distance, with Penny on the margins. It looked like they were mid-argument.

Dimitri silently indicated he would move to the next rock to edge closer. He wanted to secure Penny – that was the first priority. With dexterity and a noiseless movement that held Tim and Danny in awe, Peleus advanced with feline grace to the next rock. Tim followed before Danny and Amanita, making sure they were not seen. From the new position, they could hear heated conversations.

'We never wanted to become involved. You pushed us into it.'

A voice followed, unmistakably Dew's.

'I didn't hear you complaining.'

Amanita gasped, but Tim moved his hand over her mouth in seconds. No-one heard her outburst.

Bee turned her head, her eyes blazing with hatred. Dimitri watched them closely. Penny picked flowers near a rocky outcrop. Although beyond them all, she was stationed closest to Dew.

Dew subtly took a step back, closer to Penny who sat near the cliff-edge. Dimitri watched closely, wanting to pounce but waiting. Danny wondered how close he would need them to come to make a successful snatch.

Everything happened in an instant. Dew's fingers reached out and she lunged for Penny. Grabbing her by the mid-riff she pulled her in the air. Penny immediately thought it was a game, and she was being swung round for the thrill of it.

'You two have never fully understood, have you? When are you people going to understand how lucky you are to have her?' Dew squeezed Penny tighter and Penny began to moan.

'You're hurting me, you're hurting me.'

Peleus flinched, but he was too far away. He'd have to overtake them to reach her, and he would give away his ambush too easily. It was getting worse. With every word Dew spoke, she took a deliberate step back, not bothering to watch the hundred-foot drop to choppy sea and rugged rocks.

'You go on and on about how you miss your little girl yet you think you will never know the dark pain of not being able to have them, do you? Maybe it's time you did find out. At least then your claims to the media would ring true. Yes?'

Amanita and Tim gasped in unison. Peleus' eyes widened as Dew took another slow step towards the edge. Glancing over her shoulder, she calculated every inch. At the last moment she swung round and stretched out the arms that held the little girl. Holding Penny over the edge, her short legs dangled above an unthinkable tragedy.

'Oh my God!' screamed Thea. 'Let my little girl go?'

'Do you really want me to do that?' Dew said, her eyes flashing with spite. 'I don't think you do, do you?'

Something snapped inside Danny. He would not let it happen again.

It all ensued too fast for words or commentary. As Winnie lurched forward on instinct, Danny watched her direction and took his chance. Running flat out, he knew Winnie would distract Bee and she would not see him until the last second. Amanita and Tim and Dimitri stood to stop him, but he escaped their clutching grasp, their fingers brushing him as he sped away. The point of no return had been passed. It was all or nothing.

Temporarily forgetting his ordeal, Danny became surprised how quickly he grew out of breath. Metres from Dew, he knew he was slowing. His dissipating energy could spell disaster. With the intention to snatch Penny in any way he could burning in his mind, he did not notice the small, irresistibly curved rock some way from the edge. As his foot locked underneath its arch, his whole body continued its momentum like a pendulum, pivoted at the floor. With his arms outstretched to break his fall, he caught both Bee's legs. In shock her grip loosened and she released a stricken Penny into Winnie's arms.

Danny heard the choking breaths of those around him as he gazed into dry parched grass. Comprehending these incongruous noises seemed momentarily disorienting. A blood-curdling scream rose in the air a couple of metres to his right. Bee had lost her balance for the very last time. Her decisive stumble was instinctive and utterly telling. He did not need the thudding crash at the bottom to tell him what happened. Looking up from his prostrate position he saw Winnie apprehended by Dimitri, holding both at gunpoint. Tim restrained a clutching, grasping Thea. Little Penny sobbed into Amanita's shoulder as surely as Amanita had sobbed into Danny's in the underground dungeon hours before.

Walking over to Amanita, Danny pressed a warm hand on Penny's stained cheek. Reaching inside his jacket he pulled out the white orchid.

'I spy with my little eye something beginning with P,' he said. 'This flower is called a "Penny"' Danny said, winking at the little girl. In between sobs the girl spoke.

'Is it really?' she asked, gazing at it in wonder.

'It is now,' Danny said, passing the flower into her eager palm.

*

Sausage

It's what he called me

He does care

So there

All you

Telling me he's evil

All you

Trying not to stare

While I'm trying to breathe

Please

Very politely

Fuck off

Janna's Confession

Danny sat in the dust and shade of Rhodes police station. Although he'd seen the place plenty of times on the news over the past year, inside it was an ordinary plain and run-down building. The glamour of the television was yet another illusion, turning the hard-working into rock-stars, making the humble appear powerful.

Dimitri alternated between interview rooms with his two senior officers, attempting to extract the reprehensible truth.

Amanita and Tim sat further down and whispered to each other. Dimitri had taken their statements and Danny awaited his turn. Perhaps they were whispering about Amanda's relationship with Tim, or perhaps they were whispering about Amanita's feelings. The thought crossed his mind they might even have been whispering about him, about his moment of madness and the confusion that followed.

Danny leant his head back and breathed a sigh of relief. Something had changed. It wasn't just the shocking events on that cliff-top, events that would stay with him until the day he died. Something had changed inside him.

Dimitri walked from a waiting room, holding the hand of Penny, and approached Danny.

'Would you mind keeping an eye on her for a few moments?'

Danny nodded and motioned for Penny to join him on his seat. He allowed her to snuggle up to him, and she quickly fell asleep. Casting his eyes to the other end of the corridor he watched Dimitri talk avidly to Amanita and Tim. They paused and looked at each in silence. Amanita pointed towards Danny. For a moment their eyes met: Danny's with those of his two friends, and the police commander who now considered him with a frown. Scratching his chin, Peleus slowly walked back to Danny. Without a word passing between them, a deep and ominous foreboding grew in Danny's stomach.

'Danny, if you could come with me please.' Dimitri said.

'But Penny – will she be alright?' Danny replied.

'She'll be fine,' Peleus said, in a distinct Greek lilt. 'Amanita will take care of her.'

Dimitri led Danny to an interview room – a modest space with a wobbly table and a small window overlooking a crowded car park. A breeze blew in from the window and Danny felt able to breathe more easily here. He sat down and waited for Peleus to do the same. Peleus however paced around the room before he lit a filterless cigarette.

'I suppose you want a statement from me...' Danny said looking at Peleus cautiously. Peleus stared at Danny.

'I need to talk to you about something.' His next words struck Danny completely by surprise. 'Do you know a girl called Janna Chisely?'

Danny's heart jumped into his mouth.

'What? Janna? Is she okay? What's wrong?'

'Calm down Danny. Janna is fine, although she is in a small spot of bother.'

Danny looked up at Peleus with a questioning gaze.

'I have just taken a call from a Sergeant Lombard who is chief at Amberleigh police station, where I believe you reside,' Peleus said slowly, as if forcing the words to come out. 'He arrested Ms Chisely today for shoplifting,' Peleus said finally, and rather simply.

Danny's jaw dropped open but he remained silent.

'Ms Chisely, apparently, has not said a single word to anyone since she was arrested. It appears she has had some sort of breakdown. Please can I ask, how do you know her?'

A million excuses, ideas, dreams ran through Danny's head. The only one that made sense was the truth.

'She was my girlfriend a couple of years ago,' he said in a small voice before repeating, 'It was a couple of years ago,' in case Peleus missed this bit.

'Well it seems she still harbours something of a crush for you. She won't speak to anyone Amberleigh, even her own parents, until she sees you.'

Danny's stomach somersaulted. Even in the shock a remnant of illogic lodged in his mind.

'How do you know she will only speak to me if she hasn't said a word to anyone?'

Peleus reached in his jacket pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. He handed it to Danny. It was a fax.

'Because of this,' Peleus said.

Danny opened the folded piece of paper and gazed into the creases as though they could reach out and pull him away from knowledge, into the whiteness. As though they could consume him into the oblivion and annihilation of ignorance. On the fax were handwritten five words which, now he had seen them, Danny prayed and hoped he had never, ever read:

tell danny msg from chardelia.

*

Amberleigh smelt rich and sweet in the morning mist. Stepping off the plane at Newcastle airport, Danny breathed in the industrial grime of a city's hard toil, and the dirty hard water running through it. Amberleigh had suffered a morning shower, but the sun now peeped from behind a cloud and refreshed the damp air with a few disinfecting rays.

Danny lifted his sunglasses over his forehead and breathed hard. The butterflies had not diminished on the plane. Now he had landed safely they had turned into a squirming stomach monster. He tossed a single twenty pence piece in an attempt at celebration of his arrival back home but there was a familiar doom shrouding his emotions. Finding it hard to concentrate on anything other than Chardelia's face, as she fell in the toxic river two years before, Danny walked down the rainy cobbles toward Amberleigh police station.

A young constable sat behind the reception desk when Danny entered. Danny gave his name and was advised to take a seat. He looked round. From one police station to another. Circles of coffee stained the table to his right. Mouldy damp ran up one corner of the waiting room, partly concealed by a toppling pile of magazines, mostly home-making rags and glossy gossip mags. The window opposite looked out on the cobbles outside with weary neglect. Puddles of rainwater accumulated in the iron lattice frames.

After a few minutes a bald-headed man appeared in front of Danny.

'Hallo there young sir!' Lombard boomed. 'Had a nice holiday?'

Danny glanced up, trying to fight back tears that built in his eyes as surely as the rainwater in the windows.

'Yes, sir,' Danny said quietly, finding it difficult to focus. Lombard sat down opposite him.

'Janna is still in the interview room. I'll take you to her in a moment.' Lombard said, a more serious tone overcoming his voice.

'Right,' Danny said, not knowing if he really wanted to see Janna yet.

'She was arrested on suspicion of shoplifting. The jewellers have had their goods returned to them and I am pleased to tell you they are not interested in pressing charges.'

Danny looked up.

'However, as you probably know from our Greek liaison officer, Janna has not said a word since she was taken in. Only the note that was faxed across to you has been all we have been able to get out of her. She won't even talk to her parents, Danny.'

It was no use stopping the tears now. They fell like silent dew drops down his cheek, into the nape of his neck.

'Danny. The theft is now no longer the issue in this case,' Lombard said, leaning forward and allowing Danny to see the wrinkles hiding behind the sheen of the top of his bald head. 'The real issue is the information Janna wishes to convey to you. We have reason to believe...' Lombard's voice trailed off into uncharacteristic silence. As if he did not know how to phrase his next sentence.

'I think it's time I took you to her.'

Lombard led Danny down a narrow corridor and paused outside an olive green, windowless door.

'Janna is in this room,' Lombard said, and rested his broad hand on Danny's shoulder. 'It's over to you now.'

With that parting word, Lombard returned down the corridor and into another room that must have been his office. Here goes nothing, Danny thought, and he pushed down the handle and opened the door.

The room was as sparse as the rest of the police station. At one end was a window that overlooked a small patch of grass. On it a couple of birds pecked at worms and tweeted intermittently. Bordering the miniature garden was a wild hedgerow. In the distance the North Sea fizzed. The middle of the room bore a table and two chairs. Janna Chisely occupied one of the chairs. Danny had assumed Janna might not still look her usual lovely self, but nothing prepared him for the sight he beheld. Her hair had been chopped off around the ears, and dyed brown. It stuck up in random patches. Green mascara streaked her face, intermingled with tear stains. Her sky blue eyes peeped out beneath this map of madness. Danny poured his gaze into them as easily as the breath entered his lungs.

As he sat on the chair opposite he did not break his gaze with Janna. He did not want to speak to her straight away. He wanted to show he respected her decision to abandon words. Instead he reached out his arm and hand. She hesitated, and pushed her dainty fingers into his and Danny felt the same thrill he felt three years ago when she had done that for the first time.

They sat for several minutes, Danny stroking her little finger with his. Eventually, he reached in the back pocket of his jeans with his other hand and pulled out the now crumpled fax Peleus had given him in Greece. He placed it on the table, an obvious question mark in their silent conversation. Danny was not going to be the one to break the deadlock.

Janna opened her mouth to speak. No sound came out, but a dry, croaking noise rose up. She motioned with her hand she needed a drink and Danny rushed from the room to fetch water. When he returned with a glass Janna drew the transparent fluid to the small bud of her mouth. Danny watched it rush over her pale pink lips, wondering and waiting.

'Ironic, isn't it?' Janna said, in a slight voice. 'Water – the very thing that finished her in the end, is bringing me back to life.'

Danny kept his nerve, and breathed deeply.

'What is the message from Chardelia, Janna?'

'Did you value your childhood Danny?' Janna asked, again in a quiet voice.

'I do,' Danny replied.

'I once hoped I'd hear you say those words at one end of a church with me by your side,' Janna said, looking down at the floor. 'That's why I stole the ring at the jewellers. I was...getting carried away. I don't think you ever realised the effect you had when you came into my life. The hope you gave me after Cedric dropped me like a sack of potatoes. Someone whom I had always known since childhood had been transformed into this amazing boyfriend who loved me, cared for me, looked after me. It all felt so...unconditional. I felt I could do anything and you would still love me.'

Janna's expression was soft and childlike. She paused, and continued, looking earnestly at Danny.

'My own childhood was wonderful, I must admit. I never had anything to complain about. I was never left wanting. Never really scared of anything. Until the day Chardelia and I saw little Robin Vernal being driven away.'

Birds continued tweeting outside the window. Janna's eyelashes continued blinking. However in the split second Janna had mentioned Robin's name, it felt like a wall came crashing on Danny's head. He fell sideways on the cold stone floor, and everything went black.

A few minutes later he regained consciousness. Janna knelt over him, whispering in his ear.

'I'm sorry you hit your head, Danny. I have to tell you now. I have to get it out. If I don't tell you now I may never be loose of it. This horrible, terrible secret that she told no-one but me. Danny – she told me just before she died, just before you shouted out my name, just before you chose me. I've never told you since that time because...well, I wanted to punish you for dumping me just like Cedric did. I've never quite had the heart, I didn't want to remember...'

Janna breathed deeply, sobs starting, and Danny held out his hand to brush a lock of hair aside on Janna's forehead.

'It was him, Danny!' Janna whispered. 'He's back!'

'Who?' Danny whispered

'I've seen him. I'm sure it's him, lurking round the fishing boats down at the harbour. He always wears a disguise but I'm sure it's him.'

The suspense was killing Danny, who was close to passing out again. The blackness and the stars were descending. He managed a few last breaths before unconsciousness seized him and took him back to its comfortable lair.

'Who?' Danny said for a final time.

'Robin's kidnapper. Chardelia's nemesis. Our old headmaster.'

The pain of knowledge surged in Danny's mind. Another piece of the jigsaw fell into its terrifying place. Janna leant over and kissed Danny's cheek before whispering again.

'He's back Danny. Professor Olivio Flambeau.'

*

Janna had not walked in direct sunlight for a few days and she squinted hard against the irresistible brilliance of the day. She led Danny down to the harbour, half-running down the ancient and damp cobbles. Lombard agreed to trail them at a distance in his squad car.

The revelation stunned Danny. He was happy to be led, knowing neither how he should react nor if there was a plan to their imminent movements. Flambeau was back. Was he to believe Janna? Could she really have seen him? Lombard must have had his suspicions about her account of events, as he did not seem to be in any rush to search the town, but content to follow Janna. The last thing she had said to Danny before they left the station was a mumbling about checking out a boat she had supposedly seen Flambeau skulking around.

They arrived at the harbour, but it was serene and quiet. The water rippled gently against cream stone walls. Tiny fish occasionally bobbed to the surface, creating pockets of air bubbles. Janna looked down intently at the boats tied to the metal catches on the edge of the wall.

'It's not here,' she whispered. 'It's gone.'

'What's gone?' Danny asked, still not sure what they were supposed to be looking for.

'His boat. He had a boat. I saw him in a silver-coloured dinghy.'

'Janna,' and he squeezed her palm to reassure her while he said this, 'how do you know that it was Flambeau?'

She turned and looked him in the eyes. He could see uncertainty lingering. It was obvious to him now she did not know. An flicker of doubt kindled in his heart, irrepressible and insidious. For a moment they stood watching the gentle green waters lap the harbour walls, in stark contrast to the deep blue waves crashing against rocks in the open sea.

'Where do we go from here?'

Danny asked whilst examining the way the sea met the imposing headland on which stood Amberleigh Castle, and their school, St Oliver Plunket's. Beyond, hardly visible in the grey sea mist, stood Burnett mountain, palest blue.

A small vessel was battling the sea in the distance. Danny's eyes rested on it as it approached Amberleigh's headland. It was far away, it would soon vanish behind the mount of limestone.

'Move!' shouted Janna, and Danny felt a shove in his back. However when he turned to look it was not Janna's force that moved him out of the way, but the swivelling of a huge metal telescope, one of many that lined the harbour walls and along Amberleigh promenade. Janna rummaged in her handbag for her purse.

'Damnit! I don't have one,' Janna shouted.

'One what?' Danny asked.

It dawned on him what she was attempting to do. Thrusting hands into both his pockets he withdrew a slightly used handkerchief, a boiled sweet with a bit of fluff attached to the wrapper, a folded piece of paper which contained the faxed message Lombard had sent to Peleus, his mobile phone, the screen glistening in the sunlight, and a twenty pence piece.

He passed the coin to Janna who jammed it so hard into the telescope he thought she might break it. She swung it around so fast Danny had to duck out of the way. Twiddling with the dials on the side of the telescope, Janna suddenly let out a scream.

'Look!' she said, stepping aside and motioning that she was passing the viewing platform over to Danny. Danny climbed onto the metal plate and fixed his eye to the thin metal tube. At first he saw nothing but rolling waves. He moved the scope an inch to the right and saw how the sea pounded into rocks with furious intensity, but when the sea had subsided the rock still remained, proud and unmoved.

Danny inched the scope slightly closer to the headland and an intolerably brilliant light burst in his eye. He moved away, blinking and regaining his sense of perspective. Looking normally he could not see anything. He began to severely doubt Janna's sanity. Still, he wanted to find out what had nearly blinded him. He leant forward, and took another look.

This time it was clear. A small boat, shining silver as it rode the waves, was heading towards the cove beyond the headland, towards the beach which separated the sea from the Brownleaf factory. Danny strained his eye as wide as he could make it and counted one, two passengers in the boat, one taller than the other. Even in the scope, the boat was too small to pick out more detail. As it began to disappear behind the headland, Janna began tugging on his arm.

'Did you see it? Did you see it?' she persisted excitedly.

'I saw a small boat with two people in it, heading towards the beach. I suppose it is a bit strange that a boat is out on the sea in unpredictable weather, but still Janna – how do we know...'

Danny's voice was interrupted by the sound of a squad car pulling up on the kerb. Out stepped Sergeant Lombard, looking surprisingly serious.

'Anything, my young detectives?' he asked, looking grave.

Janna nodded, ran forward past the Sergeant and opened the rear door of the car. Climbing in, she shouted out.

'Sergeant – can you take us to the Brownleaf factory. Now! Please!'

It was a moment Danny would never forget for the rest of his short life. Standing facing the bewildered but kindly expression of Sergeant Lombard. The manic, pained and intense deliberation on Janna's face. A fork had opened in his life, a decision between two paths the future of both completely unknowable.

'What do you think Danny?' asked Lombard.

Danny glanced again out at the sea, at the tourists sunbathing on the beach. It would be easy to return home and forget Janna's mild aberration. It was probably nothing. So tempting was the warmth of William and Polly and the subsequent arrival of Amanita and Tim from Rhodes the next day. To leave now would save him from pain. To leave now might shield him from an almighty difficult truth. Waves of salty breeze blew across the wide expanse of Amberleigh sands. A few seagulls squawked as they swooped upon flecks of food left by sunseekers. It was not an easy decision, but in the end, it was straightforward enough.

'Let's go,' Danny said, and jumped in the back of the squad car with Janna.

*

Resurrection

The silver-lined dinghy Janna and Danny saw through the telescope at the harbour looked more gleaming and dangerous close-up. Sat beside a speedboat, it was tied to a rock protruding from the gritty sand on Brownleaf beach. A deep brown smell flooded Danny's nostrils. He pushed open derelict doors that held half-smashed window panes and entered the factory. Janna followed behind him. They left Lombard outside circling the perimeter, still harbouring unspoken doubts they would find anything. Lombard carried his walkie-talkie; he could call for additional officers should he receive a message from Janna or Danny to do so. Although, Danny could see from the casual way Lombard leaned against a wall; he didn't expect to be troubled.

The inside of Brownleaf factory was as deserted as the exterior promised. A huge ceiling several stories high made their voices echo. Danny glanced up at windows stretching as tall as walls would take them. Rarely did he spot one with the full complement of glass remaining. Neglect and desolation had marked the building like a flourishing blight. Rocks and tennis balls and general weathering set a stain upon Victorian panes with contagious frequency.

The pair surveyed empty broken cabinets and desks. Upon them, dust collected on old faded papers. Metal girders blocked their path in one part of the warehouse. They climbed half of one before easing gently down the other side. Danny held Janna's hand at all times. Her ivory skin offered reassurance, and a friendship that had not died with their faded romance. An eerie quietness had fallen over the factory. It was not complete silence. The distant sound of rolling waves on the sea outside mixed with an echo of lapping water somewhere within.

The factory stretched out in front of them; a vast, involuntary chamber. Empty wooden chairs lay scattered about. Along rows and rows of conveyor belts and machines sat sugary brown detritus. Presumably at one time these carriages delivered finished chocolate for the masses. Janna skipped over to one and began inspecting it. She pulled a few empty sweet wrappers out of a box but nothing of consequence. She skipped back and they proceeded further along until they reached the opposite end of the warehouse.

It was only when they stopped by the back wall Danny noticed the first peculiarity. In one corner the wall seemed slightly thicker than the others. There were no machines here, just some broken glass and puddles of water. Danny looked up – there were no holes in the roof here either. No windows at all to let in the rain that might have caused the puddles. Moving to the corner he noticed something else, reminding him of the effect of an eclipse he studied in an astronomy magazine earlier in the year. Where the thick part of the wall met the normal wall, a thin line of light framed what should have been the joining. A silver lining, like the one on the dinghy. There was a space behind the wall.

Danny squeezed Janna's hand as they slowly approached. He could not hear the wailing tide now. A gentler sound of running water grew louder. Reaching out his hand to feel the wall's edge as it overhung the wall, he grasped at the crevice of space between. It was thin, barely wide enough for an adult to pass through. But still, a vacancy into which a person could pass. He set himself flat against the wall and gradually began to sidestep into the passage. At once claustrophobia began to overtake him. The air was thinner here, and salty gusts filled his lungs. Just when he thought he would collapse, the passage widened and he turned to squint a dark corridor with a faint light at the other end. Danny reached out for Janna's hand and pulled her through.

It didn't make any sense. The corridor protruded out towards where the sea should be. On the outside of the factory no presence of the tunnel was visible at all. Danny had walked that way many times as a child, and as a Plunket's student. It was only when Danny stepped forward the optical illusion resolved itself. The tunnel headed downwards into the cold foundations. With no light the illusion only revealed itself upon the first few paces forward. The dark corridor led them downwards into the bowels of the earth, perhaps into the very seabed itself.

Echoes of running water grew louder. As they approached the corridor's end the faint light flickered effulgent. Danny paused. Having thought from the distant light the tunnel would open out into some sort of cavern, he was disappointed to find the source was nothing other than a flaming torch. It showed the path took a ninety-degree left turn into another corridor, longer than the first. An even fainter light glowed at the end. Gaining his bearings, Danny realised the tunnel led straight into the base of Burnett mountain.

'What do you think?' Janna said suddenly, her voice tremulous. 'Should we continue?'

Danny squeezed her hand and looked into her eyes, the spark of a flame dancing in purest and palest blue. He nodded solemnly.

'I'm sorry Janna.'

Danny did not know what he was apologising for. For not believing her at first. For letting her go so abruptly. For not being with her when she needed him. For forcing her to take this perilous journey. He just felt he should apologise.

'We should continue.'

The stone ground became wet and slippy underfoot as they drew close to the next light. They half-walked, half-slid down the damp, into the dark. The duo walked for a further five minutes. It appeared they were growing no closer to the other end. Thin green lichen clung to the roof of the tunnel. Danny saw tiny spiders climbing the walls. Janna inserted her arm through Danny's. He felt her tender body brush against his. This was it, Danny thought. This was the core of his life.

Eventually they came within a few feet of the opening of the end of the tunnel. Here, it was not one flaming torch that lit the way, but several. The dancing flames reflected a sea of stalactites hanging from a rocky ceiling. Following a few damp, rough-hewn steps to the bottom, the narrow subterranean passage opened out into a profusion of incandescence. The glowing lights revealed an ochre-coloured cavern. On the walls were pinned twelve huge wooden torches, each with flames rising up to two feet tall. Above them the cavern ceiling curved round into a giant dome, converging around an aperture through which cascading sunlight illuminated the water below. The dazzling skylight penetrated the beautifully clear underground lake, forcing buttergolds, coral blues and olive greens to shimmer and sparkle on the cavern stone. On the opposite side to Danny and Janna a single and wild stream of water sprang from a small opening into the lake. As the water struck the lake's surface, tiny rainbows refracted and curved in the sunlight. Perfect circles pushed concentric ripples outwards in the lake, dappling the gold rocks at the underground lake's bed. It was not diminishing oxygen but the breathtaking view that stole air from Danny's and Janna's squeaking lungs. Before they had time to look at each other, a voice behind them spoke.

'Welcome to the Brownleaf Spring. A mysterious source of water often mistaken and mythologised into a variety of different forms. Both the stream and sunlight originate right from the very top of the mountain. A wondrous phenomenon I'm sure you will agree.'

Danny turned around slowly to see a withered and outstretched hand holding a black luger directly to his chest. The man holding the gun was unmistakably Professor Olivio Flambeau.

Janna let out a terrified squeal, and then whispered into Danny's ear as her pressure on his arm threatened to pull it clean off.

'I told you so,' she whispered. Danny spread his feet and stared into the dark eyes of Flambeau. He was surprisingly calm.

'Is it true, Professor?'

Olivio Flambeau took a step towards them. He was wearing a tweed jacket, but underneath a shabby looking straw hat his hair had grown straggly and he had the beginnings of a beard. The picture of neglected respectability, of civilization run wild, of truth streaming from a kernel of lies.

'Aha. I think I know the answer to the question you ask. But first, Master Canterbury, let me ask you a question. How have you coped since my absence? I presume your studies are progressing well?'

It was an odd question to ask. If it would pave the way for an answer to his burning quest it was easy payment to make. Danny forced himself to continue in the polite voice in which Flambeau had begun the conversation, despite the gun.

'Yes sir, my studies are going just fine. Professor?'

Danny repeated his question.

'I understand your yearning for the truth Danny. I understand better than you can know, your intention to be reunited with your childhood friend. Sadly I must inform you it is not my intention for you to be reunited. You see, despite the delicately subtle trail I left you through Dr Thimball – oh yes, it was I who sent the locket to him to lead you on your way to Rhodes. I didn't feel like returning back to my old haunt with the knowledge the one person who could identify her would be...hanging around, shall we say? Despite that delicate trail, I am afraid, very afraid this time, you will be disappointed once more.'

Danny gazed into Flambeau's eyes, anger and melancholy threatening to overcome him. The situation felt hopeless. However it was no different from countless other times he had felt hopeless this year and he had come through those still bearing that meagre flame alive though dim. Could he still have faith? Flambeau had the gun. Even if they shouted, Lombard would not be able to hear him now they were underground. Underground! What was it about Flambeau's obsession with subterranean passages and caverns? Flambeau continued, in the same polite, matter-of-fact voice.

'With you safely out of the way, and I mean "safely" Danny, I had to see to that personally mind you, I could return here and go about my business unimpeded.'

'But you didn't manage it did you Olivio?' Danny said, as Janna quivered beside him. Silently he pressed his hand against hers. 'I'm here. You can't shake me away that easily.'

Flambeau smiled. It was a strange smile, reassuring, calm, modestly patronising and paternal.

'Danny, my work here is done. You can't stop me. Luckily I had a friend to help me this time.'

Danny said nothing for a moment. He watched the man before him, the pistol remaining pointed at his chest, his eyes fixed on them both.

'You won't get away this time,' Danny said in desperation.

Flambeau sounded exasperated.

'Danny – do you really think I would return here had I not planned and pre-planned my escape to the nth degree? Honestly, I thought you were an intelligent lad.'

'You killed Chardelia,' Danny said simply.

'Not I,' Flambeau returned equably.

'You trained Ella up,' Danny returned angrily, finally losing his temper.

'I must leave you both now,' Flambeau said, with a tone almost regretful that he could not continue their little chat. 'Danny – I don't think you will see Robin Vernal again after today.'

Walking backwards, the gun pointed straight at them both, Flambeau descended down to the cavern floor and the lakeside via means of an unseen rope ladder. As Danny dared to peep over the edge of the rock, he saw Flambeau wink at him while he removed the ladder. There was no way down for Danny and Janna. It was too steep and too rocky to even attempt a climb, and the lake was too far from the rock edge to attempt a running dive. It was even difficult to ascertain the depth of the lake, although Danny suspected from the sound the rushing spring made that the lake would accommodate a dive many times higher from where they stood at present.

Janna's hand went limp. Danny looked around to see her woozy face nearly passing out.

'Come here Janna,' Danny said simply, as he pulled her arms around his shoulders. Glancing down again he saw Flambeau waiting by the lakeside. He had refrained from pointing the gun at Danny and Janna, concluding they were unable to harm him now. What was he waiting for though?

Suddenly a splashing sound came from the spring waterfall. Only it didn't sound like the waterfall itself, but from something behind the waterfall. Danny released Janna, sat her on a rock and stepped sideways. He now saw that which from his previous position had been invisible. Behind the waterfall was another underground tunnel, filled with water. It was another river. Unlike the tunnel behind them, it was not empty.

Driving forward at a reasonable and steady pace emerged the silver-lined boat. A young girl with short, floppy brown hair, and oval eyes like gleaming moons was driving it. Danny leaned forward and gasped. He reached for support, but his hands flailed upon the thin air. Stepping back against the rocky wall behind he wheezed again. There wasn't enough oxygen down here, not enough for a shock reunion like this one. Like a rolodex spinning a million miles per hour, images flashed through Danny's mind. The synagogue owner embracing his daughter. A statue coming back to life. Trees on Fourlawns showing their first buds of leaves after an eternal winter.

Robin Vernal, her eyes twinkling in the watery reflection of the lake, a grim smile upon her youthful features, drove the boat over to Flambeau. The professor had lifted his gun again, but did not point it at Danny.

Danny's gaze fixed on Robin. Falling to his knees, water seeped through his trousers. He tried to call out but paralysis infiltrated his throat and no sound emerged except a hollow cry. Waving his arms instead, he saw Robin glance upwards.

For one golden moment they held each other's gaze in mutual recognition.

Her expression transformed from apprehension to relief. Something happened. When Robin opened her mouth to speak, the sweetness of her childlike voice echoed across the cavernous walls, its lilting innocence untamed.

'It's you, isn't it? Danny Canterbury. And I'm Robin Vernal, aren't I? I remember now. Danny – I'd forgotten my name until I saw you stood there.'

A disruptive shot erupted from Flambeau's gun, interrupting their exchange. He had fired into the ceiling maliciously. A few stalactites fell into the lake metres from Robin's boat. She drove it round to Flambeau. He jumped in. Waving a flamboyant gesture to Danny he signalled Robin to continue. It was then Danny saw the other tunnel, smaller,and partially hidden behind a tawny-coloured rock. Danny now realised this was where Flambeau intended to escape. It was too much. He could not move. Shock and fear gripped him. Reluctantly they mixed with respect and admiration at the suavity of his elusive escape.

Danny bowed his head. Just as he was about to close them, from the corner of his right eye a blur rushed from the tunnel behind him. The blur unfolded into a dive that splashed into the lake below, two metres from the rocky edge. Janna Chisely, unlike Danny, had not given up.

Desperation ensued. Danny did not know whether to follow Janna or remain watching. Flambeau switched to the back of the boat, shoving Robin roughly out of the way as Janna swam furiously towards them. Her stroke was swift and unyielding, a crawl as smooth and noiseless as it was efficient. Afraid Flambeau would shoot her, Danny picked up a rock and threw with all his might into the opposite end of the lake. The momentary distraction bought Janna a couple of yards on the boat, but then Flambeau was at the controls of the small engine at the rear. He pulled a handle attached to a long string and the boat leapt up from the water before lurching forward. Accelerating into the tunnel, Flambeau and Robin disappeared into the unseen river behind the ochre rock, into the darkness, into another dark current that pulled away from Danny.

Janna treaded water for a few moments, gasping and silently crying. Eventually she swam back to the edge and pulled herself from the lake. She held something in her hand. Pulling herself out she glanced up at Danny, tears moistening both their eyes. Danny saw it with almost supernatural clarity. Beyond Janna's own hair, which after her dip returned its natural blonde colour, Danny realised the hair band Janna held was not her own. It was a hair band he had never seen her wear before, certainly not today. It was a beautiful little thing. The hair band Danny could see, even from this distance, was striped in seven colours: red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo and violet. Robin's final gift to Danny was the rainbow that crested her own crown.

*

Three steaming mugs of tea sat on the wobbling table in Bookshelf. It was only when Danny entered that Professor Alessandro and caretaker Dunstan Blackbuck began sipping their own.

Both students had given statements to Lombard who had departed to interview Thimball. Flambeau had managed to vanish again. Despite an all ports warning that Lombard had radioed through to Newcastle and London, he confessed to Danny he didn't hold much hope. Flambeau had escaped from this part of the country before; there was every chance he would do it again. The problem was not searching the seas or the air; it was the easy integration back into society Flambeau was renowned for. The same disguise had maintained his uncaptured status for two years.

'Have a sip, Danny – it's hot and sweet,' Alessandro offered.

Danny remained stood, but reached for his mug. Pulling the steaming ceramic vessel to his lips he gulped a long drink of the hot drug, allowing the caffeine to flow into his veins. He glanced at the two men. Alessandro appeared concerned, but Blackbuck, small and eccentric with his white beard and wire spectacles looked as calm as a clear blue sky. His grey eyes peered over his glasses, examining Danny happily.

Pausing for a minute, Danny gazed round at the books surrounding him. Volumes of poetry from Sylvia Plath and Thomas Hardy. Slim volumes of short stories from Edgar Allan Poe and James Joyce. There was a world here to explore. If only he could be allowed to transport himself to these other realities. If only he could embed his own dilemmas in the back of his mind. Bury them deep in his unconscious.

'Sit down Danny,' Dunstan Blackbuck said. 'I am going to tell you the one thing I have until now withheld from you.'

Danny sat down and drew his mug back to his lips, partly to hide his expression. Blackbuck began again, speaking in a soft voice.

'When Chardelia Foss died two years ago we all mourned her death. She joined our effort at an early age. Initially it was on the advice of her father Albany Foss. Many of us were concerned about the appropriateness of her joining us. Surely she was too young? It was Chardelia herself who set our minds at rest. She was truly a miracle – she was the first one to realise the only person who would be able to get close and not be suspected would not be an adult, but a student. We had our suspicions about Olivio Flambeau but we could not prove anything. We needed someone to watch him at close quarters, someone less conspicuous than a teacher. Who better than one of his own students? We didn't really have any idea of the dangers we were placing young Chardelia in at all. When Flambeau escaped from Amberleigh two years ago, we didn't think he would return. I am as surprised as you that he has come back, and equally astonished at the Miss Chisely's revelation about the young Robin Vernal.'

'I thought you said you were going to tell me something,' Danny said.

'And so I am,' Blackbuck removed his spectacles. 'Many years ago, I knew your mother. She was an incredible student Danny. At times I see aspects of her in you. She too was an avid writer, a fierce intellectual but more importantly a deeply-loving friend. You would have been a fortunate child indeed had she lived. Sadly, it was not to be.

'Danny, I am going to tell you something few people know, or would understand, especially given my current role. I used to be headmaster of this school. I watched Professor Flambeau rise through the teaching ranks until he himself was primed to take over from me. When it came for me to retire from the teaching profession I did not wish to leave Amberleigh and so I agreed to take the position of caretaker, which I was happy to be. I have always seen it as my priority to take great care. My interests are always to care about the welfare of St Oliver Plunket's school, and the students within. When I detected a change in Flambeau's direction I grew nervous and suspicious. Ever since his departure two years ago I have been working to find him, and bring him to justice.

'The revelation he kidnapped Robin Vernal at five years old holds two new important facts for me in my quest to remove this man from society. One, he was willing to commit heinous and dangerous crimes at a much earlier stage than we had even considered. This means we may not understand him, his methods or his motives as well as we think we do. Two, whatever is driving Flambeau, whatever made Flambeau return to Amberleigh is inextricably linked to both Robin Vernal, and yourself.'

Danny gazed into the eyes of the two men, drained his mug and slammed it down back on the table. One of the table legs creaked. He had heard enough for one day.

'It's time for me to go,' Danny said.

*

The student bar pounded with music and chatter. As Danny pushed open the purple doors with cabin hole windows, it felt like a party was in full swing.

People gyrated on the tiny dance floor. Samuel and Tim handed out free drinks at the bar. In one corner a pile of print-fresh Communiqués stood, and students liberally helped themselves to free copies.

Danny took one and glanced at the headline.

'ROBIN VERNAL STILL ALIVE by Amanita Walmer.'

He smiled at the first paragraph in which Amanita solidly defended Danny's right to pursue the story, before laying out the facts of her disappearance and new leads to bring her back to Amberleigh. Danny was not bothered about that now. All he wanted was a drink.

He walked to the bar and Mary Oconee served him a light shandy. Anjalie Marjoram sat in a nearby alcove, with Ackley at her side sipping on an orange squash.

'Hello Anjalie,' Danny began. 'May I join you?'

'Of course,' squeaked Anjalie. He peered into her fresh eyes, those same eyes that seduced him three years ago. The same fire of mischief and friendliness still burned in them, and in Ackley's expression. He flicked some squash at Danny and watched expectantly.

'Sorry about that,' Anjalie said, wiping away the juice from Danny's shirt.

'It's fine,' Danny said, laughing.

'Tough time?' Anjalie offered.

'Let's not talk about it. How's things with you?'

'Good thanks,' Anjalie replied with a guilty look in her eye. 'Actually I've got a bit of news.'

'Oh, said Danny, sipping his shandy and wondering why he didn't drink more of it in the summer months.

'Yes, I, er, I'm not sure how to tell you this Danny. Squish and I...well, I mean me and Squish...well, he's asked me...'

Her voice trailed off and Danny leaned over.

'It's okay. You can tell me,' Danny said, having no idea what was coming.

'Squish has asked me to marry him. And I've said Yes.'

It was a dull thud, a soft hammer blow, a final wound to endure alongside the other injuries he'd sustained this summer.

'Great,' said Danny unenthusiastically.

He could see in Anjalie's eyes she was anxious. Perhaps she was going to reassure him she wouldn't take Ackley any further away, perhaps she was going to apologise for the bad timing. She did not get a chance as a gaggle of students consisting of Cherry, Sandi, Richey, Hazel, Lorraine, Olive and Benjamin descended on them with noise and singing, most either drunk or nearly drunk.

Sandi sat beside Danny, pushing her arms round him, kissing him on the cheek and leaving a fire-engine red stain there.

'Danny – we're all so impressed at how brave you are!'

The party continued until the early hours. Plunket's teachers extended the curfew this once as it was their end of year bash. Some students snored gently on each other's shoulders. Several still had drinks in their hands although many fewer now had energy to dance. Danny looked into the alcove behind him and spotted two people, more quiet than the others. He climbed over to join them.

'Hi guys,' he said. 'Miss me?'

'Well we might have missed you but we didn't miss what you were up to,' Amanita said, smiling at him and leaning over to give him a hug and a kiss. Tim patted him on the shoulder.

'It's all over now mate, don't have to worry about nutter journalists and mad headmasters anymore,' Tim offered reassuringly.

'On the contrary Tim,' Danny said, 'it's only just beginning.'

They both asked him what Alessandro and Blackbuck had spoken to him about and Danny told them. For the first time in a long time, leaving no details out. It felt such a relief to unburden himself with the two people he trusted most in the world.

'Want to see some photos of Rhodes?' Tim offered, pulling out his digital camera.

Amanita laughed.

'No doubt more glorious photos of your triumph at the press conference outside Rhodes police station?' she said.

'Yeah, there's some of those,' he said grinning as he passed the camera to Danny. 'You just flick through them using the arrow button there.'

Tim pointed to where Danny should proceed. But Danny wasn't listening anymore to Tim. He was staring at the first photo. It was the photo that Tim had taken of the green outside the police station. The photo that had captured the attractive brown-haired girl at the opposite end.

'Is there a zoom on this thing?' Danny said. Tim detected the serious note in Danny's voice, and for once did not crack a joke about breasts.

'Yeah – it's the button on the side. Why what have you seen?'

Both Tim and Amanita leant forward. Danny clicked the zoom once, twice, three four times onto the face of the girl Tim had spied weeks ago in Greece. A beautifully innocent face. A face that shone with smiling delight. A half-smile formed on her lips and her eyes. One brown. The other iridescent and technicolor in the sunlight identified her irrefutably. Her sleek, playful brown hair was held back by a single plastic band. That band too bore all the colours of the rainbow. Behind her, with his back to the camera, stood a man wearing a tweed jacket and a cracked straw hat, with thin straggly hair emerging from the back of it.

Danny sat back and gazed at the photo.

'I don't believe it,' he murmured. 'I don't believe it.'

'What? What?' Tim asked.

'Who is it?' Amanita asked, a note of urgency in her voice.

'That girl, that girl,' Danny said, stabbing the camera with his finger. 'That girl, that girl,' with tears forming in his dark brown eyes – 'that girl is my poor stolen childhood friend. That girl, is Robin Vernal.'

Futurend

I am slamming this sham of contempt

Confounding the surrounding fence

Of intent

I am thriving alive thank you very much

Malteasering my map of language

Across you all

I am singing so high you can't hear

I am writing so low you can't lift

Your thoughts to me.

I am dancing round my triumph of aloneness

And bouncing with glee you are not here.

Go away. I won't miss you.

Ever

## Author's note

Thank you for downloading and reading _Robin Vernal and the Brownleaf Spring_ , and I hope you enjoyed it.

The novel was inspired by all the friends I made when a child who I have regretfully since lost touch with.

I'd love to hear what you thought of the novel, so please leave a review or get in touch with me through my website. I read all reviews, good or bad, and take into account comments for future writing.

For more information on the inspiration behind Robin, and for bonus content not available anywhere else, visit my website at https://dominicjericho.wordpress.com. You can also receive a free eBook when you sign up for The DJ Fiction Newsletter.

Dominic Jericho

P.S. Don't forget to read the next volume in The Danny Canterbury Tales: _Sandi Burrill and the Beach of Flames_

Sandi Burrill and the Beach of Flames **  
The Danny Canterbury Tales: Book IV**

"She was beside me all the time, holding my hand as we both sank inside the mellow sweetness of nicotine oblivion."

With one year remaining of sixth-form a tragedy strikes the heart of a close-knit group of teenagers. As political forces threaten to claim and overrun their town, two girls fall hopelessly in love. But neither is aware how fraught with danger and peril their love will become.

In this searing portrait of a community on the brink, Sandi Burrill and the Beach of Flames eloquently explores the desperation of teenage love trapped by a forbidding and uncontrollable environment.

ALSO AVAILABLE BY DOMINIC JERICHO

The Chardelia Diaries

The Saffelia Diaries

**Songs from the Rainbow Girl

Chardelia Foss and the River of Fear:  
The Danny Canterbury Tales Book I**

Saffelia Forrest and the Snowfall Grove:  
The Danny Canterbury Tales Book II

