

Saffelia Forrest

and the

Snowfall Grove

© 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: As You Like It (1623)  
William Blake: "The Sick Rose" (1794)  
William Wordsworth: "The Lucy Poems" (1798-1801)  
Samuel Taylor Coleridge: "Kubla Khan" (1816)  
Thomas De Quincey: Confessions of an English Opium Eater (1821)

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.

This is an intriguing school mystery  
set amid the pale snow of a bleak winter  
in a dark forest.

For R.D.

Visit https://dominicjericho.wordpress.com  
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CONTENTS

PROLOGUE  
THE CLUBHOUSE  
THE ORB  
URSULA CALCITE  
APPALACHIAN  
WILFIELDS  
DANCE CLASS  
INFILTRATION  
PHOEBE FORREST  
THE COST OF SHOES  
POISON  
THE ICE PARTY  
SNOWFALL  
THE ASTRONOMY CLUB  
MOCKS  
MATERNAL TORMENT  
ACCUSED  
THE EDITORIAL MEETING  
THE VISIONS OF MORPHEUS  
MORPHAGORA  
THE SICK ROSE  
SAFFELIA'S DIARIES  
THE FALL  
LUCY  
BACK TO THE GROVE  
SEA OF MALICE  
THE UNIQUE GRACE

'No motion has she now, no force  
She neither hears nor sees  
Rolled round in earth's diurnal course  
With rocks and stones and trees!'

William Wordsworth

Prologue

As she dipped her thumb in the cool pool, the rippling waters closed round it. She sucked it before wrapping her pink handkerchief around the swollen stump. The blood stains shone no more. They had become faded rouge, russet-brown. She looked up at the moon, her eyes smeared carelessly with mauve mascara, as the evening air penetrated her nostrils like an invading army. It hurt, but it was not pain that bothered her. It was the noise from beyond the trees. The leaves rustled in the night wind, but she also heard footsteps on twigs, echoing louder. Distinct crunching over snapped wood, crackling closer.

She walked to the far side of the picnic bench and lay down on one side, her back cooling on the damp wood. Staring at the heavens she watched stars twinkle across an ink sky: crimson, silver and violet. A shooting star tracked an effortless course across the darkness. She sighed. The momentary thrill was not enough to save her now. With poison bubbling in her veins she realised something more disturbing, even now, here at the end. She knew the will to live was lost before she even took a single sip. Lights were already extinguished, the blackness was descending. It was all she had come to know. Her doctor diagnosed her with seasonal affective disorder. Disorder? Everything was in order. That was the problem. For the first time everything made sense. It was just now it did, she wanted to die.

The potent fluid lurched into her stomach and she sat up, wretching as if it were possible to rid her body of the rancorous toxins that overran her kidneys and liver. She recalled the time she'd been sick with food poisoning. She had looked up helplessly into her mother's eyes, praying not for life to return in abundant waves, but for one tiny touch on her hand. For one tender caress to be permitted to escape her mother's icy demeanour, her midnight frost. It had not come. While she recovered, her mother deteriorated, becoming more withdrawn, humourless and inhumane. The one thing she retained was the duplicity of her false smile whenever issuing a new put-down.

It had been the start of a slippery slope for her. Her nickname at school had been Monny, a distortion of Monastery. A childish label she assigned by two bullies not accustomed to twentieth century names like Abbey. With an 'e'. Her friends had lovingly given it a warm edge. For a while she felt like she belonged. However, when the results were in they all shot off to University and Monny was left alone. While they were busy making posh friends, she was shelf-stacking at the local supermarket. On their holiday returns her group of friends had gained a new exclusivity. They talked about Freud, Turner and the Romantic movement. She didn't know anything about the Romantics and, with the crushing realisation of her own annihilation, she knew she no longer fit their lives.

Exclusivity swamped her. Through the slow absence of contact she gradually became cast out. The text messages didn't include her. The emails arranging the weekend parties contained surreptitious notes to 'not invite Abbey' and 'she drags us down'. She even overheard a couple of her closest friends saying 'she talks funny' even though they had all talked the same as her as a child.

It wasn't any surprise to them, or indeed her, when she felt forced to surrender the one thing she had left – her body – and go on the game. Sex was the only armour or weapon remaining. With no love from her mother, and experiencing selfish rejections amid the concrete edges of modern friendships, Abbey's understanding of unconditional love was poetic but entirely theoretical. A desert stretching far beyond her. The deepness of a vast blue sky. The relentless peacefulness of a serene sea. Not having known it first-hand, her ideas of loving, and what it would be liked to be loved equated very strongly with ideas of heaven, which she now reached out to. She felt within that angel's grasp. Despite poisoned by another, she felt no resentment, just a strange inexorable drive towards destiny.

It was coming. She could feel it now, heavy and thick like disinfectant over school floors she smelt when she arrived early. When life was all possibility, when teachers didn't think she was some sort of slut and when she still believed she could achieve motherly love. The crumpled piece of paper in her lap drew her attention for the last time. Tears began to fall from her eyes onto the unseen, already wet wooden bench. She reached out a hand to touch the reassuring wetness, but before her skin could make contact with the cold, splintering oak she slumped forward on her stomach, dead.

My ballet shoes hurt. It's the toes at the end. I think they're too small. All the other girls don't wince like I do. They throw them on and swiftly run on the dance floor. It takes me a full five minutes. All of them. Apart from Lucy.

The Clubhouse

Twittering gleefully the small bluebird jumps from the rough Amber branch into windless air. A slight fear rushes through its small skeleton that it might hit the ground hard, clamouring upwards at a million miles an hour. Then our little bird stretches open its modest wingspan and floats effortlessly. With a power it takes for granted it soars and then glides like a feather, through thinning trees and pale leaves.

With a unique grace, almost supernatural, it rises above the tree in which it nests, ascending higher and higher, where the air is shallow and winds gust, tossing the bird about like a paper bag. It grows frightened and seeks escape from what seems to be a gathering storm. A pocket of breezeless air absorbs the bird like a sweet kiss in a torrent of angst. Seizing his chance, our small friend swoops down into static clouds and the thicker summer air.

Flying slowly, the bird sails above a row of houses which stand silently on a quiet road littered with lush willows. Beyond the road and far away from the rolling fields that sit behind, lies a hill soaking up the summer sun. An accumulation of russet and emerald trees reach skywards, as if standing to attention for the sunlight breaking through the melting fog of morning. The bird spies her destination and speeds like a darting arrow to meet the dense woodland of the distant Grove.

Fluttering through glistening virescent trees like a butterfly, our bluebird seems free and happy to the outward eye. Spying a fat little worm the bird swoops to a patch of wet leaves, accelerating in deadly silence, letting her little ball of body drop in gravity's slip-stream. Travelling at the speed of bluebird she is too fast for the worm and picks him off easily from the ground, flying back into the luminescent haze, the worm tucked safely in her beak.

As the mist clears the bluebird flies, feeding on her worm. Looking down at a small pool of fresh water as she consumes her last, she does not see the approaching eagle, talons sharp, curving rapidly towards her. As the bluebird contemplates diving down to the pool of shimmering blue, to submerge itself in the blissful relief of water, it meets its end, pierced on the claw of a hungry eagle, the sweet relief of death coming without sound or warning, cloud or odour.

Danny awoke. The crisp night hosted sounds of hooting owls from the trees above. Tim still slept, bubbling up gigantinc snores. He could tell when Tim was dreaming as his snores grew louder. Danny suspected Saffelia was also sleeping ill because of the noise: she kept tossing and turning in her sleeping bag, like there was a rustling ferret in there with her. Not that he was looking. Amanita had eventually drifted to sleep after she and Danny had listed their top five favourite actors. Then actresses. Then musicals. Then soap stars. And finally celebrity chefs.

He poked his head out the green canvas tent and let the outside filter into his gaze. Squinting his eyes from sharp moonlight, he stepped out, arms outstretched in case he should bump into something dangerous. A tree, or worse still, a wild animal. The balmy air delivered soothing oxygen, fresh from abundant plant life, and Danny inhaled slowly, refreshing his mind with each intake of breath. Small pinpricks of light seemed to flash from the trees beyond. As he stood silent, he wondered what they might be. Tricks of the light. Flashing torches coming his way, perhaps. No. He had been stupid. They were fireflies, buzzing about in the night summer air.

Once his eyes adjusted to the moonlight he wandered to a thick-barked tree, and from behind it pulled down his boxers. The relief spread from his bladder to his torso, and the warm feeling leaving made him shiver. As the steaming fluid splashed and tinkled on to the dried leaves below the sound amused Danny. He wondered if anyone would hear and wake up; if there were any other groups out here, camping in the woods. Probably, he thought. It being mid-summer some tourists would be bound to find their way to the Snowfall Grove, despite an obscure location remote to many it was well-known to local residents.

As he pulled his boxers back up, he reflected on the dream that his waking had interrupted. Memories of the tragedy at the end of the school year had not faded, but had lost their sharpness. It wasn't the shots and the tumble into the water that lodged in his mind, but the little things. The smiles, glances, gestures and poses of the girl he had known for too short a time. If they stayed with him forever, then it was no bad thing, he thought. In his dream he relived the moment at the end of a history lesson when she nearly asked him out. The dream offered up a version in which she delivered her question, and the resultant embrace culminated in a brief kiss. It had felt soft and warm and damp and sweet. It was like falling blissful and blind into cushioned velvet. The sensation had overwhelmed Danny and he had ejaculated in his sleep, with the wetness waking him. Consciousness, the thief of fleeting desires, sought to suppress Danny's joy and readmit the bittersweet distance that always followed a rousing from pleasant dreams. Chardelia was still dead, he was still alone and she would never be able to ask him that question to his face he so longed her to ask. He returned to the tent, his ear pricking up at soft voices distant in the woods. Probably the next camp site, probably new visitors he thought, before clambering back into his tent.

Tim and Amanita were sound asleep: Tim still snored noisily, Amanita breathed heavily. A light was shining from the other corner. Saffelia was reading her book, a Coleridge collection which they would study next year for their poetry examination.

'You're awake.'

Saffelia looked up from her book, smiling mysteriously.

'Isn't Tim cute when he's sleeping?'

'No.' Danny said shortly, climbing back into his luxury green and orange sleeping bag. Janna had bought it for him last year, before they had split.

'I think he looks pretty repulsive if you ask me.'

Tim was snoring louder than an elephant and drooling from the side of his mouth. Love is blind, thought Danny as he lay down, resting his head on the small orange cushion he had brought to double up as a pillow. Saffelia put her book down and supported her head with her left arm. She gazed at Danny with ardent eyes.

He was tired. It had been a long day. After regaling them all with netball triumphs from her time as a student at Plunket's, Saffelia's mother Phoebe had dropped them off at camp after lunch, and the quartet had spent the afternoon erecting the tent. Unfortunately Tim had fallen too far into the camp spirit and decided to light a bonfire, even though it was only three in the afternoon. For firewood he used some peculiarly shaped twigs he found lying near the tent bag. The fire reached a steady blaze and Tim was about to stick some sausages on a fork when Amanita spotted some of the tent pegs were missing and called on Tim to help look for them. The resultant look on Tim's face had majestically failed to disguise his guilt, even for a masterful actor like Tim, and Danny was sure Amanita's shrieks of rage could be heard back in Amberleigh.

Once they calmed Amanita down, they scoured the site and collected a succession of twigs of adequate thickness before carefully hammering these into the ground, hoping they would hold. The tension between Amanita and Tim that night was palpable. Danny managed to prevent the simmering row from exploding by sitting between them at dinner, and munching loudly on his sausage sandwiches which, smoked with charcoal and oozing ketchup, tasted delicious.

With both of them asleep he found the day's worries had died away and his brain cleared of concerns that seemed huge hours ago. He smiled back at Saffelia.

'How did you get your name?' Danny asked, 'if you don't mind me asking?'

Saffelia looked surprised before her usual expression of contented glee spread across her face.

'My Mum always wanted to call me Saffron, and she still does some of the time, when she wants to be nice to me. But my Dad had this dream of calling his first daughter Ophelia. After my brother was christened Luka, and Mum insisted on Jane for my older sister, my Dad put his foot down when I was born. Well kind of. So "Saffelia" was created! I always think it makes me the odd one out.'

Danny listened, although his eyelids began to droop.

'I see,' he said, offering Saffelia a smile that indicated tiredness.

'How about yours?' Saffelia asked.

'My what?' Danny said confused.

'Your name, silly!' Saffelia said, beaming at him.

'I guess it's not that unusual. My Mum or my Dad must have thought of it. Maybe they like names ending in the letter 'y'. My sister's name is Polly.'

'Ooh...that's such a pretty name. Much better than Jane. Mmmm I'm tired now. It's so nice being back here in the Grove. It's been years since I've seen it and it hasn't changed at all.'

Danny sat up again.

'You've been to the Snowfall Grove before?' he asked, a note of interest rising amid his drooping eyes.

'Oh yes,' Saffelia continued, closing her eyes and drifting into a light doze. 'I came here every year when I was a kid. My family insisted we take our holidays here. We didn't have a lot of money back then. Well, we still don't I guess.'

Danny rested his head back on his orange pillow. Sleep was returning fast to claim him, he could feel it advancing like a train. Slow at first in the distance, then faster. A ten-ton juggernaut, hurtling out of nothing to steamroller you into unconscious. Saffelia continued.

'We used to play hide and seek here when I was young. Me and my sister used to go and hide and Mum and Dad would come running to find us...'

He only had time to see her eyes glaze over and hear what he thought were slurred words from Saffelia's direction, before sleep retrieved her too.

'He's so like my Dad used to be...'

*

In the morning an eager sun broke through the blue rainsheet, penetrating the green canvas of the portable home containing and protecting the four friends. Amanita yawned and stretched her arms out of her pink sleeping bag. Danny raised open his right eye, spying her actions silently in his warm snug. She ran a hand through her bushy fair hair and pulled a mirror from the vanity case next to her sleeping bag. Checking her face didn't carry any unwanted blemishes, she moved strands of hair back and forth across her face until she was happy they presented her in a reasonable light. Sitting up she instantly saw Danny's open eye staring at her. Danny shut it too late.

'Danny Canterbury! How long have you been watching me?' Amanita demanded.

Danny snored half-heartedly in protest, pretending to be asleep. She reached across and tickled him in his ear. He leapt in surprise and Amanita giggled. Saffelia and Tim who, in the middle of the night had conjoined their sleeping bags at various points, both awoke and joined in with the laughter.

Tim looked to Saffelia like a little lost puppy and squeaked out a word.

'Breakfast.'

Saffelia undid herself from Tim.

'Are you asking me to get your breakfast Timothy?'

'Well since you're offering?' Tim rebutted hopefully. Saffelia looked at Amanita with exasperated eyes.

'Come on Danny, let's leave the lover birds to cook breakfast. How about a walk?'

Danny and Amanita dressed, although it was not easy. When they laid down there seemed plenty of room in the tent but when they stood up there wasn't much space to move. After a few mild kicks and nudges in the elbows from Tim and Amanita, Danny managed to pull on his jeans and t-shirt. Removing themselves from Saffelia's taunts to Tim to comb his hair and brush his teeth, the morning hit their somnolent faces with dazzling light. Amanita stretched her arms, accidentally touching Danny on the shoulder.

'Isn't it all just...beautiful!' she breathed.

It was certainly a change from his normal summer routine at Dunkinley. Normally woken at six by his father getting ready to leave for work, Danny would drift back to sleep until Polly woke him around half seven, usually by bouncing up and down on his bed.

'What's the time now?' Danny asked.

'Crumbs! Forgot my watch! Won't be a sec.'

She dived back into the tent but just as quickly re-emerged, alarm written on Amanita's face.

'Perhaps there's a clock up at the club house?' she giggled.

They walked round the remains of the camp fire that cooked their dinner the previous night. A thicket surrounded the area to the rear of their site and an area with wild undergrowth obscured any obvious paths through the forest. Resorting to pulling aside branches, Amanita endured twigs sticking in her bushy hair from meddling trees.

'What's the action plan for today Am?'

Amanita removed yet another leaf from her fair locks and considered its faded pastel shade. Barely green, most of its colour was drained from its smooth surface.

'We'll eat breakfast, then a hike before lunch. I thought this afternoon we could play a game in the woods. Hide and seek perhaps?'

'You were listening last night?'

'No. What do you mean?' she said

Danny observed the knowing look in her eye Amanita always failed to conceal. They walked on through a patch of wild flowers, where a mini-meadow bloomed amid a clump of black trees arranged in an imperfect circle. Amanita squealed.

'Look!'

She bent down and held her hand to a flower. It would have remained hidden had it not been for a violent purple rush creeping behind a stone overgrown with lichen.

'It's a...damnit. It was on the tip of my tongue a moment ago.' Amanita said.

She ran her hand through her hair, which she always did when frustrated. Several small leaves and twigs fell to the forest floor.

'I hope not Am, it looks poisonous!'

'Very funny,' Amanita replied, her gaze still concentrated on the foliage. She diligently moved across the clearing to a bunch of plants that bore no flowers but thrived amid the far corner of the patch.

'This is mint. And this is thyme.'

'What's the thyme?' Danny said, riffing.

'It's a herb, silly.' Amanita replied, unwilling to move in the sphere of Danny's schoolboy humour.

'I kinda meant maybe we should be moving on. Maybe the clubhouse might have a few recent editions of the _Amberleigh Post_.'

Amanita groaned and reluctantly rose to her feet. She cast her eyes across the meadow, washed-out petals the shade of pastel mixed with olive greens. A line of white flowers climbed a tree at the rear of the clearing, while rushes of green poked from between their feet. They trod through the copse, finally reaching the Orb, a grassy field at the centre of the Grove kept empty for groups to play in. The glory of seeing an open green after stumbling over dense twigs and obscuring trees for ten minutes seemed as vast as the space into which they now stared.

'Race ya!'

Amanita shouted before running off across the grass, her bum bobbing lightly behind her. Danny smiled, before launching himself between the emerald green alive beneath his feet and the sweeping blue desert above.

Amanita sat waiting for him on the lowest step of the clubhouse veranda. While she had run all the way Danny, realising victory was beyond reach halfway across the field had slowed to a walk. He inhaled the crisp summer air, as the flushing sun cast light on his slow-burning neck.

'What?' he asked, in response to the withering look she gave as he approached.

Amanita shook her head in disappointment and stood up. Walking into the clubhouse, they discovered it was deserted. A long room, empty apart from a sturdy looking oak table and four garden chairs, extended before them. More garden chairs were stacked up against the far wall. Beams of pallid light streamed through crumbling window frames, and illuminated dust which billowed in thick waves amid the sunrays. Cream and black check stone tiles covered the floor. At one end a wall showed two portrait paintings: one of a man looking away into the mid-distance, the other of a woman looking at the viewer, smiling. Both appeared to be prints of pre-twentieth century art. Between the two paintings sat a pale panelled door, with a bottle-nosed door-knob. It was the type of handle that could detach with a simple pull, to leave the door shut forever and those on either side eternally separated. Inherently curious, Danny walked down to the door and turned the handle. He heard a click. It didn't come off, but the door wouldn't open. Kneeling down, Danny spied through the keyhole and tried to peer inside the crack between the wall and door. Only darkness greeted him. He couldn't tell if the door was simply locked or wedged shut.

Amanita stood at the other end of the room examining a rickety noticeboard. Pinned to it were yellowing pieces of paper, with faded and jerky type only an old typewriter could produce. To Danny, the whole room felt like a step back in time of twenty years. He walked back to Amanita and lightly put his hands on her shoulders, in his mind the gesture of a friend. She relaxed back in his arms, and her head turned to him, inches from his face.

'It's just us here you know,' she whispered.

Danny took a step back, and removed his hands. It was a stupid, thoughtless move. An interminable moment of silence hung between them, and the history of the room seemed a third listener to their wordless conversation. Danny raised his hand to his forehead, wiping away warm sweat with his cold and clammy fingers.

'What's that notice you were reading?' Danny asked.

Any smile that had appeared on Amanita's face had vanished. She sighed and returned her attention to the board.

'It's a parish notice. It tells the time of local church services and other events nearby. There's details of the next village fete,' Amanita pointed to an ill-designed poster set in large type and clumsy red borders.

Danny tapped his foot on the stone floor to see how loud it would be. Already his feet were aching. He glanced at the other notices on the board. One was a fixture list of football teams in a Sunday league. Another was a recipe for orange pancakes and he saw different hand-written signatures below the typed ingredients. Danny heard a creak to his right. Amanita was pushing open another wooden door and disappearing through it.

'Hey – it's a kitchen. Come and look,' he heard her call, her voice echoing in stereo off the stone floor.

Danny followed and was taken aback to see a gleaming modern kitchen, all set out with oak panelling and beige apricot tiles. It seemed out of keeping with the rest of the clubhouse. Danny wondered whether the whole place was under refurbishment, and they had only just started with the kitchen. He looked at Amanita – her eyes were shining.

'Look!'

She pointed at the working surface furthest from Danny. On it lay an array of ingredients. Eggs, flour, sugar – and like the golden hemisphere outside, vibrant oranges.

'Come on Danny, get the others, I'll cook orange pancakes for breakfast!'

Amanita rushed to unpin the recipe from the noticeboard.

'Those ingredients might belong to someone,' Danny warned cautiously. She turned her head to look at him.

'Who else is there? We're the only campers in the whole Grove!'

Danny wouldn't let it go.

'Who would leave perfectly good ingredients out on a kitchen surface.

'Maybe some campers who've just left and didn't want them. Who cares? We're going to have a fantastic breakfast! Be a darling and go get Saffy and Tim.'

Danny resented being bossed, but knew trying to shake her resolve when she was in this sort of mood was futile. It was unusual to see Amanita so keen to do something slightly dodgy. Perhaps it was the effect of the momentary exile from Amberleigh and watching Tim's illicit fumblings that had left her feeling unconstrained. He sighed and left the clubhouse to retrieve the snogging duo.

When he arrived at the tent Danny was surprised to see Tim and Saffelia had not risen. Muffled giggles leaked from behind the green canvas like cloud-filtered sunrays. Not wishing to intrude on whatever early morning love antics pursued their natural course from beneath the canvas, Danny coughed loudly and spoke.

'It's Danny. Amanita says you're to come to the clubhouse shortly. She's found some stuff for making pancakes – we're going to have them for breakf...'

Tim popped his head out of the tent. It didn't take Danny long to realise he wasn't wearing anything, or at least nothing on his torso.

'Did you mention food, Danny boy? That's right up my stomach gully! Come on Saffy babe, throw me my trousers. We're going to get fed!'

Tim was pulled back into the tent and a few moments later they both emerged, hair ruffled and uncombed. Saffelia smiled at Danny as she began applying a film of caramel lip gloss. The three of them rambled through the twigs and trees to the clubhouse. When they arrived, Amanita was already in the process of serving up six fluffy-white pancakes, each adorned with vibrant orange segments. A pot of maple syrup stood on the table in the middle of the clubhouse. She had found three mugs from the cupboards and brought in a steaming pot of tea. Tim didn't need any further persuasion than this, and seated himself right in front of the maple syrup. Dipping his finger into the sticky goo and sucking it dry, he licked his lips satisfyingly as he grinned at his friends.

Please stop. It hurts. Don't. Don't. Please don't. No. Please. I thought we were playing. I thought we were just playing. Ow. Not there. Please no. No. Mummmm. I'll tell Mummy. She. Ow. No. What are you...Ow ow ow.

The Orb

The countdown had begun. Danny ran first towards the playing fields, but then realised how exposed he would become. So he changed tack and took off to his right, into dark thickets beyond the concrete shower blocks. Pretty soon he was among dense and prickly trees. As the branches' veil of green phosphor covered the jade below like a protective shield, the light overhead gradually receded. Danny found a thick tree and resolved to hide behind this, before thinking how pathetic a hiding place it was, and how bored he would get standing up. So he continued further into the wood and after a few minutes reached a fence which marked the border of the forest and the edge of the Grove. The fence wasn't tall and he couldn't resist climbing up and looking at the patch of land on the other side.

It was an allotment. Rows and rows of mud with little white flowers peeped through the earth. At the other end of the allotment stood a house. Light from the uncovered land broke onto Danny's face and the warmth of the sun covered him like a blanket. Although it was bright, Danny saw a faint light from the house's upstairs window. Dull silhouettes moved against the light, like lorries edging through a traffic jam. The crispness of the sun beat down on Danny's neck and semi-consciously he reached a hand back as if to scratch the heat away. A door opened from the house onto the patio. Danny could not see who exited what he was sure was a kitchen, but a low grunt told him it was a man.

Somewhere behind, the plaintive high-pitched calls of Amanita rose up with irritating recognition. The wily bird was looming closer in her search. He tried to steady himself on the fence and pull himself up further to get a closer look, but his foot slipped from the narrow beam he trod and struck the ground, crumpling loudly on a straggly branch and crunching it in two. With the knowledge Amanita's hearing was like a hunter's, Danny knew it was over. Yet still he crouched low, hoping without further movement he could evade Amanita's nearing explorations. It was no good. She waded through the undergrowth towards him, smiling cheerfully.

'It's no use Danny. I saw you five minutes ago when you were spying on that family.'

'I was not spying!' rejoined Danny, semi-angrily, although he could not think of another explanation for what he had been doing.

Danny glanced at Amanita's chest. She wore a lilac and cornflower striped tee. The thought lodged that it was unusual for her to wear something tight, which drew attention to her figure so blatantly. Was it teen confidence finally emerging? She didn't look unattractive. She paused looking at Danny for a moment, getting her breath back, sweating slightly.

'So. What's on the other side?' she asked, taking a seat on a charred tree stump.

'I've no idea,' Danny lied. 'You disturbed me before I could take a decent look.'

'Liar,' Amanita whispered soothingly. 'Come on. Let's find Tim and Saffy. They're probably sitting up a tree...'

'...K.I. double S .I.N.G.' finished Danny.

They walked side by side through the forest, the second time in as many days they covered the same ground. Danny considered Amanita's position within their expanded friendship group. He had worried she might feel displaced with Tim stolen by Saffelia and Danny emerging from a traumatic relationship, still harbouring grief for what he never had. Only Amanita had yet remained untouched by emotional teen entanglements. Danny searched in her face for any sign she felt excluded, remote or distant, but instead observed a new confidence in Amanita that seemed not to derive from isolation. Or perhaps it did. She appeared stronger and even more down-to-earth, if it was possible to be so. Naturally cheerful with every new day, Danny no longer sensed the overtones of grief that haunted her so resolutely in the past. As for their own friendship, Danny felt its nature hung in the balance like a precarious pendulum. Invisible but always potent, Danny wondered if Amanita's hitherto unspoken desire for him had subsided, or if it remained undiminished, like her two new physical attributes.

They strolled through the forest, Danny humming to himself a tune he heard on the radio the night before.

'But the thing is Danny...'

He wasn't listening, his thoughts cascading in torrents of romance while the memory of the music played.

'...the thing is, after last year, the _Oracle_ is going to be so...humdrum. I mean no offence or anything, what happened last year was terrible.'

She paused to look in his inscrutable eyes before continuing.

'We have to think of a way to make the paper more exciting.'

Danny cleared his throat and turned his mind from the subject that had skirted his thoughts for the past few minutes.

'How about a competition?'

'Every paper has competitions. What's exciting about that?'

'Ours will not just be a competition, it will be a quest.'

'A quest to find what?'

Danny didn't want to admit he hadn't thought that far ahead. What would Chardelia have recommended?

'How about a quest to find the school's best...?'

'Singer?' proffered Amanita.

'Nah. Too much like Saturday night telly,' responded Danny, still thinking hard.

'Swimmer?'

This wasn't a bad idea, but it wasn't like there was a swimming pool in Plunket's they could use regularly. No, something else, something more profound, all-encompassing, something like...

'I don't know,' Danny said, hiding from Amanita a grin he shared only with himself.

'I guess I need to give it some thought.'

As they walked the sun broke through the branches intermittently, casting irregular shadows across woodland patches. One tree in the corner of Danny's eye seemed to shelter a large blockage of light. Turning his head to secure a closer look, the blockage moved, and Danny saw a lanky boy leap with precarious danger from branch to shaking branch. He said nothing but pointed, guiding Amanita's eyes to their mischievous friend. Without looking directly at Tim, Amanita called out with a hint of weary impatience.

'Time to come down now Tim. We've spotted you.'

'No you haven't,' laughed back a defiant Tim, and started throwing acorns at them.

They both ducked, before picking up some twigs and mud and slinging it at their mate in return. A hurling ball of mud hit Tim right on the side of his face and he howled with discomfort.

'Aargh!' he called, 'you've wrecked my gorgeous face. What is my girlfriend going to say about this?!' he joked, before clambering down with lithe ease and somersaulting in front of them from an overhead branch.

Amanita looked at him scathingly.

'Does that make you feel like a man?' she said, before leaning in to his face to whisper something. 'Because you don't look like one.'

She winked at him before walking off. Tim looked at Danny shaking his head.

'Women. Jealous, the lot of them. Can't accept that I'm taken!'

Danny and Tim both laughed heartily and followed Amanita into the heart of the forest.

They couldn't see Saffelia anywhere. The sun was slipping lower, throwing crazy confusions of copperpink and lemonbronze light into the sky. It gilded a crown of halohaze around the top of the trees which encircled the Orb at the centre of the Grove. They returned to the tent, searched the surrounding trees, inspected the shower and toilet block, and even forayed to the clearing Amanita and Danny found earlier that day. After half an hour they admitted to each other her absence had become disconcerting, especially for Tim. His usual cheeky mirth had disappeared and he was growing irritable.

'Look I don't know where she is hiding,' he snapped. 'I'd tell you if I did. I'm as keen to find her as you are.'

'We know you are,' soothed Amanita.

She rested her hand on his shoulder, which Tim patted and seemed to relax from its presence.

'There is one place we haven't looked,' Danny said slowly, rubbing his shoe against a fallen branch to remove a wedge of leaves caught between his laces.

'Where?' said Tim and Amanita simultaneously.

'The playing field,' Danny said simply.

'Why would she hide there?' Tim asked, arrogance unshielding itself from his deep tones.

'No idea,' said Danny, calm as ever, 'but it's the one place we haven't looked.'

'Danny's right, Tim. We should at least have a look, while it's still light.'

Somewhat reluctantly, perhaps because he was missing Saffelia and tired of searching for her, or perhaps because he was annoyed the idea wasn't his, Tim followed his two friends out of the forest and into the exposed open.

It didn't take long to spot her. A figure lay prostrate on her back in the centre of the Orb, not moving. As Danny and Tim began running, they both recognised the figure as Saffelia, her blonde pig-tails spreading out in opposite directions from her pretty head. Tim skidded along the grass on his knees, and reached his hand over to rouse her. He shook her shoulder. Her eyes were shut tight.

She did not come to immediately. Only after Amanita padded her forehead with a damp tissue from her pocket did Saffelia's eyes flicker open, and her hand motion to sit up.

Questions poured from Tim like train carriages emerging from a dark tunnel. Saffelia did not appear to even recognise Tim, let alone understand his pleas to tell him what was wrong with her. When Tim exhausted his list of unanswered questions he sat beside his girlfriend, drained and bewildered. It was a sorry sight. Tears fell on both sides. From Tim, frustrated by his inability to communicate properly with his girlfriend, and Saffelia, distressed at seeing Tim's anguish. However, Amanita seemed to know what to do. She gripped Saffelia's hand and led her back to the tent, instructing both boys to remain for the time being and whispering in Danny's ear to make Tim calm down. It had shaken Danny, seeing Saffelia so...removed. He was glad of the time given to recompose himself. His thoughts, like wild dogs running into the night required a period of gathering and collection. Through the whole experience Saffelia had not uttered one word.

Evening arrived like a harbinger of something unseen and sinister. As the sun descended it cast ominous shadows across their plot. Amanita brought four warm mugs of cocoa into the tent. They crowded round the rising spirals of steam, taking sips and murmuring growing contentment. No-one said anything for a time. Everyone knew what was coming. Fully roused, Saffelia's eyes were still bloodshot. It had become quickly apparent to Danny and Tim she had cried much more since Amanita removed her from the Orb. It was time for an explanation. Amanita's stern gaze warned not to issue any demands or expectations of answers, but her small gestures of kindness created a gentle and patient environment. Tim went to sit beside Saffelia, resting his hand on hers and stroking it carefully.

'I'm sorry everyone,' she whispered.

'No, please don't feel you need to apologise,' Amanita said immediately.

'Yeah, please don't apologise,' Danny echoed moments later while Tim just stared into his girlfriend's blue eyes.

'I sometimes experience blackouts. I was running across the field. I was going to hide behind the clubhouse, perhaps up a tree if I was feeling brave enough.'

Tim lowered his head. Danny tried to guess what was going through his mind. Perhaps he had been a bad influence on her. What if she had fallen and broken a leg, or worse. Only in times like this, during quiet reflection, can the mind see the real dangers of life in their true form, cold and stark and unforgiving.

'I've had them for a few years now.'

Saffelia looked away, gazing into the metal rod running between and propping up the two thin walls of the tent.

'I don't really know what causes it, but I'm always fine in the end...' Her voice faded away and she sipped more of her drink.

Amanita took out a pack of cards.

'Who wants a game of Rummy?' she asked cheerfully. Tim still stared at Saffelia and Danny saw the questions unanswered in his wide eyes.

'Baby, why didn't you tell me before?' he asked, his voice breaking mid-sentence and betraying bottled insecurity.

She turned to look at him full in the face. A measure designed to head off any future questions with one rebuff, polite not severe. But it was firm.

'Baby, what could you have done?'

Tim twiddled his thumbs as the other three began their game of cards. Latent competitive natures rose up in the playing trio and it evolved into a fierce tournament. When they crowned Amanita the winner, Tim finally joined in and tried to teach them all poker.

*

It was late and the flames were dying away, reducing back to the burnt and glowing embers that had been their origin. Danny rested his head on the cushion he extracted from his sleeping bag, quietly so as not to disturb the leg splays of Saffelia and Tim.

He lay on the bench and stared at the stars. Jupiter shone, large and butteryellow, not twinkling like the other stars. Not a star, he thought. Just a planetary body moving slowly round and round a distant unreachable sun. No sign of life, but violent flames and poisonous gases. Unbreathable atmospheres no doubt. Another world away. No life. No water. No Chardelia.

A noisy car engine roar sprang into Danny's ears from behind. He bolted upright, his spine twanging into place and making his back as straight as the tent pole. Shifting his gaze to his left he saw a black range rover, tearing up the ground and spitting mud everywhere. It growled to a standstill and Danny squinted through the twilight to see the vehicle carried more than one passenger. The driver emerged, slamming his door shut with no thought for neighbours. The sound was so loud it disturbed nesting birds in the tree above, who flew swiftly into the indigo sky. In the dim light it was hard to see, but the man looked slightly balding with thin ginger hair. As he walked into view of the car's headlights, Danny saw he wore a navy blue windcheater-style jacket and olive green wellies. He tapped open the bonnet and reached inside for an item which he then placed in his pocket. A signal to the person in the passenger seat resulted in all the doors opening at once, including at the rear of the range rover where several people emerged.

From where Danny sat, he knew they could not see him. There was no light glowing from the tent now, and no flames nor any embers to give him away. As a now-familiar owl hoot echoed from above, Danny felt a thrill of supreme power pass through him. He was all-seeing and unseen, almost like a god.

One of the people walked to the front of the car and sat on the bonnet, banging her hands loudly on the metal hollow. An artificial odour reached Danny's nostrils. The pungent aroma of aftershave smelt of manufactured pine trees. It was all he could do not to make some audible noise, so strong was the smell.

'Good spot, Jim?'

Her voice was reedy, almost as metallic as the car on which she sat.

The man with the ginger hair looked round. He wore no discernible expression on his face. He leant forward slightly, as if listening for something. Danny held his breath.

Slowly the man called Jim nodded, causing the woman to whoop with glee and bang her hands on the front of the bonnet again. Danny became worried Amanita would wake up and blow his eavesdropping cover.

The two others from the car danced and paraded and shouted and waved their arms, drunk. The duo consisted of a short man who wore jeans and a tank top jumper while the woman wore a floaty black dress and golden slippers. Together they disappeared into the darkness beyond the nearest tree. Danny saw the woman fall on the floor and thought he saw the man fall likewise between her legs, but it was too dark to be sure. Their laughs dyed away into moans, either due to distance or activity.

Danny felt sickened. Yesterday this space had been theirs. Quiet, happy, peaceful. Now it was invaded. These people were going to camp in the same site, in a spot adjacent to their tent. The man called Jim and another lady, wider round the waist, were now erecting what looked to be a sizeable deluxe tent. His heart sank like a stone beneath dirty water. What he had desired, what he had craved in this trip was respite: escape from inner torment with the shared belonging of a small group of friends. It was now over. Strangers had overrun their spot, reclaiming their spot of earth, the silence and the scenery as their own to do with whatever they pleased. Danny crawled quietly back to his tent, carefully replacing the flap so their tent would seem as undisturbed as if he had never been there.

*

The snow was falling. A million small angels with hexagonal wings, falling to the floor before dissolving in the pool of water, denying each flake permanence. He sat beside the window self-consciously pressing his forehead against the glass, breathing his internal fog on the murky pane. Watching snow fall made him peaceful. In these transient moments the world became a different place. Snow was the great leveller. It didn't care if you were rich or poor, young or old, male or female. The arrival of veins of white light touched everyone. They streamed their surprise into people's lives, a ghostly whisper from the clouds above.

Danny never lost his amazement at how much lighter it made the world. Bleached sun reflected off unblemished surfaces and liberated colour fusions into slate-blue skies. He wanted to touch it, feel it, consume it. One time as an infant he brought a cup of snow from the garden in to drink but his father stopped him at the last moment. He thought it would be like drinking molten white chocolate, foamy and rich and sweet. Innocence blinded him to potential poisons the white exterior masked.

His aching soul flew through the air over fields of the snow blanketed North. Hedgerow borders stood proud of the silver cloak. Soft reminders of the world that lay beneath, waiting to resume its course after the supernatural swathe of nature melted. He continued over churches, their snowy spires climbing, the first earthly structures to receive the heaven sent manna. Lakes, frozen with ice and drifts plateaued from nowhere in gaps between forests of trees. Trees and trees. He had never seen so many trees. Dominating dark structures pointing to the sky, grey round topped clusters silently, patiently waiting for snow to kiss them. Firs and evergreens retained their sprightly rush of life, adding the only element of greenness to a world of white and barren grey.

He remembered snow shows he watched as a child. The sweet fantasy of C.S. Lewis' Narnia and Raymond Briggs and John Masefield's magical lands. They created worlds in his mind. Endless images of a sublime and fleeting land shrouded in peaceful white. He belonged to it, felt it was his. His to believe, revel in and live in. Until it sank away again into the ground, the water receding before the harsh glare of the sun, unable to maintain its fragile allure.

He came to land on a patch of land in the middle of a coppice. A deer stood at the edge of the clearing, looking on curiously as Danny's feet sank into the powdery surface, throwing up waves of snow. The deer approached and Danny reached out a cold palm to stroke the chocolate and cream speckled neck. Shifting closer it reached barely an inch from his pink hand and he smelt a powerful whiff of animal. The doleful look on the deer's gentle face faded before Danny's eyes struggled with themselves, and finally opened. He was asleep in the tent in the Snowfall Grove. There had been no flying, no copse, no snow and no deer.

He sat up and recalled moments from his vivid dream. Breathing slowly, he savoured the impressions on his mind and feelings before they vanished. He reached in his bag for a notebook and removed a pencil from the bottom of his pencil case. The words wouldn't come at first. Danny had often silently wondered if there'd be room for a poetry corner in the _Oracle_. Then they came, and he was gone. Lost in the temporal images that convinced him of their reality, that persuaded him transient beauty was permanent somewhere, that transferred him into the glorious mode of experience without consequence.

Once he had noted the dream, he added a few more words, trying to record the emotional drain he felt after the animating dream:

The day the snow fell.

On me.

On my white hair

My crinkled beard

My wisdom encased.

I could hear the waters flowing.

Through the ice.

It made my blood run cold

A sparkling winter stream.

It made me feel nice.

*

Lucy says it's okay. She says she's allowed. We're allowed. There is a wood along the way where we can play. I can stay out for a bit. Mum won't mind and he won't find me here. We play love-me love-me-nots with wild daisies for a while then run through the bark-spattered meadows with one shoe on, while a sock rolls down the other leg. Lucy laughs in a way I have never heard another girl laugh before. It's like a cross between a cackle and shriek. She hugs me like she won't let me go.

Ursula Calcite

Danny stared at the tent opposite their own. A carroty orange and cool brown, it was not really a tent. Portable house-like marquees had become the fashion but Danny still preferred his traditional green canvas pyramid. The left side of the strangers' canopy encroached on their plot. It wasn't so much the proximity of their luxuriant tent to Saffelia's modest camping gear that irked, but the disarray that littered their site. Empty coke and beer cans, burger wrappings with half eaten sandwiches inside, lay on their table, bench and on the ground below. Black and blue cardigans draped languidly from portable deck and swing-chairs, all positioned round their range rover which gleamed black and chrome in the morning sunlight.

The flood of disappointment struck again. In the wake of hope at the start of summer, an invisible hand had reached from the sky and removed them from the pocket of bliss that lay between the end of their previous school term and the beginning of their final year. But the disappointment subsided in the face of hastening and mounting anger. It grew precipitously, threatening to erupt within Danny as it had at inopportune times last year. He swallowed and counted to ten. Alessandro's soothing advice was perhaps too simple to be effective. It was difficult. The desire to let rip was almost unstoppable. To push back inside naturally raging emotions was something Danny never had to do before nor had adequate experience in.

An emergence from the flimsy blowing orange flap. He stared at it, as if it might try to run away. A head of shoulder-length dirty blonde hair. From this distance Danny could smell the synthetic odour of expensive perfume infiltrate the forest air. Her head tilted towards his with a nod and a vicious smile, before she wandered to the back of her tent. What was she doing?

A tap on the shoulder. It was Saffelia.

'Good morning. How are you?' Danny said.

But Saffelia wasn't listening. She too had turned to gaze anxiously at the character now patrolling the adjacent tent.

'Saffelia?'

She took him by the hand and somewhat urgently tried to lead him away.

'Come on Danny. We've got something to show you, just round the corner, come on it's not far now.'

They walked through the wood, the earthy forest smells replacing the manufactured stench of their campsite. Eventually they came upon a clearing covered in twigs, leaves and wood chippings. It reminded Danny of the places where adventure playgrounds once stood, but this was empty. Or so he thought.

'See anything unusual?' Saffelia asked.

Danny let his eyes dwell on the scene. Thick redwoods separated shafts of sunlight which broke into the grove like woodland spirits descending to earth. He stepped into the middle of the copse, where underfoot the ground was soft and, it seemed, unstable. The next second the ground opened up and Tim and Amanita appeared out of what seemed like nothing. They had risen from beneath a camouflaged shelter of leaves and twigs and broken branches. Auburn and grey plant matter flew everywhere and Tim shook himself off as he stretched to his full six feet.

'The perfect hiding place!' Amanita cooed.

A wind rushed through the clearing, brushing Amanita's fair locks in the air before they bounced back on red cheeks like fluffy pendulums swinging back into place. Tim ruffled his hair with a greasy hand.

'It's cool down there mate. Very cool. Like some sort of hidden underground bunker.'

For some reason Tim seemed out of breath. Danny walked over to the patch Amanita and Tim had appeared from. It was a curtain of leaves and mud and wood. Some kind of muslin fabric was attached to the inside. Leaves and wood chippings stuck to the concrete slab that concealed the entrance to the hold from the outside world. Danny pulled back the curtain and stared into the dark of the abyss. At first it was pitch black: black of a kind he had never seen before, a blackness he thought could never become light, the sort of darkness not only isolated from light but that actively steals it from the world.

Slowly, a growing wonder in Danny's mind he could not help but question, a light, a dull throbbing light like that from a dimly lit lamp emitted a yellowish glow towards the bottom right corner of the blackness, and he realised just how deep the bunker was.

'There's a set of steps just below you mate.' Tim called.

Danny moved his first foot out and rested it on invisible concrete sitting a few inches from the muslin curtain. His soft warm brogues crunched on a snail as he proceeded down into the cavernous void. He could not see a thing as he stepped nervously forward.

Continuing into darkness, eventually Danny reached what he thought must be the bottom. With no more steps in front of him, his foot hit the hard floor with a dull thud, defeating his brain which had been anticipating a further short descent. He faced a faintly lit concrete cube. Odours of damp earth and fresh paint swarmed in his nostrils. The room, if that was what he could call it, contained two thin wooden chairs that looked like they might break if you sat on them, and a couple of large cushions – one chintzy with tassles and glitter, one purple velvet. On one wall hung a high shelf, poking out like an imposter. Danny strained to see what was sitting on it but before he could pull a chair on which to stand and look Amanita's hushed but urgent voice echoed down from above.

'Quick! Someone's coming!'

Danny scrambled back into half-darkness, clumsily falling over on his knees and grazing his hand. He made it to the top of the steps in time to see Amanita, Saffelia and Tim run to the cover of the trees. They beckoned Danny to do the same but to his right voices amplified. If he ran to the trees he would be seen. The exigency of hiding struck him. He crawled as fast as he could and then hid on his front behind a thick clump of grass. Remaining silent, he prayed for luck.

A man and a woman approached. Danny recognised them as the man in the tank-top from the night before, and the woman with the flowing black hair. Today she wore a white summer dress that could have easily been a nightie, and golden slippers that gleamed in the jade light of the copse. The man was shorter than the woman, and wore glasses. When he spoke a thin Welsh drawl traced his words.

'Dowan theeare.' The man pointed to the bunker from which Danny had only just escaped, now covered back with leaves.

'I don't see anything Rover baby. Could it be a mistake?' she whispered in plum consonants and clipped vowels, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

'No!' shouted the man called Rover. 'This is the spot. Jim showed me himself last time we came. Go on, just beyond that rock. Lift the leaves up and we'll drop it down there.'

The woman looked uncertain, and hesitated. Rover tried a change of tack, and when he spoke next his voice was warmer.

'Come on Belladonna honey. I need you to hold the door open while we move...'

Danny did not hear the rest of Rover's sentence. Tim sneezed. Instantly, Rover and Belladonna's heads turned to the trees. Danny glanced at Amanita, daring to lift his head from his delicate location. She shook her head, and pointed markedly with her thumb to retreat. Slowly and taking care to evade the oncoming suspicions of the two interlopers, the four teenagers removed themselves from the small glade until out of sight, and they could run freely over the twigs without fear of being heard.

*

Her voice cut through the thick summer air and flew like a razor-edged spear to Danny's ears. Piercing and shrill, he received it as if a distorted cry for help.

'Hello there little boy. Would you like one of my apples?'

Thoughts of Eden flashed into his mind. That same sliver of a metallic voice. The leaves around him rustled playfully, inviting him to remain unaware of the person below, encouraging the world to join in summer joyfulness. Danny's foot faltered and fell from the branch he straddled. Throwing out a hand to retain his balance, as he fell forward he caught a glimpse of the woman calling him. His eyes confirmed it was the woman he'd seen the night before. She wore jeans, a checkered tank top and a thin pink sash scarf, ridiculous in this weather Danny thought. Why was she offering him an apple?

'Hi there,' she called again. 'I wondered if I might have a word. Could you come down?'

Danny stayed rooted to his spot. Disobedience was not a natural trait but there was a slippery quality in her tone from which his instincts instructed caution.

'Why?' he called back, suspiciously.

'It's just, well,' she gave a little laugh, as if to indicate the ridiculousness of having to explain herself.

'It's just I've been chatting to your friend. Saffelia, isn't it? Well we want to apologise for the noise we made last night.'

She paused before continuing.

'I hope we didn't wake you up?'

Something in her question made Danny uneasy. It was as if she knew he had listened to their conversation last night and was testing him to see if he would come clean. An awful icy chill overcame him, and his forehead and palms broke into a cold sweat. Up here in the thick branches he realised he was trapped, and there was only one way down, to the bottom where only questions waited. Her easy tone placed her inquiries politely but there was an eerie foreknowledge to the sinister stranger. The bag of apples still dangled from her long thin fingers.

'My name is Ursula. Ursula Calcite. What's yours?'

It seemed churlish not to answer, but he felt by answering he was handing her something. Not just his name but validation of her approach, or control of this situation in which he had little control to hang on to. He hesitated.

'It's Danny.'

'Danny what?'

'What do you want?' Danny fired back, growing angry and confused she still loitered at the bottom of his tree, persisting with her pathless conversation.

'I just told you dear. I would like to apologise for the noise we made last night.'

He watched her smile sweetly at him, thin pink lips flashing perfect white incisors. It was no use. His arms and legs were rapidly growing tired and he knew he would have to climb down. With her watching he was bound to fumble and probably slip, break a leg or worse. With any luck he would land on her.

He moved with care, checking each step by looking over his shoulder as he passed down the crumbly bark.

'That's right,' came the thin voice again. 'I'll help you if you like. I can guide you. Left a bit. Left a bit there's a branch.'

Danny followed her instructions. He saw she directed him into the middle, safe part of the tree. From here he could plot a shallower descent to the trunk. He slipped the last couple of feet, landing on his bum and his back roughly. Rising, he dusted the twigs and leaves from his shirt, and turned to face the waiting woman.

'There now. That's better isn't it? Out of your little tree-house now, aren't you?'

Her voice dripped questions like honey.

'Come, walk with me a while. It's only a short distance to our tents.'

Danny felt flustered. He ran his hand through his hair, a couple of leaves fell out.

'I can't. I've got to meet some friends at the...on the other side of the forest.'

He felt it was a legitimate excuse. He felt she should let him go. He felt any normal person would realise he was not comfortable, appeared uneasy and be allowed to go, but he was unable to predict the behaviour of this random woman. Danny forced something tense inside upwards, determined to give it voice.

'Look lady...'

'Please, call me Ursula,' she flashed another gleaming white smile while her narrow eyes darted about the forest, as if someone might interrupt them at any moment.

'Okay. Ursula, it wasn't just the noise. It was the mess we had to face when we woke up. We felt you might have made some effort to clean up before going to bed. It was encroaching on our plot, you see.'

Ursula stared at him, the false smile still painted on her thin lips.

'Of course, my dear, but how did you know that mess was created last night and not this morning?'

The question hung in the air like a cloud of toxic gas. Her thin eyes bored through him like razor-sharp steel.

'I...I...don't. I just thought that...there was so much...and we got up really early...I thought that...'

Danny's voice faded into the sounds of the forest. He tried again.

'I really have got to go and meet my friends now...bye.'

He turned to go, but before he had replaced his foot on the leafy earth she was speaking again, quite calmly, and he felt compelled to remain.

'Of course, darling, of course you have. I wouldn't have it any other way. We'll only be five minutes and then you can meet your friends? How's that? We can't say fairer than that, can we?'

Something monstrous rose up in Danny and, like last year, there was a compulsion within him to do something rage-filled. Slap her, kick her or wrestle her to the ground and beat her with a stick until she couldn't talk any more. Instead, as his face grew red she started to look alarmed and took a step back from him. Danny accelerated away into the trees, running faster and faster until he could no longer see her nor the clearing in which she stood anymore.

He couldn't think what it was at the time, but now it was obvious. Breathing hard as he slowed by a clump of beech trees, he remembered those soft words his father had whispered to him on his first day at school as a toddler. The words that had been repeated at school by his reception teacher. Words that made a deep impression on him, echoing not just through his brain but his heart. Words synonymous with danger.

"Don't go with any strangers."

However he hadn't felt that angry since his outburst to Amanita last year. He became worried at the rage within him, the unpredictable influence of teenage fury. What was it about that woman that had struck him with so much fear? Was it the weak attempt at apology after such a reckless night of noise and abandon? He had not claimed any dream-filled sleep that night, the laughter and banging too loud beside his head. Was it the cloying attempt to take him out of the tree, further away from his friends? Was it that she had already spoken to Saffelia and knew her name, and sought him out? Was it her thin, awful voice, dissonant amid the trees, or her deceptive smile? Or was it that all these things added up to mistrust in Danny's mind? Ursula Calcite. The damned woman's name kept popping into Danny's mind like an infected wound that would not heal.

During the night the noises from the adjacent tent became worse than before. Danny could hear music, an obnoxious mix of trance and techno. Their laughs, the sound of bottles being uncorked, the fire burning through endless logs grew louder as did the crunching of twigs as they danced and blundered about. Later he heard the sound of moaning and giggling, screeching and shrieking, as they played some kind of game. As sleep came fitfully to Danny he understood the assurances offered by the woman at the bottom of the tree had clearly been hollow entreaties designed to procure something from him. Now he looked back he considered if Ursula Calcite had, in fact, succeeded.

*

The last day of their camping holiday fell on them like a death knell to summer. Time moved so fast during hours of fun. The sun bobbed playfully behind clouds only to break through sporadically, like a grey orange glowing and dimming on an eternal cycle. Danny bounced along to the concrete shower block, reflecting how he would remember this holiday. There would be two parts. A blissful, childlike innocence to the first part: the garden of eden, no authority, no intrusion, an arcadian wonderland. He was about to draw his bitter thoughts together on the second part, when a figure emerged from the shower block; absorbed in her own drying curls she failed to see where she stepped.

It happened in a split second. One minute Danny was ruminating on the simple pleasures of stripped back times spent with close friends. Gentle times within pastoral environs of trees and grass and air. In the next, the raven-haired creature he now knew to be called 'Belladonna'; the one with the elegant lips Danny had spied days earlier, was stumbling toward him wearing nothing but a light blue bath towel, her neck still twisted at an angle to check she hadn't left anything behind.

Danny's father had always repeated a truism about accidents. It fell through his mind like an infinity of time even though he knew within the briefest moment he would succumb helplessly to the collision. Without exception all accidents are caused by two things trying to be in the same place at the same time. Danny would have happily continued his quest to search for an example that did not fit this criteria had it not been for Belladonna's slimy flesh pressing into his t-shirt at speed. The bath towel was the first casualty. Danny hastened to pick it up for her; she had the same idea. They bumped heads and for the first time, he heard words uttered through her delicate pout directed at him.

'Fuck!' she exclaimed, gathering up the towel with both hands.

Danny stood and glimpsed the rare sight of two pale adult breasts, gleaming with droplets of water like bleached hemispheres. Belladonna clutched the towel around her, rather clumsily digging into the fabric with her nails, ripping it.

They both stood there; Belladonna glaring at him, Danny looking embarrassed, but not enough to avert his glance from her peachy pink legs, immaculately waxed.

'What on earth did you think you were doing?'

The words carried a tinge of anger, but because they were uttered with forced affection and aristocratic pretence it sounded more like a statement of fact. Danny remained still, deliberately not moving at all. It was a posture he adopted whenever he faced high pressure situations. Her arrogance made it easy for him; there was no way he would give away anything to someone so entitled.

'I was walking to the shower block,' he parried.

'Humph!' she exclaimed.

Without another word, she stalked off toward her tent, but noticeably looking about her lest another collision strip her of more dignity. Danny smiled to himself as he entered the shower block and began to remove his clothes. Beneath the falling rain he wondered how it was society reacted profoundly differently to those born with a facial symmetry that dictated beauty, where those without that symmetry, or skill with the make-up palette, were condemned to being ordinary. It was pure chance surely, like fate, how people's looks became defined. Yet Danny felt sure it counted for too much in life. How would society have treated this arrogant young crow so far? Her epic lips were two soft bosoms of facial flesh silently communicating sensuousness and passion without the need for words. How many boys have those lips touched, how many boys have run their fingers through her raven-like hair, breathed in her perfume, kissed her fair rosy cheeks, and consumed her like he wished he could?

Yet that conceit was surely the price of looking like a superstar. It was an inheritance invisible to the owner, highly visible to those around, creating a myriad of misapprehensions and misunderstandings. Danny thought he might be superior because he was brainier. She thought she was superior because she wasn't as ugly. He felt it was the permanent state of things, a knot of humanity difficult to undo.

The shower was cool and refreshing. The open window looked out onto a cluster of branches and twigs and allowed a soft breeze to strike Danny in the small of his back, while the increasing heat of the hurtling water calmed and encircled his skin in a million tiny hugs. A little white bird popped up and sat on the window ledge, watching Danny clean himself, ridding himself of the exhaustion and desire and tension of his morning glory.

Saffelia and Amanita were packing things up in two huge suitcases they had hidden inside the metal lockers next to their plot. Tim was sitting on top of the lockers reading a book. This was unlike Tim. Danny approached.

'I didn't know you could read Tim?'

Tim looked up and put a finger to his mouth to indicate silence. Danny looked at the book, it was hidden inside a dust jacket for a hardback copy of a biography of Bill Clinton. Tim showed Danny the cover – _The Sexual Life of Catherine M_. Danny gulped and returned to help Saffelia roll up the tent and pack it away. If she only knew what filth her boyfriend was reading, he thought.

They dragged their bags to the waiting car, Tim carrying the one containing their tent and home for the past four days. Upon reaching the vehicle they all piled in with beams and greetings for Saffelia's mum, who winked cheerily at Danny. A tart aroma of chrysanthemums reached Danny from the air freshener on the dashboard, but failed to conceal the stale tobacco smoke.

'Don't worry about the bags dear, I'll stick them in the boot. I've got it all covered.'

Saffelia's mum had an easy and attractive manner about her, Danny reflected. Amanita, Saffelia and Danny squeezed in the back of the estate, while Tim was left with the front seat, and the awkward conversation.

'Er...yes...we had a lovely time thank you Miss, I mean Mrs Forrest. Very nice.' Tim spluttered, ineloquently.

'That's lovely dear, and you're looking forward to your new year of school I suppose?'

The three in the back all looked at each other with apprehension. Tim blundered on.

'Oh yes. Can't wait. Should be good. Well, better than last year. Well, it can't be much worse...'

His voice faded into the rumble of the wheels on gravel as he realised what he had said. Danny blushed and a horrible silence hung like a cobweb in the car. Fortunately, Phoebe Forrest broke the silence with some innocent humming. She switched on the radio, and they all listened happily as the car trundled over the stones out of the exit to the Snowfall Grove, speeding up and away from the idyllic estate.

Danny gazed out the back window at the receding forest. It seemed to him a strange mist fell on the green, sky-reaching trees. Like something unearthly and ethereal was descending like a spirit on the Grove. As if coming to claim something long forgotten.

*

There he is. Again. With that look in his eye. I know what he wants. What he's after. He can't have it – not today. Lucy is hiding behind the sofa. Two of his can overpower him. Ha ha.

Appalachian

Saffelia sank quietly into the yielding maroon fabric of the sofa in Danny's front room. Occasionally she brushed back her short blonde bob with her hair clip and hands. Danny heard the soft hum of the television drift over the noise from his radio, radiating sound throughout the whole house. He knew with crystal certainty without needing to see it, Saffelia would be sitting static and unmoved in his lounge. Whatever she was thinking about or whether she was listening to the television or not was anybody's guess.

He gazed at his reflection in the mirror, abhorred. Over the summer his hair had grown rapidly in amorphous unattractive clumps. It was the only visible rebellion when contrasted with the rigid confines of the school uniform now draped from his toes to his neck. But hair sprung out his neck in languid curling tufts. Adjusting his tie, an olive green and purple satin sash that curled around his neck like an ominous snake, he finally achieved the right length. Just dangling above the top of his trousers, like an arrow or chevron pointing to his shame. On his bed lay a cherry-coloured blazer. The colour of blood in moonlight, Danny thought darkly. It clashed stupendously with his bright yellow bedspread. Rhubarb and custard. Danny had no idea how horrendous it would look when he tried it on. He didn't want to know. It was Appalachian's idea, to unite the school after the previous year's dreadful distress. To make everyone look the same. There was no need to wear a jacket now; the blazer would be warm enough in the crisp sunshine of late summer. Everybody would be wearing one. Something inside his soul shuddered; as if the thought of seeing all his friends wrapped up in the same clothing was some great act of self-betrayal, into which his soul would also be consumed. He was not the same as them.

Scratching his head he brushed back his brown hair. It was time to let it grow, he thought. The split ends sprouting from the back of his head now curled over the top of his fresh white shirt, like uncontrollable knotweed. Little wisps of me, reminders of the summer adventure. Danny tried desperately to forget but could not help remember the unequal school rule about a boy's hair being limited to a certain length. He suppressed the thought whilst thinking about the length of the girls' hair in his year. Undulating long golden, brown, red, blonde, strawberry hair, wavy, permed and straight reaching down to the girls thin and fat waists like the girl in Rapunzel, Goldilocks...Chardelia!

Falling backwards onto the bed, weeping slightly, he crumpled his new blazer. He knew he had to halt the tears this time. Saffelia wouldn't want to see them, they would be of no use to her.

A quick glance at the clock, it was quarter to nine already. They had better get a move on. Images of last year's first day at school rushed into Danny's mind, like a soldier of time marching relentlessly forward. The amble in, the Anjalie encounter. The reunion with absent friends. The _Oracle_ , Flambeau, Pry and finally. Finally there was still Anjalie. Although their episode produced lasting consequences, he had not been present to witness the birth of his child, and knew not if it was a boy or girl. Anjalie's mother had moved her away to a school in Fairleigh, an hour up the coast, so she could finish her school course in peace away from any lingering ghosts of scandal. The wild girl was being tamed but in order for it to work, she needed complete exile from Plunket's, from her normal friends, and from Danny.

Finding it difficult to process his feelings about her forced removal, Danny still grieved for lost friends and forsaken hopes. The encounter with Anjalie was a sudden opportunity, taken with the ruthlessness of hungry virgins. There had always been something else to drop into place at the forefront of his mind. But she lingered, haunting his midnight thoughts and whenever his quiet time attacked him. A single mistake, never to be forgotten. Utterly irrevocable for as long as he lived.

He took the stairs two at a time, in the hope of meeting Saffelia ready to go. She still sat in the lounge and stirred from her internal reverie when he switched the television off. The local news was just beginning, the sight of four-wheel drive police vans with mud-stained tyres flashing in front of him before the screen went black.

He approached her and whispered softly.

'Time to go to school, I'm afraid Saff.'

She looked at him with wide-open blue eyes. Danny was reminded of the blue sky on the day he finally split with Janna. They shut the front door and, as his father and Polly his sister already left for the day Danny locked up Dunkinley. September sun burned down on them, both necks protected by blonde and brown hair. Cream and chocolate. Urine and shit. Saturn and Mars.

Danny felt a spring in his step as he walked from the small front garden to begin the final year of his school life. School had been a constant since he could remember. It was a weight around his neck he had been born with and never been given either the power or liberty to remove. The thought of freedom was a glorious spring tempered with winter winds. It was the crystal clear lake, polluted on one side. One more year, one more year. It spun round his mind like a mantra, a song he had to endure for one last leg of a lengthy race.

Saffelia whistled a tune as they walked along, eventually reaching the bushy garden walk that took them over the railway past their neighbours' houses. The Amur's beautiful mansion was now deserted with both parents leaving Amberleigh for Spain, according to Mary Oconee, who had called him last night to catch up on pre-school gossip, and to offer belated sympathies over Chardelia. The Amur cliffside tennis court sat dilapidated, desperately in need of resurfacing as weeds and grasses poked through the cracked tarmac. A strange urge came over Danny to run onto the court and mend the nets but he shook it off. He hated the sight of a redundant tennis court, it evoked poignant memories of his and Janna's broken relationship. Saffelia was whistling cheerful pop folk, a tune he had heard over the summer but couldn't put his finger on. Abruptly, her whistling ceased. Turning to Danny she assumed a manner as if her pause was expected and perfectly natural. An aroma of primroses wafted towards his face as she neared his field of vision.

'Did I ever tell you about the summer when I was ten?'

Danny shook his head, taken aback by her directness. He had been in Saffelia's class since they arrived at Plunket's. They had known each other even longer. As a child Saffelia walked her dog on the playing field where Danny played football with Tim and Sloppie Fox. At that stage he had never really spoken to her, only exchanging few greetings and head nods, to which he felt obliged from the politeness his mother instilled in him from an early age before she died. Saffelia had always appeared anxious and keen to continue walking her dog. One time he had witnessed her running around the field, almost dragging the poor beagle behind her.

How would the following weeks and months pan out? Would they all have to get used to erratic behaviour? Might they all have to revise their view of Saffelia, from a normal innocent school girl to someone with a deeply disguised medical condition, or a hidden disturbed past? They continued to the rocky path that climbed the hill towards the dramatic headland on which Oliver Plunket's school and Amberleigh Castle stood. A brace of dread tempered with delight cut through him. The recognition brought the tragedy back, as well as the thought of being reunited with his two best friends.

'I went to Morecambe with Mum and Dad. We spent two weeks there, walking out over vast sands. It was windy, it made me shiver. I never wanted to go. I remember clutching the radiator and my Dad pulling my legs out of the door in an effort to get me into the car. It was at Morecambe I first started playing the piano. It was windy there.'

She stopped, as if confusion had descended on her unexpectedly or she had been instantly brought back to the here and now.

'Where are we going?' she asked, the epitome of politeness.

'To school Saffy. You'll be fine once we get there, Tim will be there.'

It was hard to concentrate on the day ahead. Thinking about Saffelia had permeated Danny's thoughts since they returned from the Snowfall Grove. In Danny's head her blackout was somehow intertwined with thoughts of the haunting woodland.

The rocky shingle path leading to the gates of Plunket's seemed steeper than before. Danny rested his back on the wooden fence next to the gates and watched the oncoming army of cherry blazers, all with olive green and purple ties. All apart from one.

Timothy Gaunt wore his blazer inside out. The shimmering silver-blue lining reflected the morning sunshine, casting light on himself amongst a sea of conformists. Danny chuckled and Saffelia smiled.

'Hello baby,' Tim called out to Saffelia a few metres from the gate.

A look of horrific disgust passed over Saffelia's face like an ominous cloud crossing the sun. Tim was about to ask what the matter was but just as quickly as the look came Saffelia turned around and adjusted something at the back of her uniform. When she turned back she was all smiles again.

'Hello Timothy. Like the blazer. Very shiny.'

'Yeah, it's for you,' Tim replied, kissing her on the cheek.

Danny turned to head into school. How times have changed, he thought.

*

Fuzzair had also taken it upon himself to adopt new attire. His usual grey patchwork jacket with red trim was now replaced with a bright orange and scarlet blazer. Unlike his pupils, Fuzzair paraded his blazer with shameless pride.

Amanita pushed her way into form and plonked herself down beside Danny, just as Fuzzair was finishing his welcome speech. It had been the usual drone: something about the fifth year being the culmination of several year's hard work, not just for the students but for the teachers too. Fuzzair pretended mock horror as Amanita strode through his speech, but she merely waved a halting hand as she turned to Danny. She knew Fuzzair would only reprimand her if it was extremely serious. She was guaranteed an A star in maths that year.

'I've had an idea!' she enthused, her eyes flashing in that way that made Danny's head ache and his insides wince. Usually Amanita's ideas meant work. There was a growing pressure at the front of his brain. Something they had talked about, something he would have to work on but he couldn't quite put his finger on. The morning's chastening walk to school had cleared his mind and reluctantly, braving himself for the inevitable, he nodded for her to proceed with whatever plan she had cooked up.

'It's about the _Oracle_!'

That one word brought back weary memories from last year. Long evenings on copy deadline day spent in the press room munching on cold pizza.

'I think we should have a regular feature in each issue entitled "My favourite lesson." Get this – we alternate each feature with one written by a student, one by a teacher! It will bring the student body and the teachers closer together. It will be fascinating! Come on – what do you think?!'

Danny breathed in slowly, looking around to distract Amanita from his pending response. Her breathing had quickened, and he could tell he could not keep his silence much longer before her enthusiasm boiled over and she did something drastic. Like shaking him, or kicking him in the shins, or treading on his toes, or even worse, kissing him. It was not beyond her, he knew.

'Well...'

He evaluated the idea: it might mean less work from him in the end. No doubt he would be cajoled to help round up the students and select the teachers. It might even be interesting to hear from teachers like Spittlebug, Appalachian and even the lovely Plum Chukchi. Alas, this last one he remembered could now not be written. Not unless he or Tim could discover find where she disappeared to. It was no use fighting Amanita over this, and Danny's wholehearted consent leaked from his contented smile.

'Yes – it's a good idea Am. Who did you have in mind for the first issue of the year?'

She looked at him, smiling guiltily, saying nothing.

'Who?' Danny asked, thinking the worst, 'You? Me? Not Tim?' saying this last with a light chuckle.

'No. I wasn't thinking about any of us. How about...Professor Wonder?'

Her eyes fixed to Danny's to read his expression. Unfortunately for her it was predictable cynicism.

'Ah, I see this year will not witness the end of your undying love for our Religious teacher,' Danny said smoothly.

The bell rang and they trooped to assembly, falling easily back into old routines. It was Appalachian's first full assembly, and everyone would be eager to hear how he would begin his reign. Amanita accelerated away from Danny in a huff, but he smiled gently to himself as he shuffled along with the throng down to St Basil's hall.

Appalachian stood a clear six foot, smiling with a grin so wide it instantly made students suspicious as they slouched into the hall wearily. Gazing at his classmates Danny saw a number had let their hair grow over the summer break. Was it the influence of the forthcoming year of pressure and exams that forced out one last rebellion? Or perhaps it was a sign of the growing obsession with britpop and indie music. Danny could not tell. The girls looked fulsome: many torsos had filled out, their white blouses straining as the outline of cream and pink brassieres rippled beneath the thin fabric. In Sonia Fox's startling case it was indistinguishable which was more visible: her scarlet bra or their contents. Many girls had now learned to wear school uniform accurately but stretched the boundaries with twists they knew permissive. In place of grey or maroon tights, many just wore black which female teachers gladly overlooked, remembering their own feminism and pride in their expressiveness at that becoming age. The male teachers also overlooked it for different reasons. Mary Oconee's keen eye had spotted Fuzzair's glance linger just a little too long on her slender legs to be comfortable, but he had not said a word. These were now not girls but young women, Danny thought as he sat down to hide the straining in his own uniform. Sitting between Johnny Benedict and Tim, he was about to whisper to Johnny a question about the holidays when Appalachian grandly cleared his throat.

'Welcome back to all of you, and I trust you have had a restful and harmonious summer break.'

He opened his arms to the students and smiled broadly. Danny was reminded of someone, but couldn't quite locate who.

'A new school year has broken, has it not?'

Appalachian beamed, a surreptitious smugness crossing cracked features. 'The Parent's and Teacher's Society have appointed me as the _new_ headteacher of St Oliver Plunket's – and I will govern as a _new_ headteacher. I am delighted to tell you today, very simply, this means St Plunket's will no longer be the target of terrorists. It will no longer be the hub of horror, the prey of panic-makers, the denizens among whom demons reside. I simply make this promise to you today: I will be harsh on terror, and harsh on the origins of terror.'

'Laying it on a bit thick, isn't he?' Tim whispered into Danny's ear.

Appalachian continued, seduced by the sound of his own voice. He grew blissfully unaware of the muttering among the students before him.

'I think you should all know that I feel sublimely humbled by the office I now hold and the trust that has been appointed in me. I want to extend this gratitude to you all: we should all be grateful for being given this new chance, to breathe new life into this school, to develop a community of our own, to follow the opportunity to make a fairer and more equal educational environment. We will not squander it, we will not shrink from it, we will not waste it. If there is one thing I have confidence in this year, it is in you, young ladies and gentlemen. I am sure you will not let me or this school down. I am sure.'

With this flourish he ceased speaking. Looking into the eyes of those he now led he saw astonishment and contempt. Moving in grand statements of mission and vision, Danny felt his dismissal by the absence of detail. Appalachian had failed to mention one single word about their GCSE examinations or the lessons ahead of them. Crucially, he not proved to them he had any measure of acquaintance with their school.

Momentarily stunned by the stony faces staring back at him, Danny watched a glimmer of fear cross Appalachian's features. It had only been twelve months since Professor Flambeau, now a wanted terrorist and brutal murderer, lectured them exactly where Appalachian now stood, making similar vacuous gestures. Surely it must have been in Appalachian's thoughts as he stood up to lead the assembly? Surely he must be thinking of Danny now, the one trapped in the cavern harbouring that foul and rank stench, the memory of which Danny could hardly bear the presence. Like a wave claiming an unseen victim in thick white surf, Appalachian's features flooded any signals of apprehension with a big, broad smile. He continued.

'I would like to introduce some new faces to you all.'

He paused and sipped some water, gulping visibly. Perhaps he was scared, Danny thought. Then Danny noticed: no other teacher sat on the stage behind Appalachian, the usual rigmarole for their assembly. They must be back in their form rooms, Danny thought. Appalachian was going it alone. Who were the new faces?

'As I say, we have recruited a number of excellent new staff this year and I would like you to give them a warm Plunket's welcome.'

Appalachian motioned to a student sitting at the end of the first row to carry out some predetermined action. Danny saw Benjamin Sprite stand up and open the glass paned doors to St Basil's. In walked a troop of people and, as they did, Danny's jaw dropped. To his growing horror he recognised several – no indeed _all_ of the campers pitched next to them in the Snowfall Grove, including the woman who had injected the swooping feeling of dread inside him. Ursula Calcite. She stepped forward, blonde hair swaying as she moved behind that gorgeous, deadly smile. Saffelia, a couple of rows in front, shuddered.

'I would like to introduce Dr Calcite – she will be taking you for poetry and dance this year,' Appalachian boomed.

Danny looked at Tim and Tim looked back at Danny with more terror than dismay in his eyes. Dancing – that was not on the curriculum, was it? Before Danny had chance to process the thought Appalachian began introducing someone else.

'This is Professor Downly,' The fat, frumpy woman who had hung round the ginger man called Jim at the Grove stepped forward. She wore a stern unattractive look, behind thick-rimmed and thick-paned glasses.

'Grace will be taking some of you for Mathematics.'

Appalachian beamed at Grace, who stared back, just as sternly as she eyeballed the students before her.

'Next we have Dr Burberry who will take you for Geography and Design and Technology, replacing Dr Ethelraed and Dr Woodbridge who sadly left us last year.'

A couple of students smirked but the rest were deadly serious. Danny recognised Burberry as the short, cropped-hair, youngish-looking man who almost discovered him as he emerged from the underground bunker in the forest. He was with another girl then...and yes! The same girl seemed to be stepping forward! It was un-fucking-believable! The girl who had walked into him and then pretended it was Danny's fault.

'This is Miss Belladonna Whimsy, our new teaching assistant. Miss Whimsy will be assisting Professor Carmione on Home Economics. I expect you all to show Miss Whimsy the same level of respect you show all your teachers.'

Danny and Tim both gave hollow laughs. Saying this was like announcing the death sentence of poor Miss Whimsy. She didn't have a hope now. Teachers needed to earn respect, and this was never granted by the empty words of another. Danny's easy laugh was spotted by Miss Whimsy, who opened wide curving lips to flash brilliant white teeth at him, baring them like a predator. She tossed her black hair over her shoulder in one graceful fluid motion and gazed at Danny disdainfully. Danny wished he hadn't been so visible.

'I would like to introduce you to Diane Thomas-Butterfield. Diane will become the new Head of English and Deirdre Quinine who will be our new Deputy Head, replacing Professor Alessandro, who has agreed to focus more on developing a tutorial system within lessons throughout your year.'

'Sounds like a demotion to me,' Tim whispered to Danny quickly, who watched the broad-shouldered, manly looking Professor Thomas-Butterfield step forward beside the shorter chubby-faced Professor Quinine. She would have had a friendly-looking face, but for her lack of anything approaching a smile. Where her mouth was, a slack lipless opening flapped awkwardly as she moved. Danny did not recognise these two from the camp site.

'Finally allow me to introduce to you Jim Travershall. Jim will teach history, a subject Plunket's students have traditionally excelled at given the rich history all around us in Amberleigh, and indeed the castle itself.'

Appalachian waved his hand and the ginger-haired man who had driven the black range rover in Snowfall Grove stepped forward. He moved his hand from his hip to his forehead, scratching it in puzzlement as if he was working out how he might complete something nefarious. He then stepped back to the line, joining the other new teachers.

'Thank you for your attention. That is the end of today's assembly. I trust you will work hard on your studies this year. Remember the students below will look to you for a positive educational example, both in your diligence to studies and your respect for teachers.'

'Of course the little sprogs are looking up to us,' Tim exclaimed at breaktime to Amanita and Danny, 'they're much shorter than we are, the little twerps!'

'Tim – that isn't nice,' Amanita muttered as she tried to toss her hair in a way Danny thought was an imitation of Belladonna.

'Yes, well maybe you can set them an example then,' Tim sneered. 'Although if they saw you doing what I saw this morning maybe they wouldn't be so impressed,' Tim replied, the sun catching his pale jawed grin.

'What? What did you see!' Danny asked.

Tim remained silent and glanced at Amanita. Danny watched the two of them exchange glares. Tim looked guilty for saying anything and Amanita blushed rapidly. While Danny wondered what secret was being concealed, a silence overcame their conversation that told him they were not going to break cover on the enigma. He decided to change tack.

'Who do you think will be made prefects this year?' Danny asked.

His two friends remained silent, looking more guilty and embarrassed before finally meeting Danny's confused and wary gaze. The words broke free from Amanita like escaped prisoners.

'Oh Danny, I'm so sorry. Didn't Alessandro tell you? It was one of his last duties to appoint the new prefects before he lost his deputy headship. Tim and I were written to over the summer with our badges. I'm so sorry Danny.'

Genuine regret leaked from Amanita's eyes while Tim just stared at the ground, shuffling his feet. Danny breathed deeply, considering the revelation and allowing it to sink in slowly. How to handle the fresh emotional blow? He considered for a moment storming away in a dramatic and excited huff. It always felt good, if only for a second, to show his emotions so completely. To explode himself in the playground full of people would make himself fully alive and feel he had validated his anger. But he knew the feeling always faded. That brief moment of exultation in fury would result in losing substantially more face in the ensuing apology that would need to follow. Another option was to say nothing and give the silent treatment. It would make things difficult for a while but at least they would need to work to melt his icy exterior, another way to earn his emotional righteousness. Finally he could smile, act pleasantly and congratulate them both, and be a traitor to his true emotions. Was he a bad person for feeling this? It should have been him, he was worthy of this honour as well. He had fought Flambeau and lost Chardelia Foss. He had suffered the withering of an emerging flower that still shrank his stomach with dread and turned his soul into a dark uncertainty. Surely if he faced these challenges, then they could at least make him bloody prefect!

But they hadn't. As his mind repeatedly capsized the matter he realised there was little chance he would be made one. There was only one option. Danny smiled broadly, and patted Tim and Amanita on the back.

'Well done,' he said, and Tim finally met Danny's scrutinizing gaze.

'Sorry mate. I never asked for it. I wanted to send the badge back, but, well, Mum made me wear it. Sorry.'

Walking inside for their next lesson, they began to wonder what their final year of religious studies would present them with. With all the teacher changes would Professor Wonder still be there for them?

They weren't disappointed. Wonder sat on his desk, legs swinging and grinning at the students as they entered. As they settled into their old desks and returned Wonder's bounteous smiles, he leapt off and began writing furiously on the whiteboard in red pen.

'This year,' he started, writing with intensity, 'we will spend some time studying the ancient mythology of Islam.'

Female students whose eyes had lit up at the sight of Wonder after a six-week hiatus, now sighed at the thought he would make them work.

'Islam is an inspirational religion. By the end of this year, I want you all to know what it's all about, inside out. You may be wondering why,' and with this he turned his eyes on Rosetti Duocorn, 'we are teaching Islamic religion in a Christian school. It is because I believe you all should know about this and other religions. Many of you have your Christian faith, and that's fine. But this is a school and we are here to educate, not brainwash you.'

Danny's eyes widened. He rarely heard Wonder speak with vociferous defence of religions beyond Christianity. Nevertheless he raised his pen, ready to jot down the notes Wonder would deliver.

'Danny Canterbury! Please can you stand up,' Wonder bellowed.

Frozen by shock, Dawn Russet nudged him and he stood up as Wonder requested. He felt his cheeks burn red, a familiar sensation whenever public attention was focused on him. As his heartbeat accelerated he considered what humiliation awaited. From the corner of his eye he spotted a sleek blonde head, pale alabaster neck slightly angled, and dangerous blue eyes fixed on him in puzzlement and defiance. Silently he had negotiated with his soul how long into the day it would be before it happened. Janna Chisely, the girl of his past infatuation drummed her fingers on the desk in an attempt at idle ignorance. Danny knew her better than this. It was registering this knowledge that released butterflies deep in his belly, and created dew drops of sweat to appear on his forehead.

Professor Wonder walked to Danny's desk, and fixed his gaze on his student. He pulled out his arm, ready to shake Danny's hand.

'Danny Canterbury – it is fantastic to see you back at Plunket's this year!'

Energetically pumping his arm, Wonder's fierce kindness bored into a stunned Danny before he released. Danny let his arm drop back to his side, feeling the blood roll back into his fingers. Wonder began to address the class again

'Islam is the religion of peace. Islam actually derives from the Arabic word 'Slm' which means to be whole, and to be at peace. This is very important – please write this down at the top of your page. I want you all to know this is the central tenet of the Islamic faith. With our country's media it can become easy to lose sight of this essential fact. People who practice Islam, as some of you know, are called Muslims. There are five aspects of Muslim faith – belief in Allah, which is the Islamic word for 'God', belief in Angels, the Koran which is the Islamic holy book, the messengers of God – who are the prophets, and finally, the day of judgement. Now we will discuss the five pillars of Islam in this lesson, but I want you to remember Islam is not a set of rituals or myths. Islam is concerned with social order rather than customs, habits or routines – that's social _order_ and not social disharmony.'

Danny had to write fast and untidily to crib Wonder's lecture. He glanced at Dawn Russet's page – she had written twice as much as him, all in perfect slanted italics. Allowing his gaze to pause on her page he saw she had bouncy letters. Plump 'h's and 'y's. He leant over to look closer but she must have felt his breath on her neck as she turned her head to him. Looking in his dark brown eyes at point blank range, Danny gulped. Dawn's unblemished face was maturing into a woman's. Her lashes, enriched by mascara, drew attention to her receptive eyes and he suddenly felt ashamed for his behaviour at last year's Christmas disco. Her delicate clean scent took hold of his imagination. Was it her own odour, or perfume? He could not tell. All he knew was it reminded him of violets he had smelt in the Snowfall Grove. She opened full lips to speak.

'What?'

A simple word but enough to annihilate Danny's slight ego and transform his speech into clumsy stammers before her perfect poise.

'I...I...I was just checking that, how much you had, er, written.'

Dawn smiled.

'Oh, is that all? For a moment there I thought you were checking me out.'

Danny gulped again, and stared at his page in embarrassment. Dawn returned to her work, smiling.

The competition is coming. Mum says I have to compete but I'm scared. I don't want to. Lucy holds my hand and it makes me feel better. Makes me feel nice. I have some new ballet shoes to help me with the new dance. They fit me snug as a bug. But Lucy still has her old shoes. I feel sorry for her. I wish Mum would buy her new shoes as well.

Wilfields

Danny had become enormously hungry by the time lunchtime arrived. He put it down to the shock of the first day back, and being around Tim, the human burger machine. Just like last year, it was all happening so fast. Everything accumulated like a concertina of work unfolding and piling on top of each crease. Mock exams loomed before Christmas. Summer was fading fast and everything ahead seemed to promise gloomy skies and dipping temperatures.

He filled his plate with oozing chilli and heaps of milk-coloured rice. The brown rouge gravy swam around the plate, making thick puddles of delicious looking goo amid the fluffy grains. Sitting at an empty table Danny happily equated his solitary disposition with a rare moment of golden peace. Digging his fork into the mound of chilli, he ravenously lifted it to his mouth and felt the warm salty sauce smother his taste buds. Diving in for a second full forkful he was interrupted by a girl who came over and sat opposite him, carrying the exact same meal. Danny put his fork down and stared at Janna Chisely, but she didn't look at him, nor give any impression she had any desire to begin a conversation. Instead she tucked into her meal, her dainty mouthfuls relentless and a demeanour almost completely unconscious of Danny's presence. He thought maybe some friends would join her but after five minutes of waiting he realised his meal was going cold, and began to eat again.

The lunch hour progressed as they both ate their meals, neither saying a word. For forty minutes they sat opposite each other quietly consuming their lunch, with no book to read nor no notice to distract themselves with. Just the habitual people-watching of the canteen to occupy their minds. After a time Danny realised no-one else had come to sit at the table as a deliberate gesture. All the other tables were crowded to overflowing. School gossips would have long-spilled the events of last year's cavern confrontation and the pair's romantic split. Aware of this unique situation perhaps they were giving the pair a wide berth. Students must have believed Danny was working everything out with Janna and wanted to give them some space. Far from it, Danny gloomily placed his knife and fork on his plate, and raised his head about break the thick crust of ice that had formed between them.

'Look...'

With his first word she raised her head, but in the opposite direction. Standing up, Janna picked up her tray of food and walked off, depositing her plates and leftovers before exiting the hall. What the bloody hell was all that about, Danny thought. More confused than ever he walked into the bright sunshine of the playground. Contemplating the swaying trees in the distance he allowed the sea breeze to kiss his cheek. He felt nautious and was grateful when the bell rang and he could escape into the comfortable routine and enforced silence of his afternoon lesson with Professor Pry.

As he approached the familiar corridor leading to Pry's den of literary abstractions Amanita rushed up to him. If he was early, then she was stalking Pry.

'Danny! Glad I caught you before the Professor appears.'

Amanita did a double-take around her to make sure Pry wasn't coming.

'Ready for some more blue-sky thinking Amanita?'

'Are you free after school – we could reconvene the editorial team of the _Oracle_. We could talk about that idea I had? Yes?'

Amanita leant forward in eagerness, her bobbing breasts inside her blouse close to touching Danny's chest.

Danny shook his head laughing. Perhaps Amanita wished to corner him alone for some after-school activities of a different kind.

'You never give up, do you? Don't you think it's a little bit early in the year to pester your peers about the school newspaper?'

Amanita looked flattened, but immediately recovered her composure.

'I suppose you'd rather get up to what you got up to at the end of your first day last year?'

She stood there smiling slyly with pink glossed lips shut tight like smiling devils. That was a shot below the belt, and Danny stepped back shocked Amanita could deliver such a punch so effortlessly.

'I...I...Amanita, why are you bringing that up? That is old news!'

Irritated, Danny pushed past her and paused by the window to drink in the relieving chasm of the slate sky and broiling ocean. From here he could see Dunkinley and its familiarity cut through the anxiety rooting him. Home, where cooked smells welcomed in every evening. Home, where his sister and his father lived with him. Reprimanding him, humouring him, loving him unconditionally. The reddening trees blew in the ocean breeze, releasing leaves which drifted to the ground. For a split second Danny sensed the fleeting moment of sheer peace before it passed, consumed by his frantic day. Then came a tap on the shoulder. Turning round, to begin his remonstrations with Amanita again, his angry word had nearly left his lips but for the short intimidating figure of Professor Pry standing, gazing up at him from behind crescent-shaped spectacles.

'Hadn't we better be getting into class, Danny? Everyone else has.'

Danny looked into the class. Indeed all his classmates were sitting down, waiting to begin. Even Amanita who looked angry and because of this, also voluptuously sexy. It must be all the blood rushing to their breasts, Danny thought. Either that or she's on the blob. He must have been daydreaming for longer than he thought. Frog-marched into class by Pry, Danny took his seat. Glumly he looked out of the window as it began to rain. Sunny pledges one minute, betraying rain the next. Sometimes Danny resented England's weather, changeable like teenage girls' moods.

'Today, ladies and gentlemen, I would like to assess how you coped with your summer reading. Instead of a test, which I know you all love, we will learn about the play through a class discussion.'

Danny's head ached. Although he loved reading, he couldn't be bothered for a class discussion. All he wanted was sleep. His overcooked lunch and Janna's frosty reception had filled his mind with creaking thoughts.

'Danny Canterbury! I hope I shall not have the need to prop your eyelids with a pencil! First a lengthy daydream and now you enter a prelude to a nap. In my class! We do admire creativity here, so pray do tell us what deep thoughts reside within, if they are not too sublime to be articulated that is?'

Pricked by the isolation of being singled out, Danny flicked his spine and bolted upright. Pry never persecuted him like this before. He felt a sting to his pride. While Pry left him alone he felt justified in acting aloof with some classmates. She had deftly destroyed his illusion. Anger swelled beneath the embarrassment curdling in his face. He didn't know what words to use apart from those of passive contrition.

'Sorry Professor.'

'Perhaps you can tell us Danny, what is the one fate to befall Rosalind, as related to the audience in the opening of _As You Like It_?'

The sudden demands of concentration made Danny's blushes subside. He had consumed the drama avidly within one week, but this had been way back at the start of the summer. He remembered his love for the characters, but felt unsure he would recall specific details. In the end he stabbed at a guess.

'She is exiled?' he said, hopefully.

'Danny, you said that as if it was a guess. Was it a guess?'

Danny shook his head, carefully holding Pry's gaze which saw through his lie.

'It was a lucky guess. You are correct. Rosalind grabs our close attention because she wastes no time in divulging her secret plan. She builds an instant rapport with the audience, allowing full access into her world. It is a subtle, creeping achievement. The reader does not notice the intimacy because the tone is as casual as if she's meeting for a drink in a pub. She spills honest thoughts directly and the audience's growing fascination with her honesty distracts them from asking the most pressing question.'

The thought of slumbers buried, Danny was now enraptured. What was the pressing question? Had he asked it to himself when he read the book?

'The question is of course...but of course, I am doing too much work for you. Edmund Cloves, I seem to recall you may have read this one. Perhaps you would care to furnish us with an answer? A correct one will suffice.'

Edmund spoke confidently.

'Professor we should ask _why_ is Rosalind being so honest with us. _Why_ does she want or even need to tell us this secret plan story of hers.'

A satisfied smile crossed Pry's thin lips. Over the summer Edmund had transformed from class joker to attentive student.

'Absolutely right Edmund. Take ten house points for Jenner.'

The discussion continued, Amanita of course knew all the key points. Danny allowed his thoughts to drift away again and the lesson passed without volunteering any new contribution other than the one Pry extracted. When the lesson closed Pry set them all a comparative study essay for homework: they were to compare the first acts of _As You Like It_ and _A Midsummer Night's Dream._ Danny slung his bag over his shoulder, determined to forget an exhausting first day. He remembered the glee he had felt after Pry's lesson last year, after being told he had potential. Now he felt flat and alone. Tim came up to him.

'Alright mate. Me and Saffy are heading down to Wilfields tonight. Fancy popping in for a pint – of coke that is!'

Tim's steady smile calmed Danny.

'Yeah that sounds great,' he answered, glad of the snub he could pay back to Amanita for leaving him alone looking out the window. Trudging home, thoughts of an evening of gentle relaxation boosted his ever-slowing steps.

*

The crisp late summer evening grew cold as Danny walked down the cobbles towards town. An autumn chill was rising. The bite in the coastal breeze had not begun as early last year. It seemed the onset of winter became more eager each year as the North Sea sucked Scandinavian coolness from its rushing waters. Still the sun shone defiantly in a salmonpink sky. Greeted by a rush of warmth and darkness, Danny headed inside the pub beneath a wooden placard the landlord had placed there. It bore the simple inscription "In memory of those departed". Danny thought of Chardelia and how long it had been. Gone for months, never to return. The brief tension with Amanita earlier played on his mind. He remembered Pry's admonishing last year. It was easy to forget what she told him about her father. Danny wondered how many of Amanita's actions might be driven by this gut absence. She liked to think she was a strong woman, but how much was bravado, and how much was real? Something else was present in their repartee now, something that threatened to topple their effervescent badinage. Invited by books and songs and narratives to think of friendship as an unmoving constant, Danny sensed the lie. He had never had a friendship that hadn't evolved in some way. Spots of beauty and electricity sparked disagreements and moments of passion. Danny did not want to face the authenticity of these moments that were stronger than himself.

He ordered a coke with a dash of lime and no ice – his favourite drink at this juncture. The shying from alcohol made him appear soft to the lads, but sweet to the girls. Amatory Poise was serving behind the bar. He had not seen her in Wilfields before but recalled her mesmeric performance in _A Midsummer's Night's Dream_ last year. Looking just as delicious today, her toffee brown tan flowed to faint pink lips, hypnotic eyes and honeygold hair. She placed Danny's coke on a napkin and held out painted flush nails to relieve his fiver with a generous smile. Edmund Cloves sat alone at the opposite end of the bar, drinking something dark and apparently waiting for someone. Danny spotted Mary Oconee and Olive Spritser languidly resting against the bar munching on peanuts and sipping what looked like vodka.

'On the hard stuff girls?' Danny volunteered as he sidled up to them.

'That's right, Danny boy. Like a sip?' Olive offered.

Danny shook his head, grinning but catching enough of a whiff from the glass to tell it wasn't vodka.

'Shall we grab a table?' Mary said.

'Hold on,' Olive warned, 'Tim and Saffy are on their way.'

Danny looked around and saw Tim enter the bar, arm in arm with Saffelia. Following them, slightly taller than usual was Amanita. Wearing heels, her bushy hair pushed to the ceiling just as ruthlessly as her short skirt and black tights flowed her lower figure to the floor. Danny nearly fell off his stool. Devastatingly sexy, the tempting contours of her figure battled the thought of her beside him before they entered Pry's classroom. When she had gently nudged his insecurities to a point where he might crack, still repulsed. The wish to preserve their lifelong friendship guarded him against any romantic or lustful manoeuvre.

Finding a table in the corner of the bar, Danny sat down on a red-cushioned bench while Amanita sat beside him, her black leather skirt crunching up to his jeans. A heavy perfumed scent rolled off her pale neck, and blood-coloured lipstick shone in the lights' glare. From here Danny watched the back of Edmund Cloves head. For some reason Edmund kept turning round at regular intervals and looking at Amanita. Danny expected he was just looking around for the person he was waiting for. Perhaps he had been stood up.

'I'll have a rum and coke,' Amanita called to Olive who was getting a round in.

'Amanita – you're not eighteen!' Danny said.

'Just the coke then,' Amanita winked at Olive to undermine her revision.

As they sat around chatting about the day, Olive brought drinks over with a copy of the _Amberleigh Post_.

'I nabbed it from that poisonous bitch Amatory Poise! Cow – do you know what she called me behind my back last week. She called me a fat little pig! Can you believe it? Anyway, I was wondering when you guys were going to get back from the Grove – I'm surprised the police haven't called you in yet.'

A cold shiver of dread ran through Danny. An echo from the past.

'The police? Why would the police want to interview us?' Tim shouted cheerfully sipping on his pint.

Danny spotted the front page of the _Amberleigh Post_ and didn't need to ask.

'Let me read that,' he said, reaching his hand round Amanita's neck to grab the paper off Olive. Amanita moved in closer to Danny as he did so. He opened up the front page and his face transmitted shock, as did Saffelia's and Tim's. The page read:

Body discovered in the Snowfall Grove

A body was discovered at the weekend in the heart of the North's very own camping forest – the Snowfall Grove.

A girl aged 23 was found, with no injuries, dead, somewhere in the Grove. Chief Investigating Officer Lombard was unable to confirm the body was found in a secret underground bunker, built in the 1960's to guard against nuclear attacks. Chief Inspector Lombard was also unable to confirm that the girl died from poisoning, but said they were pursuing all avenues of enquiry and that, at the moment, their initial thoughts are that they are not investigating a case of murder.

The identity of the girl will not be released until next of kin has been informed. Further details are expected to be released by the Amberleigh Constabulary tomorrow.

Bee Dew

Danny sat back and sipped coke to calm himself. His heart raced and cold dread smothered him like an egg slowly splitting in his hair, oozing its sticky goo all over his dank soul. It couldn't be. It was happening again. He had been there! What was happening to his life? Was this what life was – an endless barrage of torment? Just when you think you're making a new beginning, old ghosts rear their ugly heads, like demons residing in hidden caves and crevices.

He looked at Tim, mouth open, a look of horror consuming his face. Saffelia caressed his hands with hers, but her fingers trembled and her demure features bore a pensive expression.

'But...but we were only there...' Tim muttered.

'At the weekend yes, Timothy, catch-up will you?' Amanita returned, unusually aggressive. Mary and Olive leant forward eagerly, anticipating a conversation of interest, determined to listen.

'We know nothing about this,' Danny said in as clear a voice as he could muster.

Within himself nothing was clear. An appalling foreboding swamped his foggy thoughts. How would he feel in the morning when he woke up and registered the dread that, for the second time in a year a nightmare had landed on his doorstep. A girl was dead. She was found where they had camped. They could all be implicated, but none of them knew who the girl was, why she had died, if it was murder. Was it Flambeau? Had he returned to swoop again and claim one more victim? Alarming ideas swarmed Danny's exhausted mind. He was unable to marshal the weary currents into meaning, yet remained cowed by their lingering menace.

Amanita leant forward to speak.

'I say we all get hammered!'

She stood up, pouted at the boys gracefully and strode to the bar.

'One bacardi breezer, please,' she said.

The bar man handed her a thin bottle with a suspicious look, but accepted her money without a single question.

'I knew it!' she exclaimed as she sat back down at the table, Mary and Olive in awe of her achievement. 'I knew this old number wouldn't deny me! My mum lent it to me! Guys always fall for a bit of breast and leg! They're all KFC munch-masters, deep down.'

Danny shook his head in amused disgust and sipped his coke. Surging caffeine fought animal desire to sleep. After a few drinks the craving capitulated to an engulfing urge to dance. Wilfields was not the place. When Amanita suggested a club, Danny pressed the others to follow but Tim was already asleep on Saffelia's bosom and Mary and Olive had begun an engrossing discussion about a new tight-hemmed dress in Topshop's window. The evening and Danny's first day back was ending.

Something ignited inside him. He could not let the day pass without one achievement. Everything had attacked him today – Wonder, Pry, Janna Chisely, Amanita and lastly, the revelation about the dead body. Always the passive observer, the victim, Danny wanted to be the victor for a change. Draining the dregs of his coke he stood. Amanita, noting the rebellious look in Danny's eye, also stood up and began to sway, the alcohol liberating her limbs into wild, fluid motions.

'I'm leaving,' Danny proclaimed, announcing his departure as if it were permanent exile.

'I'm leaving too,' Amanita added, before nipping to the toilet to relieve her straining bladder.

'Wait for me, won't you,' she continued over her shoulder in Danny's direction.

What would it matter. One more minute to walk his mate home, and then to bed to dream about a one-on-one with Amatory Poise.

Amanita emerged, lip cream reapplied, hair straightened, eyes alive with drunken desire. She took Danny's arm without him offering it and bid the others goodnight, marching out before Danny could even say his own goodbyes.

In the cloudy moonlight gusts of early autumn, fresh ocean air slapped their cheeks and Amanita wrapped her soft coat closely around her. Danny began walking the hill to their homes but Amanita pulled on his arm gently in the opposite direction.

'How about a little walk by the sea?'

Before waiting for a response she shuffled away in that direction, her dancing arms balancing the straying trail her feet led. It seemed the path of least resistance was irresistible. Amanita paused at the white railings separating the road from the beach, and waited for Danny to catch her up. Huge gusts of wind and spray blew from the dark sea and crashed in their faces, making Danny feel alive. A lamp from above lit their features. He glanced at Amanita's robust thighs garrisoned in black lace. Her stillettos made her one inch taller than him and completed a transformation from meek school girl to a woman wielding sexual power. She gazed to the sea and Danny tried to guess what she was thinking, if anything. Amanita's chubby face, normally invisible behind thick glasses and domineering scowls had now become accessible. A healthy peachpink sheen made her cheeks glow above rounded lips that tempted. They seemed to glimmer a profusion of reds in the lamp light. When the light dimmed they became claret and wine-coloured, but when it glowed the cochineal stains made them come alive in swollen scarlet. The sky had cleared and allowed flashing pinpricks of red and blue light to wink at Danny as his thoughts became absorbed in the vast mystery of the cosmos. He was thinking about the possibility of life on other planets when the soft pressure of Amanita's hand on his upper arm pulled him from his reverie.

Amanita crept in to the valley of Danny's parted legs and leant forward so her face was mere centimetres from his. With weariness still battling the artificial stimulants of sugary coke, and the inky sky shrouding them both in isolation Danny couldn't stop what was happening. Both her arms circled him and pressed his chest against hers.

'Kiss me Danny.'

It was a simple request now they had come this far. It seemed churlish to pull away now. His lips met hers like a dove submitting to the claw which impales it. Her tongue, a writhing slippery beast jostled as much with her own will as it did with Danny's dormant sugar-coated flesh. After a minute of impassioned necking he could feel her crimson grease stain his face and briefly withdrew, pulse racing. Sex was turning a switch, turning off consciousness and giving free rein to unruly hormones. He didn't care about any of the consequences – he just wanted her now and it was all that mattered.

'I want you,' he breathed in her face.

Amanita separated her legs and Danny moved his leg, between them, before pulling her face back to his, to kiss some more.

'Say my name.' Amanita whispered, as her top lip trailed a moistness down his chin. 'Say my name.'

'Amanita. I want you, Amanita.'

Planting her mouth on his she pressed as much of herself into him as she could manage, teeth clashing loudly, tongues extended to tickle each's tonsils, both sucking air from each other's lungs as though they had evolved into a new form of breathing. When they released Amanita gently patrolled his face with wet kisses, licking back the lipstick from his marked flesh.

'That's enough.'

She disentangled herself as Danny advanced, sex swelling in his eyes.

'I have to go now,' she called as she ran, skipping playfully into the distance. A black taxi pulled up on the kerb, and flashed its lights at her. She got in without giving him a second look, before it drove up the hill towards her home.

*

We're in the wood again, bathing in the green rushes beneath the acacia tree. She told me a secret today. She whispered it softly against my ear lobe, leaving a dew of her wetness there. I slapped my hand to my mouth in shock. 'But you can't do that' I said. 'That's naughty.' She just smiled at me. I haven't seen her smile like that before.

Dance Class **  
**

With a lilting sigh Danny compressed a hidden tear from his eyelid, as he watched the first leaf fall from the tree in his back garden. It hadn't turned brown yet, still retaining the chlorophyll that indicated latent vitality. Still, it fell. Cut off before it's time. The first to descend before Autumn hit. Perhaps it was better that way.

He rubbed his head as he crawled to a sitting position in bed. Mirages of the drunken fumbling the previous night flooded back. It had been too raw and confusing for words. How had he let himself be suckered in again? What was Amanita playing at? Who was the girl who had died in the forest? As sleep faded to waking, the rising consciousness washed away the wallpaper of vibrant dreams. Danny stuck his foot out of the duvet then, as onrushing cold surrounded the pink flesh, quickly replaced it. Surely it was not yet necessary to rise? He glanced at his clock – it was already eight-thirty. Shit. He would be late for form room.

Throwing on his uniform, Danny fastened the bare minimum of buttons on his school shirt. Looking in the mirror he saw an appearance more ragged than the fresh crispness he presented the day before. Gazing out the window his eyes focused on the fallen leaf, now subject to the mercy of the fickle wind.

Polly had already risen and finished her breakfast by the time he emerged in the kitchen.

'Dad wants you to stay in tonight. He says you woke him up when you came in. What time was it?' she signed, wearily.

Danny signed back.

'Okay. One in the morning.'

Polly rolled her eyes, before grabbing her satchel and slinking out the door.

Danny fixed himself some cold sausage and eggs and sat down at the table to tuck in. It was already nine so he figured it didn't really matter if he was late now. He could just go straight to the first lesson and still be early for it if he skipped form. Pulling out his timetable to see which lesson was first his heart jumped a beat. Written in clear, bold type, equal to all the other lessons, shouted the single word – "Dance". Perhaps it was a mistake, Danny thought. Perhaps it was a new class on 'Dante', and it was simply a typo? Yes most probably Danny thought, as he polished off his third egg-dripping sausage.

The walk to school was refreshing. He was alone today, minus Saffelia who had rejoined Mary and Olive on their walk to school. The wind gusted heavily down the coastline. As he raised his eyes to allow the first sighting that morning of Amberleigh Castle the wind rushed in his eyes, prompting streaks of water to run down his cold pink cheeks.

Curling his neck-length hair in his finger, Danny pushed open the door to an empty St George's gym. He walked over to the wall bars and started climbing until he could see out the top window, surveying the path to school and the way he had walked. Quiet satisfaction flowered inside from seeing where he had come.

A voice behind him nearly made him lose his footing and fall off, but he managed to grab hold of another wooden bar on the way down and maintain a stationary yet precarious position.

'Danny Canterbury, I presume.'

A feeling ran through Danny akin not just to fear, but also disgust as he heard his name spoken in that thin, reedy, metallic voice. He turned his body round and faced the hollow eyes of Ursula Calcite.

'We meet again, little boy?'

She continued talking, pacing the gym in a patchwork floaty dress and gold slippers. Her head seemed to nod involuntarily at intervals as she walked, which gave Danny the impression of a cantering racehorse. Her large chin jutted out like a dolphin's beak and momentarily imagining the possibility, Danny suppressed a giggle.

'Dr Calcite. I was just looking...'

'I could see what you were doing – get down from there at once!' she barked officiously.

Danny sprang off and landed sprightly on his feet in front of the dirty-blonde hair and honeyed smile.

'Sorry to have get so...teachery with you so soon Danny. You see,'

She murmured and rested her hand on Danny's shoulder; her voice was different now, soft and delicate.

'I would like us to be friends, you know. I would like to be friends with you and your friends. It's...important to me.'

Smiling at him, she exposed glistening white teeth. This close up her skin looked rough and Danny noticed tiny imperfections which the L'Oreal must have missed.

'Yes Miss.'

'You may call me Ursula,' she whispered in his ear.

'Yes Miss,' repeated Danny, unaware he had made any error. She smiled forgivingly.

'Okay. Now do run along with your other class mates and get changed into your dancing shoes.'

'But I haven't brought any...'

It was no good. Ursula had already turned her back on Danny and was walking to the other end of the gym, patently hearing but choosing to ignore any question he was about to utter. Danny strode to the changing rooms and encountered confused looks from both Tim and Benjamin.

'I haven't brought any dancing shoes.' Tim moaned.

'Neither have I,' continued Benjamin. 'What a waste this is – we could be playing football, basketball, tennis, anything. Why are we doing fucking dancing? This isn't PE, this is the rise of the fucking feminist manifesto, that's what this is.'

Danny looked round. Benjamin's unanswered question reflected on the faces of all his male mates. As they trooped into the gym wearing their usual school kits and trainers, the girls did the same but giggling loudly, their enthusiasm not even thinly disguised. Danny glanced at the girls. Janna stood furthest from him. No, she wasn't the furthest, there was someone else. It was Amanita.

'Now, I would like you all to gather round me in a circle. That's right,' Calcite called as they shuffled along, the boys keeping to one side, well away from the girls.

'Good, good,' Calcite echoed as they all settled down. 'Now,' she said looking round at them all, smiling as broadly as her wide chin would allow, 'I would like the circle to be composed of boy-girl, boy-girl, and so on. You get the idea. For example – you Liam Flicker, come stand by...sorry what's your name?' Ursula approached a short girl with attractive blonde girls and a cute smile.

'Coco. Coco Romeo.'

Calcite smiled so rapidly Danny thought she had found Coco's name amusing. A spasm of anger shot up his chest.

'That's...a lovely name. Please stand next to Liam – he will be your dance partner for this class,' Calcite confirmed happily.

A look of horror spread quickly from boy to boy as they realised they were to be paired off. Their looks were nothing to match the look that crossed Liam Flicker's face. Captain of the school football team, player in the school cricket team and determined athlete, Flicker had cultivated his reputation of burgeoning masculinity proudly among his year group and didn't want to see it trounced in one fell swoop.

'I'm sorry Dr Calcite, I'm afraid there's been a mistake. You see, I don't dance,' Liam asserted firmly, annoyance breaking through his polite exterior.

Calcite smiled.

'Oh Mr Flicker, I'm sure that's not true. I'm sure you'd dance very well,' Calcite sniggered, smugness crossing her broad features.

'No I wouldn't.' Liam said shortly.

Ursula Calcite walked back to him and looked him square in the eye. Merely inches from his face her breath billowed up his nostrils. Liam took a step back and her expression grew even more fierce.

'Is there something wrong?' she asked, an icy coolness entering her voice.

'No, just that your...'

'What?'

'It's just that your...er, perfume is really...well, it's really strong.'

The whole thing happened as quick as lightning. With one swift sweep from her golden slippers, she knocked Liam from his feet. He fell to the floor, banging his shoulder on a small crevice in the polished wood floor. A gash opened and blood seeped out. Calcite stood over him triumphant.

'Mr Flicker, I suggest you learn a little more balance. I think you'll need it if you're going to be school football captain this year, and I'm quite sure you'll need it in dance class. Now please remove yourself from my sight and clean your suppurating wound.'

Liam stood up and bolted back to the changing room, silent tears falling from moist eyes. As he ran Danny saw from the expression on Liam's face the pain from his shoulder was nothing compared to the humiliation Calcite inflicted on him, deliberately in front of the female contingent. Like a flitting moth, Calcite's tone again lightened to a syrupy, high-pitched squeak.

'Now – I trust there will be no more disobedience on the part of the rest of the fifth-years?'

Reluctantly the boys shifted round the circle so they each faced a girl. Danny walked slowly, desperately trying to find a girl who hadn't been taken. There was only one left – it was Amanita.

'Hi.' Danny said.

Amanita kept her mouth shut tight.

As they began to grip their partners under Calcite's instruction, Amanita felt rigid in Danny's arms. A grimace seemed permanently painted to her face. Danny could not understand her behaviour, last night or now, but he was determined not to show even the slightest crack in his composure. Not just for the sake of winning whatever silent battle Amanita was fighting him, but to preserve his status with Calcite. He did not want to end up humiliated like Flicker. Saffelia and Tim seemed to be having more luck. As a pair they looked graceful, and even Tim looked like he was enjoying himself. Of course it was different when it was your girlfriend. He glanced over at Janna, who was being bounced round the floor energetically by Benjamin Sprite, and looked like she was loving it.

The lesson wore on. As they moved about the room in a snake, occasionally twirling their partners, Calcite broke everyone up to teach them the soft-shoe shuffle. Janna Chisely was partnered with Charlie Shackleton, who kept treading on her toes. A small smile crossed Danny's face. With a short loud clap, Calcite ended the lesson.

'For homework I would like you all to find time to practice with your partners. By the start of next week's lesson I would like you all to have mastered the soft-shoe shuffle. That will be all.'

They shuffled from St George's. Even Edmund Cloves seemed intimidated by the new teacher, resolutely refusing to join in the wisecracks about watching Florence Croft lap-dance for him next time.

*

As the week progressed deep into rainy autumn, Danny was granted little insight into why Amanita had come onto him and abruptly left him hanging. He joined Tim at lunchtime to spend a miserable wet break in Dr Cleaver's classroom, playing board games.

'I just don't understand what she's playing at,' Danny whined, boring himself with the subject.

'Don't ask me, mate. I don't understand women at all,' Tim moved his pawn closer to Danny's knight.

'What about you and Saffelia?' Danny asked, staring hard at the chessboard and pondering his next move.

'What about us? I don't pretend to understand everything about her. Why would I, we're teenagers?' He lowered his voice. 'You saw what she was like in the Grove.'

Danny glanced up at Tim, and for a moment they stopped playing.

'Have you...I mean, is it...do you know anything else about...you know, what happened?' Danny asked tentatively, noting the fear in Tim's eyes.

Tim averted his gaze back to the chessboard.

'No idea mate. She won't discuss it. All she said was it was something to do with when she was a kid and buried in the past and that's where she'd like to keep it. Something she doesn't want to go back to. Are you going to move that castle, or do I have to move it for you?'

Danny had been fingering his castle for the last five minutes but still hesitated.

'Don't you want to find out? It could be important, she could be...you know...' Danny's voice trailed off. He didn't really know what he had been about to say, and sensed the rising pressure in Tim's voice.

'Look, if you want to know so much why don't you bloody ask her!'

Danny looked up at him, then took Tim's pawn with his castle. Tim responded immediately by taking his castle with his queen.

'Checkmate. I'm off to get some food.'

Before Danny could shout after him Tim scuttled off, leaving Danny to pack up the games. The orange painted walls of Dr Cleaver's classroom made it claustrophobic to many, but Danny didn't mind so much. It made him feel warm and sheltered, unlike Cleaver herself who was about as protective as tissue paper. He gazed out the rain-stained glass, drops fell like tears, extending their motion down the streaked panes. The view looked out on the grassy pentangle, where the last of summer's flowers were dying away.

The door opened behind and Danny heard it click shut. Turning around, he saw the expectant face of Saffelia.

'Tim said you wanted to speak to me?' she asked, resting dainty hands on a chair.

Danny smiled.

'No. Not really. Tim's just being silly. Come in. Talk to me while I put these games away.'

'These are my games. I donated them to the school. Or rather my Dad made me. He said I didn't need them anymore,' Saffelia said, a note of regret rising in her voice.

Danny was not sure what to say to the sudden admission. About to ask her something, he paused before speaking and changed direction.

'Would you like to go grab a sandwich?'

Saffelia giggled as they walked the corridor between Spirals one and two, towards the Roasthouse.

'Did you enjoy the dance class?'

'I think you know the answer to that one Saffelia.' Danny returned, laughing.

'You two looked so sweet together,' she whispered into his ear as they walked along.

Samuel Mills and Dawn Russet passed them, hand in hand. A faint smell of chemical smoke accompanied them. Danny felt unsure. Had Amanita spoken to Saffelia about him? Should he ask her? With her episode in the Grove over the summer he felt Saffelia was not the most reliable person to confide in, but Danny decided she was all he had.

'Saff, you don't know anything about why she...why she would be mad with me or want to...er get revenge on me, or something...do you?'

In a hesitant voice he asked the question, not wanting to give too much away, not wanting to press Saffelia with too many demands to leak gossip. However, the transformation in Saffelia was instantaneous. Her already pink cheeks blushed crimson and she faltered.

'I've just remembered. I've got to go and...pick up something.'

Saffelia ran back down the corridor, away into the distance. Weird behaviour was growing in school like a virus Danny thought. Both girls and boys it seemed were acting oddly these days. Keeping a hold of his friends' motives had translated into a puzzling, tantalising experience. It required him to master as much of his skills of logic as maths class. Or maybe it wasn't logic that he needed, Danny reflected, but that irrational enigma called female intuition.

*

Metal files and blocks of wood were pinned to the wall by rusty wires in Craftwork, St Plunket's Craft, Design and Technology facility. Faint music rose from a distant radio as Danny sat at the dusty work bench flicking bits of paper back and forth with Sol Castle. Their teacher had not showed up.

All the girls sat on the bench opposite. They gossiped noisily – something about Nick Fasco, the local hairdresser being seen taking Amatory Poise into the local nightclub, Shox. Danny reckoned Nick was late twenties so there must have been a ten year gap between them. The girls were in full flow, and Danny could see Lorraine Carr providing full hand motions. As he turned back to continue flicking paper between Sol and himself, he heard them whisper and could not pick up what they were saying. So he turned round again and saw Lorraine Carr pointing at him and giggling, although the redness in her face as Danny stared at her angrily told a thousand stories.

What were they laughing about? Why him? Did it have anything to do with him and Amanita? Amanita was in food technology, having taken a different option this year. Being the subject of school gossip was painful enough, but even more painful when you are within earshot, Danny thought.  
The door opened behind the teacher's desk, and Rover Burberry walked in wearing a Gucci tank top and Armani jeans. Several girls blushed as he looked at them. He spoke with a light Welsh accent.

'Hello, laydeez and jence. I'm he-are to teach you woodwork. I'd like you orll to billed something for your herms this term – something yousfall in the kitcshen, something your pair-ence will like. Please noow. Get to work.'

Without raising an eyelid or shifting his tone, Burberry sat back on his chair and raised a newspaper so the class could no longer see his face. The girls leaned forward entranced. As he raised his feet on the desk he tapped his fingers and inserted earphones to his personal stereo. Five minutes passed. The only further movement the girls captured was a slow turn of the page as Burberry continued to read.

The bustle of students gradually rousing to their work began. Several of the more proficient girls bagsied the drill and nicked all the best wood. Danny sat, half in disgust at his new teacher's complacency, half in delight Burberry failed to take an active interest in the lesson. Danny hated woodwork, and when told to make something with his hands, repeatedly found himself appallingly clumsy. He flicked the paper football back to Sol Castle, and walked to the wood bin to see what was left. A couple of wide sheets of plywood rested against the rim while at the bottom lay a few solid blocks of yellow wood. Danny knew it to be Canadian hardwood, Dr Woodbridge had described in detail its robust properties last year, before he had sadly succumbed to Flambeau's reprehensible plan.

Danny spent the rest of the lesson chatting with Sol about the best England line-up for the forthcoming world cup, while fiddling with the block of wood in his hands. For fear of Burberry springing an inspection upon them he drew a vague plan in his exercise book of a knife holder. When the bell rang, Danny looked up to see the folded newspaper rest over Dr Burberry's face, while soft snores rose from beneath. Danny smiled to himself. This one would be a pushover.

In Maths Danny had excelled the previous year. As the week wore on he found himself clamouring for its reassuring logical boundaries. He had to wait until last thing on Thursday afternoon before he was properly introduced to Grace Downly, the new teacher of stream one. She walked in wearing a harsh look on wrinkled features, squinting behind awkward panes of glass that made her look fearsome.

'You there boy, what is the square root of –1?'

'Er...1?' Richey Athurston answered nervously.

'So the square of 1 is –1? Ridiculous. You've just lost ten house points for Pasteur my boy!'

They had been studying some of the hardest problems in level nine, the highest-level-but-one of the curriculum. Danny found it challenging, but more satisfying when he got one right because of the difficulty.

'The square of –1 is 1, but the root of –1 is impossible to determine?'

'Very good.'

Grace Downly smiled at him, revealing partly broken teeth and vaseline slithered lips. Danny shuddered and wished Fuzzair was back taking their stream.

*

Dad bought me a Wham bar today and all Luka got was a crumpled bag of salty crisps. Ha ha. It's because I won. I won the ballet competition. And Lucy came third. She came third and I came first. We are best friends now. Best friends for ever and ever.

Infiltration

'Samuel Taylor Coleridge!' bellowed Ursula Calcite.

Her measured vowels sliced the classroom air like sun through dust. As she strode along the aisles, nervous students watched her carefully from the corner of their eyes, especially Liam Flicker.

'Who can tell me the name of Coleridge's most famous poem?'

Silence greeted her question, not through ignorance but fear.

'No-one? Am I to pick a volunteer at random?'

Calcite strolled to her desk and pretended to pick out a name in an arbitrary fashion. The whole class felt what was coming.

'Liam Flicker! Please can you tell me the name of Coleridge's most famous poem.'

With his shoulder visibly bandaged through his school jumper, Liam grimaced with pain but forced out two hard-earnt words to meet his teacher's request.

'Kubla Khan.'

Ursula smiled. With horror, Danny registered the same two-faced, false smile she'd flashed at him while he remained stuck in a tree in the Grove.

'Very good, Mr Flicker. Am I to assume from this earnest literary guess you are now endeavouring to be a teacher's _pet_? If so, you still have a long way to go.'

With this last slur, she drew her breath on the word "pet" emphasising Liam's humiliation. Some giggled. Liam grimaced again.

'Oh dear, Mr Flicker, it appears you are in considerable pain. Perhaps you should see me after class, and I can give you something for the tenderness.'

Danny felt a flame of anger flicker into life. It was unnecessary. No doubt she would torture Liam with extra homework, or some other undeserved punishment.

'Danny Canterbury!' Calcite bellowed. 'Please can _you_ tell us why Coleridge's most famous poem remains unfinished?'

Danny looked round, Saffelia's hand had shot into the air. Hoping Calcite would spot the zeal of his fellow student and relent from extracting a pointless answer from himself, Danny moved his head to indicate Saffelia but Calcite's gaze remained fixed upon him.

'Mr Canterbury, are you able to furnish us with an answer?'

Danny felt the eyes of the class on him. He knew Janna Chisely was watching him, a few desks back, probably enjoying his squirming. Although behind and not within his eyeline, the knowledge of her presence turned his cheeks scarlet.

Danny shook his head, mouthing the word, 'Sorry.'

'There's no need to apologise Danny dear, it was a hard question.'

Calcite spoke softly and more sweetly than Danny could have imagined. It was no use trying to predict what Ursula Calcite would do next. With great reluctance, Calcite motioned to Saffelia for the answer.

'Miss, Coleridge didn't finish the poem because it was the interpretation of a dream he had. He only managed to record the lines he wrote until he was interrupted and asked to go off on business. On returning from his business, Coleridge tells us he could no longer recall the remnants of his dream. Very beautifully, I think, he compares his forgotten dream to a stream of images into which a stone has been cast, and made the images disperse. He tells us the stream of images was never again able to be called forth.'

The class sat forward in their seats, intrigued by Saffelia's précis.

'Very good, Miss Forrest. Coleridge had indeed taken a nap, shall we say? Under the influence of opium, a powerful drug, he had the most magnificent dream which he then turned into a world-famous poem. I would like us all to read this poem, now. Ian Phalanger, can you start for us please?'

As the class played out the reading, Calcite followed up with further analysis about Coleridge's drug-fuelled creative state. When she threw questions out at the class, Saffelia was the only one to consistently answer the questions she posed. The lesson ended with Calcite setting them a research assignment: to find out as much as they could about Khan, and uncover how much of Coleridge's poem or dream could be true.

Danny sidled to lunch, his head spinning from visions and images of hills, trees, seas and caverns. It seemed like Amberleigh to him. The place that Coleridge had described in his poem was full of dark secrets, deeply hidden. Bohemian, scented with magnolias, the world described by those precious lines was conducive to days spent dreaming, being creative, inspiring ideas alone with his imagination. The words seemed to haunt him. As Tim attempted to talk to him about the delights awaiting in the upcoming 5-aside tournament, Danny merely waved a hand in front of his face to indicate acquiescence. When the lunch break ended Tim resorted to flicking bits of meatball at Danny to grab his waning attention. It was a decision he later regretted as hunger returned to haunt him during the afternoon in increasing waves.

*

Danny stared at the blank page the computer screen presented. Hundreds of thoughts seemed to flash across his mind. They moved too fast. The moment they registered they disappeared back into the ether. If neurons travelled at the speed of light how could he catch them and articulate them on the page using those lethargic shapes called letters? How was it possible to capture into perpetuity such transient notions? How was it possible to locate in words the myriad of miniature events from that day, and relate to some distract third party precisely how he felt at one exact moment? Desperate confusion forged a union with intense elation, and pounding adrenaline crashed into waves of fear that ran his blood cold. Belladonna Whimsy – was he wrong to dismiss her as a frivolous hanger-on, a pretty bit of fluff? How could someone be physically beautiful yet so callous? The incongruity plagued his immature mind. It was a fantastic strangeness yet to be conquered. Perhaps never to be conquered. Her words, soft and syrupy, were more devastating for their disguise. The memory of her collided with the other thoughts from the day.

'Repeat after me – you are here to agree with me.'

The rhyme was insistent and compelling. Almost irresistible. Almost.

'Repeat after me – you are here to agree with me.'

One forcing her will on another, bending another's will to match her own. Her damaging, irreparably bad, own. Those epic lips –potent, full, red. Surely such lips would not be party to terror-filled entreaties?

The _Oracle_ was waiting and Danny began to type. Not even complete words to begin with, just letters, fighting each other on the page for a few lines until they formed sentences that galloped across the page in unconcealed honesty. He wanted to be everything she was not, the antithesis of her damaged daintiness.

As anger and bitterness drained from him Danny gradually began to write. With his temperament now calmer from the catharsis, he felt more amenable to the task Amanita had set. A note had appeared in his school bag the previous day, inviting him to get his skates on and write his favourite lesson. Relations had maintained their icy surface but, as it always did when conflict with Amanita reared, an uneasy understanding had developed. It was now almost professional between them, and she had been resolutely unwilling to discuss the personal matters Danny knew were secretly behind her actions and thoughts. What she did not know or could not foresee was that he had a surprise in store for her. Yes, he was going to write the essay, write it well, to his self-proud best. It would not however be a school lesson. It would be something much more.

Upon finishing, a feeling of contentment surged. Danny saved his work and switched the computer off. It was eerily dark outside. He looked around, the empty crisp packets and apple cores signalled Tim's recent presence in the press room. Remembering the fear both he and Tim had first overcome to enter this oversized cupboard at the back of Pry's classroom, it had now become a kind of second home for the three teens, despite the fact two of its occupants were not on speaking terms. It had felt novel last year, but now it was relaxing – a place where they could see the world coming, and respond to it. Familiarity engenders simplicity, and whether he liked it or not Tim and Amanita had become his second family, Danny thought. He was about to switch the computer back on to add this sublime thought to his _Oracle_ piece when a small crash from outside the door brought Danny back to the here-and-now. He turned around instantly, but the door remained closed and he was still the only one present. Perhaps a reminder of how nervy he was.

Walking down the wooden steps and through Pry's classroom, Danny followed the normal route. Descending spiral two he emerged from the nearest door. It led to a shortcut across the dark playground, to the safety of the well-lit path away from school. Looking back at Plunket's and the castle, Danny saw several lights were still on. He knew one was Ursula Calcite's room. A few others emitted lamplight – Grace Downly, Fuzzair, Wonder and Alessandro. Danny sighed in sadness at their gloomy destinies, to teach apathetic adolescents in a small town, and turned to make his weary way home. As he turned he slipped on something, nearly losing his balance. The recovery sent him careering into a rock, and he shouted out in anguish. Something glinted in the moonlight. He looked down and saw a half-open piece of silver foil. As Danny turned it over with his foot white powder crumbled out. Probably washing powder or a half-eaten sherbet fountain or something like that. Too tired to think, and with night closing on Danny fast he walked on. Into the evening, away from Plunket's to sense the oncoming claustrophobia of autumn and inevitable sludge of fallen leaves.

*

As a nimbus of calm floated through his lithe body Danny sauntered to the Roasthouse. It was time for his food technology class to start, and in a rare moment of clarity he knew exactly what to do. As water poured from the taps into Carmione's transparent jug, Danny gently rested his school bag on the floor behind his desk, and quietly took his seat.

A second presence haunted the room. With her back to Danny she watered plants on the far side of the room. From this distance, he could make out the sweeping raven hair which, had it been golden instead of black, would make him think God showed a mirage of Chardelia in heaven. But it wasn't Chardelia. The molten mist in her hair convinced Danny it was dyed. Only when she turned did her bell-bottom lips pout at him. With her glassy eyes staring and twinkling simultaneously Danny remembered that Belladonna had become Professor Carmione's assistant for the year.

Strolling to the front of the class, she did not remove her gaze from him. Growing increasingly nervous, Danny tried again to appear calm. He couldn't fail to remember their last encounter, when Belladonna's towel had dropped in front of him and bared every inch of her naked flesh.

'Hello Master Canterbury, I've been hearing a lot about you from Professor Carmione. Would you like a mint?'

She held out a dainty hand to Danny and offered him a thick white disc from an unmarked green foil packet.

'No thanks, I'm trying to give them up,' Danny replied.

The twinkle had transferred to his eye as he turned his head and watched the rest of class pile in. Belladonna's eyes flashed with danger and she launched a toss of her lionine mane so fierce her twisting black hair momentarily brushed Danny's cheek. It felt like someone stroking his face with a feather.

Carmione sat at the front, her jug of water stationary on her desk.

'Now class, today we are going to bake bread. Can anyone tell me what this substance is before me?'

'Gin?' shouted Cedric Claw, to a chorus of sniggers from the rest of the class.

Florence Croft raised her hand.

'Miss, it's water.'

'That's right Florence. Take ten house points. Water is perhaps the most simple ingredient you will use in this kitchen. Because it is freely available does not diminish its status as the most important, and the most powerful. With one drop too little your bread will become hard, crumble and flake away before you can even place it on your baking sheet and into your oven. It will make for a very tough, inedible loaf.'

Cedric Claw's hand shot into the air, and he giggled whilst surreptitiously looking at the new HE assistant.

'Miss?'

'It's Professor actually Cedric,' Carmione responded wearily, motioning for him to continue.

'Professor, I was wondering if I could put my bun in Miss Whimsy's oven?' The collection of boys – Ian Phalanger, Benjamin Sprite and Edmund Cloves sitting around Cedric burst into half-laughter, half-applause at his audacious question. Cedric, a true poker bluffer, remained straight-faced.

Danny watched Belladonna carefully for a reaction. He expected to see a flushed face, embarrassment and perhaps even shock, but there was not a bit of it. A gentle, almost patronising smile broke on her lips. Determination flared in her eyes, revealing the ferocity of an anger that belied her smile. It made Danny afraid. In a second the glare was gone, and her features softened. With a bowed head and a sweeping gesture Carmione motioned for Cedric to leave the room. He duly obliged, having earnt a few more brownie points among his crew.

'As Cedric has kindly reminded me, I would like to introduce to you all our new HE assistant. As you all know Miss Whimsy is here to assist you in your cooking and home economics projects. As Appalachian said at the start of term I expect you to show you Miss Whimsy the same, if not higher level of respect you show your teachers. Miss Whimsy is a fantastic chef, and comes to us from Eastchapel Catering College, where she trained with one Candice Crennell, who I believe some of you may have heard of?'

A murmuring spread round the room before muting to a hush. Since Cedric's joke the tone had changed from one of impending hilarity to respect and, much to Danny's shame, awe. Candice Crenell was a famous celebrity chef, with a manner as streetwise as her dishes were delicious.

Later that evening Danny and Tim wandered down the rainy cobbles of Amberleigh hill into town. They headed straight for O'Donnells first, the local sweet shop and café. Quite often they liked browsing in there, even if they weren't buying. They were grateful too. They knew implicitly that any overheard confidences would not be breached by the owner, the youngish looking Keo O'Donnell.

Surrounded by the fragrant odours of sherbet fountains and red and black liquorice, they paused and breathed in the sugary scents. The pungent nail-varnish aroma of fresh pear drops swam in the air and bold-coloured gobstoppers looked threateningly out at them from a tall glass jar on the back shelf.

'Tim – when are you going again?' Danny asked absentmindedly.

'A couple of days. Should be good. Flicker's going to set us up with, I mean, he's going to take us out on a good night I think.'

As Tim's voice faded Danny felt a lingering displacement. Something jarred with the mental harmony his mind insisted on. Was it another, different smell? He fancied some bon-bons and put his hand in his pocket to check his change when a familiar southern drawl spoke from behind him.

'Twenty Marlboro lights please.'

Danny glanced over his shoulder to confirm his guess at the smoker's identity. He could not explain how, but even before she spoke he could have guessed Belladonna Whimsy would invade one of their stalwart teen territories. She looked glammed up for a night on the town. Surveying her as she stood, impatiently tapping her foot on the marble floor, Keo O'Donnell reached back for her cigarettes. She wore a short patterned skirt that clung to black tights like a baby clings to its mother. Her arid blue top bore a neckline which plunged to her cleavage, implied wantonness and to Danny, delicious depravity.

'Hello boys,' Whimsy said from the corner of her mouth without turning to greet them.

Tim looked in awe and Danny stepped in front of him, remembering his vulnerability with Chukchi last year.

'Hello Miss Whimsy, I didn't know you smoked?'

'There's a lot of things you don't know about me, little boy. Off back home to play on your Nintendos are you?'

She smiled, flashing pink lip gloss at them both, and making Tim drool. Exiting the shop, she paused near the door while she attempted to light her cigarette. Danny watched as she clamped the slender orange and white tube between pillowed lips, imprinting a delicate shade of cerise grease on the filter. She drew her breath in deeply. As a wisp of slate blue smoke rose from the tip, a thicker plume spiralled from her lips. Danny felt funny watching her.

He exited with his bag of bon-bons, Keo smiling mysteriously at him as he left. Whimsy still stood outside, her arm crossing her chest to meet her upright arm at the elbow, as its hand held her cigarette. Danny saw she smoked passionately. There was no slyness or embarrassment – she wrapped her mouth around the filter fully, sucking joyously and breathing out her fumes with righteous assertiveness. Catching sight of Danny and Tim as they left, she spoke to them as if they were emerging from the sugary dreams of their youth into the risky games of adulthood.

'Want one?'

She extended a hand containing her cigarette packet to Tim, one ambergold filter protruded toward him like a beckoning finger. He looked at her, a soppy submissive look crossing his eyes. To Danny's amazement he saw Tim's hand move from his pocket to her hand. He grabbed Tim by the arm and set him off back up the hill again, calling to Whimsy as he went.

'No thanks Miss. Maybe another time.'

*

The bell rang and Danny thought it louder than usual. Glancing up he saw the bell vibrate slightly above him, but he never would have known it ring just from looking at it. A lifeless grey thing, it seemed separate from the insistent tones it beat into students' ears. A second would pass, Danny calculated, before the surge of voices and rushing feet spilled out into the corridor where he stood.

Jim Travershall's classroom was right at the top of Amberleigh Castle, the exact opposite side of the school to Professor Pry's. As Danny made his way to his history lesson, Danny counted the gargoyles which peered at him from the sides of the spiral staircase. For some reason there were more on this side of school than anywhere else in the castle. It unnerved Danny. They gave him the impression he was literally travelling back in time as he moved towards the history class.

Danny sat next to the window as he had in Flambeau's laboured lessons. He used this location to glance out and watch whatever action took place on the shimmering isle on which they played sports. Gazing at hockey girls' tired legs amble and leap across Fourlawns had always been eternally more fascinating than listening to the exploits of paupers in seventeenth century England. However Danny wondered if he should pay more attention in this lesson, it being Travershall's first, and not trusting what he had seen of the man so far.

Janna Chisely sat against the far wall on the other side of the room. She could have been the other side of the world if their friendship was represented by geography. In spite of this, and being the one who precipitated their split, he couldn't help gazing wistfully at her. She sat beside Rosetti Duocorn, but in his eyes there was no contest between them. With her slender ivory-white nose, pursed pink lips and flowing unbleached blonde locks Janna presented an elegant profile. She stared straight ahead, almost as if she were determined not to throw any look in Danny's direction. Sol Castle arrived and sat down next to Danny.

'Alright Danny? How's it going me old mucker?'

Sol meant well but his over-jovial tones irritated Danny. He was only being friendly because Sol had to sit next to him. Normally Sol wouldn't say a word to Danny if they were in the playground. Danny detested such falseness. He was also tired of seeing Sol and Mary Oconee kissing in form room every time he went in, secretly reminding him of indulgent hours he'd spent with Janna and Anjalie, moments now firmly in the past.

Jim Travershall walked in wearing a white short-sleeved short and tweed trousers, the colour of which nearly matched his thinning ginger hair. He wore his gold-rimmed glasses which gleamed white in the sun.

'Today class, we will delve into the late eighteenth century and focus on the life and times of one peculiar but very interesting fellow – Thomas De Quincey. Please open your text books at page seventy-three.'

Groaning, the class did as they were told. They saw a picture of a man who lay on a bed, almost dead, his face languid and sallow, as red locks peeped from his make-shift hat and dangled on the floor. His open shirt made the picture look tragic, and his left arm clutched at his chest, as if trying to rid himself of some devastating poison, or otherwise confirm it still existed.

'Now, please turn to page one hundred and forty-three. Michael please read from the second paragraph onwards, from "whereas wine".'

Michael Vitus sucked in a deep breath of air before releasing his deep yet sweet floating voice amongst the class.

"Whereas wine disorders the mental faculties, opium, on the contrary introduces amongst them the most exquisite order, legislation and harmony. Wine robs a man of his self-possession; opium sustains and reinforces it. Wine unsettles the judgment, and gives a preternatural brightness and a vivid exaltation to the contempts and the admirations, to the loves and the hateds, of the drinker..."

Michael's reading ceased abruptly.

'Sir, should we really be studying this? De Quincey seems to be saying we should take opium as opposed to drinking alcohol. But isn't opium an illegal substance?'

Travershall looked carefully at Vitus, scratching his head in the same puzzled manner he had when being introduced to the school year.

'Michael raises an interesting question. Would anyone else in the class like to venture an answer?' Travershall asked, seating himself calmly at his desk.

No-one raised a hand to begin with and then slowly, a faltering hand from the beautiful blonde girl on the far side rose in the air, like a newly hatched chick taking its first steps.

'Sir, opium has medicinal effects,' Janna Chisely said, her nerves not constricting her natural grace.

'Correct my dear, please see me after class.'

A throb of jealousy or envy or something malicious coursed through Danny. The rest of the lesson passed in uneventful predictability. He watched on ruefully as Janna stayed behind at the end and engaged in lively conversation with Travershall. Danny remembered Janna's drunken behaviour at the school play last year. Trepidation mingled with still-flowing envy, rattling his body with the poison of anxiety.

*

Winter is coming. I can smell it like icy breath stealing the air from my lungs making me gasp when I walk. It hasn't snowed yet though. I want it to snow. Those flakes and crystals are so pretty when they fall. Like parcels of tiny love from God. At night I leave the window open, hoping one will strike me while I sleep.

Phoebe Forrest **  
**

The walk to Saffelia's house took an eternity. As the mild weather faded away a sharp chill hung in the air, threatening overnight frost and possibly snow. Danny trudged through wet auburn leaves, past the golden oak tree that as a boy signalled his home boundary. Perhaps it was no coincidence Saffelia's house was surrounded by trees. A mini-forest in itself, their concealment allowed her family to live up to its name.

As he turned into their street, Tintanabby Close, a low musky fog hung over the road. The sickly glare from street lamps mixed with fog to throw an ethereal mauve glow over the homes. Knocking at Saffelia's front door Danny checked his shirt was tucked in his trousers and his shoelaces were tied. The door opened while he was still bent down and when he looked up Mrs Forrest stood over him, hands on her shapely hips, smiling broadly.

Standing in front of the decorated yellow ash mantelpiece, Phoebe Forrest checked her make-up.

'It's so kind of you to offer to go with Saffelia tonight, what with Tim being away at the 5 a-side tournament and Amanita tied up with the school newspaper. I hope we haven't set you to too much trouble.'

She conversed easily, clamping a cigarette firmly between plump, cracked lips. Allowing the smoke to curl in steel grey wisps from the tip, she released and breathed out a plume of pale blue smoke. Danny watched, fascinated. Her large bosom bobbed up and down in her white v-neck blouse and, as she gently moved one foot in front of the other, he saw her ample thigh stretch her black skirt. Danny remembered some sixteen years earlier Saffelia had emerged from beyond those thighs, from that dark sweet secret place.

'Danny?'

'Sorry, Mrs Forrest. I was...miles away.'

She cast him a knowing smile, but said nothing. Instead she walked to the hallway and called up the stairs to her daughter.

'Saffy dear. Danny is here.'

'Okay Mom, down in a second.'

Saffelia's voice sounded its normal bouncy and joyful self.

She came tumbling down the stairs. Her hair, in two blonde pigtails twisted and turned at the back of her head as she stood beaming at Danny.

'Hallo mate! Ready to go?'

'Of course. Let me grab my coat.'

Outside the fog had cleared a little. The air developed a crispness that seemed to freeze Danny's thoughts, not permitting him escape from them. The sight of voluptuous Mrs Forrest was hard to put from his mind, especially as her daughter walked beside him. Danny glanced at Saffelia's hair and noticed her pigtails were fixed by two pink and yellow hairclips in the shape of bunny rabbits.

When they entered the cinema Danny offered to buy the popcorn and Saffelia fetched drinks. They entered the auditorium and the warming mystery of darkness. Something settled in Danny when he walked out of the light. He liked the concealment shadows offered. When he went to bed at night and he was alone with the blackness he felt nothing could harm him. It was a comfort he felt unable to identify properly. Perhaps it was the solace of being alone with your thoughts. Perhaps the sensation of being one with God. Perhaps being alone with memories of happier times and people everyone else had forgotten.

As Danny's eyes acclimatised to the pleasing dark, Saffelia tugged on his arm for them to move to the back. Danny followed, thinking not of Saffelia but what he might get up to on the back row of the cinema with Mrs Forrest.

Ads and trailers flared the vast white screen into life. The film excited Danny – a tender exploration of attempts to break social barriers across classes, set in the middle of a revolution in South Africa. The distant country and alien language made the shared emotions in the three young leads more pronounced. As they sat on a pebble strewn beach, behind a backdrop of tin houses and broken homes, each took turns to suck molten toffee from tiny holes in each can, before transferring the golden nectar by kissing their female friend fully on the lips. It was a touching image: liquid sugar and cream shared between friends leading to sexual awakening. Danny felt something in him rise, and he loosened his collar.

'Are you okay Danny?' whispered Saffelia in his ear and he felt her soft breath tickle his cheek.

'Yes Saff, I'm fine.'

'Okay then.'

Saffelia returned to watching the movie and Danny absorbed himself in dreams of forbidden desires, imagining the impossible product of unrequited lust. The walk home passed mostly in silence. Danny grunted in reply to Saffelia's thoughts and musings on the movie before she suddenly switched subjects.

'Do you think Tim is chasing after other girls?'

Taken by surprise, Danny turned his head to look at Saffelia. Her question, which also languished vaguely at the back of his own mind, still shocked him because it indicated their relationship was not as secure as it appeared. Not willing to supply a verbal lie he shook his head slowly, hoping this would satisfy her. Miraculously, it seemed to work and she continued her mutterings about not understanding the revolutionary uprising at the end of the film.

Danny thought about Tim at the 5-a-side tournament. Spittlebug had finally relented following Tim's regular entreaties after PE, and included him in the squad he took to Forradern for the autumn meeting. Danny had never been, but had heard the club nights after each match provided ample opportunity for male visitors from Amberleigh to socialize with the locals from Forradern, including the aertex-shirted females from the Upper High. On a day trip with Tim and his family both lads had strained their eyes at the young women walking past their car, chests puffed out proudly. It wouldn't take much, Danny thought, to convince him to dally.

They reached Saffelia's house, just as clouds began to break and a thin film of snow formed on the cold ground beneath. A small wooden plaque with the words "Sherwood Cottage" burned in black was nailed to the wall next to the door. Saffelia pushed the door forwards, yawned and announced she was tired and nearly ready for bed. She wandered into the kitchen to fix Danny and herself a hot chocolate. Phoebe Forrest glided down the stairs, dressed in a silk dressing gown. Her make-up looked strangely immaculate, as if she had just applied it.

'Hello darlings,' she smiled at Danny, 'Saffy, can I have a tea please? Thanks.' She motioned Danny into the living room. 'Please Danny, do have a seat.'

He sat down on the large cream sofa, feeling strangely incongruous amid the white tassled cushions. Mrs Forrest sat on the other side of the sofa as Saffelia walked in, her eyelids drooping low on to red cheeks. She carried a tray of hot drinks and the warm smell of heated chocolate wafted over to Danny like a wave of love.

'Mom, I'm tired. Can I go to bed now please?'

'Oh, Saffelia, do you not want to stay up and talk awhile with Danny?' Phoebe whispered, not entirely convincingly. Saffelia shook her head, blonde curls bouncing by her swollen eyes. She trudged upstairs, softly humming a tune Danny had heard in the cinema.

'Well, well Danny. I do apologise for my daughter's tiredness.'

'That's alright Mrs Forrest,' Danny said quickly, desperate to get the words out before they escaped him.

'Drink up, before it gets cold. And please call me Phoebe.'

It was delicious hot chocolate, but Danny couldn't relax. Mrs Forrest's behaviour made him nervous. He knew he was more nervous because he was interested, and didn't trust himself. Only the thin veneer of her silk gown and nightie separated her body from Danny's desire. What if he lost control and ravaged her? He was afraid something would rise in himself and he wouldn't be able to stop but while he held the warm drink in his hands, maternal and kind, he felt inextricably committed to her company. Furthermore, especially as she had made a point of mentioning it, he felt he couldn't repeat Saffelia's rudeness by leaving Phoebe alone.

She moved a couple of inches up the sofa, as Danny gulped down another steaming mouthful of molten chocolate. Hot and rich, it burned the top of his mouth as exquisite cocoa flooded his taste buds. Outside tiny flakes of snow descended, accumulating on the window ledge in a frozen rim of moisture.

'Danny, can I ask you something?'

Danny nodded, unable to utter anything resembling words as her soft lips approached.

'I...well...it's quite embarrassing really. You're a...young man...and I...'

The heartbeat in Danny's chest grew faster, and he felt he had to do something to stop this progressing further. She wanted him to complete her sentence for her, to tell her she was not all that old, to make her feel as young as he was. It was all wrong. Her leaning head, soft curls resting on her silver silk nightie that even now slipped from her shoulder. Her aged yet dainty face and rounded lips, almost begging to be kissed, sat before him and he had to pinch himself to remind himself of the situation's reality.

'Mrs Forrest – I think I know what you're about to say and I can't say I'm not flattered but I think you should think about your husband and think about your children and think about Saffelia and think about your life! This isn't going to happen.'

Phoebe Forrest looked confused for a split second, and then realisation thawed in her eyes, even as she asked the question.

'What exactly...isn't going to happen?'

The dewy sparkle in her glowing eyes made Danny's heart skip another beat. Now he was unsure. Unsure if he had read the situation correctly, unsure if he had made a grave mistake or if he was about to be trapped yet again by another advancing female. There was only one thing to say.

'Mrs Forrest, I'm afraid I have to leave now.'

He nearly spilt the remaining hot chocolate as he crashed the mug down on the coffee table. Sprinting out the room and slamming their front door shut, he finally found a moment of peace; a drift of seclusion among the magnolia trees lining Saffelia's avenue, beneath the soft snow that fell like whispers from heaven.

*

Autumn hastened toward winter with unstoppable force. Danny watched the bloodpurple and winerusset leaves line his daily walk to school in thickening layers. A dark backdrop for even darker thoughts. Last night's argument with Amanita still rankled. It wasn't just the public nature of her outburst; Tim, Saffelia and Olive sitting in Wilfields were also struck by the dramatic change in Amanita's tone: from light-hearted cheeriness to bold accusation. Danny bore the brunt.

They had been joking about the differences between men and women, Danny smiling his way through the gentle banter, refusing to comment. As the wine flowed (Olive had managed to wangle a bottle with a sly wink at the new barman; whether she would be able to live up to the silent promise remained to be seen), Amanita had steadily become more and more drunk, speaking the praises of "super-women" who could hold down jobs, bring up children and grow old alone. In short, women who didn't need men. Danny could see the confrontation happening in front of his eyes before it did; a prophetic dream laced with malicious poison.

Her voice became rowdier, louder, drawing a few mild looks from the burly men at the bar. Danny thought he recognised one of them. Eventually Amanita had stood, posting her glass back down on the table and spilling a few drops of the red wine over Olive's silk white top. She had exclaimed:

'Well, why don't we hear Danny's opinion on the role of women in today's society? Come on Danny, speak up! We haven't heard a word from you all night, and you're usually so...vlocal!' she had slurred.

Danny's cheeks, growing the same colour as the wine, shrank back in his seat, hoping the large leather sofa would swallow him whole.

'Come on Danny!' Amanita egged on, 'You haven't said a fucking word all night!'

Perhaps it was the introduction of the expletive that connected with Danny, perhaps it was the outrageous arrogance of a woman, thinking solely of herself, picking on an innocent man just because of his gender, perhaps it was because he felt she was harassing him because of their kiss; or perhaps it was because Danny was a fighter, and refused to lay down in the face of continuing abuse but Danny stood up and eyeballed Amanita, molten fire burning in his liquid eyes.

'Amanita', he said, condemning with polite officiousness, 'if women are to be the paragon of elegance and the delimiters of style, then you are a disgrace to your sex.'

The scowl grew rapidly across her face but did not stop him. It only spurred him on.

'What's more, if your so-called "super-women" are the wonder species who can do several things at once – hold down jobs, bring up children single-handedly – then why is my experience of "super-women" a tribe of selfish, callous, ruthless individuals with verbal diarrhoea who are more obsessed with the artificial attractions of gossip and drama and fashion than the natural hard-won profundities of developing advances for human nature, or a worthwhile career protecting the natural world. If these group of women are so "super", and so secure in their position at the top of the food chain then why are they so self-consciously attacking men? "The lady doth protest too much, methinks".'

Danny had spent all evening getting the red wine out of his hair. It was Saffelia who, carefully unclutching her hand from Tim's, had stood and gently placed a hand on Danny's shoulder, stepping between the two fighting friends.

'Danny, much of what you say may be true, I am not sure as I am not an expert in these matters. Amanita has her opinions and you have yours. What I do know myself is that men and women should be treated with equanimity. They each have their strengths and their flaws. Oh yes Amanita, women too have their flaws. They are like men, only human.'

Amanita's red face bubbled with anger. Danny could only think what train of thoughts hurtled through her mind. Saffelia was supposed to be a "sister".

'Danny, this may well be a period of time when men are overlooked and unduly diminished,' Amanita had turned puce by now, 'but in the attempt to rectify any wrongs committed on your sex, you should not forget that men, like women are not perfect. I know that, perhaps better than many.'

Saffelia's blonde locks and pretty round face smiled quickly at Danny before she walked from Wilfields leaving Amanita, Tim and Danny to ruminate on her oblique closing remark.

*

'In poetry you have to be able to think clearly to understand a poet's intention. Poetry is as old as humanity itself. As long as humans have had the ability to write, they have expressed themselves through the undulating elegance of poetry. However, some poet's intentions may not always be honourable. You need to be able to see past that elegance to distinguish between love and hate, good and bad, chaos and kindness.'

Ursula Calcite swept along her classroom aisles, beaming smiles at individual pupils when they turned to see if she would pick on them.

'I am now passing round a series of sheets detailing a particular situation. I would like you to get into pairs to discuss each situation. Hmm...shall we have Liam and Florence, yes. How about Amanita and Ian? Saffelia – you can go with Samuel Mills. Yes. And Danny Canterbury, please go to...hmm who shall we have? Janna Chisely, yes, lovely!'

Danny pulled his things from his desk groaning at Calcite's predictability. He didn't know how she knew, maybe it was a sixth sense or something, but she seemed to sense uncannily the precise thing Danny feared.

Janna stared at him with cold blue eyes as he sat opposite and attempted a polite smile.

'Now on each sheet is a situation as I've said. I would like you to discuss the situation with your... _partner_ ,' she added extra emphasis on the word "partner", before continuing, 'and then we will get one of you to come up to the front and announce to the rest of the class if your situation lies within the realm of chaos or kindness.

Janna kicked Danny in the shins as he was looking out of the window at the falling rain. Danny looked at the sheet that had landed on the desk. He read it to Janna:

One of your best friends has been arrested in a shoplifting incident, and has consequently been excluded from school. The police, your teachers and your parents encourage you to break off communication with this friend. However, you still continue to see this friend outside school.

Chaos or Kindness?

Danny stared at the card. He could not believe what a blunt instrument this exercise was. Glancing at Janna, he guessed she knew what the supposed "correct" answer was. She sighed, resting her head on her delicate white palm. Turning her eyes on him, when she spoke to him it was without harshness. Her voice carried the same softness he had known well months before.

'Janna. Can we be friends?' Danny asked.

'I thought we were supposed to be discussing this exercise?'

'Janna. I'm sorry if I hurt you. I didn't mean to hurt you. Please can we be friends?'

She looked at him, removing her hand from her head. He felt she considered the offer seriously. Then she tilted her head back and laughed to herself.

'I think I know the answer to this...dilemma.'

Danny didn't know if she was talking about the exercise or his question.

'What do you mean?' he hazarded. It was too late however as Calcite's voice boomed in overly sweet tones once again.

'Right, who shall we begin with. How about Amanita and Ian? Amanita would you like to read to the class what your card says?'

The words were delivered in her rapid, unfaltering voice Danny had heard so many times before. But he knew in his heart of hearts that they were not Amanita's words, and she would never have written this:

You are at a pop concert to see your favourite band. You queued for two hours to get tickets. Only once you arrive at the concert you discover that the show will include bad language and explicit imagery. Furthermore outside the arena are people selling drugs. In an effort to dissuade such immoral activity, and against your musical desire to see this band you decide to rip up your tickets and go home.

Chaos or Kindness?

'Very good Amanita, and what did you and Ian decide about this situation. Is it chaos and kindness? Please come up to the front and announce your answer.'

Amanita strolled up to the front, grabbing the forbidden red chalk sitting closest to Calcite before she could snatch it away and wrote the word "Chaos" as large as she could. She did not look at Calcite once, before returning to her desk and sitting calmly.

Calcite used her hands to lever herself on her desk. She sat on it, swinging her legs playfully and giggling to herself.

'Ian dear, is this the answer you both agreed?'

'No Miss, I wanted to go for kindness, but Amanita insisted,' Ian simpered, facing down a stony glare from Amanita.

'I see,' Calcite shot out with venom. 'Amanita dear, I don't think you have quite understood what this exercise is about. Perhaps a week of detentions next week will help you understand.'

Amanita rolled her eyes and, in one giant sigh, let out the hot air that was building up inside her red cheeks. Unfortunately Calcite saw this as dissent. 'Perhaps two weeks detentions would be better. Yes, I think so.'

'But...' Amanita started angrily. It was no use, as Calcite was no longer looking in her direction.

'And now we shall move to...Saffelia and Samuel. Saffelia, would you like to read out your situation?'

Saffelia stood up, her face was red and she looked flushed. Samuel however looked completely composed. Saffelia's voice had an awful softness Danny did not recognise. Barely able to make herself heard, she stumbled a couple of times over the words.

You are in a bank and armed robbers break in. One of the robbers tells you he will shoot one of the staff. There are three staff and you have to choose which one is shot, and which two survive, or the robber will shoot you. There is an elderly woman, a middle-aged mum and a young man. You decide to choose the elderly woman. The robber shoots her dead.

Chaos or Kindness?

Saffelia's hand was trembling as she held the card out in front of her, almost as a shield from the oncoming question. Ursula Calcite looked directly in Saffelia's eyes, a steely glare emanating from beneath Calcite's soft demeanour.

'So Saffelia? Would you like to come up to the front and tell us if this was chaos or kindness?'

Saffelia walked up slowly to the front, keeping her eyes on the board. She wrote the word "Chaos", before walking slowly back, head hanging low and her face close to tears.

'Very good.' Calcite whispered, satisfied. 'Saffelia, perhaps you could explain your response to the situation?'

Saffelia had sat down. It took all her mental effort to summon the strength to stand and face Calcite again. Her head bowed, she raised it slowly, allowing the blonde curls to reveal her glowing round face, and Danny saw an unusual anger and determination written there.

'Miss, I indicated chaos because this is a chaotic situation. I don't see how anything but the relenting of the robbers would equate to kindness. I feel that any of the three options would have been chaotic for the individual making the choice. Perhaps the least chaotic choice would have been to allow the robbers to shoot me.'

Uninvited images of Chardelia swam back into the river of Danny's conscience as he watched the unfolding drama.

Ursula Calcite skipped to Saffelia's desk and stood opposite, her nose almost touching hers. They stood silent for nearly a minute, both growing red-faced and refusing to move, or even avert their gazes from each other.

'Sit down little girl,' Calcite uttered cruelly, after a minute.

Saffelia obeyed, but her head remained held high. Calcite walked back to the front of the class.

'Students, Saffelia is quite, quite wrong. She chose the correct answer for this situation, but for entirely wrong reasons. The correct choice for the individual to make in this situation is to choose the young man. This would be kindness for the two women. The elderly lady is poor, weak and defenceless, and a gunshot at her age would surely kill her. The middle-aged mother has a child to bring up, and may wish to have more children in the future. The young man is physically more strong, perhaps more able to rush the robbers, perhaps more able to withstand a gunshot wound. And he is a man. Should he die it would be better than either of the women. Women and children first, always. Remember that.'

Danny gasped. The woman's narcissism was absolute. What a pile of shit, he thought. No-one would survive a gunshot wound to the head or chest, whether male or female. Her abstract twisting of the facts to suit her predisposition made him queasy. Her confident exclamation of women's right to live over men's revolted him. He wanted away from this woman. Just keep your head down, get through this lesson and soon you will be at home eating pizza he told himself.

'Danny Canterbury, are you feeling okay, you look rather pale.'

Danny looked up in shock. He nodded slowly.

'Good. I think we will have your situation next. Please come to the front and read your sheet.'

Danny gasped again. No-one else had been asked to the front to read their situation. Despite their differences, he would have felt more comfortable reading the sheet with Janna sitting below him, but now he would be isolated at the front of the class, with the crocodile charm of Calcite for company. Bad to worse, Danny thought. This lesson was going from bad to worse.

He walked to the front. With a deep breath he hurried through the ridiculous situation listed on his card. Once he finished, he looked up and saw Janna's blue eyes burning with passion and intensity, shining with love back at him. Him and her against the world, that was how it had been last year, a union he had dreamed of for years. He had achieved it, it had felt so good, and then it had ended. He had ended it. Now he felt like a square peg sticking out of a round hole. Ursula Calcite was speaking, but he kept on looking at Janna, hoping that some silent kind of mutual communication was still possible, like when they made love for the first time.

'Danny Canterbury!' boomed Calcite, 'are you listening to me? Please write your answer on the board – NOW!' Danny's gaze was interrupted and he looked up at Calcite with disdain. Calcite took a step back, as Danny advanced confidently towards the blackboard. He picked up the white chalk and in large capitals wrote the word "Kindness". He did not finish there. He moved below the other answers his classmates had written and wrote a line of text he had heard repeated to him ever since he could remember.

'Judge not lest thee be judged.'

He slammed the chalk down on Calcite's desk, and walked from the classroom, heart pounding like a drum and mild applause building from his static classmates.

*

Danny received a few pats on the back as he walked into the cold autumn sunshine at lunchtime. He had no idea what the repercussions of his little stunt would be, but it felt good to finally channel the anger inside him to what he believed was right.

As he stood by the fence, chatting to Edmund Cloves and Cedric Claw, Janna Chisely strolled across the playground in their direction. She was approaching Danny, and she held a familiar bag in her hand.

'Thanks Janna,' Danny said before she had a chance to speak, and she passed over his bag that he left in Calcite's classroom.

'I put your class books in your bag,' Janna said, before turning and running over to Emily Duocorn who was waiting for her by the netball court. She left before Danny had the chance to say thank you properly. He would have chased after her when he saw Wonder and Pry running across the playground towards him, Cedric and Edmund. Pry wore an extremely serious look on her face. Within a moment, Wonder had reached the trio and accosted Cedric and Edmund. The ebullient Professor demanded they both turn out their pockets. Danny watched in amazement as Wonder took some unseen packages from their hands, placed them in his pocket and, with Pry following in silent condemnation, led them back inside Amberleigh castle.

Dad and Mum and Luka put the Christmas tree up today but I was in a mood so I stayed in my room. It hadn't snowed yet so how could it be Christmas? He got to put the fairy on the top. He likes putting things under girls' skirts. It's boiled potatoes and pork chops for tea. Tough as old fookin boots. Lucy taught me that word. I like it. I might use it at the dinner table hee hee. I love Lucy.

**  
**The Cost of Shoes

On Sundays the coach for Fairleagh left at nine-thirty sharp. Danny struggled against the second wave of oncoming sleep. His bed had finally become cosy; after tossing and turning in the sharpening cold he had found a pocket of warmth he didn't want to leave.

Sluggishly he washed, dressed and packed his stuff inside his scruffy rucksack. Dad and Polly had already left into Amberleigh. William had taken Polly to ballet class, a new hobby she'd begun over the summer. She was already progressing through the advanced junior levels. Normally Danny would not go near a dance floor himself but this morning he found himself more willing to remain in his sister and father's company than make the trip to Fairleagh, even if it was to watch slender-limbed girls prance past on a polished wood floor.

He made it to the bus stop with a minute to spare, joining the back of a long queue. Amberleigh's residents were quintessentially English. Elderly women, on their way to church wearing wide hats, young girls out for a day trip to the cobbles and pretty boutiques of Fairleagh. Wide-eyed and innocent. Fathers took their sons to see football matches, while mothers shopped for clothes with their daughters. Danny smiled ruefully.

As the coach pulled out of the last village connected to Amberleigh, it accelerated away into nothing but rolling hills and empty shores. Danny stretched his legs as his gaze met the Northumberland countryside. He felt released, and breathed a deep sigh he still had another whole day outside school ahead of him. Finally he could process the melodrama of the past week. Finally he could think ahead about the visit to his son.

It angered him to think what they were saying about him at school; it angered him to think the grandmother of his son was probably bad-mouthing him at every opportunity. He could see it now: 'useless, good-for-nothing, lazy, reckless, irresponsible, foolish male!' Would she have said the same had she seen her own daughter parading in lilac knickers, leaping upon Danny with glee, inviting his hand beneath her only patch of garmented skin? Yet the genesis of those events over a year ago, were only now becoming realised. So much had happened since. His son Ackley was not yet six-months old, had no idea who he was or why he would be visiting. Perhaps the only person who would not cast suspicious glances in his direction would be the incomprehensible baby, contemplating the world and Danny with wonder and awe. The transient fragility of innocence made it the more beautiful for its fleeting nature, Danny reflected. So long held in that bliss, but lost so quickly.

He could not help thinking back upon the alarm of Edmund and Cedric being caught with drugs on school grounds. There was no confirmation yet what their punishment would be but Hazel Brock was liberally sprinkling the rumour they would be excluded. Danny hadn't worked out yet how he felt about this. Although they had a reputation for foolish misdemeanours he was still shocked Cedric and Edmund could be so stupid.

The coach entered the tunnel beneath the large hill that progressed them across Northumberland and Danny felt the crossing of an invisible boundary. No longer within touching distance of Amanita, Tim and his family. Only isolation and aspersions awaited. Nervous anticipation tingled up and down his spine, bearing the grim pain of truth. Her tear-stained eyes still ghosted his.

Alighting at Fairleagh station Danny joined the queue for a taxi to take him further up the hill to where Anjalie now lived. From the corner of his eye he saw a girl running in his direction, waving madly as she approached. Danny smiled. It was Anjalie.

'Hello Danny!' she air-kissed him on both cheeks. Danny held her slim waist within his hands, and felt once again the light touch of wasted youth between his palms.

'My Mom's waiting in the car. Come on. I'll grab your bag.'

Before Danny could stop her, she reached out a hand and relieved him of his bag and began running off in the direction she had come. Danny had not expected such a welcome, but it now made sense. The sudden excitement of a new person entering into the drudgery and monotony of raising a child. He was the father, and expectations were crystallizing.

*

The Cost of Shoes

by Danny Canterbury

I wandered past a shoe shop the other day and saw a range of pastel-coloured shoes sitting in a small shop window. Although small and meek-looking a group of shoppers yet clustered round the window gushing, their eyes twinkling with greed. I managed to get a look at the price tag of one of the pairs: £84.99. Another pair: £95. Another £115.00. I wondered what wondrous property these shoes possessed that they could command such an expensive price tag. Perhaps they were made not out of leather or acrylic but some amazing new material, physicians were still marvelling over for its miraculous properties. Perhaps they would be writing about this new material in one of the monthly science journals soon, and then everyone would know about such a wonderful invention for the sake of human kind. It certainly couldn't have been the design of the shoes as, I thought, they were just quite ordinary. I could get a pair of shoes that fit my feet for under £20 round the corner, and presumably that is what these shoes main function was. To fit people's feet.  
As my mind has a habit of doing, I then thought about global poverty, about those starving in Africa. The pictures we see on our news screens regularly. How much would even just £85 go into feeding these starving men, women and children, who desperately needed a meal, let alone shoes.

Then, rather gladly, I reflected this was a guilty problem luckily I would no longer have to entertain or encounter in my entire life. For these were all women's shoes.

I cannot say whether it has been the introduction of celebrity television that proclaim validation for these vain indulgences, or if it is just the innate shallowness of certain shoppers that has given way to such an appalling and exaggerated example of western consumerism gone mad. Why do we need such a high price tag on pairs of shoes? Why do we need more than four sets of shoes anyway? That's three more than we can wear at any one time. Yet some people have rows and rows of shoes at home. Some have entire chest of drawers devoted to shoes. Some have even rooms dedicated to them. Such greed, selfishness and vanity is only exhibited in the human species. And I have never yet met a man with this odd tic of human nature.

There are further examples of vanity that astound me, from the endless rows of shops that cater for women's purse. Make-up, for example. The wording, almost 'make-believe', is a suitable reminder of the excursion into the fantasy of appearance that women make their daily journey. Mistakenly using it to assume power, surely it is the ones who do not need such accoutrements who retain the real power? Do women think the world operates by appearances alone? It is a falseness and a lie that regularly attempts to mislead. How many times do you see women smiling, nodding, offering their assent and approval, only to find, later down the line their real purpose resounding? How often do women use their appearance to gain an effect untrue not only to others but to themselves? How often do they attempt the undermining of men, only to reveal their duplicity at the last second?

Women don't smile because they are happy. They smile to build relationships. Not an unworthy cause, I hear you cry. It is an honourable intention indeed, but ultimately the extended continuation of this practice leads to them, not just fooling others, but themselves. This falsity I have only ever found in women.

Let us look at the values traditionally associated with men. Let us judge if I am being unfair. Here we see that male values are now castigated as improper, inappropriate and outdated. Reticence, the antithesis of bitchiness that so often circles like eagles around groups of women. When men speak it's because they want to say something. When women speak it's because they are trying to breathe.

Physical strength, a symbol of the inner strength that history speaks volumes of. History is written by the winners, yes. A weary excuse, for the winners, are the winners.

Clarity. Men don't fudge the lines between work and pleasure. Some women think work is a social club – all they have to do is turn up, chat for a bit and then go home and the pay rises and promotions will follow. In some industries they do, but they are usually the shallower and more insecure ones. Men tend to be clear and focused. They will not blur the lines between a business decision and an emotional decision. They will not shirk from what needs to be said. Women will do anything but.

In our society we encounter double standards – standards detrimental to men. Dilettante pop stars composing songs about how men's misfortune makes them happy. It sums up the attitude of an entire female generation, and then makes it to number one. It's okay for women to ask for flexibility in working hours for looking after children – women are the uber-species of the 21st century after all, and they can do anything. Except work a full day, that is. Men get unequal paternity leave. Equality? Don't make me laugh. A woman might cry that feminism is the culture of today, that men have to accept the mistakes and injustices committed by their forefathers and the patriarchy. Before even beginning to explore the gross indecency and incorrectness of that attitude, I would say that feminism appears to me, just another excuse, in a long line in today's society, for justified female selfishness.

So, let us return to shoes. It is not the cost nor the design of shoes that makes them cost so much. It is not even anything to do with the shoes why they cost so much. It is because women are prepared to pay so much for them that they cost so much. What a poor prioritisation of life's priorities must have occurred in these women, to wish to waste so much credit on moccasins, sandals, flip-flops, stilettos, boots, trainers, sneakers, pumps and other footwear, all in the name of fashion. All in the name of vanity. In the end the real cost is not down to quality but down to the flaw in the women who buy them. So when you wander down the street and wonder at this strange twist in our century's culture, do not think 'Why shoes?' Think 'Why vanity?'

*

Amanita harrumphed loudly as she relaxed into her cushioned swivel-top chair, the word 'Editor' emblazoned across the back. Invisible to Amanita, Danny scowled as he walked behind her. She swung round, her eyes flaring with fear and anger.

'Danny. Do you realise what a situation you've put me in? Do you realise the pressure I'm now under?'

'You've got to let it in,' Danny countered quickly as he moved round to face her. He was determined to stand firm, to refuse to back down. 'It's a polemic, devil's advocate, it's the other side, it's a provocative piece of journalism.'

'Danny, it's overtly sexist, not to mention misogynist!'

Danny scowled again, this time blatantly. She sighed.

'Where's Tim?' she asked softly.

'He's coming. I think he's bringing snacks.'

Amanita swung round again, her hand against her lips, which Danny knew meant she was considering it. He looked out of the window at the bean-green sea, active and restless. The swirling wind blew the remaining russetgold leaves across the playground below as autumn advanced. The fall, that was what Americans called it. To fall from this height would surely mean death, Danny thought.

'Danny, run past me again exactly why _I_ should publish this article.'

Amanita eyeballed him with an impenetrable gaze. Danny hated this, the use of the 'I'. He knew the power rested with her, she didn't have to rub it in.

'Amanita, this article is the culmination of accurate research, an expression of the changing mood in society, and a provocation to the laboured feminists who are taking over the country. For God's sake someone's got to say this!'

'And I might be one of those feminists,' a sweet voice echoed behind Danny.

Amanita gasped as Ursula Calcite breezed into the room without knocking, blonde hair dropping and drifting against her sallow face as she walked. She sat on the chair opposite the computer screen which displayed the layout of the paper.

'So this is the _Oracle_ , the darling of the school intelligentsia?' she whispered affectedly, loud enough for both Danny and Amanita to hear. Amanita nodded tight-lipped, her growing inner rage visible to Danny from her dilating pupils and reddening cheeks.

'Children.' She used the term diminutively. 'I cannot foresee a time when any paper should publish such...trash. I'm afraid Amanita you cannot publish this in the paper. To make up for the omission, I have since drafted a rather more pleasant news story that I demand you replace it with. It's called 'The Unique Grace', a story about a ballerina girl I once knew growing up who, I am told, still lives around these parts.'

Amanita opened her mouth to protest as Ursula turned away, leaving the sheaf of papers containing her article on top of the computer. Calcite must have anticipated the interruption as she calmly spoke over Amanita.

'I must dash now, little ones. Do heed what I say. Otherwise the consequences will be, shall we say, terminal?'

Just as quickly as she entered, Calcite floated out of the room, the faint scent of perfume lingering in Danny's nostrils. A scent of beauty, a pleasant scent, but one that smelt of disaster. He looked at Amanita, thinking she might explode but in her eye there was a defiant twinkle. Somewhere, either unconsciously, or perhaps within his heart of hearts where the core of their friendship resided, Danny knew he had won.

*

The end of another school week landed with an exhausted cry. Usually Danny, Amanita and Tim felt the release from a hard-working week, and began planning fun times for the weekend. In preparation for their mock exams homework had been stepped up. Coursework had grown more intense, deadlines loomed, especially on their design projects. Danny had to build a scale model of a kitchen for technology by next Friday, Tim had to plan a three course menu for food technology. Amanita was sweating over her music project, still refusing to let Tim or Danny listen to any part of her ten-minute composition while she "perfected" it. With a heavy heart all three realised the usual wave of weekend joy was not forthcoming this particular Friday afternoon. They knew the reason behind it but none would discuss it, not until the issue was published.

Amanita had not relented on her decision to publish Danny's article, although there had been a few wobbles and tense moments. On Wednesday night she had rung Danny at three in the morning, ruminating if it was still the right thing to do. Danny understood it was not the disobedience of going in the face of Ursula Calcite that bothered her; she was stronger than that. It was the fact the article made arguments against some of her own dearly held principles.

'But, Danny, how can I ever hold my head up again and claim to be a feminist? What would Germaine think of me?' she had exclaimed to a bleary-eyed and tired Danny, while he propped himself on the edge of his bed and calmed her with soothing assurances about having the iron will of an editor, and thinking how the additional attention might help with more advertising sales. Not from the shoe shops, Amanita had spat back.

Now the issue was here, there was no turning back. As all three exited an afternoon of double maths, their heads filled with quadratic equations and integration formulas, they saw school caretaker Dunstan Blackbuck wheel a cart down the corridor towards Appalachian's office. The headmaster was always the first to see the latest edition of the _Oracle_ , although Appalachian had not insisted on seeing any drafts. Not yet anyway. Danny, Amanita and Tim lingered in the reception area outside Appalachian's office, standing next to the trophy cabinet, where many school trophies and awards stood, gleaming in shafts of pale autumn sun descending from the skylights.

Tentatively Amanita picked a copy from the cart and stared at the front page, not daring to open it. Danny craned his head to read the cover story, not wishing to pick up a copy himself. Butterflies of anxiety exploded in his stomach. He didn't want to be caught with an illicit copy by their headmaster. Amanita had done a good job covering the death of the as-yet-unknown girl in the Snowfall Grove. She had cited several cases of deaths with identities either undiscovered for a number of years or forever unknown. She had even contacted the Amberleigh police force to cite their missing persons register and the local hotline. She had also written an excellent history of the Snowfall Grove, explaining how it had grown for over a hundred years, having been planted by a group of enthusiastic botanists in the late eighteenth century. Readers would discover how it had been used as a scout camp in the late eighties and was now used as a leisure facility for all kinds of groups in the summer. She had written also about the haunting quality of the woods, including their own experiences there this summer (but not mentioning the arrival of their teachers) and drawing comparisons with Amberleigh's mini-paradise, explaining how if some had a choice of location for our death, there are worse places we could be sent to meet our maker than the greenery of the Grove. Danny felt calmer from reading her article. Then Amanita shouted out, the nerves jangling in her voice, sending his butterflies scattering again.

'Here it is. Oh Danny, there's no turning back now.'

All six foot of Professor Appalachian strode forward from his office, trousers pulled to his stomach, the broadest beam plastered on his careworn face.

'Ah, the editorial team of the _Oracle_. How nice it is to see you. And may I say what an excellent job you have done on the paper here, a thoroughly good job may I say, quite _simply_ wonderful!'

Tim and Danny tried to match his grin nervously, but Amanita looked up into his wide light blue eyes, a discerning look of confusion etched on her round features.

'Sir, have you read it?'

A momentary look of panic flitted across Appalachian's features as he returned Amanita's gaze. Slight and fleeting, it was like the chance glance you get from a passenger sitting on a station bench from the window of a moving train as it rushes through. The next second Appalachian's face wore another smile, broader than the one before, and Danny was fooled into thinking his instantaneous observation had been nothing more than a mirage.

'My dear,' he said, placing his arm around Amanita's shoulders as he led her down the corridor to the exit, 'you should be proud, you should all be proud of the New St Oliver Plunket's we are building. Individual aspiration combined with social respect for others. Social equality and new enterprise. Together we will build a foundation that will last for centuries to come.'

The three of them and Appalachian were almost at the playground now, with Tim and Danny following in the conversation's wake.

'For wasn't it through the power of the written word, the exquisite elegance of those headmasters before us who made Plunkets what it is today?'

'Except the last one, sir', Tim added, hands in his pockets.

Appalachian blinked Tim's comment away, before closing grandiosely.

'Now, if you would excuse me lady and gentlemen, I have another appointment, and I'm sure you have full weekends planned. Adios, young amigos!'

With his bizarre farewell Appalachian wandered back down the corridor to his office, paper under his arm, black shoes glistening as they trod the cold stone floor.

'What a strange chap' Tim said. Amanita still looked confused.

'I don't get it, what with all that waffle he gave us at the start of the year I thought he'd be furious with us for the paper. He didn't seem to care, in fact he seemed more bothered with getting us out of the school...'

Her voice trailed off into Danny's exclamation.

'Didn't you see there was someone in his office? I didn't see their face, just the shoes. Dazzling red shoes and black tights. Maybe he wanted rid of us in case we discovered who was in his office. He's a shifty guy – I don't trust him.'

'My mum say's he a lovely man with a lovely smile. From the way she goes on about him, you'd think she'd want him to run the country. Honestly, just cos' he's got a nice smile!' Tim said.

A ponderous silence fell over the trio. They gazed out at the sea, over towards Fourlawns, and the slate blue sky littered with white cumulo-nimbus. Danny felt on the precipice. He had written something. It wasn't safe, it was dangerous and unpredictable. He had no idea how everyone would react to what he had written. Fear and excitement mingled in his stomach. For the first time in months he felt alive.

'I've got to go,' Amanita said casually.

'Got a date?' Tim said, expecting a reaction.

'Yes. See you.'

Amanita wandered out of the gates and down the stony school path. Tim and Danny watched her as she walked, a certain dignity and grace to her posture they had not noticed before. Tim looked out at the sky, at the clouds moving quickly across the vastness, casting deep shadows of darker blue upon the sparkling sea below. He then turned to Danny with a big smile on his face.

'Danny my friend, we're cooked.'

*

The weekend passed agonisingly. Danny read and reread the newsprint until he memorised each word of every page. It was only a newspaper he told himself. News one day, rubbish the next. Tomorrow's fish and chip wrappings. But he knew in his heart that what he had written was not rubbish. It burned in his soul when pensive.

The haste with which Sunday night arrived took Danny by surprise. Anxiety prompted him to be promiscuous with his texts, messaging Tim frequently to confirm a time to kick a football that week. He texted Saffelia to check in and fix a time when they could work on their technology coursework together. He even texted Amanita to find out how she was feeling. She didn't reply.

He lay on his bed gazing up at the ceiling from which dangled his astronomical globe. Turning the lights off made it glow in the dark. Ghostly green glowing against a background of darkness. His thoughts leapt from subject to random subject, sprawling like a sprite, negotiating his narrow neural pathways. They were nothing compared to the nerves lurching side to nautious side in his fretful stomach.

About to fall asleep and escape the exhaustive fervour of his life, the light green from his globe partly illuminated a silhouette. The grey contours of a human figure sat at the side of his bed, waiting patiently. At first Danny allowed his eyes to acclimatise to the apparition, giving his mind every chance to interpret the mistake. When he had stared at the silent figure for a full minute he could not leave it any longer. He switched on his bedside lamp and gazed into the freckled profile of Robin Vernal.

Tears didn't come at first. Instead the redness gathered around his eyes, until he couldn't resist any more the urge to weep.

'Robin,' he said softly. 'Robin.'

She moved her head to look at him, face straight and serious. Her brown eyes connected with his, and a wide sympathetic smile broke on her lips. To Danny it felt warmer than any embrace. He almost wanted to kiss her.

'Robin. Talk to me. Please,' Danny said in a whisper.

Robin smiled coyly but did not say a word. The tears fell down Danny's face as frustration mingled with love. Her appearance had completely exiled thoughts of the _Oracle_ from his mind.

'Robin. What happened to Chardelia? Tell me. Please tell me. Is she with you?'

Robin moved her hand, which rested on the lap of her light blue dress. In her hand was a violet hair ribbon. She let it rest on Danny's black bedspread, laying it out in one line, giggling at its deliberate prettiness.

Danny breathed deeply and thought carefully. Staring into Robin's eyes cleared something in him. He felt a sensation of some shared secret, revealed through them both. When she returned his gaze fully, he held it, allowing it to rid his mind of worries and pressures. Tentatively he reached out his hand to Robin's but a loud click sounded behind him, and darkness fell instantly. The bulb in his lamp had blown. He leapt up to switch on his bedroom light but part of him didn't want to turn and face the bed. Danny knew in his heart Robin Vernal had eluded him again. He looked back and the intense desperation of vacancy hit him hard, washing over him like water, an avalanche of accumulated anguish.

At school we made angels out of cardboard, wire, paper, water and ping-pong balls for the head. Mine looks adorable, like she belongs in heaven. I tried to make it look like Lucy. On the bus home the boys destroyed it. Evil boys. I hate them. I hate them all. Well maybe not all. Mary came round today. She has a name that is a river.

Poison

It was when Sonia Fox and Olive Spritser mischievously doused him in hairspray as he walked the corridor Danny knew his fellow fifth-years had read the _Oracle_. Lorraine Carr pushed past him without apologising as she went to Drama. Rosetti Duocorn took off her shoes as he walked and waved them threateningly. Even the softness of Florence Croft and Coco Romeo seemed colder; they blanked him blatantly as he greeted them on his way into the school gates. He was glad to find Amanita who, while visibly stressed as Danny, didn't seem inclined to judge him. In fact, she appeared distracted by something else.

The boys were a different story. Cheers and pats on the back followed him everywhere he stepped. The highlight of the day had been when he walked into an early morning PE session with Harlequin and received a rapturous round of applause and cheers. Harlequin gave him twenty house points merely for bending over to pick up his bag. After he scored a goal in football he was carried on the shoulders of Liam Flicker and Brandon Wood into the changing rooms, as Sol Castle and Benjamin Sprite showed V signs to the girls playing hockey on the opposite side of Fourlawns.

It was the oddest feeling, being loved and hated at the same time. He couldn't say what he preferred more. Being acclaimed was nice, but he wasn't convinced the attention was a good thing. Being despised was difficult, but it meant most of the girls left him alone in class and in the playground. For a few days Danny had gained valuable breathing space. The only girl who spoke to Danny apart from Amanita was his ex-girlfriend. Janna Chisely had a smug world-weariness about her today, sticking her tongue out at all the girls who castigated her for mixing with the enemy, and stamping on Danny's toes when he became too amused with the whole situation.

'I don't know what you're laughing at,' she had said in mock anger, and a wry smile breaking from the corner of her mouth. 'I'm only hanging with you because you're here.'

Danny smiled. He had realised he didn't need the approval of people he barely knew. It mattered to him less than he expected. He'd prefer not to have it if it meant they left him alone. The approval of someone you've loved and been intimate with is a thousand times more valuable, he reflected, and that was what he had now. Through some strange coincidence and confluence of events, Janna and Danny had been thrown back together. Not as boyfriend and girlfriend, but as rejects, outcasts, outsiders. It felt good to be isolated, but it felt even better to share his isolation with someone else.

The end of the lunch break approached and an afternoon with Professor Wonder beckoned them both. Janna sat on the fence marking the boundary of the school playground and the imposing shadow of Amberleigh Castle's turrets cast on her forehead. A late-Autumn dampness filled the air while ghostly fogs rose up from sea in the early mornings and late evenings. Danny had seen on the weather that morning the mist would be with them for the coming week.

'I heard the new single by Verdant Shack last night,' Janna added casually. 'They're playing at Fairleagh Roller-rink next month.'

'Oh.' Danny said, not knowing if he should ask her if she was going.

'Are you going?' he ventured, not looking at her.

'Might be. Depends,' she returned.

'Depends? On what?' he asked, turning to look at her.

'On whether anyone asks me.'

She looked him direct in the eyes. The smile had cleared from her face, like clouds across the sun.

'I see,' he said.

Danny was about to work up the latent courage to ask her if she wanted to come with him, as a friend purely, nothing more. He was too late however. Before he managed to ask her she stalked across the playground to speak to Mary Oconee and no doubt about Dawn Russet's upcoming 'Ice Party'. Whether the hesitancy of his voice or the confusion in his face had repelled her, he couldn't tell. He could always check the listings and go with Tim, Danny thought. Adopting her pose on the fence, he felt the dampness seep through his trousers. Still, it was nice and cool here, and he could see the whole playground spread out before him. Children in the first year played in the many gaps and alcoves hidden among the walls of Amberleigh Castle. Older boys stole tennis balls and threw them at Burberry and Wonder, the two duty teachers this lunch. He saw groups of girls huddled together, sharing the latest gossip about their favourite teachers, or the news from their daily soap. Or perhaps they were secretly slagging Danny off. He didn't care, and to show them he closed his eyes and drifted into his own world.

When he opened he saw two school girls standing very close to him in an otherwise empty playground. Then he registered they were not wearing school uniform and were actually women not girls. He blinked a couple of times before recognising them, so close to his face was theirs. Belladonna Whimsy and Ursula Calcite breathed warm salty breath on his skin.

'Do you know,' Calcite began, her large chin bobbing up and down and her impenetrable smile attacking Danny, 'I think it's largely inappropriate for such an _immature_ young man to be involved with the printed word. What do you think Belladonna?'

'I totally agree,' Whimsy stated flatly, her voice distant and spaced out. 'I think Daniel here should give up being involved with the _stupid_ _Oracle_ and pay more attention to his studies.'

'Particularly poetry.' Calcite continued, 'You do know your grades have been suffering don't you Danny? I'm afraid you just don't understand the English language. I think you need remedial classes to help you _cope_ with the extra homework you'll be getting – getting, that is, if you do not relent your decision to – be involved with the _Oracle_ , and that stupid pig-tailed little Editor girlfriend of yours.'

Calcite's voice had shifted from languid calm to honey-laced menace.

'I'm not giving up anything. Amanita isn't my girlfriend. And you two don't scare or intimidate me. In fact, I think you're pathetic.'

Danny shook inside himself as he heard the words fall from his mouth like crumpled leaves from a tree, forever detached. Outside he portrayed the image of calm confidence, a habit he often observed from Amanita in times of crisis.

'Do you hear that Belladonna?'

'Yeah – I do,' Whimsy slurred.

'I think little Canterbury is limbering up for a fight. Bella, I don't think he realises what he's taking on. Perhaps we should show him.'

Calcite was close enough to kiss him.

Without warning Belladonna Whimsy grabbed his head with thick sausage fingers and pushed her sticky lips on his, opening her mouth and widening Danny's with her tongue as she forced her way inside. Danny felt something small drop on his tongue. He didn't swallow but pushed Belladonna off him, refusing to speak and keeping his mouth shut tight. They laughed. He could feel the little thing inside his mouth dissolving. Danny coughed and raised his hand to his mouth to remove what was inside. When they glanced away, he discreetly dropped it behind him through the narrow gap in the fence.

'Let that be a warning to you, Mr Canterbury. And let it be a warning to your little pig-tailed friend. The next time she writes a poisonous article, someone just might try to _poison_ her.'

Danny's white hands shook as he brought them up to meet his face. Confusion reigned in his head about what they had said. Surely it was his article, not Amanita's that had been poisonous? Maybe they had thought she wrote the anti-feminist rant, and were mistaken? He slapped himself to gently remind himself he was alive, and stumbled back into the Castle. But not before looking over the fence at the small circular pill, which faded into the sludge of forgotten autumn leaves.

*

The same night Danny cried himself to sleep. Too much bliss was colliding unexpectedly with burden, as if some cosmic drama in the far reaches of space dictated events that influenced his life and manipulated his soul. Some secret hand of fate lay beyond sight, discreetly controlling his life. As the arbitrary flukes of existence fell like snowflakes, their random pattern lodged in Danny and proved overwhelming for his aspiring sixteen-year old writerly voice. He suspected the facility for locating experiences with words and context lay somewhere in his future. This latest seemed to draw a singularity on the molting unhappiness into which life had thrust him. Everyone knew his tragedy, yet no-one really understood. The dichotomy dwelled in his secret soul, the one he never showed. Like a puppet on a string, he felt he danced close to the sun one day, only to be burned the next. Two sinister women had stood, intimidating him, using all their female wiles to challenge his liberty. Sure that their knowledge of his damaged spirit and broken sexuality surrendered the advantage of manipulation, he knew not what he would now face in the year ahead. In retrospect the day seemed too much to bear. He had stood up to the antagonists, but the encounter had reduced him and he wondered whether sometimes submission would resolve his fate faster next time. There would be a next time, he knew with dread.

As his active mind raced through the painful possibilities, tears flowed down his salt-stained face. It was now that Danny felt compelled to draw on hidden resources. The knowledge only he sheltered. Was he really strong? He was not prepared to roll over and submit. If anything he was determined to survive with his soul, his true self. With faith in his generosity and kindness, he knew he was capable of forgiveness and maturity. He knew he grew angry at times, but he had learned. It was better to repress and channel his force for the good of himself and others. Inside his male womb an injustice kicked and screamed to be righted. Part of it was to bring this new wave of evil females to the manifestation of their wrongs. To make them experience how they had made him feel until they finally relented. The reality of the world was dawning. Knowing some people didn't forgive or let go meant they were forever condemned to magnify and project their insecurities onto others. As sleep asked these thoughts to cede to its soothing blanket ,the tears dried and relief finally arrived for the young boy lying in the foetal position. As he cuddled no-one beneath his duvet, Danny waited for peaceful sleep to take him to the place where no women breathed on him, where no girls attempted to seduce him, where no females screamed at him, and where natural harmony was restored.

As he tossed, his dreams transformed his fears into fleeting figures. A fast-moving black presence rolled round his mind. He was staring at Janna Chisely offering him a pink flower before she slowly skipped away down the street to meet someone he didn't recognise but instinctively knew. A man placed a hand on his shoulder and Danny turned to see the dark burning gaze of Professor Flambeau. He didn't say a word but leant his forehead against Danny's and closed monumentally troubled eyes. Next Danny flew above the sea, holding Amanita's hand as they soared. Watching the ocean below gush with vivid crests and steep troughs, he thought he spied a young girl struggling with the tides. Closing his eyes he felt vertigo rush towards him, threatening to drag and drown him beneath the surf. Then he sat in Fuzzair's classroom with only Rosetti Duocorn and Ella Amur. They kept whispering, turning round to look at Danny and then giggling. Then it all went silent.

Danny finally woke up, sweat pouring from his face onto the pillows. He looked at the clock. It was two o'clock. Completely spent, Danny sank slowly into the bed like a quicksand of bliss, drifting away from dreams into refreshing unconsciousness.

*

Pry wore a purple dress which flowed all the way down to sparkling silver shoes. They twinkled like stars in an indigo sky. Draped over her slight shoulders was a blue cardigan. Danny watched her. Something was different. A new gleam in her eyes perhaps, some new enchantment. A change in her figure maybe. Still slight, she bobbed on her feet to compensate, only around her waist her dress seemed to cling tighter. It made Danny feel funny looking at it, like some secret was progressing no-one had told him about.

'Rosalind conducts her story with gestures of female empowerment. I would like to ask the class to consider the consequences if we didn't empower anybody or anything, if we kept our thoughts and feelings to ourselves.'

She opened her bright blue eyes to powerful effect, darting them from student to student. Michael Vitus shrank back in his seat as did Hazel Brock and Samuel Mills. No one answered her.

'Well, well. It looks like I shall have to select someone at random. Hmm, let me see. Who shall we ask?'

Danny hated this waiting game. The tension in the room grew as the draughty windows sucked out the warmth and let in frosty cold.

'Benjamin Sprite. Please stand up. What do you think?' Pry said, as softly as the felt bow in Saffelia's hair.

'I dunno Miss. I mean Professor,' Sprite said, confused as he rose to his feet.

'Ah, here class, we have a classic example. A reluctant young male who – '

'Leave him alone!'

Danny had shouted the words out without realising what he was saying. As the class turned to look at him, he discovered he was standing. Pry faced him. She wore a remarkable smile.

'Danny dear, I was only going to ask young Benjamin to contribute to the class discussion.'

'But he doesn't want to!' Danny blurted out, forgetting himself again. 'Look at him! He's red, he's quiet. He says he doesn't have the answer to your question. Why don't you just leave him alone?'

Pry's smile hardened. She motioned for Benjamin to sit down as she walked to Danny's desk. She took out a pen and asked for his log book. Danny handed over the slim yellow book in which he was supposed to record all his homework, and in which teacher's wrote good, or bad remarks, usually depending on the teacher's mood rather than the student's.

When she passed it back to Danny she continued to hold it as he clutched it from her, the tension between them palpable. Her voice had a kindness Danny had not heard before.

'Detention on Thursday after school.'

She let go of his log book and Danny sat down. He immediately turned to the page for this week and read Pry's familiar, eloquent scrawl.

Danny today stood up for another student in class. Danny is to be commended for his courage, loyalty and above all school spirit. Well done Danny!

Danny's smile to himself was tinged with confusion but it was, he reflected, still a smile.

*

The evening grew bitterly cold and Danny, experiencing one of those headaches only a sudden dip in temperature can bring, was eager to escape from school.

The lessons of the day and words of teachers whirled round his head as he picked his heavy school bag from the floor. His English exercise book fell out of an unzipped pocket, opening on the page he had written ideas for essays on Rosalind. She had it right, Danny thought. Laid back and cool, she seemed to know exactly what the world was all about. Danny's essay would be more of a kind-hearted tribute than a literary critique. He hoped Pry would understand when he eventually handed it in.

The yellow school lights seemed to glow dim in the blackness outside. Five o'clock had come, and he had stayed behind to get ahead with his homework and the _Oracle_. Amanita had rushed to netball practice, but left him a Twix and a note which said:

'In case you get hungry. Eat it slow – it tastes better that way!'

It was not usual for people to leave Danny notes, let alone gifts. It made him feel warm inside when outside a stinging winter wind rolled in off the North Sea.

As he left the playground he caught sight of two students, entwined in each other's arms. It didn't take Danny long to identify the overgrown locks of Bryn Straw and the blonde glint of Coco Romeo's hair. They kissed lightly in the shadow of a classroom from which dull light smouldered in the gloom. Probably Professor Slattery, Danny thought. He often stayed behind to set up new experiments and draw up classroom lessons for the next day.

The window opened and a figure leant out, engaging Bryn and Coco in conversation. Danny strained his eyes to see who but it was too dark and too far away to identify the silhouette. It leant a hand out to Bryn. Danny wished he could have seen what was being handed over, but he was tired. His warm bed beckoned. Pulling his school bag over his shoulder, Danny set off back down the rocky path that led to Dunkinley, the place he had always called home.

*

A faint aroma of a familiar earthy smell rose in the air. Danny couldn't put his finger on the source. It might have been the presence of the Christmas Tree his father had brought in earlier that evening, before he served up caramelised parsnips and sticky sausages for dinner. He could still taste the herby pepperiness lodged in his gums as he lay on his bed in the muted light. Apart from the contented thought of pleasant food, the bedroom felt lonely and cold. He switched his stereo off to immerse his meditations beneath a duvet of silence. Chirpy radio tunes irritated him. Pinned on his noticeboard hung a photo of him with his arms around Amanita and Tim taken at the end of the last school year. Barely visible in the gloom, Danny squinted to absorb the image for the thousandth time. All three smiled, Tim chuckling mischievously at something he had pinned to the back of Amanita's light blue cardigan. Amanita beamed directly at the camera and for once Danny's inner glow had radiated out to his expression. The photograph displayed Danny between his two friends, dwelling within the core of a deep love that close friendship offered.

Directly below this photo hung another. It showed himself and Janna entwined in a passport photo booth. Both smirked naughtily: Danny wore a navy blue sweater; Janna a baby pink to match the flash reflecting off the gloss of lightly pigmented lips. The photo sent shivers along Danny's spine. It illustrated sharply the contrast with the joyous, happy past, and the empty future that remained. A reminder of his oblivious nature: he had failed to see the tell-tale signs in the water, of how the splicing would cleft his spirit, and leave him more abandoned and broken than before.

The memory of that day's events were irresistible. He recalled Janna had taken him clothes shopping, buying him two new pairs of shorts for a holiday together in Spain. It had been a holiday that never materialised.

Danny couldn't help reflecting how hard it was, how it was almost impossible to remember the suffering of unrequited love when you were held in the grip of that same love, satisfied and rapturous. It was like walking through transparent glass but instantly not being able to see or remember what lay on the other side. Photos were a cruel taunt, immortalising in tiny pixels that the only thing you gained from the relationship was profound loss. Maybe love was the fifth dimension. Maybe it distorted time, space and gravity for all those plunged into its temporary illusions.

As he watched rain water pound his window, what seemed a distant call moved him from his reverie. It was Polly, calling for supper. They had made cheese and eggs on toast with Worcester sauce – a family tradition on cold winter nights. Danny wasn't sure he wanted company tonight. He knew it was mean and his sister expected him but he desperately needed time to himself. Otherwise he was afraid he would break.

It didn't matter to him that the rain water had thickened to hailstones, hurtling themselves through stormy night air, threating to invade his room. Polly called again. A tear rolled down Danny's cheek. He hated feeling unreachable but making the effort to join them was a betrayal of self. Gazing in the mirror by the light of the moon, Danny half-wished for the strength to stop crying, and half for the tears to come faster.

It was a quiet supper. Polly played solitaire on the living room carpet, while the television blared out. Another local news report tried to drum up suspicion about the mysterious death in the Grove. Their last chance, as the head of the local police had announced the case closed, with no other party involved. It was wallpaper to Danny. Another teenage suicide didn't surprise him in the least. Adults failed to understand how the rainbow had died: the modern background for today's youth was monochrome, lack of hope long having sucked the dye from a bright future. It left a colour scheme of shadows for Danny, and his generation's tragedies. Something inside him wished for Amanita to call.

*

Lucy says we can't play together anymore. She says it is because she is older than me and we should play with friends our own age. That's what her Mum told her to tell me. I don't like it and I don't like her Mum. She is mean and shouts at Lucy when she thinks no-one is looking. But I can see. Fook her. I will play with who I like.

The Ice Party

On Saturday morning Danny walked to town to collect his order from Pageturner, the Amberleigh bookshop. Pageturner was run by a strange old woman with too many cats for the past sixteen years. Her name was Arafdoli Chess and the marble floor of the bookshop was patterned in black and white tiles to match her name. The cats left molting fur over the bookshop floor, but Arafdoli loved them and wouldn't rid herself of them, even when customers were browsing. Although irritating at times, Danny found it comforting too.

The book he sought was not strict reading but Pry had hinted he should read round his subject more, especially if he wished to pursue literature at A-Level. The book was called _The Poetry of Silence and Snow_. Professor Pry had read a few lines at the beginning of term, and ever since he heard her breathy voice quote an unnamed poem he desired a copy for himself.

He expected the shop to be quiet. Even though it was Saturday morning, usually all the locals went to the big Waterstone's or even the stationers which sold a few books too. Pageturner was considered eccentric; a moribund oddity. However as Danny opened the door and heard the familiar tinkle of the bell announcing his arrival, he saw at least two people lingered in the shop. As he stepped inside, the noise from the argument they were conducting reached his ears.

'It's not my fault you won't understand!' a girl shouted.

'It's not just that. You have been acting oddly. I know things have been bad for you, I'm trying to understand. Honestly I am. It's just...things have got so bad between us now. We've lost sight of our friendship.'

The boy stopped talking.

A pregnant pause followed. Danny stood still, listening to the drama unfold in front of him. Coincidentally, he stood amid volumes of plays, as spines bearing Shakespeare and Wilde and others peeped out from antiquated bookshelves.

The boy drew a deep breath and began again, but the girl beat him to it.

'Don't speak. Don't say it. If you're about to say it, don't say it. Think of me, I don't want this to happen, this isn't what I intended.'

The boy shook his head, sighing and looking the other way, meeting Danny's eyes. Caught, like a rabbit in headlights, Danny immediately recognised his good friend. Turning back to the unseen girl, Tim uttered words he thought felt right, unaware he could never retract them once uttered.

'It's over. I think we should end it.'

As silent tears fell, Saffelia rushed from the shop, pushing back Danny with soft force as she exited. At the moment the door slammed shut, releasing again the tinkling bell which hung above the door's creaking hinge, Arafdoli Chess appeared behind the counter wearing thick rimmed spectacles and an extremely tatty purple beret above blue-rinsed hair.

'Can I help you dears with anything?' she asked politely, and in a frail voice.

Danny knew he needed to collect his order but now was not the time. He stared at Tim who knelt on the cold floor, disguising his pain by resting a solitary hand on the lowest bookshelf and shielding his face from Danny with a thick medical textbook. Breathing carefully, Danny felt the pang of rejection. In a way he didn't comprehend immediately, images of Janna and him at the Dropshot tennis club last year found their way to the front of his mind. The bright sun beating down on the ending of their own relationship. At the time he could only think how right it was that they end it, thinking he would never regret it. But slow-building nostalgia created a swamp of memory he felt compelled to endure silently. An innocent observer rendered the pain on both sides clearly. Now his sympathies could extend to Saffelia in a way that made painfully sharp the way Janna must have felt in the moment he rejected her. Viewing it objectively, it was as easy to see the pain and hurt Danny caused Janna as it was to see Tim's puncturing Saffelia's already delicate soul. A rising anger towards Tim rose up inside Danny, which he knew he must suppress. For the sake of his friendship with Tim, for the sake of not accusing and for the sake of not loathing himself too much.

Danny walked over and put his hand on Tim's shoulder.

'Are you alright mate?'

Tim looked up, embarrassed to see his friend staring down at him, concerned.

'Of course. Just a bit...difficult, that's all.'

Tim's high-pitched voice stumbled and faded. An awkward silence lay between them.

'Come on, let's go grab some lunch,' Tim said. Danny glanced over his shoulder to nod politely towards Arafdoli he would be back later, and she smiled as he left the shop.

Once in Wilfields they ordered burgers and chips and sat mulling over cokes. Danny didn't want to speak first. Tim looked pained, but hungrily ate his burger. Sleet fell slowly outside. The weather forecast predicted a light covering of snow at the weekend. Danny might have time to build a snowman or erect his bedroom Christmas tree, he reflected. He wondered what Ackley was doing now, whether he was old enough to see the wonder of Christmas yet. Perhaps he would remember the twinkling fairy lights or the sparkling reflections in the baubles. Would he remember his father? Danny's daydream was barely broken by Tim grunting loudly.

'Danny?'

'Yes, Tim?'

'Looked like you were miles away,' Tim said lightly, before his tone turned deep and serious.

'You're mad at me, aren't you? You're going to go see her, aren't you?'

Danny gazed out the window again, ignoring Tim's question. It wasn't sleeting much. Perhaps there would still be time to make another journey that evening.

*

Science was never an easy lesson for Danny but this was one of the hardest he'd encountered yet. Professor Slattery was teaching astronomy, the most challenging module in the syllabus. Despite the difficulty, Danny loved it. The vast stars and distant planets cut him from reality and landed him in other worlds, miles from earthly distress. Amanita excelled at science and was busily listing different galaxies in her laminated blue exercise book.

'Edmund Cloves!' boomed Slattery, peering creepily from silver-rimmed spectacles. 'Please tell the class the names of all nine planets, in order of distance from the sun.'

To everyone's surprise Edmund stood, beaming at the class. Slattery shuddered, fearing what would come. More inclined to issue a defiant joke or forbidden swear word, it was unusual for Edmund to volunteer information when asked. A small smile of satisfaction broke on Slattery's lips as Edmund remained faithful to an accurate geography of the solar system.

'Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune and Pluto', Edmund completed, smiling before he sat down.

'Correct. Good, very good. Back to work everyone,' growled Slattery.

Danny looked over at Amanita's exercise book, possibly the neatest thing he had ever seen. All the lines were colour coded. Pink, green and blue writing intermingled down the page, creating a visual feast of ink. Danny took his fountain pen, a birthday present from Polly a couple of years ago, and wrote carefully in the corner of her book.

"Have you heard?"

Amanita frowned at the intrusion in her book, then wrote back in pencil below Danny's question.

"Heard what? And please use a pencil!"

Danny wrote back immediately, still using the dark blue ink of his fountain pen.

"About Tim and Saffelia – I think it's over between them!"

"What!" Amanita wrote back in red pen.

Danny reached over with his pen, filling up Amanita's margin as efficiently as he could.

"Happened on Saturday. In Pageturner. I was there. Big shock, eh?"

Amanita paused as she looked over to see what Professor Slattery was doing. Unfortunately he had glanced at the two of them suspiciously.

'You two – anything to add?' Slattery boomed, once more.

'Yes sir,' Amanita spoke up bravely. 'What is the brightest star in the night sky at the moment?'

Amanita was a slippery minx at times Danny thought. She knew exactly how to play certain teachers. With Slattery, she knew a question like this would send him into raptures over his subject and divert attention from whatever subversion over which he intended to accost them. It worked.

'Ah-ha. A good question, Miss Walmer. The brightest star in the heavens at the moment is Sirius – you can see it in the low east sky from about six o'clock every evening. However it will drop from our horizon shortly. By Christmas it will be a planet. Saturn and his glorious rings will light up our skies as the brightest object, reaching its zenith round about the twenty-fifth, I think.'

Slattery beamed and his eyes looked for approval from Amanita in answer to her exquisitely timed question. She smiled back, before looking back down at her exercise book, and writing in green ink onto Danny's exercise book.

"Are you going to Dawn's party on the eighteenth?"

"What! The 'Ice' Party? Who's going?" Danny wrote back.

Amanita reached her hand underneath the desk and playfully pinched Danny's knee, before whispering in his ear.

'I am.'

*

Grateful to reach the end of another week, only a few days of school stood between Danny and the Christmas holidays' wave of warm joy and sugary excess. For Dawn's party he bought a shirt in undulating silverblue silk. He had seen it hanging on a clothes rack in Slick Nicks and when asking Nick Fasco its origin he was told it was the shirt he had pulled Amatory Poise in. As Danny threw splashes of Gucci aftershave over his torso he reached to his stereo and threw on a CD, and danced round his bedroom as if he were the lead singer of Verdant Shack, twisting his snake hips deliciously.

Dawn's ramshackle house rose above a small wooden porch, under which smokers nipped into the chill night air for a swift cigarette. Inside the house, loud house funk music pumped, deep bass and trippy drums combining with glassy vocals. Danny thought he heard Dilly Daisy in the mix and sighed. Before he had a chance to take in the surroundings Saffelia rushed up to him, kissing him on each cheek and leaving salmon imprints of Rimmel.

'Hi Danny!' she said drunkenly. 'How are you daahhling? I'm so happy Dawn is haavving this party! Thanks for cuumming over at the weekend to see hah I was doing – that was very karnnd.'

A figure stood rigid in the corner. Tim turned his head slightly towards the conversation but Danny couldn't interpret it as confirmation he'd heard Saffelia. So what if he had? They were doing nothing wrong. He was both their friends, even if the two of them weren't speaking to each other. It would be painful in so many ways. Danny couldn't tell if the harshest thing was that they couldn't all hang out together anymore, or the reminder Saffelia's tear-stained face provided as she rushed from PageTurner, connecting her anguish to his own split from Janna last year. He was learning the whole thing about life, was that it was difficult to extricate one thing from another – an isolated meaning morphed into something monstrous through the prism of human experience. Small moments could become huge dramas. Single words carved through friendships, creating rifts and clefting what was once love. Everything was associated, like a virus. It made Danny's head spin.

Saffelia pushed a glass of red wine into his hand. As he sipped it he spotted Dawn rush from the kitchen with assorted snacks on a tray, and he remembered how hungry he was.

'Excuse me,' Danny said impolitely and grabbed a handful of vol-au-vents. A competing hand reached for the same snacks, and Danny didn't need to recognise the lanky shadow and greedy grasp to know to whom the hand belonged.

'So you came along then?'

'Don't see why I should miss out on a good party?' Tim said, munching slowly, and rather miserably Danny thought, on his mini-prawn souffle. 'Who knows? I might get lucky.'

Danny didn't think so. All the girls were avoiding him like the plague because of what he'd done. Even if they did forgive him from dumping Saffelia in the middle of winter and Christmas party season, a crime he could be serving a sentence for until the end of the year, they all knew he would be damaged goods for at least another month, as though an indelible brand of 'Rebound' had been spelt out on his forehead in flames. Danny sipped his wine and allowed the alcohol to spread like a warm hug through his bloodstream. Fast trance music propelled dancing teens onto their feet. Bodies flailed restlessly around the small living room and collided deliciously in the dark. Samuel Mills kept touching Dawn Russet on her hips, on her bum, on her breasts. In full view of everyone Danny thought it too much, but the alcohol was beginning to take effect and he found as he focused more on what he wanted from the evening he cared less about the debauchery to which other people succumbed. He sat down on the stair, next to Saffelia softly humming to herself.

'What's up?' he said, as he crouched beside her.

'Nowt,' she grinned back at him. 'I'm as 'appy as Larry.'

'Oh, and who's Larry?' Danny said.

Saffelia raised her eyebrows at him.

'If I told you I'd have to kill you. Or at least pin you to my bed and do dangerous things to you,' she whispered in his ear. Danny nearly choked on his wine. She giggled.

'Such a lovely evening, don't you think? Tell me a story, Danny.'

'A story?' Danny repeated, thinking fast.

He didn't think he knew any good stories. There had been only a few incidents and boring episodes in his young life and no-one would be interested in them. Then an idea dawned.

'Well, there was once this girl called...Stella. She had a boyfriend called...Tom.' Danny began.

'Sounds faaameeliar!' Saffelia winked, but motioned for him to continue.

'One day, they had a row, over something very silly...'

'How do you knerr it was something silly!' Saffelia said, indignant.

Danny leant back and smiled.

'I thought this was my story,' he whispered back.

Saffelia paused, a puzzled expression crossing her vodka-soaked features. She nodded for Danny to continue, but maintained a steely gaze into his eyes and he chose his next words carefully.

'They had a row. A row neither Stella nor Tom wished to have. Both became upset and didn't speak to each other for days and days. Their split turned into weeks and weeks, and eventually years and years. Until one day, Stella bumped into Tom in the street and grabbed his arm so he couldn't get away. And she told him she still loved him very much. And...and...' Danny couldn't look at Saffelia as he said this, 'and, they lived together happily ever after.'

Saffelia looked down at her toenails which peeped out of light yellow shoes. Painted pink with gold glitter, the flashing disco ball on Dawn's bookshelf made the light reflect off them and throw gold specks of light into the air between Saffelia and Danny. She put her hands on her knees and leaned forward, staring hard into the opposite wall as if it were a hidden portal into another world. Danny looked also, and saw to his horror Tim slow-dancing with Olive Spritser. Saffelia turned to Danny.

'You know Danny, I think there is one thing your story proves beyond a shadow of a doubt.'

'What's that?' Danny said returning her smile, which in that instant vanished.

'You don't know me at all.'

*

We're in the woods again. I feel safe here. Usually. So does Lucy. She is halfway up a tree and grinning because she knows I can't climb that high yet.

'Come up and kiss me' she calls. But I am scared. It's not the climbing that scares me.

Snowfall

The cobalt dusk glimmered with flashing dots of polychromatic light. Some were stars, some were aeroplanes lowering overhead, following the Amberleigh coastline like a lighthouse directing the way to land. Tim and Danny staggered down the cobbles of Glendinning Way, towards the lane where Tim lived.

'Are you going to be alright?' Danny said as a farewell to his friend.

He asked half in concern and half in anger. Feelings battled inside Danny for precedence: on the one hand Tim's lack of tact with Saffelia had landed himself into this situation; on the other Tim didn't have anyone else to fall back, and Danny was his closest friend. Danny had been there; and he hesitated when the lure of the moral high ground beckoned him. Still, he didn't want to worry about Tim over the Christmas holidays.

Tim kept his head bowed as he proceeded inside his front door, but wordlessly put his hand up to signify he would survive. Danny breathed in the freezing night air and turned to make his way home. A few paces up the road as he turned into Hallow street, Danny felt the faintest touch on his shoulder. It was like a ghost had breathed on his neck. He looked behind and saw no-one. Strolling on more warily, about five minutes later he felt the same sensation again. It was odd. Like someone with a jug of icy cold water was holding it above him and allowing a drop intermittently to fall onto his face. The clouds now quilted the sky with blue gloom. It was so thick Danny felt if he reached out his arm he could puncture the vapour and touch the sky. Upon trying, the glitch of confusion caused in his brain about unclaimed touches was righted. He couldn't see it at first, but now it was clear. It wasn't his drunken imagination. The landscape was being shrouded and to the descending entity he was just another part of the landscape. Just another dormant structure being blanketed in snow. Flakes struck him with the physical force of an invisible feather, only visible when viewed in the distance. Yet they carried the emotional momentum of a car striking a pedestrian, mistakenly, accidentally.

Something bothered him; it gnawed away at the deep of his mind. He felt as if a rotting decay had set in at root, and life was doing what it always did – continuing happily, routinely and obliviously. As the paleness fell, the land become obscured with a translucent film through which everything paled. He could not articulate the sluggish concept, nor lift the veil from his mind, which like the snow concealed his sublime thoughts. Yet it persisted. Something was not right.

Janna Chisely – once his girlfriend, now his sometimes friend had not been in touch for days. Danny suspected she was dating again. Rumour had it she had been seen kissing a boy from St Cecilia's the other night outside O'Donnells. When Danny heard, his face deliberated a mental image of indifference while his heart cried to be ripped from his bleeding ventricles and spared the torment. It was not so much she might be seeing other people, but that her advancing was a counterpoint to his own lonely misery. Those days they spent together had been blissful in the way ignorance acts as a protective guardian against experience. Now it was over and she was still alive, blood still flowing round her swollen urges. Without warning he ached for her, a lingering craving he never felt when they had been seeing each other, nor in those anxious virginal moments when he had first asked her out. It scared and terrified him but most of all it sent exponential waves of hurt soaring through him, welling in his chest, down his limbs and curdling deep within the pit of his stomach.

Polly was calling him for tea. Again, he did not want to go. He wanted to remain, staring at the snow, falling now like a thousand veils of tears, the landscape crying for his lost, forgotten love. Danny kicked the wall, and his little toe began throbbing. Salt water flooded his tear duct. He would not lift his hand to remove the tear. That would be to concede defeat. That would be to admit he had made a mistake. That would be to accept that like every single fool in the history of humanity he had loved, and lost.

*

The Christmas tree stood motionless and silent. Lit only by rainbow-coloured bulbs, they twisted and snaked the tree like the train of a pied piper, leading revellers up the fairy's skirt. It inspired his earliest memories when he and Polly had had a mother. Danny stared at the spruce, rising up like a glittering promise and listening to a church choir belt out carols on the television. He knew his father was watching him closely, for signs of grief perhaps, but it didn't bother him. The lights outside the window, down on the beach where he could hear the calm sea lapping the shore, seemed to smile at him in their individual isolation. He connected with the wordless simplicity of their glow. He wanted to embrace them, and tell them he loved them too.

'I'm going out.'

The words had barely left his lips before he knew what he was saying. His father roused a half-drowsy reply from his sleeping position in his armchair, the small pool of cognac lying like an oil slick in his glass.

'Okay, make sure you shut the door behind you.'

Once outside in the frosty night air, which contained a crispness and cleanness that pleased Danny, freshness thrust into his cold thoughts which presented the dilemma. Where to go? He knew Saffelia would not want to see him. She had thrown off the pretence of their friendship since the confrontation at Dawn's party. In fact, he didn't think she was even in Amberleigh at the moment. Tim had mumbled something about her darting off to Cumbria at the last minute to spend time with her cousins. A momentary pang of extended family jealousy tugged at Danny's heart – he didn't know anything about his own extended family, aunts and uncles let alone his cousins – before he let it go as easily as the snow melted into tarmac. But Mrs Forrest, Phoebe would be there. She had kindly offered to see him and talk things over if ever there was anything on his mind. All over a cup of tea. It was tempting. Instinct took over and before his thoughts had crystallized into purpose, he was walking down the familiar cobbles and into the tree-lined avenue of Saffelia's road. On reaching the drive that led to her house, and seeing the light in Mrs Forrest's bedroom, Danny hesitated. What if she had already gone to bed? What if she was sleeping in front of the television? Would he be able to bear the guilt, lest the public shame if he deliberately awoke a schoolfriend's mother at an unreasonable hour. It would travel round the fifth-year like wildfire. Everyone would have an opinion on why he had visited. He knew what the school gossips were like, where they were located, and the wiry robustness of their indestructible grapevines. The image of a plump teacher wearing peach lipstick flashed in his mind: a chart band's music video featuring a forbidden object of affection. The cheeky wink to the camera one of the band members gave as he entered the home of the scantily clad teacher. But Mrs Forrest – Phoebe (he would never get used to calling her by her first name) was not a teacher. Her only link to the school and authority was being the parent of a pupil. Who was absent. She was on her own then, and she had offered Danny company freely, at the time.

With a resolve he had to reaffirm with each step, Danny strode to the pink front door, lifted the brass knocker, and allowed it to fall with a thunderous crash on the paintwork beneath. Shit! A few seconds. The light in the hall began to glow, sending palpitations shooting in his belly. Danny gulped. It was wrong, it was all wrong. She was going to slam the door in his face. He was going to be the humiliation of the school. Every one would laugh at him. Why did he think he could seduce a woman twenty years his senior, and what had ever given him the inclination, apart from her own unsubtle overtures? He closed his eyes feeling the crushing inevitability of impending doom swim in his soul. The door opened.

*

The latest edition of the _Amberleigh Post_ lay open at the foot of the bed. In the middle a double page spread by Bee Dew told of the strains and stresses currently felt by teenagers, in light of the recent suicide in the Snowfall Grove. It inadequately covered the limits and extents of adolescent pain. Or so Danny thought as he lifted his head when he finished reading it. It was a nice sensation, the stroking at the nape of his neck, or was it kissing? Lips that had caressed with hidden moisture so often before. A lifetime to perfect the technique. Liberal and full of affection. Not quite crinkly, soft and mature. Desire with the force removed. Tenderness encapsulated in unhurried moments. Gentle, almost indifferent yet unconditional gestures. It wasn't quite bliss, but a state of immoderate comfort. Phoebe had just lit her second cigarette of the morning and this one shared the traditional symbolic value. All those fifties films flooded Danny's mind. He guessed social mores back then dictated imagery be more subtle. It was infinitely more interesting and playful, fucking an older woman. The anxiety of expectation and pressure of learned protocols had disappeared. Danny breathed a sigh of relief and closed his eyes. Again he breathed the invading smell of chrysanthemums rising from the vase of the flowers on the windowsill. It mingled with the smoke from Phoebe's cigarette.

'So who was she then?'

'Hmm' Danny burbled, almost incomprehensibly.

'The girl who made you this vulnerable.'

Danny took in every word but pretended he was asleep. Was it possible he had found someone to share his pain or, like all the others, would she betray his trust in the cruellest way imaginable? It had been fine for a while, until some terrible and lovely memory from their brief togetherness surged forth like an evil soldier reminding him what he had lost.

'Did you love her?' Phoebe said, chuckling to herself at something in _Hello_ magazine.

Danny raised his head and the blood rushed back down from his head making adrenaline shoot up and down his spine. It was a thrilling sensation.

'How would I really know what love is? I'm just a boy.' Danny said disconsolate.

Phoebe sighed and lifted his face with a solitary pink fingernail.

'You're not so small, you know,' she said kindly.

Words like these made Danny feel warm, until he saw the funny side and burst into spasms of laughter, only to stop and pause to stare at Phoebe before beginning again.

'Shall I let you into a secret?' Phoebe whispered, still half-giggling.

'What? Danny said, his curiosity aroused.

Was he about to find out why Saffelia kept acting strangely? Inconsistently. Almost awry.

'Jim Travershall. I know him, we went to school together. I know he was there at the Grove, and I know you must have suspicions about him, considering that girl's tragic death. But you must put those suspicions aside Danny. You're barking up the wrong tree there.'

Danny mulled it over as he approached the bedroom window and peered out at the listless sight of a line of parked cars, half-hidden by naked trees. The light had turned pale pink and graduated tints of grey cloud streaked across the sky, like the coat of an exotic tiger rested on unseen pockets of air. Because of the intrusion in the Grove, Jim Travershall had become a loathsome figure to Danny. Always stalking the corridors, head slightly bent forward. Always wearing a puzzled expression on his too young face. Like Calcite, Danny saw the deception in his demeanour and didn't hesitate to believe Travershall knew the power he wielded too well.

Gazing over at the bed Danny watched the visual feast of part-naked flesh that lay before him. Legs parted, silk fabric rising and falling over her pert bosom, a repeat performance was entirely foreseeable. He glanced at her digital alarm clock – the day was getting on.

*

As the programme began the familiar pallid whiteness enveloped the scene. A man – a writer and storyteller – walked gingerly beside a row of trees frosted with freshly fallen ice crystals. As he receded into that magic blue forest it seemed to Danny a grave secret revealed a thousand times before rose again to impart its horrific disappointment once more. The film progressed with lightning efficiency. Through the exhilaration of discovery, the comradely adventures round the house, the subtle reminders of the fragility of existence. Danny wanted to warn the young boy. To shout to him he should be careful, he should cherish this moment, protect, look after it, nurture it, never forget it, because it would be gone in less than an instant. But the boy was oblivious, just like Danny had been with Janna. As they jumped from their illicit jaunt and took their steps toward the sky, Danny closed his eyes and wallowed beneath the sound of that hypnotic dream.

When he opened his eyes the television was turned off, the room was dark and Polly was nudging his shoulder with her hand.

'I missed it,' were his first words after rousing.

'It'll be on next year,' Polly whispered wiping the sweat from his forehead with a pale cloth.

'Yes – but it'll have the same ending.' Danny muttered, before hugging his sister close and allowing spontaneous tears to fall.

As Christmas Eve drew closer, Danny sat by his window brooding on his friends. They seemed so close yet so far away at the same time. Snow began to fall from a leaden sky and started to settle. It rested atop the plants, the grass, the shed roof, the edge of the fence separating his garden from the road, and the clifftop. Falling thinly at first it gradually built up, like the layers of a virginal white petticoat being loosed from heaven, covering the earth and wrapping it in innocence. With the snow dormant memories stepped forth, like old friends waiting to be reunited with the rare sensation of falling flakes. They were of his childhood. Skidding down the hill in the riveted yellow sledge with his sister. Random snowball fights with children he barely remembered. The warnings from his father about wrapping up warm, tucking his trousers into his socks, wearing a hat and gloves. It had been a ritual dressing and undressing every time they entered or exited the house. Impatience burned in his childish will and he remembered how he had strained at the leash. To rush out and pick a ball of the omnipresent snow and hurl it at anybody or anything to see how far he could reach.

Among all this activity a happy absence lingered which Danny could not articulate. Something he did not have to worry about. Something for which the advent came later. Something which arrived out of the slateblue, which Danny had at first tried to resist before begrudgingly embracing. In the midst of his snowy memories, when the world was quiet and peaceful it catched. As the ground became encrusted with silver icing it was something Danny felt he could have done without.

*

As they headed to Wilfields an eerie silence flowed between the pair, Danny wrapped his new scarf tightly round his neck to protect from the bitter wind.

'I need a leak.' Danny said, almost without thinking.

'Yes. Thank you for sharing that with me Danny. Can't you at least wait until we get to the pub?'

Danny and Amanita were taking care as they proceeded down the cobbles to meet Tim. He had said he wanted to meet them for a post-Christmas drink. Becoming bored with the company of his parents, Danny suspected he was no doubt missing the company of Saffelia. When they arrived it became apparent that relations between the couple torn asunder had deteriorated.

'It's definitely over. There's no going back. I don't even know if we'll speak again.' Tim said, a hint of optimism in his voice.

'Don't be silly,' Amanita said, sipping on her coke and vodka (she had slipped some in from a flask when the barman wasn't watching). 'You'll have to speak to her again at least. We're in the same year.' Then she added, a little more worriedly, 'We're all on the same newspaper together.'

Danny glanced at Tim, the corners of his mouth rising in a smirk.

'It's nice to know that deep in the depths of my romantic despair, your unflinching concern for the newspaper does not die,' Tim uttered in one breath.

Amanita looked slightly offended.

'Well someone's got to keep it running!' she exclaimed, downing her drink and pouring more vodka into the empty glass.

'What's in the next issue?' Danny asked.

'Aha,' she winked mysteriously, 'we shall see. I thought we'd get a bit literary for the next issue. Professor Pry is breathing down my neck, so we better have some good book reviews in there or something. Sorry Tim, we're going to have to cut Sport to make room.'

Tim's face looked blank for a moment, before exploding in mock rage.

'Cut sport! For some poxy book reviews that no-one's going to read! Are you insane?'

Amanita smiled, relieved to see the old Tim back. The Christmas season was drawing to a close and as the holidays neared their conclusion faint contours of the term ahead materialised through the misty stains of a pint glass. Soon they would be back at school, hard at work with final preparations for GCSE exams. The warmth rippled through Danny at how glad he was to share this moment with two of his close, no, his _closest_ friends, in the world. Remaining in the pub until closing time, the trio laughed, drank and reminisced of happy times. The Snowfall Grove seemed a million miles away to them.

Deep in the forest, while birds snuggled deep within freezing nests, a tall blonde haired lady shook the frost from her hair, and fell to her knees. Dropping the flowers she had brought, her ripping tears formed deep trenches in the snow.

*

Danny had told himself he was only going to check on Saffelia. See how she was. Make sure she was coping. Okay, she had snubbed him at the party. Slightly rude he thought. But he wouldn't hold it against her. He wanted her to know he would be there for her, in the unconditional way friends should be but rarely are. The way we automatically and subconsciously expect family to be. It had nothing, absolutely nothing he told himself, to do with the fact that her mother, Phoebe Forrest would be, probably, cooking Saffelia's dinner at the same time of his call.

A series of clowns lined up on Saffelia's bedroom window sill. Danny stared like a wonder struck soul at their sinister ceramic faces, painted with gleaming white gloss. All wore sad expressions. Saffelia bounced herself down on the bed, and padded the space next to her for him to sit. Danny's knees shook slightly. If only she knew...

'Did you bring the project?' she asked.

Danny halted for a moment, wondering what to say.

'I did...but that's not the reason I came round. I wanted to check up on you. How're you're doing. January is a difficult month.'

'I'm not some pity case!' Saffelia said, vociferous. She added more quietly, 'At least, I never used to be.'

Danny considered her, not knowing what to say, waiting for the words to arrive. Remaining silent, he pulled out the exercise book containing Amanita's musings on how to structure the book review pages of the forthcoming edition of the _Oracle_.

'I thought we could invite every girl in the year to write a book review, and structure it like this,' Saffelia said. She pointed out on a piece of paper where each review would go, scattered in a dream-like fashion. Each review contained within bubbles of cloud, all different shapes and sizes.

Something ached at the back of Danny's mind.

'Why only girls?' he asked, ponderously.

'Danny? I would have thought that would be obvious! The only way you're going to get any intelligent comment on literature is by having the girls write them. Besides, I'm not sure you could find a single boy who has even read a book. Apart from you of course.'

Danny smiled in answer but felt struck by the unjust assumption, as casual as air but as piercing as ice. A sword, lined with a soft blanket to cushion the blow, had torn right through him. Shattering his comprehension of man as the initial image, the omnipresent angel, the renaissance man, always to be respected. What was Saffelia on about?

'I'm just being practical,' Saffelia said, observing confusion in his eyes. 'I'm telling you, no boy will want to write a book review.'

Danny thought for a moment.

'I bet I could get at least five to write reviews.'

In his mind, he was determined to get Tim to read _High Fidelity_.

Saffelia frowned and twirled one of her blonde curls. She walked to the dressing table and began playing with some mascara, dipping it in and out of the black goo as if it were a flake in ice cream. Danny inspected Saffelia's diagram of how the pages should look.

'Do you not think this is a little scatter-brained?' he said, absent-mindedly.

Danny knew he had said the wrong thing as soon as the words left his mouth. The words had flowed from irretrievable logic but what was absent was any self-awareness or any awareness at all how his words would sound, once said. Saffelia's face hardened and her eyes narrowed into thin slits as she hurled something hard from her palm. It flew over Danny's shoulder, and thumped the wall behind.

Phoebe rushed in to see what caused the noise, but the instant tidal wave of anger subsided as fast as it arrived. Saffelia's face transformed from raging red cheeks to the calmness of rosy pink at the sight of her mother. Phoebe smiled kindly at her daughter.

'Dear, are you alright?' she said maternally, in a voice that made Danny feel shameful.

'Yes Mum, I'm fine. Just...slipped out of my hand.'

Ovals of sweat the size of bulbous beetles broke on Danny's forehead. He wiped them away with the back of his hand as if admonishing himself with a swipe, and found his hand covered. When Saffelia spoke again her voice was cold.

'I think Danny was just going home for dinner.'

Phoebe turned to look at Danny. From the corner of his eye he caught a withering scowl from Saffelia in his direction.

'Maybe Danny would like to stay for a cup of tea?' Phoebe said in a way that indicated the matter was already settled. Quivering with guilt and craving Danny nodded.

'It was terrible,' Phoebe said to Danny when they were alone together in the living room. 'She was shaking and convulsing. We couldn't get her to stop. All the while she insisted on watching the snow. Snow? What snow? There was no snow, it was crazy. She laughed like a lunatic through the whole thing.'

Phoebe hands shook as she pulled out a cigarette from the packet on the table. Danny watched the tube arc up and down between corpulent lips. Her face visibly relaxed as she exhaled dark plumes of hoary smoke into the cosy air. Danny didn't know what to say. Saffelia seemed bright and bouncy at school. He knew she was struggling but he couldn't conceive her as crazy. There must be a word to describe what she suffered with but he couldn't reach it. He didn't want to ask Phoebe.

On his walk home, Danny paused to stare at the ocean. The wind had calmed in recent days and the odd snow shower melted into the ocean like glittering silver. To Danny snow symbolised happiness in childhood. Frolics with friends and family. Laughs and light. Creating sculptures from the pliable heaven-sent cream. Time standing still while cars slowed beneath Danny's sledging pace, making him as powerful as they were. Now the white swarm took on an ominous meaning. A shaking portent of darkness. A harbinger of shivering madness.

He decided to call in on Amanita. A small detour, Danny felt the need for the common-sense stability she offered from every pore. Everything else was too unbalanced at the moment.

She was cooking a marmalade cake in the kitchen when he called. Her hair was tied in a thick bob, dyed dark black. An amusing icing sugar blob marked her nose and Danny had neither the heart nor inclination to tell her it was there. He wondered if she had guessed about him and Phoebe.

'Hallo mate, what's up?' she asked as she slid a second swirling bronze mixture into the oven.

Danny couldn't help gazing at her. Their kiss earlier in the autumn had left lingering traces of fondness, despite the confusion that had come after. Thinking about eyes that swam. Soft lips that bent with desire. Hemispheres of her rounded bottom. A pudgy belly, sticking out in her tight, everyday tee. She caught him looking, and pulled her t-shirt hopelessly down until it gradually pushed itself back up again.

'I was just passing,' Danny said quietly, reluctant to invite more questions. He just wanted to sit and be in her company. To listen to her day while she prattled away, so he could decompress and work things out.

'Oh yes,' Amanita said, fixing him with a hard look.

'Yes,' Danny said simply, returning the look with equal hardness.

'Would you like some cake when it's ready?' Amanita said, still gazing in his brown eyes.

Danny looked away. He hadn't come here to talk about cake. It was too obvious. He was about to begin a conversation about Saffelia, and hint at what Phoebe had told him when Amanita spoke again.

'Do you want to know something interesting?'

'Always.'

'Cedric and Edmund aren't guilty of possessing drugs. They were tricked. They thought it was sherbet.'

'Sherbet?' Danny said, disbelievingly.

'I know it sounds unlikely doesn't it? Pry's taking on their case. Says they were duped.'

'Duped. Who by?'

'Ahh,' Amanita said mysteriously. 'We don't know. Cedric and Edmund won't utter a single word about it. It appears they don't want to incriminate someone, but I think different.'

Danny sighed. A theory was brewing among Amanita's grey cells. His story about Saffelia would have to wait.

Amanita dipped her finger in the gooey cake mixture she had just removed the oven. In the top she set six purple cherries, before dripping melted chocolate over them and the rest of the cake.

'Cherries and chocolate. Mmm,' she said, liberating one of the chocolate covered cherries and dropping it between icing-sugar frosted lips.

'So? Are you going to tell me what you think about Cedric and Edmund? Or do I have to read it in the next edition of the _Oracle_?' Danny said, twirling a coffee mug round his finger loosely.

'I think they were given something to make them forget. That's why they won't say anything. They can't remember anything. It looks cooler to appear as though they're protecting someone,' Amanita said proudly.

Danny's mug crashed to the floor, splintering into sharp shards of crockery.

'Given something? Like what?'

Amanita hung her apron on the kitchen door.

'Fancy coming to my room?'

They wandered into Amanita's CD laden room. On the floor lay latest offerings from Lily Allen, The Kooks, Kasabian, Extreme, Madonna and Alice Cooper.

'Going through a bit of a goth phase are we?' Danny said, picking up the Alice Cooper.

'Nothing wrong with a bit of hard rock.'

Amanita reached into her top drawer and pulled out a small silver packet. It had eight small lumps, in two columns. It was a sheet of pills. She tossed it over to Danny.

'Rohypnol.' Amanita announced.

'Hypno-what?' Danny repeated.

'Row –hip – nol.' Amanita spelled out to him. 'It's a drug. It's used in sleep disorder cases, to sedate people enough for them to get to sleep. When they awake they would never know they used something to aid them to get to sleep. Unless...'

'Unless they popped the pill themselves.' Danny said, catching on. 'Where did you get them?'

Amanita smiled and scratched her head.

'I can't tell you,' Amanita said, grinning in a revealing way. She was unable to conceal the source of her secret to Danny.

'It was Professor Wonder wasn't it? Having trouble getting to sleep these days is he?' Danny said, the tinge of cynicism surprising even him.

'He found them. Said they slipped out of Belladonna Whimsy's handbag as she was scuttling to a lesson. Nipping out for a fag more like. He didn't want any student to find them.'

Amanita said all this in one breath.

'And you believed him?' Danny said, trying to distance himself from deeply sublimated faith in Wonder with pretend scepticism.

Amanita looked desperately hurt, but Danny remembered with weariness this was the way she always looked whenever anyone questioned her beloved religion teacher.

'Of course I believed him. Why would he lie?'

'A million reasons,' Danny batted back. 'He may have poisoned them, it may have been him supplying them.'

Amanita was about to riposte, but Danny cut across her again with fervent arrogance. 'And why did he give them to you?'

Her voice halted, and she suddenly became silent. She scratched her head again, as if trying to remove a non-existent fly trapped in her dark hair.

'Amanita...?' Danny said, trying to draw out whatever Amanita was attempting to hide.

'I think it's time to check my cake,' she said abruptly, diving out the door before Danny could ask another question.

It was cold in the living room as they gorged on Amanita's rich marmalade cake. The extra stodge would help fight the winter. Danny dipped his in some cream on the side of his plate and took a huge bite, the spicy fruit flavour mixing with the warm comfort of chewing the egg, butter and sugar medley. When they began watching the news Danny realised why he was so hungry. He hadn't eaten any tea.

'So you took it from his pocket when he wasn't looking?' Danny said, the realisation clicking into place.

Amanita stared at the news.

'I see they're opening the Snowfall Grove again,' she said. 'Look.'

Danny watched the screen. Many people milling about in the foreground. As police officers removed the yellow and white striped tape, the gates opened. The yellow and blue checked cars withdrew and eventually cars of visitors drove through the gates and along the twig strewn entrance to the Grove. Danny looked at the screen again. In the distance he observed a figure, too far away and too small to identify. Yet the outline of that form brought tantalising and vague recognition. The slight stature. Was it blonde hair? He couldn't tell. The shape didn't move. Danny watched the constable officially declare to a waiting reporter the enquiry into the dead girl had tragically deemed it a suicide, and that the investigation was now concluded. Danny looked again at the trees in the background. The silhouetted outline had vanished.

*

Yay it snowed today. I just wish it was still Christmas. I made a snowman on the front lawn but Luka destroyed it fookhead that he is so me and Lucy went off to the woods and made an even bigger snowman together. The snow dropped on the Orb like a huge blanket of love and we rolled around in it like it was a lake of white chocolate and then cuddled up for warmth. That was when it happened, when she did it. It tasted nice, like softness. Softer than snow, warmer than heaven.

The Astronomy Club

Professor Wonder prowled the class like a jaguar watching its prey before striking. An uneasy twitch infrequently crossed his face, something Tim picked up on instantly.

'Who can tell me, the true meaning of the word "Shiva"? Wonder said, contemplating the mostly confused faces staring back at him from his class. All apart from Tim, who sensed imminent victory. 'Tim?'

Tim smiled, waving away a hair from his face vainly.

'Sir the true meaning of the word "Sheee – va!"' Tim announced with a flourish, 'is "the auspicious one".'

Wonder looked perplexed and stopped prowling. Even Amanita turned her head to look at Tim. He had never until today answered a question correctly in Wonder's lesson.

'Of course. Well done Timothy. You are correct. Shiva was a crucial part of the Hindu trinity. While he is known as the god of destruction, he is also intimately linked to a role as a god of...anyone?'

'Generation,' offered Saffelia.

'That's correct, Miss Forrest. My, we've some sharp ones here today. Yes "generation" is the key to understanding Shiva's role as the god of destruction. For without death, we cannot create life. The circle of life is, after all, a circle and comes to end when another begins. His other guise is as the lord of the dance, which mimics his activities in destroying and renewing the universe.'

Wonder took a deep breath and fixed an inscrutable expression on his class. Danny glanced out of the window. He couldn't help thinking about Phoebe. Her tender pink crinkled lips. Her warm bosom, so unassuming in her plain motherly tops. It was wrong, it was all _awfully_ wrong, he knew that. Again the picture of her face swam across his inner eye. This time scolding Saffelia for putting her knickers in the wrong wash. Or smiling as she presented a meal on the table. They drifted into his mind, so when Wonder appeared by his desk Danny was spiritually and mentally a million miles away.

'Young sir,' the Professor whispered, 'I wonder which fields and trees you have been roaming in.'

It was an unusual thing to say, even for the enigmatic teacher. Danny's face transformed from cheery fantasy to perplexity, betraying genuine confusion to Wonder.

'I meant it figuratively, of course.' Wonder smiled, gently. 'Danny, how have you been getting on with your religious studies homework?'

'Okay sir,' Danny said, frantically trying to think what his last essay had been on.

'I received your last piece. It was very good, but perhaps we might have a little chat at the end of the lesson.'

Danny couldn't remember what he had written, but was at least relieved that Wonder saved him from the terrible ignominy of writing something unworthy of being read. As the Professor skipped away to write something in red ink on his flashy new whiteboard, a vision of brilliance gleaming at the class, Danny returned to his reverie. Continuing to stare out the windows which overlooked the ocean and Fourlawns, Danny felt the silent scene was as melodious as song. Sprinkled liberally with crispy white frost, the isle looked dangerous to the group of shivering rugby players Spittlebug led from the boats. Danny hated rugby, especially at this time of year when the ground was frozen solid. Diving for the slippery leather orb often meant getting kicked in the process, or breaking your jaw on dew-oppressed grass.

He tried to concentrate on the exercise before him: trawling through the religions they'd learnt so far, picking up the symbols' disparate meanings within each one. Every time the task engaged his brain it leapt off in another direction and it was left to Amanita to poke him in the knee with her pen to bring him back down to earth. The bell rang and students gladly packed their books and filed out. Danny remembered with an ominous feeling he hadn't quite finished in this lesson.

'See you outside,' Amanita whispered as she slipped past Wonder to exit the room, carefully managing to brush her breasts against the back of his suit as she left. Wonder beckoned Danny to his desk with a single digit while he marked some books.

'Yes sir.'

'Danny please, take a seat. Your essay on Salome and Herodias was very interesting.'

Wonder sat back and watched Danny expectantly, as if he had asked a question. Then he leant forward as if confiding something.

'It was historically accurate of course. In tune with the religious belief of the events. But the language you used, Danny? I mean no-one in all of my classes, and I have been setting this assignment for five years now, no-one has ever described Salome's dance like that before. It was...well it was deeply...erotic!'

Danny began to turn red. Again he delved in his subconscious to mentally retrieve the words he'd used in that essay.

'Your treatment of Herodias herself. Danny, she is generally considered a villain, for pressurising her daughter to demand John the Baptist's head. But from the perspective of the essay you wrote: it's almost as if she is some kind of illicit saviour. The way you describe her maternal ways, it's like she is some kind of competitor for the Virgin Mary. Danny, do you know what I'm saying?'

Danny felt tense, but didn't care that he was blushing.

'No sir, I don't,' he said in a whisper, before adding more loudly, 'why don't you spell it out for me?'

Wonder looked at him hard.

'Okay then. I will. Danny, to write like this for a teacher in an assignment, well I have no choice but to give you an A. All the religious detail is accurate. However I would like to know Danny – what is going on in that head of yours? Do you have any other outlet in which to release these thoughts? I take it that's all they are, just thoughts?'

Danny returned Wonder's gaze, and for the first time felt like his equal. He would not flinch. The delights of Phoebe's flesh – perhaps they were more than even Wonder himself had experienced. He could see signs of age on Wonder's brow. His sprightly demeanour now looked wizened, his long-feted youth tired and expired. This close up Danny saw a few grey hairs creep in amongst the light caramel chops. Deciding not to answer Wonder's question, Danny asked a question of his own.

'Sir are you still supporting the _Oracle_?'

Puzzled at the change of subject, Wonder went along with Danny.

'Yes, of course.'

'And do you read every edition?'

Wonder stared hard at Danny as though ruminating something decisive. A gleam of suspicion entered his knowing twinkle.

'Yes, Danny I do. Cover to cover. Why do you ask?'

'Good,' said Danny cryptically. 'Now may I go?'

With a sigh Wonder nodded and Danny left the classroom, his eyes blazing with the power of reticence.

*

Ravana was raving again. This time it was a lecture on how they hadn't remembered the correct elements of a plant's reproductive system, or a human's for that matter, and that they were all bound to fail their upcoming Biology mock. Despite the mini tempest so frequent in all his lessons these days, Danny felt somnolent. Mid-afternoon had arrived with its wave of sleep and low blood sugar. From over her shoulder Danny lazily watched Janna Chisely draw a diagram of a defunct stamen in her pink exercise book. Charlie Shackleton was badgering him with some hair-brained scheme, preventing him from dozing into his day-dream entirely.

'It would be so great. I mean I can do Biology and will probably ace all the exams, but it's so boring and not really what I want to do at all. No, physics and astronomy – _that's_ what's fascinating! All those stars, galaxies, solar systems to be discovered. I've already got Mary interested. We just need a few more. Danny?'

Danny removed his eyes from the dead winter trees scattered in the field below the window. The serenity of that peaceful view had been drawing on his imagination, casting shadows and light into unwritten stories. The unbroken white frost tempted him. From the comparative warmth of the classroom it carried little indication of how cold it might be.

'Sorry, Charlie – what was that? I was miles away.'

Charlie began again, irritating Danny with the same fervent enthusiasm. He managed to make out something about a new astronomy club. A telescope Charlie's father had bought. Permission to use the old hut on Fourlawns, Fourgone. Danny still hadn't forgotten Charlie's expertise at mixing, albeit unwittingly, the necessary chemicals for Flambeau to line the school with explosives. It wasn't that he didn't trust Charlie but Danny wished he could try harder to cultivate awareness of how he came across.

'Okay, okay. Anything for a quiet life. Text me when you're having the first meeting.'

'It's tonight,' Charlie exclaimed. 'We're expecting a completely clear night. It should be good and we should see a few galaxies. Also, Mars is expected to be bright around one am.'

One am? For fuck's sake, Danny thought. There was no way Danny was crowding in some freezing cold hut until the early hours, no matter how dazzling the red planet became. Contemplating the severity of the biting cold, and how deep the mercury might plunge, Danny remembered the thick duffle coat and scarf his father had bought him for Christmas. Smiling at the memory of the gift he continued to doodle the petals of a severely deformed flower in his exercise book. Absentmindedly he tore off a corner of his page, screwed it up into a ball and threw it at Janna's head. When she turned accusingly, Danny attempted to engage Charlie in talk about the astronomy club.

'...so you say Mary and Sol are coming also Charlie? Oh it should be good, I'll bring along a flask of tea or soup...'

Janna was still glaring at him, so he let his eyes rest on hers for a second before winking cheekily. She couldn't help but raise a smile. Leaning over she sunk the chin of her heart-shaped face into two slender ivory hands.

'I'm bored,' she said.

Danny noticed a new pink eyeshadow he had not seen Janna wear before.

'How's your flower coming?'

'Rubbish!' she said. 'In fact,' she continued ripping out a page of her exercise book and rolling it into a ball, a much larger one than Danny's, 'I think I might de-flower myself.'

She turned and chucked it towards the back of the class. It hit Olive Spritser on the head and Janna chuckled mischievously.

'What's this about an Astronomy club?' Janna whispered to Danny, out of Charlie's earshot.

'Oh nothing. Just something he's cooked up. Probably no-one will turn up, it'll most likely be just me and Charlie rowing into the wilderness of the North Sea in the dead of night, freezing our arses off.'

There was an awkward silence while Janna looked at Danny and Danny looked at Janna.

'I'll come,' she said simply.

At that moment Charlie turned round. He saw Janna talking to Danny and immediately blushed.

'Oh hi..hi Jan...Janna' Charlie stuttered.

A vision of composure, Janna blinked a couple of times, turned her head at a seductive angle and smiled at Charlie.

'I was just saying to Danny that I might come along too,' she said in a sweet voice Danny knew to be affected. Behind her he nodded his head in a mild attempt to signal to Charlie.

'Er...I'm afraid. That, er. Professor Slattery said we were only allowed four people. We're already oversubscribed. Sorry Janna.'

Charlie looked inordinately guilty. The gentle expression of love from Janna's face vanished and with a sullen glance at Danny's lithe frame she turned back to her exercise book, defaced and empty.

A momentary pang of grief passed at the missed opportunity. He didn't really know why Charlie rebuffed her. Danny knew Charlie fancied her secretly; most boys who hadn't dated her did. Although it was a perverse reason, perhaps that was why he refused her entry. A small amount of pity for Janna mingled with returning sorrow. It was something akin to how he felt at Chardelia's funeral last year, in smaller waves. Setting his mind away from what was in the past, and what he knew would be useless dwelling on, Danny finished drawing in his exercise book and began packing up.

'What time are you meeting then Charlie?'

'Oh, about ten pm. If that's alright with you? Would you mind meeting Saffelia and bringing her along too? She said she didn't want to walk alone.'

This news came as a surprise to Danny.

'Er, Charlie we've just told Janna she can't come because we're oversubscribed. What about Saffelia?'

Charlie leant across and whispered in Danny's ear in a clumsy attempt at subtlety.

'Not so loud Danny. Saffelia's coming, well as a favour.'

'A favour? To who?' Danny asked, turning to his side to make sure his pencil case didn't fall out of the small but rapidly growing hole at the bottom of his bag. When he turned back, Charlie had already left the classroom.

*

Gazing up at the blackness, Danny watched inky crystals of over a hundred stars blink back at him. Twinkling crimson and silver they grew brighter against the canvas of nothing as he walked toward the castle, away from the hazy light pollution of Amberleigh. Imposing in black iron splendour, the school gates normally wide open, were now shut. The school crest hung between the two letters 'O' and 'P'. An emblem of Danny's societal identity. For a fleeting moment he felt a bizarre sense of belonging. As he waited, Mary Oconee giggled behind him,.

'Hello you,' she said softly, elegantly pushing the gates open with her wiry frame.

'Hello Mary,' Danny said, kicking some mud from his shoes onto the grass verge.

They walked in silence up to the castle. Mary glided along beside Danny wearing attractive navy-blue velvet. Sol, Charlie and a third person Danny couldn't distinguish waited by the door to St George's gym. As they approached the light above the gym began to glow and Danny saw the clearness of the third person. Saffelia had come by herself. Deliberately, Danny had thought if he had not bothered to visit and pick her up, she may have remained at home. It was not from maliciousness he wanted to exclude her. Moreover Saffelia's self-perpetuated exclusion from Tim, himself and Amanita had become as apparent as the waving trees in the bristling wind. Danny saw no reason to break the trend.

As he walked towards her his feet felt like they waded through deep snow, crushing white velvet beneath his feet. A soft paralysis enveloped him. Looking up, a flurry of stars in the crystal clear night winked at him again. Not a cloud crossed the vastness of that canopy but the ominous coldness that arrived intimated snow, sleet or at least biting frost the following day.

'So you forgot me then?' Saffelia bellowed as Danny approached, in an unusual tone for her. Danny handed a second torch to Charlie, ignoring the accusation, and the group made the way across the playground and down to Watershoot, the little jetty that led to the icy ocean. Charlie's torch-light beamed into the black. As soon as they turned the corner they saw oily waves glistening in the torch's glare.

'Ow,' murmured Mary softly. 'I've caught my heel between two planks.'

In a synchronised motion Charlie and Danny rolled their eyes. Pausing while Mary extracted herself, they smiled knowingly to each other before eventually climbing in the wooden dinghy. Charlie grabbed the oars, heaved a big breath and moved the boat out into the water. He was a stocky boy, with thick arms and shoulders that harboured invisible strength. Although he looked laboured, Danny knew it was no hardship for Charlie to row them single-handedly to Fourlawns. He could probably do it in his sleep if he needed to.

As the vague lights of land drifted back, they were suddenly isolated: a small island in the middle of pitch blackness. Danny wondered if this is what survivors of the Titanic saw as they watched the ship go down. Wailing bodies in the water, never to regain the life they were so rapidly losing. All around them were no bodies but roiling waves and they sent a surging disquiet through Danny's mind. It was not so severe as before. Danny didn't know what was worse: the burning tension of grief or the capricious nature of memory's subtle shocks, often lingering around innocent corners. He tried to focus on the night ahead. They were going to observe Saturn, and the thought brought nervous excitement. The rings were meant to be magnificent in their beauty. Chardelia's ringlets. They had been beautiful too.

Upon reaching the outlying rocks, the boat's head rose onto a pebble beach and the motion told Danny they had landed on Fourlawns. Instead of the usual path they took for PE ,Charlie led them perilously in the dark along the back side of the island. Before they were about to enter a small cave on the East side, Charlie stopped them all.

'I forgot to mention. To get to Fourgone we have to climb up inside the floor. There's a rope ladder at the back of this cave which leads up to a trapdoor inside the observatory. Okay?'

Charlie looked round to terrified expressions on his classmates' faces.

'Come on all of you, we're in the top year now. Surely you're not afraid of a little climbing?'

Mary looked at Saffelia. Sol looked at Charlie. Danny looked at the floor. Whether sheer fright or concentrated terror, he did not fancy at all climbing up an untested rope ladder in the middle of a dark cave, while sub-zero waves lapped the entrance and Charlie's wobbly hand directed him inside an unseen trapdoor. What if a dead rat fell out on top of him?

'So who's first then?' Charlie said, still looking at the rope himself.

A fleeting thought passed through Danny's mind. How on earth would Charlie get up there and would the rope hold him? He definitely wasn't the lightest of the group.

Sol stepped forward. With surprising dexterity and lithe swiftness he was half way up the rope before the others had time to blink. As they moved forward to watch his ascent Charlie shined his torch upwards. Danny saw several planks obstructing Sol's progress, and the faint outline of something circular and dark.

'Push it!' called Charlie. Unfortunately, Sol moved at the same moment, banging his head on the planks.

'Fuck', Sol shouted loudly. Danny pointed upwards – he could see a new source of light streaming down from above.

'Look,' he cried. 'The trapdoor is open.'

Sure enough, Sol's head bang had sufficed to open the bottom entrance to Fourgone. Sol climbed up and Danny watched as his rear disappeared from sight into the hut. Then they heard a shout.

'Come up. It's open. It's really cool up here!'

Danny heard the excited tones of a young boy with a new toy to play with. He forgot his nerves and leapt onto the swaying vine. With a little fumbling he scrambled up the rope, his feet slipping a couple of times but reaching the open trapdoor with fevered zeal.

Sol pulled him up into the room. The first thing Danny noticed was the room' octagonal shape. Eight different walls encapsulated them, each painted a shade of indigo, mauve or forest green, with little specks of white to illustrate stars. Overhead, a semi-circular dome shifted slightly from left to right in the breeze. Danny spent a couple of minutes staring before his eyes rested on the centre of the room and the huge telescope before him. He had never seen an instrument like it before. A gleaming metal black tube with an aperture as wide as a dinner plate and tiny mirrors and gadgets attached to its side. The scope pointed upwards towards the dome and Sol was already removing lens caps, and opening the viewing hatch. Danny gazed in awe at the substantial vision equipment, a device which would transport him and his friends closer to the stars.

The others pulled themselves up into the observatory. Mary was next, followed by Saffelia and finally Charlie clambered in, pulling up the trapdoor behind him.

'Right, we'll take it in turns to look at the sky. Fortunately this telescope is fitted with dual sights, which means two people can look at the same time. I just need to align the instrument,' Charlie said, but in the twinkling light of the moon Sol stood beaming by the telescope.

'I have removed the caps, fitted the sights and aligned the scope to S-one Charlie.' Sol said, all in one breath.

Charlie smiled.

'What's S-one?' Saffelia asked?

'Let's wait and see', Charlie said mysteriously.

Mary and Sol were the first to peer through the spectacular mechanism. Sol's foot kept tapping in growing excitement at what he was seeing, but Mary gasped when she first put her eye to the sight opposite from Sol.

'My, that's beautiful!' she exclaimed, her mouth dropping open. 'What is it?'

Nearing the telescope Danny angled his head to catch a glimpse through one of the eyepieces. Alas, Sol and Mary had their retinas glued to the rubber sights, and they seemed transfixed by the astral wonder that drew their breath.

'That is Saturn!' Charlie said. 'You are looking at one of its many rings.' An excited Charlie began hopping around the planetarium. Unaware of his position, he hopped in front of the telescope.

'Oii!' shouted an angry Mary. 'What are you doing?'

'Sorry' bleated an apologetic Charlie.

Danny stood in the corner, tapping his foot to a beat he had heard on the radio the other night, patiently waiting his turn. In the dim light he gazed at Saffelia. From his position the moonlight illuminated her yellow curls, only now they appeared ghostly and spectral as if she were an apparition, or a mere shadow of the lively girl Danny once knew. As her lips pursed an expression between frustration and anger Danny remembered the old adage – extreme anger in an agitated woman can mesmerise a man with prettiness.

Sol and Mary eventually withdrew. Mary motioned to Saffelia and Sol nudged Danny.

'Get in there,' he said, grinning. Danny heard the words but resented the innuendo. As if he would betray Tim like that.

He crouched down to make his eye fit the sights. At first he couldn't focus. The view was a black and dingy blur. He twiddled the circular dial next to the eye-piece, hoping something would emerge. Moving the dial nearly all the way something gradually grew into resolution. Danny stepped away from the telescope in shock. The image became as jagged as crystal, and as piercing as a scream. Saturn shone back at him in all her circular glory. The countless rings were inexpressibly sublime. A series of apricot-coloured and mauve red rocks floated around the giant planet in transient peace. As he magnified the object with the mechanical ten times zoom, he saw the rings were immeasurable. Too many to count. He wanted to reach out and touch them but knew it was impossible. A place where no human has stepped. His mind raced with aching excitement. The vastness invited more to be studied, books to research, other planets to view. When could he do this again? Would they obtain permission again, more nights to come out here where the world shrank back beneath the awe of the universe? Sod the exams he thought, this was far more worthy. He felt he was floating away, drifting out in the atmosphere of space. Venturing to join ancient Gods in their cryptic rule of the magical cosmos. It could be fantastic. Perhaps he could write an astronomy column for the _Oracle_?

It was a faint touch at first and Danny thought he had grazed the metal rim of the telescope. Then it came again. Like a storm that begins with a breeze. A hand on his knee. Gently tweaking his knee cap. His eye became unfocused on Saturn and his other eye rapidly focused on the girl opposite. She had closed her right eye and her left eye still rested against the scope. But her hand, invisible to the others who now played with the rope leading back down to the darkness of the cave, was moving up and down his thigh. Was Saffelia teasing him? Leading him on? It wouldn't be the first time a girl had toyed with his emotions. But Saffelia? Perhaps she really meant it. Danny thought it dangerous to find out. Moving his hand on top of hers he allowed himself a brief second to caress the hairs on the back of her soft hand, which submitted like the warm skin of a woodland animal, before placing her hand firmly back into her own lap.

She removed herself from the telescope and scowled at Danny. Danny walked back to the rope, and to Charlie and the others' surprise, slid down the damp cave.

'I'll be waiting in the boat,' he called back, tightly wrapping his waterproof anorak around him. He was tired of girls' crazy manipulations.

*

The final day of the week arrived like the plunging needle of a chilled anaesthetic. Plunket's playground had become a virtual ice rink. Plummeting temperatures overnight had forged with irresistible dew to create a surface deceptively inviting. Unused to this phenomenon, Danny watched the second years try to retain their balance. Three fell over within five minutes, their spindly legs slipping in opposite directions. One poor boy accidentally did the splits, emitting a howl of pain as his posterior crashed against frozen tarmac.

Flicking a switch at the rear of his heels Danny adjusted his shoes to release traction spikes. The fluid spring action made him feel unusually cool. He had watched the weather report the previous evening and had longed for the time to put the shoes – a Christmas present – into practice. There was no label on the present under the tree. His father had improvised and said it was a present from his Auntie Azzy, but Danny saw through him easily. He was sure his father had bought him the shoes.

As he walked on to the playground he heard the satisfying crunch of thin ice beneath his feet. The grinding noise combined with the sensation of stability in a slippery arena. Two tall figures stalked across the playground, and even though they creeped across the periphery of Danny's view he recognised the pair as Ursula Calcite and Belladonna Whimsy. At the other end of the playground to Danny, they stood as far as you could get from the ocean within Plunket's. They walked slowly into St George's gym, no doubt for another dance class Danny pondered. Pausing, they stared at a couple of second years struggling to keep their balance on an especially icy patch of the playground, and losing the fight. As he watched them fall – it seemed almost as if in slow motion – he glanced at the two ladies. They opened their mouths and Danny thought they would shout out and offer help to the students who had crashed to the ground. Instead they began laughing. Two high-pitched easily audible laughs, almost melodious in their vicious cruelty. Danny gasped in horror as the two ladies sidled away inside school.

'Couple of bitches aren't they?'

Danny wheeled round and saw Cedric Claw standing against the fence behind him. Edmund Cloves hovered behind Cedric and Danny got the distinct impression Edmund was trying to avoid being seen, as he kept moving either side of Cedric. It seemed Cedric didn't care.

Danny reached out his arm and put his hand on Cedric's shoulder as he leant forward, blowing smoke into the playground.

'You know, don't you Danny?' Cedric whispered.

'Know what?' Danny replied, confused.

'Nothing. Anyway, I think we'll be allowed back soon. Pry's furious we're not back already. Personally I think she's missing the opportunities to torment us with the mock exams. All this homework I'm missing Danny, I tell you it's a real drag.'

Cedric smiled, mischievously. Danny felt a comradely impulse to stand side by side with Cedric.

'Cedric listen, I know you didn't get the drugs. I know you were set up,' Danny said.

Edmund stopped jumping about and stared at Danny as he continued.

'I can't really say much. It's an awful position we've been put in.'

Danny paused, breathing in the cold icy air.

'Tell me, Cedric what are your plans after school. Are you going to continue?' The question hung in the air like an axe waiting to fall. Cedric breathed out another plume of light grey smoke, and it mingled with the visible air before crystallising into water vapour. He tapped his fingers on the top of the fence and kicked some mud from his shoes. Danny saw his knuckles were red and sore.

'Danny. Will you do me a favour.'

It was a question, but Cedric uttered it like a command.

'Sure. What is it?'

Edmund pointed out behind Danny and turning he saw Ursula Calcite wander out from St George's gym as if looking for something she'd dropped. Casting her eyes around the playground she pinpointed Danny after a few seconds and strode towards him, purposefully.

'Got to go mate. Say hi to Janna for me.'

Danny watched the two boys run down the stony path and disappear from the headland. They were running from the school and away from the poisoned vessel. He heard her slow footsteps, and the sound of a pointed heel shattered the ice like a stone cracking a windscreen. Not wishing to turn around, Danny waited until he could no longer see his two friends as they were swallowed by the hilly horizon.

'Danny, could I have a quick word.'

Grimacing, he turned to face Ursula and was surprised to meet a gaze of genuine concern written on her face. It was as if some great hand had dropped down from the sky and ripped off a mask. Her fake smile was gone and neither could he trace her touchy-feely falsity. In the tree in the Grove he had felt the piercing knowledge of someone manipulating him but this close to her pale skin and wide eyes he recognised something else. Danny thought he saw a tear well in her right eye, while both her eyelids bore distinct redness. It could have been mascara, he thought.

'Yes, miss,' Danny said calmly and smiled politely. However his eyes still burned with mistrust.

'I...I was wondering...well...'

Her voice faded into the frozen air. Danny couldn't believe her hesitancy. Calcite faltering? Was it an act? Was she going to swivel as if on a pivot, and unleash an attack the more ferocious for its disguise? Or did this distraction surge from some deep truth within her he had failed to see before. A tidal wave of revelation flowed into Danny as realised he really knew nothing about Miss Calcite. Nothing about her background, nothing about where she had come from, what she had experienced in her life or where she hoped to get to. He had judged her on what little he had known her for – extreme cruelty and a masquerade of loveliness. But perhaps this poison sprang from a well that was once pure? Danny felt ashamed, as he often did when crushing lights of truth peeped through the blackness and blinded him. When a snowdrop falls from the night sky, invisible until the last moment. Who was Ursula Calcite? He was going to have to help her.

'What is it Miss?' he asked, kindness creeping into his voice. 'Tell me.'

'I was wondering if you could pass on a message to Saffelia for me. Could you tell her – tell her...'

Calcite stuttered uneasily. Her foot slipped against the icy ground and she nearly lost her balance. Instinctively Danny reached out an arm to stop her falling over. She held on to his forearm hard until she regained her composure. Wiping a blonde curl away from her face she began again.

'Please could you tell Saffelia that...that Abigail misses her.'

Before Danny could ask who Abigail was, Ursula Calcite had spun on her heel and trotted back towards school. He watched after her until she disappeared into the warmth of Plunket's.

The wind was building. When Danny opened his mouth he could almost taste the penetrating cold. Maths awaited him all morning. Calculations and deductions. Measurements and problems to solve. Usually he would not wait so long for lessons. Just one moment longer in the cold, he thought. Another second to absorb the discordant truth. A draught wrapped itself around Danny's neck and fingered its way inside his school shirt. Shivering, he wrapped his jacket tight round his chest and, hurrying not to be the last, wandered after the last stragglers returning to form.

*

_It's the day of the school trip. We're going to Alton Towers. Only Lucy isn't coming. Instead she's going walking in Derbyshire with the other group. I nearly changed my mind but Mum told me not to. "Think how you've been looking forward to going on all those rides" she said. And I have. She's right. But what I didn't tell her - didn't dare - is that I wanted to go on all the scary rides: the ghost train, the fright-fest and the horror carnival, with Lucy squeezing my hand. There is pleasure in the pain we both share, but there is none when I am on my own._

* * * * *

It came like a flash. A slap across the back of her face. Yet Monny stood still, albeit reeling. One moment she was glancing in the mirror at her make-up, the next instant she delivered a fierce back hand slice, catching Monny on her upper lip and the edge of her nose, making it bleed.

It was not the first time but Monny always prided herself on being able to see it coming. This time Monny thought she'd reconciled herself to the result, the obvious humiliation of losing in the regional contests. So close to the final. Monny had slumped from the changing rooms, dangling tap shoes by their laces, once again knowing failure. She had bought her a lemonade and told her to go wait in the car. It was only when they reached and entered the house the wicked yet inescapable truth of her inadequacy was viciously and violently meted out. In some ways it was a relief it had finally come. That it was not yet to come, or at least not for a while.

Watching the blood drip in the reflection in the bathroom mirror Monny smiled. She did not bother to lock the door. No doubt she would come racing in, having lost a lipstick or eyeliner for her latest date. Monny stared at the bathroom cabinet with intent. This knowledge was her secret release, a place untouchable by her contaminating mother.

The tears leaked out again as she sat on the bathroom mat, the one bearing a picture of a spouting blue whale. She made no sound. She didn't mind losing to the tiny little girl with the shiny yellow shoes, the girl who reminded her of trees. In fact she was happy for her. She knew she had her own troubles. It was the inexorable sense of disappointment that now seemed to crush her entire existence. The complete absence of reassurance, of nurture. Where had she gone wrong? Why had she been one of the unlucky ones?

That last move, the one where she span for a full five seconds on her toes. She just couldn't hold it. Turning and turning on one point, like a spinning top. Always moving, unable to be free. Trapped in the desolation of mutability. After the fourth second she broke dramatically, her leg gave way and she crumpled to the ground. Some of her competitors laughed. Not the serious ones, who Monny was sure were imagining how they would feel if the same thing happened to them. The judges' stony-faced glares were nothing compared to the red eyed rage blazing out of her Mum's face. She had picked herself up and trudged back to the dressing room, resigned to her fate.

Perhaps this time she would be rescued. Perhaps she would understand. All this pressure, all this desire and ambition. It was hurting not developing her. Perhaps this time her mother would hug her, pick her up and say "Never mind, there's always next time." The vague hope lingered in the back of Monny's mind, swimming alone somewhere, until the smack across her features extinguished it completely. It was like a light, on which someone applied a dimmer years ago, had reached its limit. A sudden dive into the darkness.

The excursion was in a few month's time. That would provide ample opportunity.

The mirror reflected back at her a scar. Thick and crusty, the blood had clotted and dried up. It wouldn't look so bad in a few days, maybe just a faint brown line if she was lucky. After this summer no-one would have to look on her face ever again. She looked forward to the sweet release from the pain of attention with a yearning ache. Life felt like an uphill marathon. An endurance mission. Something she wouldn't wish on anybody. Something so cold and lonely it felt forever winter. Something she would never have asked for, had she been given a voice at the moment of cognition. The life of Abigail Calcite.

* * * * *
**  
**Mocks

As he stood patiently in the queue to enter St Basil's the sunlight burned the back of Danny's collar. Today would mark the start of his mock GCSE exams. Tim annoyingly kept nudging him in the back with a ruler. When Danny turned round to berate Tim acted as though he observed an indelible eighth wonder of the world marked on the ceiling.

'It's no use mate – the answers aren't written up there.' Danny said.

'No, but if you look very carefully you can see a hairline crack in the corner. Danny if that hairline crack were the circumference of a circle the radius of which was three, how long do you think the hairline crack is?'

Tim uttered his facetiousness in one breath, still gazing intently at the ceiling.

Danny rolled his eyes.

'Erm...six times pi, about eighteen point something,' Danny said, poking his own ruler in Tim's ribs and grinning.

'That is correct my dear friend, and please do not poke me again, or I might have to jab you with my protractor,' Tim said, in his best attempt at a sophisticated voice.

'Do that and I will streak you with my highlighter pen. How would you like that Timothy Sallow-Face?' Danny rebutted.

'No, that'll never happen. I know for a fact your highlighter pen is running out. The best you can manage, should you get past me and my compass, is a rather faint and jaundiced green.'

Amanita appeared behind them both.

'Have they opened the doors yet?' she asked earnestly.

'Aha, my dear little pumpkin, can't wait to get at those equations and give them a good kicking, I see.' Tim said, continuing his mock poshness.

'What's wrong with him,' Amanita said to Danny, who just laughed.

Grace Downly and Professor Fuzzair appeared like portents of doom at the end of the corridor. After some jostling the crowd of students piled into St Basil's and settled themselves at random desks. The ones at the back were the first to go. Tim grabbed a desk near a window, and immediately began checking out the second years who strolled past.

'I wouldn't if I were you.' Danny warned.

'Why ever not?' Tim asked, looking wounded.

'Not the girls mate, the window. If the sun comes out you've got no place to go.'

Tim thought for a second, then abruptly rose and relocated to the desk in front, sheltered by shade. Amanita took Tim's old spot and Danny sat in the desk next to hers.

'Mind if I copy?' Danny asked mischievously.

'I heard that Canterbury!' came a thick booming voice from behind Danny. Professor Fuzzair stalked past, his head a mass of black wiry straggles and fingers covered in orange chalk.

Danny opened his pencil case and took out his pen, his pencil and his calculator. Three memory buttons and the ability to draw graphs. And it could perform integration. Surely he was the envy of every maths scholar at Plunket's. Grace Downly began speaking at the front.

'Welcome to your Maths mock examination. You will have one hour and thirty minutes precisely to complete your paper. You shall not talk. You shall not communicate with other students in any way. If you wish to speak to a teacher you shall raise your arm. No teacher will be able to help you with any of the questions. When I say now, you may begin. Now!'

The rustle of papers being turned over filled the air. Danny stared at the list of problems and questions that would be his company for the next ninety minutes. It was only the length of one football match, he told himself. Potential solutions swam before his eyes. They were like fishes, momentarily materialising as they darted out of the shoal before diving back in and disappearing again. At first it seemed he could tell the way a problem was headed. Just as he began to formulate an answer an ugly snag reared its head and the path ahead was cut down, leaving myriad routes left open from which to choose. He read the entire exam paper, as Fuzzair instructed it was good practice to appraise the whole paper before attempting any of it. This was meant to calm Danny, but all he felt as he progressed was growing fear. The more he looked, the more the problems seemed to contain obscure and unclear solutions. In some cases they seemed impossible.

A faint moisture developed on Danny's brow as the sun emerged from behind a cloud. Brilliant light streamed through tall arch-shaped windows, filtering shafts of dust on Danny's desk. Scratching his head he discovered he was sweating profusely and he hadn't reached the end of the first question yet. Almost unconsciously, his breathing accelerated and he found himself struggling for oxygen. As he comprehended the danger of falling from his chair on the dusty wood of the floor, he gasped for air and water. Nothing was helping. Teachers patrolled the aisles, unhelpful and unavailable. He could see Amanita scribbling out answers at a furious rate while he seemed stuck in yesterday. Panic accelerated. Spots began appearing in front of his pupils and the only option left was to admit defeat. To raise his hand and ask to be excused from the exam hall, to go somewhere quiet where he could faint in peace. Anywhere. Anywhere but here. He didn't care that people would gossip. He didn't give a toss that people would stand around in the playground after and talk of how the supposed maths genius had bottled it in the exam. He just wanted out.

And then it happened. Danny closed his eyes and shut out the light, finding solace in the relief of the blackness of his own personal cave. Silhouettes of Robin Vernal and Chardelia Foss stepped forward, shadowy cardboard cut-outs from the deep. They began rubbing his shoulders, patting his arms in gentle caresses. Wordlessly, they reassured him. Through imagination they returned his sense of self. The sun outside fell behind a cloud sending a blissful wave of shade into St Basil's.

Danny opened his eyes and felt refreshed. The soothing mellow of aloneness centred him. He was back. Quickly polishing the answer to the first question he moved on to the second. At first glance this seemed like a complicated probability problem, but he broke it into constituent parts just as Fuzzair advised. Danny remembered the common denominators, applied the rule and swiftly found the solution. Two down, with eight left, he began to feel calmer. The third problem was easy compared to the first – a simple trigonometry calculation. One they had consistently conquered in class, only this was in reverse. A pathetic attempt to trick students, Danny thought. The fourth and fifth passed without trouble. Six and seven were harder challenges about the behaviour of functions, but Danny remembered the lesson where they addressed the patterns and strategies of these problems. Downly's repetitive lesson had brainwashed them in order to handle these questions. He reached for his graphical calculator and within ten minutes was underlining the answers with a sense of mild victory. Eight was a question about matrices, nine an integration problem and neither now seemed the huge albatross they had at their advent. Danny broke each down into solvable stages and soon found he had dissolved the main obstacles to the answer within seconds. A few scribbles later and he was drawing a neat box round the elegant answer which he was one hundred percent sure was correct.

He stared at the last question. Twenty minutes remained on the grandiose clock at the front of the hall. It looked an horrific accumulation of all the early problems on the exam paper, with about twenty different segments. Danny breathed in the dusty hall air and glanced beside him. Amanita was sitting up and glaring at her paper with such an intense look of animosity and he knew she'd hit the same question. He felt relieved he was level with his friend and that, she too saw the intrinsic enigma of the final challenge. Danny gazed at it. When he considered for a moment all the stages appeared straight-forward. There was a niggle at the centre, something he had not expected. Something tying all the loose ends of the question together. Something which he knew if he cracked, the route would open to the answer. It was not easy to tell what at first. Danny knew many would search for harder, more complex answers to this seemingly undoable knot. Then a revelation came. It was, Danny knew with the unnerving sense of certainty he only felt when in either a maths exam or on a tennis court, that it was a simple quadratic equation. Once he rooted the co-efficients and boiled the thing down to its foundations, he slotted the formula into the other stages and, like a gleam of ambergold glee, it illuminated all the previous stages which pointed to the same answer. Encircling the answer with his red pen he sighed. With five minutes to spare Danny put down his pen and kicked off his shoes.

*

Danny piled spinach and lettuce leaves over his potato salad. It was lunch time in The Roasthouse. Tim was wittering in his ear.

'I couldn't believe it when I saw the first problem. So easy.'

Danny's heart sank as Tim helped himself to another portion of fish pie. He hated discussing exams directly after you had taken them. He didn't want to discover he'd got more answers wrong than he thought.

'I mean, I thought this exam was going to be hard. Hey, where are you going?'

Danny wandered off without paying. Tim pushed a note into the hand of an expectant catering assistant, covering both his and Danny's meals.

'Danny, wait up mate. What's wrong?'

Amanita joined them at the corner table. This was Danny's favourite table. It had a good view over the playground, out to Fourlawns and the sea. If you bent your head the right way you could also attain a distant view through Appalachian's window into the Headmaster's study, although it was too far to see in any great detail.

'How are you Danny?' Amanita said in between mouthfuls of salmon.

'Okay,' Danny said tentatively. 'What's everyone doing tonight?' he asked them both, determined to head off further discussion about the maths mock.

Tim was about to speak but Amanita cut across him with experienced timing.

'I was thinking of walking into Amberleigh. I hear there's a new club opening tonight. If we can't get in we can always go to Wilfields.'

'Yeah where they've stopped serving me pints of Guinness. Bastards.'

Danny and Amanita laughed.

'Oh do you know what I've heard?' Tim asked, his tone magically transforming from grumpy boredom to gossipy mystique.

'What?' Amanita said, tired, 'That Mary Oconee and Sol Castle are expecting a baby?'

'Are they?' Danny and Tim said in unison.

Amanita nearly choked on her fish pie for laughter.

'No, you pair of fools! I just made it up.' Amanita said.

Danny's thoughts touched poignantly on Anjalie Marjoram, and his own child. Unseen, away from him. He felt a twinge of longing to see his son again. It wouldn't be long.

'No, it's better gossip than that. Apparently the real reason Beaublade left the English department was because he was having an affair with Dr Cleaver! An adulterous affair' Tim said proudly.

Amanita raised her eyebrows; Danny continued munching on his potato salad.

'Tim – that's hardly gossip. I think everyone in the school knew that,' Amanita said, injecting a note of sympathy into her voice.

Looking deflated Tim leant forward and whispered.

'Yes everyone suspected it, but I've got proof.'

'Oh yes. What is it?' Amanita said.

Tim fell silent and, with his fork, starting digging in his empty bowl for remaining scraps of fish pie. Danny gazed out the window. It looked like Appalachian was having a meeting, but he couldn't tell with whom. Definitely a woman. When he returned to the conversation Tim was speaking again.

'Well if that doesn't impress you, I also heard on the grapevine Saffelia's mum is having an affair with a student.'

Tim sat back and raised his voice again. Clearly he didn't think this was as fascinating as the Beaublade rumour. Danny nearly choked on his potato salad and as he recovered he clearly saw Amanita shoot him a concerned look.

'Danny?' Tim said suddenly, sending ripples of panic and guilt coursing through Danny's chest.

'Yeah,' Danny replied, not looking him in the eye.

'Can I have some of your orange juice?'

Trying not to show his relief at Tim's relentless hunger, and that he had not pursued his second drop of gossip, he gratefully passed the bottle of orange juice to Tim. From the corner of his eye, and with visible relief, he saw Amanita sigh.

*

Danny rolled fitfully round his bed. Sheets clung to him into which his perspiration seeped, the waste from an exhausting day. He dreamt of the Snowfall Grove, about climbing over a hundred branches, of vines that clung to him and nearly tripped him up. Ursula Calcite sat atop a tree cackling with laughter as she watched the scene below. Belladonna Whimsy picked flowers, Ursula Calcite metamorphosed into Jim Travershall who laughed deeply, a twisted, tormented sound rising from his stubbled ginger chin. As Danny glared at the insidious man, Jim pointed, howling with laughter. Anjalie Marjoram appeared on an opposite tree, their tiny son in her arms. She too laughed and pointed at Danny. A vine had wrapped itself around his ankle and, like the fallen branches, upended him. As Danny fell to earth in what seemed like slow motion he tasted something pungent and alien in his mouth. The sensation of that overpowering poison swamped his buds until he could no longer bear it. He was going to die.

With sweat dripping from overgrown hair that fell on his forehead, Danny awoke. Wiping his brow, he switched on the television and watched a meaningless film about two people trapped in hotel, until he drifted back into a light restless slumber.

*

As the weeks wore on winter slowly faded to early spring. Danny pricked his ears at the signals. Snowdrops appeared alongside nascent daffodils. Soon the exuberance of St Patrick's Day – Amberleigh residents traditionally held a carnival in the town to celebrate the arrival of Irish settlers in the town hundreds of years before – passed to greet the arrival of a cool and mild Easter. Danny revelled in this time of year. The roars from excited Londoners as the boat race proceeded down the Thames. Horses slapping the Liverpool turf as they raced round the marathon grand national course. The cup final and the Eurovision song contest to come. A sense of optimism and subtle anticipation hung in the air. Nature restoring to life. The stark playground at Plunket's, which looked like a bare desert over winter, now began to show rushes of vibrant green on trees. Jades and olives and emeralds and apples and beangreens. Flowers poked out from crannies Danny had forgotten about. The lush carpet of shimmering grass on Fourlawns was cut for the first time and Danny smelt a warmer, saltier breeze float in off the North Sea.

The mock examinations had passed, although not without anxious moments. Religious Studies had been a breeze but Technology and French had stumped both Tim and Danny, which they were convinced they failed. English brought flashes of epiphanal joy to Danny. He wrote an essay on Holden Caulfield's creation of a language simultaneously accessible and all his own. Danny thought he saw elements of Stephen Dedalus in Holden, and drew the parallels in the conclusion, hoping for extra marks. Although he wrote a story in the creative part of the exam, he was less confident of its success. The final exam had been Geography. After drawing his diagram of how waterfalls erode the landscape, the memory of that fateful lesson burnt into his unconscious, Danny had skipped from St Basil's to play footie with the other lads. The exercise was welcome relief after being cooped in the dusty hall for weeks. Even Amanita had deigned to watch while she scribbled unseen diatribes in her notebook. The time was nearly here though; they awaited their results.

When Alessandro called them into St Basil's for an impromptu assembly Danny suspected results might be dished out publicly: a teacher's crazy idea to mark the student collective with humiliation in order to spur them to greater academic achievement during the real thing. He wouldn't have put it past them, especially considering Appalachian's propensity for dramatic public declarations. However it had been Professor Pry who had taken the lead before a mute Professor Appalachian. Beside them both stood two tall boys Danny knew well.

'Students, there has been a dreadful mistake. As honest and professional teachers in this school we owe it to you to tell you this much.'

Danny looked across at Amanita, busy writing down every word. No doubt for the front cover of the _Oracle_ , the next edition of which was due soon. Amanita had asked Danny to write a history of Amberleigh town for the paper, but because it was taking so long to research all the tedioius details he knew it would have to wait until the edition after.

'Cedric Claw and Edmund Cloves were recently suspended from this school on suspicion of...'

Everyone knew what they were suspected of, Pry didn't really need to spell it out. Everyone knew it was drug-dealing. The rumours had flown around the school like a seagull leaving its gifts behind.

'...suspicion of rape.'

Danny fell backwards. Amanita stopped scribbling. Tim's mouth fell open. Pry continued.

'However, as has become abundantly clear, from a very early stage I might add,' Danny saw Appalachian flinch as Pry said this, 'both students are entirely innocent of this heinous crime. As such they will be reintroduced into classes immediately.' Both Cedric and Edmund groaned.

'I would also like to say that both Cedric and Edmund have been through an ordeal and I would request no student interrogate or even broach this subject with them. They have been through enough and, as I am sure you are all aware, important examinations are coming up, on which you should all focus with one hundred percent of your attention. Your mock results will be given out next week in your classes. Please pay careful attention to these – it may be your last chance to alter the direction of your future prospects.'

With a final bob on her tip-toes and a withering look at the student body through crescent spectacles Pry, Appalachian and Alessandro left the hall, leaving the two outcasts to reunite with their friends.

In the corridor outside St Basil's, Danny trudged back to form room, weary at what he had heard. His thumping sense of inexorable logic, so powerful in Maths exams, had just been pushed onto a slide and waved goodbye. How anyone could have thought Cedric and Edmund were rapists was beyond him. Yes, they were known for behaving roguishly round school. It was true that once or twice Danny had caught their hands languishing close to a few girls bums. Never though would he have believed them capable of rape. The memory of some invaluable advice Cedric had offered Danny at the end of the previous year came rushing into his mind. It was advice he had never forgotten, not for being profound, but because at the time it had resonated.

'How can you tell when a woman isn't lying? When her lips aren't moving.'

It had marked the beginning of the end of his relationship with Janna. He was not sorry for its end; it had to happen, but he had suffered modes of bittersweet longing that had varied in severity over time. Rape? Danny was glad Pry had cleared them, but who had been the accuser?

Tim sidled alongside and Amanita reached Danny's right side.

'What a shocker,' Danny mumbled carelessly as they passed Appalachian's office. His door was wide open and Appalachian's laugh echoed down the corridor. 'I'd love to ask who it was who accused them,' Danny said, cautiously lowering his voice.

'I can't imagine who,' Amanita said flatly. Danny watched her closely, sensing she knew more than she let on.

Tim munched on a pack of cheese and onion crisps.

'You fknow flat I tfthnk?' Tim said, stuffing another handful in his gaping mouth.

'No?' said Amanita in mock surprise.

'I think they were set flup. I think we should flinvestigate.' Tim swallowed after Amanita and Danny stopped dead.

'We owe it to them. They're our fellow classmates!'

Danny was struck by Tim's loyalty and sense of honour among classmates. He had not seen this in Tim before, and he nodded to Amanita in assent.

'We can't.' Amanita frowned, knowing what they were thinking. 'And anyway, I've got the cover of the next edition of the _Oracle_ already sewn up. It's going to be a very positive account of the recent spring choir concert.'

Amanita beamed. The recent spring choir concert had been led by Professor Wonder on a school parent's evening. Danny and Tim pretended to throw up.

'Don't you think that's a bit too cosy-in-with-the-teachers Amanita?' Danny asked.

'He's got a wife, Amanita,' Tim said, before ducking to evade the swipe he was routinely used to.

'Nonsense.' Amanita said in reply to Danny.

'Fraid not, I've seen her,' Tim said, laughing at his own punchline before running into the Roasthouse for food.

'What am I going to do with that one?' Amanita wondered aloud.

'Ply him with pizza?' Danny said, grinning to himself. 'Seriously though, what are you going to do with the next edition?'

'I thought we should give the female student body the right to reply about your article on feminism, or the misuses of it,' Amanita said, and Danny knew she meant it provocatively. His blood began to boil. Not at Amanita but the initial reasons why he wrote the article. Counting to ten he gradually calmed himself down. Winking to Amanita, he nodded at the approaching Professor Wonder.

'I'll look forward to seeing that then,' Wonder barked, his usual bombastic tone laced with vague ambiguity.

Danny watched as Amanita blushed and stumbled over her words.

'I better go,' Danny said.

'Just a minute,' uttered Wonder, still smiling his enigmatic smile. 'I wanted to give you both your mock results for Religious Studies.'

The beam returned to Amanita's face, although her crimson cheeks were a little harder to displace.

'Danny, dear boy, well done! I can confidently predict you'll get at least a 'B' in RS, probably an 'A', perhaps even an 'A*' .'

Danny took a couple of steps back. While the exams had been easy, he thought the coursework might have left him unstuck. Amanita was now chomping at the bit to get her results from Wonder, and her anxiety was leaking out by performing a faint but odd hop from foot to foot.

'Ah yes, Amanita my darling,' Amanita turned purple as Wonder complimented her on her hair. 'I think you'll also do well. Perhaps not as well as Master Canterbury here, but a decent result all the same. A sound 'B'!'

Although Wonder could not possibly understand why Amanita's expression now filled with lead, Danny's intuition allowed him a sly guess. To come second to anyone in her beloved's subject was embarrassing enough, but to have that position exposed in front of another student, even Danny, in the middle of a school corridor where anybody could listen was too much. She wanted a private tutorial with Wonder, and his soothing reassurances directed solely at her one-to-one to help ease the shock. Danny watched Amanita limbering up for another attempt to console herself.

'What about me probably getting an 'A' also, sir? A 'B' at least for me as well, do you think, sir?' The hope in Amanita's voice tinged with desperation and Danny thought it was more embarrassing than the result. A 'B' wasn't bad.

Wonder smiled graciously, and whispered something in her ear. Danny could not hear the words but from the transformation on Amanita's face, it clearly removed any lingering pain.

_He did it again and I blacked out this time. I hadn't taken anything I swear. Just a touch, a little dab on my tongue. Lucy brought me round. When my eyes opened and cognisance delivered the horrific truth once more the sight of her brown hair brushing my newly-wet tears away was the panacea to this and any ill. Where he plunged, she waited. Where he grabbed, she caressed. Where he asserted, she assented. Where he shoved, she loved. Where he twisted, she kissed it better._

She can see my pain in my tired eyes, and I can see hers in the faded eyeshadow. Her ballet shoes are lying in a heap on the floor, broken and crumpled. I know that she is like me.

Maternal Torment

Deirdre Quinine patrolled the school like a bespectacled giraffe. Her long neck rose in the air like a watch-tower. Beady eyes peered behind black rimmed glasses and fooled many evasive students who thought her gaze wouldn't catch them. In a menacing gesture of silently rolling her palms into fists and pulling them away from each other, she separated a couple of kissing second-years. Having taught at the school for barely half a year she had already built a reputation of irrepressible fondness for discipline, as well as occasional darkness which, as Deputy Head, complemented Appalachian's false exuberance.

Danny and Amanita sat on the ledge by the window, looking out on Fourlawns beyond. They had been deep in discussion about the ludicrous claim that Cedric was a rapist when they saw Quinine approach from the other side of the corridor. They hushed before she came within earshot, not yet having gained any trust in her. Was she for the students, or for herself?

Strolling casually through the corridor she paused beside Amanita, who was eating a bag of hula hoops.

'Hello dear. I'm afraid I'm awfully hungry. Do you mind if I have a hula hoop?'

Surprised by this unusual request, Amanita offered Quinine the bag. She dipped tentacle-like fingers inside, before removing with each finger bearing a single hoop.

'Oh dear, I didn't mean to take so many. How greedy of me.'

'Keep them,' Amanita said. Still bewildered by Quinine picking on her, Amanita hoped her generosity would despatch her teacher from their private conversation. Yet Professor Quinine remained, her hand outstretched in front of her. Slowly, she ate each hoop methodically off her fingers one by one, in front of both Danny and Amanita. The motion appeared some sort of unspoken threat. When she finished she still did not leave, but towered over them, a curious smile perched on her lips. It took a few seconds for Danny and Amanita to realise Quinine wanted something else.

'Dear, am I right in thinking that you work on the school newspaper?' Quinine uttered in such a transparent, I-want-to-give-the-impression-I-have-only-just-thought-of-this voice that Danny laughed aloud. Quinine blinked to divert the interruption and continued to wait for Amanita's confirmation.

Amanita nodded, slowly.

'Good. I was wondering...'

Then Quinine broke off, apparently only just realising that Danny was sitting there.

'But my dear,' she said, resting one of her tentacles on Danny's arm without permission, 'you're still here. How about you run off into the playground, there's a good little boy.'

Danny instinctively knew he was being punished, albeit surreptitiously, for his laugh. The way Quinine spoke to him, it was like he was a little dog being rewarded.

'No problem,' Danny said, laughing again.

He had no desire to spend any moment longer in Quinine's company. Catching a glimpse of Amanita's wide eyes looking lost, Danny backed away into the throng and noise of several hundred students.

*

'What did she want?' Danny asked Amanita, in the press room after school.

'What did who want?' Tim asked, turning his head toward the two like they were conspirators plotting to commit an international crime.

'Oh nothing,' Amanita said casually and switching her head to the far wall as if to hide her face. 'Just to have a word about the paper. And to give me my, er, full set of mock results.'

Amanita rummaged aimlessly in her bag for something. There was no distracting Tim.

'What? But why didn't she wait for the individual teachers to give you the results? Why does she have to wade in with her triple-size specs?'

Danny also stared at Amanita, her head still buried in her bag, and awaited a response to Tim's question.

'Well...' Danny knew she could not lie. She didn't have it in her. 'It turns out I got the highest set of marks in the mocks.'

Danny and Tim looked at each other and shared a gaze of weary resignation. Silently they acknowledged the crushing inevitability of Amanita's burgeoning academic prowess. Feeling inferior was their cross to bear.

'Which subjects?' Tim asked. Again Amanita allowed a note of hesitancy before she replied.

'All of them,' she admitted, finally turning her head round, to display the blushing and embarrassed head girl.

'There, there,' Tim said, as he went over and crouched beside her chair. 'There's no need to be embarrassed. No need at all. It's just that we'll have to torture you for a bit.'

'Tim!' Danny said in mock warning but it didn't matter. Amanita drew herself up, having regained her composure and her blistering authority.

'Instead of torturing me Tim perhaps you should work on your article for the paper.'

Tim looked like he would say something in defiance but at the last second thought better.

'I know, I know' he said, disconsolately.

Danny suspected something afoot.

'What? What is he writing?' Danny asked.

'Never you mind,' Amanita said, in a way Danny knew the subject was closed, at least for now. 'We all need to look very carefully at the submissions to the next issue. We've had an unprecedented number of letters for this edition – I don't know what's going on out there in the student body but something's got them spooked.'

Danny and Tim spent the rest of the evening poring over the many letters students had written in the hope of submission to the _Oracle_. A couple from parents of worried students had even made it through. They wouldn't get in – adults were not allowed to write for the paper. Most letters centred around traditional student whinges – too much homework, incorrect prefect allocation, too much homework, lunch breaks being cut short, not enough time for a fag behind the bike-sheds at break time (which was anonymous), too much homework, better menu choices at the Roasthouse, wanting to see Professor Pry put in the stocks at the school summer fete, too much homework.

'Here's one!' Tim exclaimed excitedly, brandishing a single sheet of paper that displayed remarkably familiar handwriting on it. 'Here's one!' Tim said again, as if to reinforce his point.

'What does it say?' Amanita asked, suspicion drenching her voice.

' "Dear Editor Tim, and sub-editors Danny and Amanita" must be a mistake Amanita,' Tim giggled nervously before continuing, "I would like to suggest a change to the format of the _Oracle_ , to tally with the wishes of the bulk of the student body. Firstly, it is my humble belief that news should be relegated to the back page of the paper. The first ten pages should be given up to sport, including the first six covering football. If there is not enough news locally, then you could fill it with premiership chat. Netball should be relegated to the back page as it is not a sport. The remaining two pages in the paper should be a pull-out supplement – perhaps you could have a student pin-up in there? A girl for all seasons perhaps?"

Tim's voice gave way to hysterics as Danny joined him. They both faded into silence however, at the sight of Amanita's boiling face.

'Does it say who wrote it,' Amanita asked, trying to appear restrained.

'Yes, it does.' Tim admitted, the hilarity subsiding and rising like waves in his voice. 'Kim someone, perhaps it might be a J – hey, you know who it might be, that new teacher, Jim Travershall?'

It was no use. Amanita wrenched the letter from Tim's hands and tore it to tiny shreds, instigating more guffaws from Danny and Tim.

'Any more mischief like that Timothy Gaunt and you will be sacked from the editorial team.'

*

Professor Pry appeared in class with the grace and danger of a black panther. Wearing black leather trousers and uncharacteristically striding into the room she allowed the top button of her black blouse to hang loosely off in the spring glare of the apricotbutter sun. Danny had long admired the ghostly hush that descended on fifth-years without fail at Pry's arrival. Incredible power from wordless silence. Her presence alone reduced the need to resort to extraneous punishments. Her effortless icy glares often left Pry with little else to do to maintain her towering reputation as queen of the castle. Chalk in one hand and rubber in the other, she deftly reached up and whizzed the movable blackboard down until its motion halted at a blank slate. She wrote and spoke at the same time.

'Rosalind is our heroine. But what kind of heroine is she? What are her triumphs and victories? Please make notes on this question in the next ten minutes and be prepared to discuss your answers with the class after.'

Danny stared hard at his exercise book. A blank sheet of paper. Rosalind was not the demure and passive innocent that might fit the bill of Plunket's boy's notions of a heroine. But he agreed with Pry. Rosalind was a heroine. At least she was to him. He wrote three words down in his exercise book:

Vulnerability

Loyalty

Honesty

Looking at the clock, he realised he had a couple of minutes left to come up with something to say. Florence Croft was wittering behind him and he found it hard to concentrate. She mumbled something about Rosalind being a rebel without a cause. Danny couldn't see it. Rosalind was only a rebel to the society that oppressed her. In that he saw a picture of himself. There were discernible and consistent motives throughout the play, and they were hardly without a cause.

'Danny Canterbury –what do you have for us?' Pry boomed, looking expectantly at him.

Danny's hair had grown quite long and he used it as a curtain to hide behind on occasions like these. However Pry's summer-blue eyes burned into him like the sapphire sky and he knew there was no escape. He took a deep breath and opened his mouth, gasping and straining against himself to keep his own identity separate from Rosalind's.

'Rosalind is truly a heroine. She is the perfect antidote to the fakers and phonies in her society. She is an exiled victim, like her father, but the relationships she develops with those she meets in the arcadian wood are enduring and sweet. She cannot blame them for not saving her, for that is nature's job. Her fantasies take the reader on a journey into her active romantic mind, exploring her vulnerability and almost painful honesty. Her attitudes towards friends are unwavering, her loyalty and love for her family obvious, even if Rosalind would never explicitly say so. She is a victim and people prey on her. But Rosalind can see them coming. She does not flinch when they do her over, and she often offers the other cheek. Most of all Rosalind remains true to herself, and never wavers from her innermost beliefs.'

Danny stopped talking, his own breath faltering and his cheeks coloured with passion.

Pry lifted her spectacles off her nose and looked at him with deep swimming pool eyes. Mary Oconee's hand had shot up.

'Yes, Mary? Would you care to add something?'

'Yes I would. Danny, do you not think that Rosalind is a little juvenile? I mean she goes looking for fights, lies for amusement, makes no effort to reconcile her father to court. I mean to call her a heroine is a little misplaced surely.'

Pry looked at Danny, her blazing eyes inviting him to respond. Imperceptibly, she nodded in his direction when she saw the anger flaring in his face, but it was Sonia Fox who burst into the discussion unwarranted and unexpected.

'Mary – mind my French, but that's a load of bullshit!'

People gasped. The use of a swear word from a student in Pry's class was unheard of but Pry, gently bobbing on the balls of her slippered feet seemed unfazed and perfectly prepared for Sonia to continue.

'Did you read the same play? Rosalind is clearly an example of someone who, while not being a success at court, is a solid human being.'

Sonia looked exasperated. Silence absorbed the building tension sifting through the students. A curious half-smile breaking on her thin lips, Pry did not look as if she would break it.

'For me Rosalind, to start with, is a little parochial. Closed off in her own world and desires.' Michael Vitus had now entered the discussion. 'But as the drama wears on, we see her world and her friends become microcosms of our own lives. There is no-one in the play, and no thought that Rosalind has that we all haven't encountered at some point or other in our own little worlds.'

'I just liked the fact that she moaned a lot about Jacques. He does spout a load of grumpy rubbish, just like she said.' Benjamin Sprite said.

Danny finally found a space in the fuelling debate to interject, to answer Mary's original question.

'No Mary, I do not think Rosalind is juvenile.'

*

The class discussion ceased and Pry began dictating their essay question and homework assignment.

'I would like you to prepare an essay to the following question: "What is the importance to Rosalind of friends, family and the people she meets during the course of the play?" Please cite examples from the text – not huge chunks of text though Edmund – in your essay.'

Everyone began packing up thinking Pry had finished, but she hadn't and cast a withering look at those students already with bags on their desks.

'From now until the end of term, I would also like everyone to keep a weekly diary recording their thoughts and feelings. You may, if you so wish, record your dreams in this diary. It will not be neccesary to hand this in to me but,' and Pry lifted her spectacles clean off her face and pursed thin violet lips, 'I shall know if you haven't done it.'

As they exited class Danny caught a glimpse of Saffelia strolling up to Pry's desk to ask a question. He couldn't hear her, but was sure he could see her mouth the word 'Danny'.

*

It was over. He had decided. Something seemed to lighten after he made the decision. It never started as a power trip; it had been subtle and gentle. But now it left her holding the cards and Danny no path to travel apart from the escape chute.

Saffelia was not in when he called to her house. Phoebe was making spiced oatmeal cakes for them both. The maternal act was another reminder to Danny of how the situation was wrong and required a swift conclusion.

'Could I have a word?' Danny asked.

'Yes, dear,' Mrs Forrest replied in a distracted way Danny had'nt noticed before.

Sitting down on the Forrests' white sofa, Danny stared at the mirror above the fireplace. The gold rim was beginning to look rusty in places. Showing the opposite side of the room, the mirror reflected the staircase Danny so often climbed not always for the reasons of comradely friendship he privately knew he had neglected.

Phoebe sipped coffee and failed to offer Danny a drink, clairvoyantly knowing what was coming.

'I can't keep seeing you like this. You're the mum of one of my friends.'

He left the statement hanging in the stale cigarette air and resolutely refused to add anything, afraid he might renege on his internal promise. Seconds passed. Minutes passed. Birds twittered outside and filled the inner gloom with sparks of spring hope. Finally, Phoebe spoke.

'I know you can't.'

She lit a cigarette and took a long drag, almost sucking down the smoke like a hungry vacuum cleaner. A winced expression reached her face. Whilst never seeing this frown before, Danny somehow knew it would be a long time before it could be entirely erased.

'Can I tell you something, Danny Canterbury?' Phoebe continued, not waiting for an answer. 'You came here to this house. You became part of my daughter's and my family's life. Now it seems as though you are walking away from us, with no...' Her voice paused, almost as if considering whether she should complete her sentence. '...with no regard for the consequences.'

Danny stood up, flames building in his cheeks, just like they had with Amanita, just like they had with Janna, just like they had with Ella Amur.

'No! No. I'm not walking away from your family. I just can't continue seeing you like this! Don't you see? It's wrong. It's completely wrong. It's doing you no good. And it's definitely doing me no good!'

The outburst freed Danny from cloying inner anxiety. It was out now; he had no desire to reclaim it. Despite the woman's attempts to coerce him back to the warm delights of her tempting arms and cool kisses, he valued his independence more.

She took another long drag from her cigarette, letting her plump lips compress and crumple against the filter. Walking up to Danny, she exhaled smoke in his face. At one point Danny thought she would jump on him. Instead she spoke again in a desperate whisper.

'Do you realise what this family has been through?'

The anguish in her voice took Danny by surprise. He fell back into the cushioned leather of his seat as Phoebe towered over him.

'Do you have any idea what it is like never seeing your own daughter and your own son? Knowing they have forsaken you forever?'

Danny stuttered, the red effervescence radiating from his face a symbol now of embarrassment, not anger.

'I never...what do you mean, Saffelia has not forsaken you...?'

Phoebe laughed a short uncomfortable laugh. Blowing more fumes upwards towards the mock chandelier hanging before the mirror, she gazed at Danny through the pale blue haze.

'No Saffelia has not forsaken me. But Jane has. We never hear from her now or her...'

Phoebe's voice cracked into tears as she stumbled towards the end of her sentence. Towards the breaking end of their forbidden love.

'Or her waylaid brother, my despicable son Luka. Both now live in America.'

Tears fell thick and fast, an avalanche of white from advancing snowfalls.

'He never cared for his damaged family. I can't... I mean... I'll never see him again!'

Her voice gave way to sobs. It would have been easy to comfort her as she broke down on the sofa but Danny knew it would have meant sealing the escape chute, perhaps forever. The front door remained open and fresh air billowed through the grey film left by Phoebe's addiction. Managing to stand and walk towards the gust, Danny gave one last lingering glance at Phoebe before proceeding straight through the door, leaving the tormented mother alone with her hidden memories.

*

We attempted to run away today, but we didn't get very far. Just beyond the bush behind the tree that marks our boundary. Still, it was nice to be held by her in that secret place. Amid the rustling leaves that shiver with every breeze. As the wind cracks the sky open with shafts of blue between the slate grey. When the crumbling bark falls on the ground and we pick it up and throw it at each other in jest like she were my energy and I hers before we fall about laughing at the relief we are not. For that is what the heart of life is for us: those moments of relief when the pallid clouds of torment part and moments of pale blue reach our once innocent souls. We take those blue patches, hold them in our palms, and make then stretch. One day we will make them stretch so they cover the whole universe, so they never end.

That is what Lucy says.

Her Mum beat her again last night.

**  
** Accused

They sat on the floor of the observatory, with sleeping bags strewn messily around them and across the supporting wooden planks. Charlie insisted they stay for the night, primarily to witness the inter-galactic zenith of Saturn and Sirius. Danny suspected he also wanted a night sitting round telling ghost stories. Rumour had it a spirit, stupidly named The Forlorn Lady by an ex-student, often stalked the isle at night. Danny didn't believe this serene spring evening could be disturbed by cheap tales. The vernal equinox had brought the arrival of Saturn, peeping over the horizon at nine o'clock. Charlie was eyeing up Sirius, supposedly the most luminous star in the sky. Danny was not sure how the arrival of Saturn affected Sirius. Was it a battle of celestial proportions fought in the indigo blue, each trying to outshine each other with their drifts of light? Danny knew it could only _appear_ that way to them, gazing at the two cosmic bodies from their fixed station on earth. A million miles away, galactic stars and planets were hurtling their own cosmic courses toward oblivion. As if a closer look would make you realise they were really unaware of the other's existence. The cosmos then was just another illusion, another harsh reality hiding behind a deceptively beautiful veneer.

Saffelia was playing othello with Mary. Mary was winning, the distribution of blacks overturning whites spreading to each of the four corners. It was only a matter of time before Saffelia would have to admit defeat. Yet she soldiered on, playing to the end with the two-faced counters.

Danny peered over the shoulder of Sol who was reading an astronomy article. Or so he thought. At close inspection he saw Sol actually read a much smaller book, hidden from Mary's glance by the disguise of the magazine.

'Good article?' Danny asked, distracting Sol away from his absorbing dreams.

'Huh?' he said, turning in Danny's direction.

'Yes, I read about Saturn's return on page one hundred and six. Very saucy it was too.'

Mary and Saffelia raised eyebrows to each other but kept on playing. Sol's red face buried back inside his mag, and he furtively pushed the book in his pocket. Danny knew the book very well having read it over the summer break. The renowned writer was surprisingly accurate, he reflected. The sarcastic girl softly allowing the bold boy to kiss her on the beach. An extension into friendships, the clique, the withdrawals and tentative reunions. Then finally the dramatic, sudden cracking and splintering, symptoms of an imminent split. It was all there, hidden in the back of Danny's mind, a metaphor with which to compare his own life.

'There's something out there,' Charlie said suddenly, jerking the telescope back down so instead of peering into the heavens it now scooped across the inky North Sea.

'What?' Danny said, standing up. Saffelia stood up at the same time, a look in her eye Danny had seen once before. In the Snowfall Grove.

'Can't tell yet.' Charlie mumbled, 'It's too dark. It's like a... red light flashing in the ocean. Like a laser. Oh my God!'

'What!' Danny shouted.

He pulled the full lumbering weight of Charlie off and gazed into the telescope himself. Deep but indistinct shadows moved slowly across the water. It could have been grey clouds floating past the moon. But then he saw it too. A quick movement, and a flash of deep crimson, incongruous scarlet sparks against the darkness. Its intermittent glow was faint at first but it slowly grew in brightness and speed. Danny felt it move towards them. He placed his eye more firmly to the eyepiece and saw indeed the light draw closer. Suddenly there was no delay at all and the red flashes were all he could see. It was becoming so bright he felt he might be blinded, and a pang of pain shot across his head. As he began to remove his eye from the telescope he caught a glimpse of something, a gleam of something separate, a different colour. Something more akin to buttergold. He quickly jumped back but it had gone, and so had the red flashing. Holding his eye painfully close to the eyepiece, Danny strained to see it again, hoping for a reappearance but none would come.

Sighing, he stepped away from the scope. Looking down to his right he expected to see Sol still secretly reading the illicit teenage contraband beneath his magazine but Sol was not there. Neither was Charlie or Mary. These absences were not what made Danny's mouth gape instantly. Nor did they force a cold sweat to break on his forehead, or precipitate the rapid flutter of his heartbeat. Saffelia Forrest lay prostrate on the wooden floor of the observatory. Her eyes flickered like broken shutters and bubbles of foam grew like mushrooms out of her slack, open mouth.

*

Amanita's private dominion of power, the press room, was the only safe place Danny could think to take Saffelia. It took a full ten minutes before she came to, and a further five before she spoke a single word that reassured Danny no serious harm was done. Where the others had disappeared to Danny did not know, but he was sure by now they were fast asleep in sleeping bags, having admitted defeat to drooping eyelids.

Amanita kept flasks of tea in one of the cupboards, and Danny reached for one now. As he poured Saffelia a mug of the tepid brown liquid he breathed deeply, allowing the blood to continue flowing back to his arms, numb from half-carrying, half-dragging Saffelia. She drew it to her lips and a little colour seeped back into her cheeks.

For a time neither said anything. Danny waited, wanting to break the silence but knowing he mustn't. Just as he had to be strong with the mother, now he had to be gentle with her daughter. Knowing Saffelia's dry sense of humour, it felt as if they both were weighing when to insert a glib soundbite of the smiling delight and mysterious despair that this year had intertwined their lives. Saffelia took another sip. Danny brushed back the sweat into his hair. He switched on a computer and momentarily distracted himself with the blinking cursor.

'Do you know what's incredible?' Saffelia said.

'Professor Appalachian's quiff?' Danny said instinctively.

They both looked at each other and burst into laughter.

'Actually,' Saffelia continued, giggles subsiding. 'I was thinking more of you and Janna Chisely.'

'Oh.' Danny said, his tone becoming more serious. 'What of it?', he asked as defensiveness entered his voice.

'I find it incredible that everyone I speak to thinks you two are meant to be together, yet neither of you can admit it to each other.'

There it was. With one unexpected swoop, Saffelia had cut straight to Danny's heart. She had floored him with a left hand hook that came from nowhere. Stuttering like a pathetic five-year old who has just lost his childhood friend forever, Danny replied.

'I...d'..don't..agree,' he managed.

Saffelia continued unfazed.

'The sad thing, the really sad thing is Danny, that while you have been wasting time with Anjalie Marjoram, and my own Mum, you've been hiding from the one beautiful thing that can make you happy, as well as unintentionally injuring your one true friend.'

Saffelia sipped quietly on her tea, a picture of composure as Danny's cheeks flamed. He felt he had fallen through the looking glass. One minute he was rescuing Saffelia from a frothing fit, the next he was the one needing rescuing.

'You know about me and your...your mum?' Danny whispered, his rage submitting to shocked nerves.

Saffelia bowed her head, looking at the floor. It was only now as the gleam of moon fell on her pallid face he noticed the delicate shade of lilac lipstick she wore. When she spoke again her voice was lower.

'You said you saw a red flash out in the ocean. Charlie said he saw it as well. What do you think it was?'

Danny turned away, looking again at the computer screen. It was displaying a slideshow of photos – Amanita's screensaver. Lots of pleasant vistas of Amanita smiling on holiday, lounging around in sunglasses with her Mum, with her sister Wendy among trees and mountains. Then it fell on a selection of photos with Danny and Tim in. The three grouped round a computer after the first edition of the _Oracle_. The trio, in the playground, looking like they were arguing. In the Roasthouse eating, after school on the walk home. Finally, the photo of the three of them at the end of last year flashed up and Danny remembered from the faded smiles exactly how he had felt at the moment the shutter stole the image, and fixed it in perpetuity.

'I think it was someone. Or possibly two people. I couldn't be sure. It could have just been some random trick of the light.'

Danny did not believe this but he said it to make himself sound rational, and not someone inventing adventure for the sake of it. He paused before proceeding with his next question.

'How did you find out? About me and your Mum I mean.'

Saffelia raised her head, meeting Danny directly in his eyes. Her bold gaze made him shiver, and she saw and looked away.

'Our family don't keep secrets from each other. Not anymore anyway.'

'Oh,' said Danny, desperately trying to think of something clever to say which might excuse the fling. It was no use. He stood in the dim light feeling more and more awkward. The silence was filled by distant sounds of the tide lapping against the rocks, below the window through which a salty breeze blew.

'There is a reason.' Saffelia said, obscurely.

'A reason for what?' Danny asked, confused.

'Danny – tell me. What are your intentions towards Amanita?'

Saffelia asked, flitting between subjects like a butterfly, or a bluebird racing for the shelter of woodland.

'What do you mean? Amanita's my friend.'

Saffelia again fixed Danny with a warm yet firm glare.

'I think she might have been hoping for something else.' Saffelia said, steadily.

Ignoring her answer, Danny decided to plunge straight into her own recent abuses of his friend.

'And what about Tim? What happened there? He's not been the same since you split up.'

There was hesitation in the anger lacing Danny's voice. He couldn't quite bring himself to accuse Saffelia. She still appeared as soft as ever, although Danny knew a strong heart beat within.

'Neither have I, Danny. Neither have I.' she answered with a sense of finality.

'Then why don't the two of you get back together? Why shouldn't we all be friends again? Just like it was in the Snowfall Grove?' Danny asked.

As soon as he heard the words float on the air he recognised the childish desperation of them and wanted to retrieve his naive question. Saffelia stood and walked to the window. Shutting it, the breeze stopped and the room filled quickly with the musty air of school. She switched the computer off and the slideshow ceased abruptly, before she approached Danny, walking so close he could smell her perfume, which reminded him of fields of daffodils.

'Thank you for looking after me tonight. Maybe someday you'll understand but I don't think we will ever be able to go back to how it was in the Snowfall Grove. I think it's time we both went home to bed.'

With that she kissed him on the cheek and walked down the stairs, on her way out of the Castle, deserting Danny Canterbury one more time.

*

As soon as Danny reached the rocky path which led to the headland on which the gothic Amberleigh Castle stood, it was clear something irrevocable had occurred. A change was marked in time which would alter the course of his day in a way he could never have predicted.

As he crested the brow of the hill, the point at which Fourlawns came into view beyond the school playground, he saw Professor Wonder ushering in the students one by one, and asking to check their bags. Ursula Calcite and Belladonna Whimsy stood by him, rifling through school bags with casual disregard before returning them in a poorer state to bewildered students. Fourlawns itself had been transformed. Yellow police tape gleamed in the sunlight as it snaked its way round the cliff top perimeter, and a couple of officers patrolled the edges.

Danny saw the bag-check process more clearly as he drew closer to Plunket's. He watched Whimsy remove a lipstick from Hazel Brock's satchel and shove it stealthily in her own metal-clasped Prada handbag. Danny squeezed his own bag tentatively, already struggling under the pressure of exercise books, text books and sports kit. Was there anything in there to give cause for concern?

'Danny!'

A familiar voice called behind him. Before he located the voice in his mind's chart of recognition, welcome feelings of sweetness and happiness gushed through his body like a breeze rising with the air off the sea.

'I was just coming to warn you. Mary texted me a few minutes ago. All the teachers are searching people's bags before we go into school.'

Danny wasn't thinking about the bag check. For a moment she had relieved him of the anxious burden, and he remembered with softness that not all that had happened last year had been bad. Blinking, he found himself staring once again into the refreshing pools of blue belonging to Janna Chisely.

'I've missed you,' Danny said, forgetting himself.

He felt it was the most honest thing he had ever said in his life. It fell out of him like a coin that wouldn't fit in its slot.

Janna gazed at him, and smiled.

'We're still friends, you know Danny. We _can_ talk to each other – it is allowed.'

They wandered toward the school gates together, but not before emptying from their bags any rubbish that had accumulated. Danny was glad he had not brought to school anything sensitive, like his article for the _Oracle_. He was sure Ursula Calcite would love to confiscate something so personal.

Janna slipped her make-up into a secret pocket in her skirt. It happened in a flash. One minute she pulled the silver tablet from her bag, the next she made it disappear as she retrieved her hand from beneath her gray pleats.

'How did you do that?' Danny asked, astonished.

'A girl's got to look nice.' Janna replied as she winked at Danny.

Professor Wonder welcomed them both with open arms.

'Ah – Janna Chisely and Danny Canterbury! How lovely to see you on this fine morning. I'm afraid we're doing a little search at the moment. Would you be so kind as to open your bags for me.'

A small table stood behind Wonder. At the table Calcite and Whimsy were proceeding through each bag like vultures. Danny eyed them with a stony glare. As he lay his bag on the table he fixed them with cold hardness he refused to conceal from his glare. Calcite ignored him as red varnished talons crept in his bag like alien tentacles. Flicking through his school books, she smiled to herself as Belladonna interrogated Janna.

'Do you have any make-up on you?' Whimsy asked Janna.

'Not today. I think my eyelashes look fine as they are, don't you?' replied Danny dryly, his voice drenched with sarcasm.

Ursula and Belladonna turned on him just as Wonder let out a raucous belly-aching laugh.

'Such wit in one so young. Off you go you two, and thanks for your co-operation,' Wonder bellowed, saving them from any ripostes or retribution.

As Danny and Janna scuttled off to form room, Janna wittering something about an upcoming party at Samuel Mills, Danny turned and caught a glimpse of Calcite and Whimsy's silent rage at Wonder for spoiling whatever punishment they were about to dish out to the cheeky Canterbury. Mild glee flowed like the wind through Danny as he accompanied his ex-girlfriend into the castle.

*

Danny had to wait until French before he discovered the source of the day's mischief. It happened in a way he wished wasn't so personal. Appalachian knocked on Dr Cleaver's classroom door and entered without bothering to receive a response. The wide beam of a smile Danny had come to associate so intimately with Appalachian filled their classroom like a clap of thunder on a sunny day.

'Ladies and gentlemen, I am sorry to disturb what I do not doubt is an extremely invaluable Spanish lesson,' he began.

'Actually it's F...F...French,' stammered Cleaver, blushing at the sight of the tall head-teacher.

Appalachian turned to Dr Cleaver and flashed an unconcerned grin at her.

'Of course it is dear. Could I trouble you, to request a couple of students accompany me to my office?'

Again before Cleaver could answer, Appalachian fished out a smart notebook from his top suit pocket and prepared to speak. After clearing his throat affectedly he began to read clearly, enunciating each word with the affected emphasis of a royal courtier.

'Mary Oconee. Solomon Castle. Charles Shackleton. Saffelia Forrest. And...,' Danny knew it was coming, 'Daniel Canterbury. That will be all.'

Danny's friends reluctantly stood up, all staring at each other with trepidation. It was unusual for the headmaster to come in person to escort students to his office. Amid a classroom of confusion and contempt from those still seated, Danny felt a growing surge of brotherhood with those who had been picked out. During those exchanged glances, full of nervous anxiety, they realised they were isolated but united as a group. As they walked the few yards to Appalachian's wood panelled study, an indiscernible force grew among them in the dim silence. A quiet determination seized Danny and he felt he would need to match the gravity of the situation with all the force of his assertive introversion.

Appalachian called Mary, Sol and Charlie first. Divide and conquer, thought Danny, his leg involuntarily shaking as a full twenty minutes elapsed. The door finally opened. As Mary, Sol and Charlie poured into the empty corridor – with all other students still locked in classes – Appalachian appeared in the doorway and invited Saffelia and Danny inside.

Two other people waited in the room and Danny immediately recognised them. One filled him with a wave of relief, a kindred spirit in hard times. The other filled him with suspicion which Danny knew was so far unjustified. Professor Jonas Alessandro sat to the left of Appalachian and Jim Travershall, the new History teacher, sat to the right. Alessandro half-smiled, half frowned when he saw Danny and Saffelia. Travershall peered amusingly at Danny through gold-rimmed glasses, before scratching his head as he gazed at the ceiling.

'Please sit down,' boomed Appalachian.

Danny suspected he was acting: attempting to make himself look good among the company in the room. He sat on the wooden chair nearest the window, furthest from the door, allowing Saffelia the shortest journey to her seat.

'We have asked you in today to talk to you about the recent...'

Appalachian paused. Danny watched his expression change from beaming smile to a look that showed him chewing on something unsavoury,

'A propagating drug culture appears to be developing in my, I mean, _our_ school.'

Alessandro looked deadly serious. Travershall's gaze was still averted toward the ceiling. With the deftness of a trained prosecutor Appalachian fired a question, pointing at the two students with each hand and one extended finger.

'What do you two know about the drugs recently found on the isle of Fourlawns?'

Saffelia stuttered, taken aback by the aggressive change in tone.

'I...d'don't kn...know, s..sir.'

Danny instinctively reached out a hand to Saffelia, which she grasped tightly. Travershall cocked his head toward the pair, as if considering their affection an act of defiance. His eyes gleamed with suspicion for a moment. Then he frowned.

'And you boy? What have you to say for yourself?' Appalachian boomed again.

Danny drew himself up in his chair, and cleared his throat.

'I know absolutely nothing about this discovery,' he said, not faltering.

'Are you absolutely sure about that Master Canterbury?' Appalachian asked again.

Danny relaxed his shoulders. Appalachian was like a broken, blunted sledgehammer. Only one line of questioning. It was like watching a speeding train come hurtling down the track from a couple of miles away.

'Are you suggesting I am lying?' Danny asked, quietly.

Appalachian began to speak again, but he couldn't be heard as Alessandro cleared his throat.

'Danny, no-one is calling you a liar. We are here to find out a little more from the students about this latest incident.' Danny detected Alessandro placed an ironic emphasis on the last word, and suggested Alessandro hadn't totally bought whatever Appalachian had told him.

'Of course, Professor,' Danny replied.

Travershall had returned to staring at the ceiling but as Appalachian tried to begin talking again, a strange high-pitched voice, almost a squeak, rose from Travershall's throat. Danny was instantly reminded of a talking gnome he had seen in a cartoon.

'Daniel. You were on the island last night, were you not? And you had ample opportunity to wander around the island, did you not?'

'But I didn't "wander around the island"! I was in the observatory all night.' Danny said, a thin veil of politeness barely concealing his anger.

Travershall refused to look at him but instead did something that aggravated Danny even further. He leant into Appalachian's ear and whispered something inaudible to Danny. Appalachian nodded once, twice and then a third time. Almost a nodding dog, thought Danny. Saffelia still sat in her chair staring straight ahead. Her cheeks had turned palest white.

Appalachian turned back to them. There was a pause. Appalachian looked as though he would ask something but, strangely for him, couldn't find the words. As if by way of bridging discomfort at what he was about to say, he leant forward, almost as though he were confiding a secret to Danny.

'Danny – you were seen, I'm afraid. By more than one person. You were seen strolling around the island. Alone.'

The final word hit Danny like a lightning bolt striking him through the centre of his chest. Quickly he realised the enormity of the deceitful situation caving in upon him. Three unsympathetic senior teachers faced him, and were conjuring imaginary evidence from hidden sources to accuse him of a crime worthy of permanent exclusion. It was no use fighting such a formidable team of authority, even if they were wrong. They had already decided. Within Danny it was as if the weary note of resignation to the fate they were dealing him was a fuse, quickly burning up as the flame neared the stick of small yet potent dynamite.

He squeezed Saffelia's hand. As the inner explosion boiled his face red and his eyes emitted glares of hateful distrust, when Danny spoke his voice remained as still as it would had he been addressing Tim in the playground.

'I am afraid you are quite, _quite_ wrong.'

Appalachian looked at Alessandro, who shrugged his shoulders, seemingly to disassociate himself with the accusation. Travershall, however began to speak again, measuring his squeaky words evenly.

'How would you suppose we deal with this situation, Canterbury? What would you do when faced with a known drug dealer? Let him go?'

Travershall stared directly at Danny, whose face burned red with what looked like suppressed rage. Danny considered for a moment, refusing to give no outward sign of the jangly nerves racing round his body like a formula one grand prix. The only noise he made was an odd vocal sound, caused by swallowing too hard.

'It is my firm belief, and I am sure Professor Appalachian will back me up on this, that you should always endeavour to be harsh on the perpetrator, and harsh on the origins of the perpetrator.'

Appalachian sat in his chair open-mouthed, aghast at hearing his own words repeated back at him in this context. Alessandro withheld a furtive smile and motioned Danny and Saffelia to the door, to await their verdict. Travershall was perhaps the least revealing of all three. He had gone back to studying the ceiling. However, as Danny opened the door for Saffelia to walk through, and he glanced sideways at the three stooges, he could swear on his mother's grave that Travershall looked at him with an expression as stern as rock but with eyes as vulnerable as winter snow.

*

_The winter is ending. We feel it in our bones and toes. We both have poor circulation. While mine makes me shiver and my flesh wobble, it makes Lucy's toes and lips turn blue. Well, not blue but more a kind of greyish-yellow but we call it blue because that is the opposite of red and that is what we mean._

Lucy says when the Autumn comes again she is leaving. She does not want to see another winter in Amberleigh she says.

The Editorial Meeting

Anjalie Marjoram sat bow-legged on the floor of her baby's bedroom, and made strange faces at one-year old Ackley. Squish Ambrose stood by the window, tapping his foot nervously, watching the cloud-bleached sun pour in white light to the colourful nursery. Danny shook a rattle at his son whilst trying to tie shoelaces on his impossibly small trainers.

'It's no use, Anjalie. My fingers are too big. You're going to have to do it.' Danny said, removing the rattle from his mouth and frowning at Ackley, who gurgled happily in response.

'Give them here then,' Anjalie said gruffly but tenderly taking Ackley's feet in her own petite hands and deftly weaving the laces over each other in a criss-cross motion until safe secure knots had been fastened on both shoes. Danny noticed silverwhite striped nail varnish painted meticulously over her tiny cuticles.

'There we go,' Anjalie said proudly, waving a sand coloured teddy-bear at Ackley. 'You're all set for your walk with Daddy now.' Squish turned to them both.

'It looks like rain outside,' he said, blankly.

'We can just go out for a little bit,' Danny replied, not looking at Squish. 'A little water hurt no-one,' he added not thinking. Visions of Chardelia floating in the bottom of the sea swam into his mind.

It became difficult to get Ackley to stop crying as Danny walked down the street away from Anjalie's house. After Danny was pushing the buggy for ten minutes it began spitting heavily. He pulled over the rain shield so Ackley wouldn't get wet, and then pulled his own black cagoule out of his jacket pocket. As the rain pitter-pattered on the rain shield, Ackley's crying started to cease. It seemed the noise soothed him. As the heavens opened the rain splodged down in thick grey sheets and the harmless rapping on the buggy intensified. Little Ackley burbled in delight beneath the shield. As the water dripped down off the transparent plastic it created tiny puddles on the tops of Danny's shoes.

Lemon Tree Lane weaved its sweeping drive close to Anjalie's new Fairleagh residence. The trees in Lemon Tree Lane did not bear any lemons but dripped thick gobbets of water on the pavement below, sporadically striking Danny's already sodden hair. As he straightened his cagoule to release the rain he thought of Amanita. Unbidden by anything tangible, the wish entered his mind that she were here with him, visiting Anjalie and his son. He had never reconciled his swampy feelings with their bubbled moment of sudden passion earlier in the year. Indeed they had never discussed it, preferring to converse about the _Oracle_ , school work and even Danny's other romances. It was as if the encounter had become a taboo subject to them both. The longer time went on, the more difficult it would be to discuss.

Below him Ackley grew noisier. Without crying, he increased his volume by gurgling and chuckling jubilantly .

Anjalie, and then it was Janna, and then it was Amanita and then Phoebe. But he had never kissed Chardelia, never held her hand, never even asked her out on a date. As he watched Ackley roll around in delight at the soft colours in the changing sky, Danny felt a weary melancholy flow through him. His little son smiled with incomprehensible glee. The one that got away, never to return. It was difficult to rationalise the way his life unfolded. It was like a multi-coloured patchwork bedsheet, with creases in all the wrong places, cutting across the pre-destined pattern.

An odd word popped in his head as he sat on a bench rocking Ackley to sleep. It was a word he had not allowed his conscious mind to entertain for months, having diverted it behind a mental wall. Flambeau. Where was he now? Why did no-one tell him what the progress was with the search for the fugitive? Had he vanished from the face of the earth? He did not want to dwell on him, least of all recollect the events at the close of the last school year. Even now, nine months on, Danny failed to retreat to adequate perspective the horrors of that brilliantly bright and horrifically dark, summer's day. To think the headmaster had been the treacherous culprit all along. To think he had orchestrated against the school in a spectacular fashion, like a sleeping dog, lying to them all. Unsuspecting, deliberate, unrepentant. A flame of anger tore through Danny's heart, not at Flambeau, but at Ella Amur. The girl who had killed her own school friend and Danny's emerging infatuation so sleekly, with one gunshot. She was responsible for the picture of Chardelia's limp body floating in the green water amongst the reeds and flowers, irreversibly dead. For the memory of her empty green eyes staring upwards towards the rocky cavern ceiling. It flitted in Danny's mind's eye with the cheekiness of his tired son. All of the water despatched from grey rainclouds had now cleared. Would his own pain pass so fast? He did not want to cry. He did not want to add even one raindrop to that fallen mass. His painful memory was private, and he was not ready to share it with the world.

When the white sun reappeared it cast pale shade on the park path. Danny's thoughts turned to Robin Vernal. She had been his childhood companion, like Amanita was now his teenage companion. She had disappeared at an early age and was now gone from Danny's life too, with no hope of ever seeing her again. He would not know where to start to begin to trace her back into his life, should he so wish. Why was it that he couldn't focus adequately on the ones who remained in his life, and why it was the ones who had left, haunted with a shadow thicker and more absorbing than reality?

*

Weighed down with the homework Ravana set them, Danny's bag strap crumpled and buckled beneath the pressure. As he turned to repair the zip, he accidentally stumbled into Saffelia. They had not discussed the reprieve they had both been granted. It had largely been due, Danny believed, to the intervention of Professor Alessandro. He was quite sure, had Jim Travershall had his way, the pair of them would have been expelled, or at least suspended. The injustice still smarted – there was no evidence, or at least no evidence presented to them. A suffocating feeling of paralysis against the authoritative might of the school machine rose up. On reflection, Danny had received the impression Saffelia was avoiding him since their interrogation with Appalachian.

'Hi Saff, how's things? Are you going to Dawn's party on Saturday?'

'Hi Dan. I can't stop. On my way to see Amanita,' Saffelia uttered quickly, throwing him a distrustful, sidelong glance.

Danny stood in Saffelia's path, laying his bag down on the floor, blocking her way along the corridor towards spiral two.

'Amanita's in her form room. The other direction.'

Saffelia looked at him, the realisation of her exposed deceit dawning in her otherwise innocent eyes. There was a pause.

'Danny. Please can you get out of my way.'

She didn't look directly at him. Another pause.

'Of course.'

Danny moved aside and watched her scuttle down the corridor. He picked up his bag and went to collect Amanita and Tim for their next _Oracle_ meeting.

'It's so odd!' Amanita exclaimed as Tim and Danny sat munching on the oat bars Amanita had bought all of them. She seemed to have a secret stash hidden somewhere in the press room.

'I mean, why would they attack Danny like that? It's obvious he hasn't anything to do with drugs.'

'Maybe they know that. Maybe they think he's dangerous,' Tim said absent-mindedly, his chewing mouth full of raisins. Amanita and Danny stared at him.

'You might be right, Tim.' Amanita said, with a solemnity that scared Danny.

'Dangerous? Me? Are you kidding? Why would I be dangerous? I can't even tie my shoelaces up most of the time, let alone run a ruthless drug ring in the school? No, it's the same thing that happened to Cedric and Edmund. They were framed, now they're trying to do the same thing to me and Saffelia.'

Amanita looked at him sympathetically.

'Have you seen Saffelia lately?' Amanita said, her voice suddenly switching to a softness that placed Danny on edge. Tim remained silent and grunted down the last of his oat bar.

'No. Well, I just saw her in the corridor but...Well, she told me she was on her way to see you Amanita, which was obviously a lie.'

Amanita remained silent, but again smiled sympathetically.

'Don't know what's up with the girl myself,' Tim added.

Both Danny and Amanita turned to look at Tim. It was not usual for him to talk about his ex-girlfriend.

'I mean, she's just acting odd with everyone. Not just us lot. I heard Lorraine Carr and Hazel Brock talking in the playground. They think she's losing it,' Tim said calmly as he pulled another oat bar from his jacket pocket.

'Timothy Gaunt – have you discovered where my secret store of oat bars is?!' Amanita demanded, cheeks puffing out and hands tapping on her ample hips.

'Yes', Tim replied simply. 'Anyway, aren't we getting off the point? Shouldn't we discuss the next issue of the blessed _Oracle_?'

Amanita gathered herself together. For Tim to start to lead the meeting set alarm bells ringing in her head.

'Yes. Right. Danny – what do you have for the next issue?'

Danny looked at his feet.

'It isn't written yet but I thought I could do a follow up on my article about...about...' His voice trailed off. He knew Amanita was not going to like it.

'About what?' Amanita snapped, sensing what was coming.

'About...the cost of shoes.' Danny finished, staring at his own.

'And what angle, pray tell me, are you going to take this time in your anti-feminist diatribe?' she asked.

By adopting her fluttery, breathy voice Danny knew a moral conflict between censorship and feminist ideals was raging inside Amanita's mind. Her bulging eyes nearly popped from her head with impatience.

'I was going to look at...fashion, clothes, make-up and...and...falsity.'

He felt relief for getting out his words. It was so easy on the page, but when it came to verbalising into speech something didn't connect. It was difficult facing up to Amanita like this. Miraculously, her expression softened.

'Well just make sure it's well-written and within the one and a half thousand word limit. I had terrible trouble cutting down Michael Vitus' last contribution on courage from four thousand words. How about you Tim?' Amanita asked.

'Oh I've done mine,' Tim said, polishing the last of his second oat bar. 'Here you go,' he said handing over a sheaf of neatly typed, double-spaced papers and a disk.

Amanita fell into her seat from shock. Danny dropped the pad he was holding onto the floor. Tim grinned into their stunned expressions.

'It's on the history of Fourlawns, like you asked,' Tim said, winking at Amanita in a way that caused her to blush. However she recovered quickly.

'Tim – I hope there isn't endless pages about the historic victories of Plunket's school football team from years past! Is there?' she asked nervously.

Tim looked at her with a steady gaze, causing Amanita's already pink cheeks to redden even more.

'Amanita – how could I have written it without referring to the glories of school days past, especially Danny's spectacular goal against St Cecilia's last year. But like you advised I have addressed those elements of history...'

Tim's voice ceased and Danny got the distinct impression that he had changed his mind about what he was about to say.

'..that you asked me to,' Tim finished.

'Good.' Amanita said.

She turned to her computer screen and loaded the layout of the front page, as it had progressed so far.

'Great image,' Tim murmured and Danny nodded his assent. The trio stared into the dark granite exterior of Amberleigh Castle standing forth on its headland on a bright spring day as children approached to begin the new term. The isle of Fourlawns, visible in the distance, bloomed colourfully as a solitary figure, probably Dunstan Blackbuck the school caretaker, mowed the lawn.

'I think this school has a lot of hidden secrets to divulge. Maybe one day we'll find out what they are.'

*

The early spring sunshine broke through the window and lightened Danny's mood. He sat in Craftwork trying to plan how to build a model of his wooden book shelf. Edmund Cloves gazed dejectedly at the cardboard model of his plastic herb rack, which had crumpled as he tried to drop herb containers in it. Danny had helped him collect all the tarragon as it spilled across the dusty work surface.

Rover Burberry was at his desk and, as per usual his face was buried in that day's copy of _The Sun_ , while a copy of _The Mirror_ pay on his desk, unopened. After chuckling to himself for five full minutes, he could no longer ignore the growing queue of students at his desk waiting to show him their completed models. He smiled anxiously as his eyes appeared above his paper, which he laid down on his chair, pages open at two and three.

'How can I help you?' he asked Hazel Brock, in a way that implied she was intruding on his precious leisure time.

'Er, sir – I was just wondering if you could take a look at my model. It's for a rabbit hutch,' Hazel said, in her usual brisk tone.

Burberry looked at her straight faced, and then peered down at her model which she held in her hands, awaiting his appraisal. He burst out laughing. Hazel took a step back shocked, not knowing what to say. The queue behind her disbanded and everyone rushed back to their desks before they could become Burberry's next victim.

'I never knew teachers could be so cruel,' Danny said solemnly to Tim.

'They're born like that mate. It's in their blood.' Tim said, equally as seriously.

'What about Wonder? He's not cruel,' Danny challenged, awaiting a firm rebuttal from Tim. However, he didn't get one.

'Yes. You're right. I'd forgotten all about dear old Professor Wonder, the youngest Professor in the school, and one of the kindest people you'll ever come across.' Tim said, not looking up from his plan of a deluxe football stadium.

'You sound like Amanita, mate.' Danny said.

'No I don't. Amanita would say something like "Oh Professor Wonder makes me weak at my knees, isn't he gorgeous, I just want him to fuck me senseless"' Tim faked in an eerily close imitation of Amanita.

'What has he done that's so kind then?' Danny asked, not satisfied by Tim's verbal posturing.

Tim remained silent for a moment as he drew another line on his plan.

'That's going to be the restaurant.'

Danny looked at him, awaiting an answer.

'Wonder isn't such a bad old stick. He...he er...he's been helping me out with my homework...' Tim said, his voice dragging like a garden rake through thick grass.

'Is that all?' Danny asked, suspecting more.

'Well he's just been, you know, giving me a bit of advice about stuff. You know, Chukchi and that. How to try and put her behind me. You know, I think me going out with Saffelia was me just trying to get Chukchi out of my system. You know?'

Tim was still looking at his drawing.

'Right.' Danny answered simply, feeling satisfied and picking up his pencil to begin his plan again.

'She's pregnant you know.' Tim said, just as casually.

Danny dropped his pencil and it fell to the floor with a loud tinkle.

'What?!' Danny asked, red-faced.

'Oh, it's not mine. Some banker down in London. They're setting up home together in the Cotswolds. She's found a nice little country school. He's got the perfect set-up when he comes back from a hard day. Sounds idyllic to me.' Tim continued in the same casual drone.

'And how do you feel about that?' Danny asked, softly. Finally, Tim stopped drawing and looked at Danny in the eye, his face packed with the disquiet of muted rage.

'It doesn't bother me a fucking bit,' Tim said, unable to repress the anger in his stiff voice.

'What's going on here?'

Burberry had crept up on them both and now glared over Danny's shoulder at their plans with sudden interest. Danny looked at the teacher. He looked like a summer lumberjack, in his short-sleeved red-checked shirt and square glasses.

'We're just finishing our plans, sir.'

'Well make sure you do lads. Half the class are now moving on to building their projects.'

Burberry wandered off. Tim looked at Danny and Danny looked straight back.

'Well that told us!' Tim said, and they laughed.

*

I helped wash Mum's car today. It made me feel safe being outside with her. I could play in the soapy water without fear of the boys down the ramshackle houses along the street picking on me and making fun. Or him. Or him.

**  
**The Visions of Morpheus

It wasn't English. Before Tim or Benjamin Sprite had even realised that the strange noise was music, Danny distinctively heard verbal gymnastics that indicated the music wasn't in his mother tongue. As they drew closer to the house, Danny heard sharp upturns in the words, uncertain hanging vowels and a dramatic passion in the voice that affirmed to him one country alone – Spain.

The party was decorated according to a Spanish theme. Flamenco guitars stood either side of the doorway, and rich pinks and yellows greeted their eyes as they walked into the otherwise normal suburban house belonging to Samuel Mills.

Amanita had already arrived and chatted happily to Hazel Brock while sipping punch. The stereo was much louder inside; it blasted out foreign words of which Danny could only wildly guess the meaning. There was an allure to their strangeness, an irresitible pull from the bliss of unknowing. Lorraine Carr seemed stuck in some sort of a clinch with Richey Athurston. Remembering their greasy encounter at last year's Christmas disco Danny was glad she had finally swapped her attention. He had regretted every second of that despair-filled night.

Samuel greeted them with open arms, a huge grin widening his face abnormally as he thrust drinks into Tim and Benjamin's hands. Samuel was a tall boy with fluffy brown hair that seemed to ruffle and curl naturally. He exuded an air of confused confidence. Danny felt he sometimes put on an act – he couldn't quite lay his finger on what resided beneath the surface of the act, but he was sure it was something more sinister than the face he presented to his school friends.

'I've got a few more birds in the garden dancing in the fountain, if you know what I mean?'

Samuel winked at them. It was on the tip of Danny's tongue to reply he didn't know what Samuel meant and ask him to explain. As they wandered through the party and out the back, Danny noticed the usual suspects lounging on cream sofas and the plush shag before a roaring hearth. Samuel's family didn't struggle for money.

In the kitchen he greeted Michael and Florence, while Mary and Sol chatted over glasses of red wine. Danny was surprised to see Michael at a party like this. Rarely venturing out, being even more introverted than Danny, it was unusual to see him at any place other than school. In the garden a host of girls Danny did not know, conversed over clinking glasses and beneath a soft haze of smoke, gently rising in humid air. Something inside him sank a couple of feet, like the feeling of descending in a lift with no warning. Two of the girls languidly rested on the edge of Samuel's fountain. Danny thought it looked more like a rock pool with an amorphous lump of concrete pissing in the green murk than a fountain. The girls smoked a joint they passed liberally among themselves. By a large maple tree in the corner of the garden stood another group of party-goers. Danny counted five girls and a couple of boys. Danny squinted to see if he could recognise the boys.

'Tim, Ben – who are those two? I think I recognise...'

But Danny's voice faded into nothing as he found his two companions were no longer by his side. With the kind of slow dread that prolongs torture, he realised they were already ahead of him. However their advance had given him the perfect excuse for re-entry. Gulping sweet oxygen deeply, Danny walked over to meet the five girls under the pretence he was merely joining his two friends.

'Hello,' Danny said tentatively.

It looked as though Benjamin had just told a very funny joke as the girls wielded giggles and blushes as though they were afraid their flirting technique might not be obvious enough.

'Danny boy!' Tim shouted so that every girl turned to look at him.

Not expecting all those faces to gaze at him at once he instinctively flushed. He hated the name "Danny-boy". Even though it was a cool summer evening he suddenly felt incredibly hot. Benjamin was playing keepy-uppy with a tennis ball. Annoyingly, he excelled and became the new focus of the amused group's attention. Several girls clapped as he flicked it off the back of his heel, over his head, back on his knee and then bounced in his hand before it touched the ground. Danny was glad of the mild diversion until a short and soft-featured girl turned to him.

'I know you,' she said, smiling.

'I don't think you do,' Danny said too quickly. How could she possibly know him? There wasn't much to know. Besides, now he could see her properly he noticed how attractive she was. Naturally long eyelashes competed with a choppy mahogany fringe and curiosity sparkled in her wide eyes. Attractive girls didn't know him by default. It must be a mistake.

'Yes I do,' the girl said with feisty confidence. Danny noticed a film of pink gloss shining on her thin lips. She was not conventionally attractive. Yet she radiated a gentle hypnotism that hooked the watcher more with each look, until eventually they become permanently transfixed. 'You're Danny Canterbury,' she announced proudly.

Danny's mouth hung open. There was no denying it now, she had rumbled him.

'Yes. So what?' Danny said stupidly, defensiveness rising to shield his growing contemplation of the possibility that one day he would like to snog her.

The girl looked taken aback.

'Sorry,' she said stroppily. 'I was just asking.'

She went back to watching Ben and his tennis ball party tricks. However, Tim now stepped ruthlessly over the dewy grass between the girl and Danny.

'Danny – I'd like you to meet Cherry Trove. She's a "little treasure"'

Tim grinned at his own joke as the girl scowled with pretend anger.

'Cherry goes to school in Fairleagh, and she's just like a cherry: small, dark, sweet and intense...' but Danny was already turning to Cherry before Tim could complete his sentence.

'How do you know Samuel?' he asked, allowing politeness to overturn the prior defensiveness.

She looked at him, blinking huge eyelashes. Her crinkled expression and pursed lips forced dimples to form in her demure cheeks. Evidently she was still irritated at something. The fire Danny had ignited had not dimmed. Good, he thought. He liked that.

'Well if you must know we met at a party a few weeks ago. And he invited me here tonight. What's it to you anyway?'

Cherry asked it as a throwaway comment, but Danny watched the almost imperceptible way her eyes lingered on his face which told him she was still curious for his response.

'I just wondered,' Danny said quietly into his coke, smiling at his recovering confidence.

Tim could be a million miles away as far as he was concerned by now. The questions he could ask this girl piled up in his mind. As they did, he fed off her curiosity and grew interested. Where was she from? Where did she live? Would he see her again? How did she know who he was?

'Well, I have to get back to my friend's house now. It was nice to meet you Danny,' she said briefly.

She put her drink down on the grass and before Danny could say goodbye, she had left. Just as quickly as his heart had expanded with hope like a balloon, she had popped it. Yet the night was still young. Danny picked up her drink, downing it in one.

*

The relentless Spanish music tired Danny as the clock reached one o'clock in the morning. He longed for something British, or even something he could understand the words to. He didn't appreciate words abandoning him to the desert of incomprehension.

As the night progressed Danny felt people transform into images. Fading, then glowing brighter, and then fading again, like human lava lamps. Samuel was sat on the step outside the kitchen, kissing Dawn Russet on the neck and whispering persuasive entreaties in her ears. He couldn't catch what. Tim danced with Lorraine Carr in the lounge. Danny ambled to the kitchen for water to refresh his pounding head. It was empty of people. Hearing the party stragglers dancing in the luxurious cream lounge, Danny rummaged around in the freezer for an ice cube tray. Samuel emerged from the garden holding Dawn's hand and led her wordlessly upstairs. Danny found an ice cube. Placing it to his forehead, cool bliss circulated through his throbbing veins, and he closed his eyes, surrendering to the momentary euphoria. As the ice melted and cold water dripped down his face it looked like he was crying. It felt fantastic.

He went to find another when a voice behind him caught him with a fuzzy throb of recognition.

'So here he is. The master. The original love-them-and-leave-them type.'

Danny turned around and found himself gazing straight into the cleavage of Phoebe Forrest. She stood over him arms folded, elevating her sagging breasts, trademark cigarette clamped between sallow fingers.

'Don't get up on my account,' Phoebe continued in a tormented voice. 'I wouldn't want to inconvenience you.'

Danny blinked the ice cold water from his eyes. Alone in the kitchen with her, he felt vulnerable. The gleaming whiteness of the walls and floor were oppressive. As his eyelids drooped, the coldness of the kitchen appliances and the brilliant light against the ceiling seemed too much, as if the room was closing in on him. He felt as if he'd never escape it.

'Don't worry,' Phoebe said after a long pause and a whoosing suck on her lipstick-stained cigarette. 'I'm not here for you. Although I must say it was particularly hurtful to see you flirting with that dark-haired tramp on the lawn.'

Danny gasped, shocked she had been watching him.

'What's the matter? She didn't seem to stay long. Losing your touch?'

Danny stood up, wiping residual drops of water from his face and his shirt. Finally, he summoned the strength to speak.

'Why are you here, Mrs Forrest?'

Phoebe looked at him, eyes full of pain at the sudden loss of intimacy, unable to defer her respect for his salutation. A tear rolled down her cheek and traced a thin line of blue mascara across her cheekbone.

'I'm here to pick up my daughter. You remember her I suppose – Saffelia!'

'I'm not coming mother.'

Saffelia's voice cut through the thick night air from behind them both. She walked into the kitchen from the hallway, eyes red, but otherwise looking pretty in a pink dress with a wide yellow belt.

Phoebe's voice became motherly and matter-of-fact.

'Saffelia, get your coat dear,' she said still gazing intently at Danny but approaching her daughter and switching off the kitchen light, shrouding them in darkness. 'It's late.'

'I'm not coming mother,' Saffelia repeated politely, a steely gaze emanating behind her calm demeanour. Phoebe looked from Danny to Saffelia, and then back to Danny again. The moon appeared from behind a dark cloud, reflecting dull grey light into the kitchen. It cast long shadows of the three people standing still against the white walls.

Phoebe hesitated, and looked about to say something. Then, with an artificial stride and sense of purpose bestowed on her by life experience, she walked past her daughter and out the front door. Saffelia remained.

'Are you alright?' she said to Danny, almost maternally.

Danny nodded, smiling weakly.

Saffelia switched the light back on and walked to the kitchen sink. Danny pulled another ice cube from the freezer and allowed it to trail down his neck, shoulders and back. The cool sensation circled his shoulder blades and startled his skin refreshingly. He heard running water and a fizz from behind him. Standing up again, he gazed into Saffelia's slim figure. She had lost a lot of weight during the school year. Through Danny's tired visage a rush of sympathy surged. It was as though he was only now beginning to realise how fragile his school friend was, and absorbed a hint of something terrible she might be escaping from.

'Here. Drink this.'

She offered him a glass of water and took one for herself from the kitchen top. Saffelia placed the palms of her hands on the working surface and with a deft leap jumped up and sat on it, dangling her legs playfully.

'Mmm, that's nice,' she murmured. 'So tell me Danny. Was it good with my mother? Did you enjoy fucking her?'

Danny coughed, nearly spluttering his drink over the floor.

'Saffelia!'

'What? I presume you didn't just play cards all those times you spent in her bedroom.' Her tone lightened. 'I don't mind really. I'm used to my mad family.'

'What's that supposed to mean?' Danny asked, still taken aback by Saffelia's question.

'Nothing,' she mumbled. 'I'm tired. Are you tired? Do you want to go to bed? Samuel said we can share his mum and dad's bed.'

Danny looked at her, wondering if she was joking or not.

'Don't be a silly,' she said, reading his expression. 'Separate sleeping bags.'

Danny hesitated.

'If you like I can sleep on the floor. If you don't trust me that is?'

Saffelia seemed in ambient mood now her mother had gone. The sounds from the lounge were dimming. He could hear a late night programme on the television, and Amanita and Tim arguing about something or other as Saffelia and he walked up the lavishly carpeted stairs to the master bedroom. The moon shone again through the small window at the end of the landing, casting a small stream of ghostly light onto Saffelia's pink dress, and Danny's faded blue jeans.

'I'll just be a minute,' she said.

Saffelia wandered off to the bathroom while Danny entered the bedroom. He couldn't be bothered to remove his trousers and socks and lay on top of one of the waiting sleeping bags, which were draped on the large king-sized bed. Saffelia's rucksack was on the floor, and her perfume and bottles of hairspray and make-up box stood on Samuel's mother's dressing table, intruders finding a perfect home. The rouge-patterned brown curtains were already shut. Danny's eyelids felt they were being pulled by iron weights. Turning onto his side he faced away from the door and closed his eyes. Within seconds he was asleep.

The wind raged against the castle Danny was trapped in. He rattled caged windows, failing to dislodge bars of wrought iron, black with dirt and rusted from thousands of years. He ran up a spiral staircase to the castle roof where salmon coloured skies changed colour as lucidly as a flashing star. Looking over the edge of the castle he saw not the gushing North Sea below or the cobbled narrow streets of Amberleigh but a maze of ceramic-tiled streets and palm trees leaning against high jasmine-scented walls. He was flying now, having transformed into a lithe bird fluttering effortlessly against the breeze. Descending and then ascending he watched the sky change colour to forest green and then to midnight blue. As his wings widened and his beak extended, claws sprouted from his tiny perch-sized feet. A gnawing hunger poured into him from his expense of energy and he wanted to hunt, swoop and kill something. Leaning forward Danny flew into a sharp nosedive, sweeping the ceramic streets barely millimetres from the deserted ground. Palm trees blew in the gusty wind, and the sky changed to peach-white.

As he skirted the ground he transformed again into a snake, crawling along the cranberry and coral tiled floor while rays of butter sun beat on his smooth back. The scales felt loose and flexible and he moved with ease across the ground, spying every tiny movement between the tile cracks. There was a boy he was approaching. He wanted to lead him to do something he did not want.

Changing back into human form he began walking through empty lanes and stared into open, deserted shops. He entered one and started taking all the clothes and shoes off the racks and throwing them round the shop. Soon he was standing in the middle of a mess, laughing and cackling wildly. A figure appeared behind him, from the back of the shop. Danny swivelled and found himself gazing straight into the eyes of a young Chardelia Foss Her long ambergold hair almost touched the ground. She ignored his stunned adoration. Walking past him she began to fly and floated out the door, as free as a butterfly. Danny shook his head in dismay and then began sorting the clothes out again. But they had vanished. Another figure emerged from the rear of the shop. A grown-up lady, with features Danny recognised but could not articulate. Her presence sent a wave of feeling through him so powerful he fell to his knees as she stood over him, smiling and stroking a pet puppy in her arms. A girl stepped forward, skipping with a rope around the lady and Danny. Danny recognised her vaguely as Robin Vernal, but still remained staring at the lady in the middle of the shop. He blinked and the shop, the lady and Robin had disappeared.

He was standing in the middle of a grassy field, with trees all around the edge. On the edge of the field lay a small girl. A lanky boy towered over her and as Danny looked up at the sky it transformed into the face Danny knew was the face of the boy towering over Saffelia Forrest. He started running towards the pair but as he did the earth started moving the other way, faster. Even though he ran as fast as he could he was travelling backwards, getting further away. Opening his mouth to speak and scream no words came out and he fell to his knees. Opening out his arms in desperation the earth pushed him back further, back into the forest. He was losing them. Nature was diverting him away from the boy and the girl whom he wanted to protect more than anything else in the world.

The sea gushed in his ears, a roaring effulgent engine. Trees blew happily in pockets of wind as surf crashed into rocks, creating trickles and streams and pint-size pools between them. The small girl stood alone at the waters' edge. While the boy was gone she dipped her toe inside the rushing tide. In her hands she clutched a pale orchid of which she threw petals into the ocean. Danny sat on a rock watching the placid scene below, as benevolent waves flowed through him like wind through gossamer-thin hair. Nothing in the world wanted to harm him and he felt moments from total peace. The epiphany was seconds away until the girl turned toward him and Danny saw with horror the face of his all-consuming nightmares.

Saffelia shook him.

'Wake up. Wake up Danny!' she shouted.

Danny's eyes blinked open. Saffelia was straddled atop him, shaking his shoulders.

'What time is it?' he mumbled.

'Five am.,' Saffelia answered.

'I...er..sorry, I was having a bad dream.' Danny said

Opening his eyes, he tried to calm the worried look on Saffelia's face with a faint smile. From this close he saw every freckle and growing wrinkle on her otherwise unblemished face. A pale lock of hair bounced in front of her face as she removed herself from his chest and curled back into her sleeping bag.

'You scared me,' she said. 'You were screaming names at the top of your voice.'

Danny sat up as Saffelia buried her face deeply in her sleeping bag.

'What names?' he asked, his voice surprising him at how demanding it sounded.

'Never mind Danny. Go to sleep.'

With a brief recollection of the tall boy towering over him and Saffelia, he closed his eyes. Unfettered sleep descended like an angel of oblivion, like a mantle of tranquillity, an assuaging blanket of serene snow.

*

Danny's eyes blazed open again. Daylight poured into the quiet bedroom from the arched windows. He looked to the side of him and saw an crumpled empty sleeping bag. On the dresser still stood the array of multi-coloured bottles, the contents of which Danny could only guess. Saffelia was still here.

He looked at his sticky body, lain before him, fully clothed. Clamminess had enveloped his skin in the rich night. Glancing at his sweat-stained jeans he saw his loose shirt had come undone in the night. Half of it had become trapped under his back and now strapped him like a strait jacket. Sleeping in one's clothes was the most unusual sensation, Danny thought. An illicit indulgence, but one that made you feel freer, and at one with nature. To be able to lay one's head down wherever one wished with no preparation or even the respectful courtesy one usually gives to oncoming sleep. Yes. It felt exhilarating and powerful. Yes. Rising to stand in front of the mirror on the dresser he gazed at himself. A light fuzz had formed on his upper lip. His brown hair still spiked upwards with annoying virility and his cheekbones stuck out like elbows, framing his face with an arrogance to which he would never aspire.

Downstairs a group of them who had slept over – Tim, Amanita, Samuel, Dawn and Saffelia – were seated round the breakfast table in their pyjamas. Tim appeared an odd sight in his football top. Dawn munched on some muesli while Amanita served bacon and eggs to the others.

'Hello all,' Danny said as he claimed the remaining seat at the table. 'Is there any food left for me?'

He noted the two sausages Amanita ladled delicately onto Tim's plate.

'None,' Tim said assertively, rapidly licking both his sausages as if they were ice creams.

*

Lucy walked to the sweet shop today and bought me ten pink chocolate mice, two liquorice swirls, five pear drops and a mixture of fruit salads and black jacks. We ate them together too fast it made our tongues black and our mouths sugary and sticky.

When she kissed me behind the bush again I could taste the liquorice on her tongue. When she licked the sugar off my cheek it left a pleasing wetness that did not wash off. I left that stain there all day so I would be branded with Lucy. She tells me she loves me but she is leaving when the Autumn comes.

**  
** Morphagora

The Cost of Fashion and Falsity

by Danny Canterbury

People say to me I have issues. People say to me I need help. I reply to them very simply.

'Yes, I do have issues. Yes, I do need help. My issues are to do with people behaving falsely towards me and the help I need is for people to listen to me, hear me and change their false ways.'

Every Saturday they walk through the centre of Amberleigh, parading themselves like whores, spending more money than they earn, plunging themselves deeper into a nightmare of consumerism, stripping themselves of any considered intelligence other than what dress goes with those shoes. Ultimately devoid of any strategy to pull themselves up with any reasonable notion of respectable dignity. This is the new female generation.

Television programmes do not help, advertising has its price to pay, glossy 'celebrity culture' magazines make a damaging contribution. But it is ultimately women who commission these activities. Women breeding themselves like leeches, producing more and more shallow content like a disease for their audiences to devour hungrily. It sends the species into a downward spiral. Who will reverse the trend?

It is a terrible yet shallow female insecurity to be driven by a need to appear nice and liked by all. Yet they claim they are changing the ground in the workplace – that business now needs women because they are more collaborative than men and better at relationship-building? That is a travesty of the truth. Those strategies may bear fruit in the short-term, but only because more women are now in the workplace, and stuggle to cope with tried and tested business practices. In the long-term this practice will never sustain. Business is a competition and thrives and survives through competitive measures. Women may say something different, but the truth, like strong oak, doesn't change.

In their desperate need for short-term friendships based on unstable foundations women steer themselves away from core truths, reserving and hiding their fight or flight responses, their responses of any substance, in inherently mendacious demeanours.

False apologies are uttered as easily as rain from clouds, to paper over the cracks, to make any short-term gain. But if you cut to their heart of any issue they try and dress their uncompromising nature up as reasonableness. 'The answer's no, but I do like your hair today' may sound sweet to you. It sounds like poison to me. Ban them all. Talk without action breeds distrust – and women are the most distrustful species of them all.

It is an unhealthy obsession, to be overtly concerned too much with what one wears. It is a noble desire to look nice and be presentable, but to manipulate and artificially control one's appearance to achieve certain goals, whether that be in love, business or in the playground is nothing more or less than unadulterated deceit.

I have seen women flick their hair over their shoulder as they walk towards me, as if that action is enough to justify me walking out of the way for them to proceed. I have seen women smile at me casually, only to exchange it with a scowl when they realise that smile is not even half a percent down payment on me opening a door for them. Chivalry is dead. Open your own fucking door.

I have seen women walking in twos chatting to each other animatedly, seemingly immersed in conversation as they bang down the corridor in high-heels, expecting me to disappear or at the least disperse for their express train of perfume, lipstick and handbags. I stay slower until their chat turns into a grimace at my stationary position. I have not attacked anyone. I have not uttered any falsehoods against you. Yet you throw disparaging glances my way because I decline to agree that your appearance means I should remove myself from my path. This is the true inequality in our society.

I have heard female friends chatting to themselves and to male friends saying they will get 'their man' to put up the curtain rack, carry the shopping in from the car, carry ladders, paint the house, fix the washing machine, as if their man is nothing more than a paid labourer. I have heard women laugh about their ability to manipulate men by buying sexy lingerie and parading themselves about the lounge or even issuing false promises of the same. Do not grant them this privilege. It's always a trap, it never, ever pays. Men never use sex as a weapon.

Men are more than this. We are the writers, we are the artists, we are the chefs, we are the politicians, we are the leaders, we are the workers and we are the fathers. We are the teachers, we are the dentists, we are the doctors, we are the carpenters, we are the plumbers, we are the farmers and we are the musicians. We will not be dictated to by any woman. In short we are the leaders, we are the renaissance men, the complete human beings and we should never let anyone forget it.

*

Hands on hips and glasses perched on the edge of her nose, Amanita stood by her Editor chair reading the new edition of the _Oracle_. Gazing at her Danny was reminded of a seductively threatening secretary. Tim loitered at the window, looking down at the hordes of students on whom they were about to launch the last edition of their beloved school newspaper.

'Are you sure Danny?' Amanita pondered thoughtfully while Danny stared in earnest at her plump thighs enshrined in black satin.

'Are you sure you really want to release this article to the student and teacher body? I mean especially after the reaction of your last article?'

Sitting on an upturned wooden crate Danny stared at her blankly, trying to remember the question.

'Give me one good reason why I should relinquish my writing. I wrote it. They're only words,' he said.

Amanita shrugged her shoulders as if to say, "it's your own fault when the vixens descend".

Tim still gazed out of the window. Amanita watched him, frowning.

'To tell you the truth, I'm quite glad we've now finished with the _Oracle_ for this year,' she completed.

'Why?' Danny asked, alternating his gaze between Amanita and the empty looking Tim.

'I would have thought that was obvious! It gives us all more time for revision,' Amanita said gleefully.

Danny groaned. He had been putting that particular pleasure to the back of his mind. Irritatingly, like a pile of washing-up that defiantly won't wash itself, it kept flashing into his mind more frequently.

'There's so much to cover. I've got to reread Shakespeare, learn those Islamic myths for Wonder, there's matrices to practise for Maths – oh and functions!' Amanita said excitedly.

Danny groaned again. He had sounded his alarm louder this time in the hope Tim might join him in his misery, but Tim was oddly silent and still stared out at the playground below. He seemed in a helix of misery all his own.

Amanita walked over and put her hand on his shoulder.

'What's wrong?' she asked.

Tim continued to gaze out of the iron barricaded windows. Amanita was about to ask him again when finally he spoke.

'I'm...troubled by an article in the _Oracle_.'

Amanita and Danny looked at each other. Both wore confused looks on their faces. Tim had never expressed much concern about the final sign-off of the newspaper. Indeed, for the first few issues he had been busy having fun with Saffelia while Danny and Amanita laid out the pages for printing.

'It's an article about three dreamers.'

A dawning look of understanding broke on Amanita's face.

'Of course. Morpheus!' Amanita said exultantly, as if these three words would explain not only Tim's preponderant daydream, but perhaps also the fake moon landings and the JFK assassination as well.

'Er...what?' Danny asked, a note of impatience creeping into his voice.

'Morpheus! Surely you've heard the myth? Honestly Danny, don't you pay attention in poetry? Calcite's been slipping in references for the past few lessons. Anyway, Saffelia has written a thinly veiled article about the beauty of Morpheus, compared with his two brothers.

Danny pulled a copy of the _Oracle_ towards him, abruptly shouting.

'What page?'

'Twenty,' Amanita replied, her photographic memory never having failed her yet.

Danny opened the newspaper at page twelve, skipped through the reviews of the latest Hollywood blockbuster, Verdant Shack's latest gig in O'Donnell's and his own caustic rant against feminism. Finally, he reached page twenty and saw in the top left corner Saffelia's name emboldened in slanted palatino type. The article was entitled Morphagora. Danny scanned most of it and saw a long rambling story about three characters called Phobia, Agora and Morph. One passage caught his eye particularly and he reread it three times:

Phobia was breeding rabbits. Each one she called Fear. Fear one, Fear two, Fear three, until she had too many fears to count. Her daughter Agora, was kept inside at all times, unless she escaped but if she did bad things happened to her. Still bad things happened to her anyway. Until the day she met Morph. Morph was there to take her away from all the bad things, to make her forget. One day Agora took Morph to a party and introduced him to all her friends, only when she woke up in the morning, Morph had disappeared and none of her friends could remember her introducing him. She smiled slowly to herself. Morph was her special friend.

Something clicked inside Danny and he instinctively stood up as the _Oracle_ slid to the floor, pages automatically separating themselves from each other.

'Danny – what is it?' Amanita asked, seeing but not understanding the despair in his eyes.

The flood of fearful thoughts cascaded into Danny like an unstoppable torrent, unable to be articulated. As his face contorted in a painful realisation of the facts, Tim walked over from the window.

'Danny – tell us. What are you thinking?'

Danny stared hard at Tim, who was wondering and trying desperately to read Danny's expression. Amanita gazed deeply into their eyes. After a long while, she said,

'You know something, don't you?'

A pause, and Danny silently nodded.

'Know what?!' Tim shouted, frustration and confusion burning bright in his eyes. 'She was my girlfriend!'

The silence filled the press room with unbearable tension. Danny felt unable to speak. His brain whirred too fast to process the terrible look of incomprehension written in the lines of Amanita's face, unable to broach a dark secret that would tear Tim's heart in two. He was completely paralysed as the fully formed truth seemed to appear like a flesh and blood human before his horrified eyes.

*

The floor of St George's gym looked like a sheet of lined paper. Shafts of sunlight peeped through wooden apparatus bars, illuminating thin strips of light onto the dusty plastic covered surface. It made Danny remember life's arbitrariness: sometimes their star shone its light on some while forgetting others and leaving them behind.

About to play skittle football, Spittlebug swung a whistle round his hand as he and the boys waited for the girls to join them from the changing rooms.

'Come along now Miss Brock' he boomed, winking at Rosetti Duocorn who scowled in return and went back to checking her nails.

Emily Duocorn smiled at Spittlebug as she strolled to join the boys waiting by the wooden bars. Soon they were joined by the full fifth-year female contingent, piling out of the changing rooms like a pack of chattering woodpeckers. Lorraine Carr whispered something to Florence Croft and Mary Oconee rushed over to stand by Sol Castle. Olive Spritser was singing something to herself. Amanita was grimacing as she approached Tim and Danny with a venomous look on her face that told them both not to say a word. They knew she hated physical education, and especially having to wear shorts that metamorphosed her legs, in her own words, into "a pair of thunder thighs". Saffelia shook her light blonde bob as she waltzed into the gym, as if trying to untangle a fly from her hair. She appeared distracted and Danny saw Olive whisper something to Hazel as Saffelia sat on the floor. Finally, walking like a graceful deer, her blonde hair gently resting on her slim shoulders and a hesitant smile breaking on her demure features, Janna Chisely shut the gym door and sat down with the rest of the year in front of Spittlebug.

To Danny's surprise Spittlebug split them up into two teams solely by gender. The girls shrieked with delight and the boys high-fived each other, sure of an imminent victory. At each end of the gym stood two wooden skittles on a blue mat. The aim was to kick the football at the skittles and knock them over, and hence score a goal. You were not allowed to step onto nor touch the mat. As Spittlebug threw the fuzzy yellow ball into the air, Danny thought he saw Saffelia cast him a desperate pleading glance, but it could have been an act as the next second she thrust forward and challenged Tim for the ball. Tim passed to Benjamin who dribbled easily past Mary and Rosetti, swivelling like a pivot at the last second and blasting the ball towards the skittles. The ball missed them both but such was the power of his strike it hit the wall behind, rebounded and gently knocked into a skittle. It wobbled for a moment and then, like a crumpled wine-coloured leaf about to sever itself from the branch, fell to the floor with a satisfying hollow thump. Benjamin punched the air and the boys circled to him and congratulated each other. It was first blood to the lads. Something in Danny made him hang back, feeling slightly separate from the team. He didn't feel the association of comradeship that he had last year.

As he turned his head still smiling at the lads all piling on top of each other in celebration, from the corner of his eye he caught the sight of a girl struggling. She stretched out her hand to retain balance, which became more precarious with each passing second. Danny's gaze shot to her face like a magnet and remained riveted to it as his legs began, all too slowly, to motor. It all happened so quickly. One minute she looked like she was steadying herself, able to support her upright posture without assistance. Then she was falling to the ground. Falling through the air like the arc of a rainbow. Falling without fear of what was waiting. Falling like a child falls to the ground for the first time – unaware of the certain pain, or the painful certainty that will initiate them, carry them across the bridge from innocence to experience. Falling the way only one can fall when they are already unconscious.

By the time Danny was halfway there, still vaguely aware of the backslapping and bonhomie of his male classmates – somehow they seemed a million miles away now – she had hit the ground. Her head missed the mat by an inch, and a kiss curl of blood emerged from behind her blonde bob.

At first Danny thought he was the only witness. Shouting out with a primal grunt for help, Spittlebug came rushing over. He was followed by a crowd of sympathetic cooing girls, and Michael Vitus.

'There, there' Spittlebug said as he lifted Saffelia's head onto the mat, and turning her swiftly into the recovery position.

Her eyelids flickered and a small dribble of foam bubbled from her slack mouth. Spittlebug spoke calmly but directly.

'Hazel – please can you send for Professor Alessandro. Tell him a student has been hurt and ask him to bring the first aid box.'

'Yes sir,' Hazel said obediently and Danny saw the frightened expression on her face as she departed.

'Sir, sir? Is there anything I can do?' Danny said, unsure what use he could possibly offer now a teacher was attending to her, and another one was on their way.

'Class dismissed!' Spittlebug said. Like a queue of rubberneckers the students all craned their heads to catch a glimpse of the fallen student as they passed, only to be met by Danny's fierce gaze.

Danny turned again to Spittlebug, but he was already looking behind him, at the approaching Alessandro.

'What is it Cain?' Alessandro asked, his face narrowed and focused.

'The girl, Jonas. I think she's been caught.'

Spittlebug looked as worried as Alessandro. Professor Alessandro didn't say anything for a moment while he thought. The silence was too much for Danny, who had just seen one of his best friends fall to the ground and lose consciousness.

'What! What is it?' he demanded of the two teachers.

They both looked at him as if recognising for the first time he was there. Alessandro turned to Danny, resting his hand on his shoulder.

'Danny. I know it's hard, but you have to return to your form room.'

Danny was about to protest but was cut off by Alessandro's firm and final word: 'Now.'

Barely able to remove his stare from Saffelia's pretty yet disturbed face, he reluctantly stepped away from St George's gym, intently rubbing his eyes in the hope he could stem the flow of tears he knew were moments away.

*

Rover Burberry was one of the teachers fussing over Saffelia as Danny entered her form room to check on her. She sat in a chair sipping a glass of water with a slice of lemon. Pry and Burberry knelt either side, trying to coax her to drink some more.

'Ah, there yer go me leetull lamb,' Burberry said in a Welsh lilt. 'Drink up.'

Saffelia wept wordlessly. Through her silent protest Danny watched tears trickle down her cheek, marking a reddened salt-water stain.

'I think I'd better return to my class now,' Burberry announced, standing up and smiling determinedly. Before he turned from the classroom and escaped down the corridor Danny noticed that beneath Burberry's eyes he too carried severe bags. In contrast to Burberry's warm but brief comfort Pry remained. She stroked Saffelia's hand and nodded her head in response to her tears.

'Is there anything I can do Professor?' Danny asked.

He felt sure the answer would be in the negative and he would be sent packing to his form room. To his surprise Pry motioned for Danny to step forward and stand beside Saffelia, replacing the empty space Burberry had left.

'I have to go and speak to the headmaster. Saffelia has endured a traumatic experience.'

Pry turned on her heel and walked to the door. She turned back to them both as she exited the room, looking more at Saffelia than Danny.

'Look after each other,' she said before hurrying in the direction of Appalachian's office.

Danny rested his hand on Saffelia's. It was strange holding Saffelia's hand and it felt funny touching her pale skin. Even though the age of her skin matched his he couldn't help comparing the sensation with how her mother's hand had felt, more careworn and confident. He glanced to the window where ruddy clouds accumulated. Pry's clock – each hour devoted to a different literary figure – now pointed at three, or Lord Byron whichever way you chose to look at it. It was nearly hometime, but something told Danny leaving behind this day at school would take longer than the passing of one spin of the earth's rotation.

As the sun attempted to break through stubborn clouds, it cast flushed silhouettes of the pair on the back wall. Danny felt the effulgent glow surround them and a tidal wave of emotion flowed through his weary limbs. It made him shiver. Thoughts of Chardelia, Robin and Saffelia – a trio of temptresses – rushed through his mind like a slide-show hurtling a million miles a second. It made him dizzy. As he moved his hand up Saffelia's arm for support his left pinky brushed her right breast.

'Are you alright?' Saffelia asked, a curious smile breaking on her pale mouth.

'No,' Danny said in a low voice. 'I'm...I feel funny.'

'You look it.' Saffelia said.

Clasping his hand she entwined her fingers around his and pulled up a chair for him to sit beside her. As he sat down, Danny noticed the atmosphere change in the room. When he next spoke the tone of his voice became as grey as the clouds outside.

'Saffelia. You drugged me, didn't you?'

Danny asked the question simply, resolutely refusing to utter another word until he received confirmation of his suspicions.

Saffelia stared straight ahead.

'I never meant to. You have to understand the position you've put me in. My mother was in there with you, I didn't know what you were going to get up to. I wanted to...'

Saffelia's voice stopped abruptly.

'Wanted to what?' Danny said calmly. He was still focused on the truth.

'I wanted to teach you a lesson. So I spiked your drink with morphine. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done it.'

Saffelia spoke in a defeated voice.

Outside the heavens opened and torrents of thick rain sliced and hammered against the window as if an intruder was trying to break in. Danny recalled the dream he had had and knew with absolute clarity he had been under the influence of a potent drug. A flash of danger crossed his mind. If Saffelia was able to infiltrate him that easily, what about the recent interview with Appalachian, Travershall and Alessandro, where Danny had defended her? What about the suspensions of Cedric and Edmund? Was she involved in those as well? He felt conflicted continuing to hold her hand but Pry's last entreaty as she left the classroom came into his mind. As his forgiving nature combated an internal quest for the truth, it took every ounce of moral strength to force the words out for his next and final question. It was a question he knew, once asked, could never be retracted.

'But where did you get it?' Danny asked. 'Morphine isn't freely available you know?'

Saffelia looked at her feet. 'I know,' she said.

*

Lucy stole a roll-up from someone. She said he was a friend but I saw him give her money although I don't know what for. She picked it out of his back pocket and now she is going to smoke it, she said. The light flame courses into life from nowhere and dances toward the crusty tip, sheltered by the cup of her curled fist. She breathes in and I wait. Watching, expectant, to know what it tastes and feels like. She smiles at me and I know it must be something good. I will not try it though when she offers it to me. I have my own special substance stored away secretly.

The Sick Rose

As he strolled down the school corridor his female classmates bumped into him accidentally-on-purpose, and Danny Canterbury knew he had become a writer. They wore scowls of deepest loathing inseparable from, Danny noted, respect. He was now an equal. As they crowded round in groups of three or four in the playground, once again Danny saw Janna isolated, standing by the fence looking out over the vast North Sea, her blonde wisps undulating in the summer breeze.

'Hello stranger,' Danny said to the back of her pristinely ironed school blouse. She didn't turn but spoke in a faintly annoyed voice.

'Had enough of the whores parading the playground?'

Danny walked to the fence and, resting his arms against the crumbling hazelnut wood, cast his gaze out onto the ocean which lapped lightly the satin-green isle of Fourlawns.

'Have you completed your homework for Wonder?' Janna asked.

Danny remembered for a moment, the sinking apprehension dawning with gloomy familiarity.

'No,' he answered, annoyed. He changed the subject. 'They hate me, don't they?'

Janna turned to look at him. As always when he caught sight of Janna's heart-shaped face her natural beauty took him by surprise.

'Can you blame them?' Janna asked, a questioning smile forming in the corner of her lips.

Danny stared at her. He wanted to reply "Yes!" and affirm to her just how dominant he felt the women in his life had become. He wanted to shout down the playground, to marshal the boys and corner the girls. He wanted to take every ounce of pain he now felt out on the female contingent of the school and run away, having wreaked a satisfactory personal revenge. Instead, he remained silent while a brooding shame grew in his heart at conflicting emotions.

A fierce gust came off the sea and blew wafts of salt air into Danny's nose. As the wind swooped around the two of them Danny smelt the primrose aroma of Janna's perfume, and beneath it the unique oxygen-lifting smell of Janna herself. Perhaps it was the mix with his memories but to Danny it smelt of happiness, even now.

'We never did go to that music gig together, did we?'

Danny asked in a voice so low it was almost a whisper.

'No, we didn't. Next week is busy for me. I've got the athletics meet coming up. Maybe some other time we might...do something.'

Janna's voice broke off as a crashing noise sounded from the other side of the playground. Glass was shattering from the Galileo Room and they watched as students fled in shock and fear from the protruding annex to Amberleigh Castle.

'What the fuck?'

Danny shouted out of instinct and ran towards the room whilst everyone else scattered. He peered into the room through the smashed window. He thought he saw a figure that looked like Grace Downly scurry from the room. However when he took a closer look he saw there was no-one in the room. As he gasped at the dangerous shards of glass now split on the tarmac, he felt a hand rest on his shoulder.

'I think you've been in enough trouble for one term. Don't you?'

Slowly turning round, Danny gazed again into Jim Travershall's eyes. They resembled doleful blue rings in a sea of ferocity.

'No,' Danny replied.

Jim looked at him and again, just when Danny thought the teacher might explode and justify Danny's distrust, Travershall frowned and raised his eyes to the heavens before addressing Danny again.

'Run off back to your school friends.'

He turned his gaze directly back to Danny and before he could react, Travershall had moved his face within an inch of Danny's so they were literally eyeballing each other.

'You never know when you might need them.'

Startled by the thinly veiled threat Danny stepped back, before pivoting on his heel and dashing back into the castle where the bell was ringing for the next lesson.

*

Days of accumulating moisture in the air were not eased by rising temperatures. Danny wiped his brow as the summer heat caused him to sweat unusually frequently. He wondered if he had yet recovered from the effects of the morphine Saffelia had fed him.

Professor Harrow Wonder sat cross-legged on his desk as students piled in for the penultimate Religion lesson before their exam. It would be the first GCSE exam they would sit.

As Danny took his usual seat next to Dawn Russet, Wonder bellowed with typical ebullience.

'Ladies and gentlemen!' he shouted,' I'm wondering...since that is my name...'

The class groaned. Sat beside the fawning Amanita, Coco Romeo was also on the edge of her seat and hanging off Wonder's every last word. Not another one, Danny thought.

'...what the progress has been on the last assignment I set you. Shall we go round the room and do a quick Q and A?'

Danny's heart sank. He hated being picked on and having to speak aloud in class. Sometimes he wanted to crawl underneath his desk rather than be exposed to more embarrassment in front of his classmates. Why couldn't teachers understand that some students wanted to remain quiet, and fade into the furniture?

'Rosetti Duocorn!' Wonder roared. 'Perhaps you can enlighten us as to the parallels between Islam and Christianity, as it relates to what we have learnt about Mohammed?'

Rosetti faltered. Danny could tell from the pink tinge in her cheeks she knew no more about Mohammed than Danny did. He had been at Samuel's party when he was meant to be writing the essay. Typically, Amanita's hand shot into the air as soon as she witnessed the vacant expression on Rosetti's face.

But Wonder ignored her. Like many teachers, perhaps he was growing tired of her being the only one who would answer questions. As Wonder started patrolling the aisles, looking for fresh victims Danny sank lower in his chair. Wonder tried again.

'Benjamin Sprite – I am sure you will be able to give us an answer?' Benjamin looked less confident than Rosetti. Danny had watched him doodle a picture of Steven Gerrard on the front cover of his exercise book.

'Sir. I did write the assignment, but I'm afraid you have picked the one issue I had trouble with. Sorry.'

Wonder gazed at the class and shook his head. A disappointed look emerged in his eyes. He looked so hurt, it was almost worse than seeing Wonder so enthusiastic and on the prowl.

'Can no-one furnish the answer to the question? Apart from Amanita?' Wonder added, motioning for Amanita to lower her arm. 'I don't know how you expect to cover the World Religions part of your examination with this level of knowledge. I had such a thrilling lesson planned, full of role-plays and games, but I fear we must now devote it to a bit of dictation to get you in fighting shape for the exam.'

Another groan rose from the class, louder than the first. Wonder never resorted to reading instructions from a textbook, but as he opened the textbook at the page on Mohammed, Danny knew there was no escaping the prospect of boredom. It was such a change from the lesson he had had last year when Wonder had delivered a two-part sex education class. Now it was all about exams, and the monotony was punishing.

The other teachers were also piling on the work. They tested everyone in each lesson, and their own anxiety for students to respond with consistently correct answers grew increasingly apparent. Danny saw modicums of fear in their attempts to coax Cedric and Edmund to redo their flawed homework. When Cedric and Edmund smirked back, they grew quickly livid. There was no doubt about it – the atmosphere in Plunket's was becoming one of barely disguised coercion. It felt like the fifth-years were being slid inside an oven until they cracked, or hardened impenetrably.

As he sat in the Roasthouse at lunchtime, looking through his afternoon timetable, a shiver of cold dread ran through Danny. There was poetry with Dr Calcite and then athletics in PE with Spittlebug and Harlequin. He found nothing worse than being verbally terrorised by the honey-dripping Calcite and then physically terrorised on the athletics field by the group of girls who now regarded him with deep disgust in both playground and classes. He gulped the last of his orange juice as Amanita placed her tray of food down and sat on the bench beside him.

'Everything okay Danny – you looked worried about something.'

Amanita spiked her broccoli with her fork and lifted it to her mouth.

'What's to worry about?' Danny said sarcastically, 'At the start of the year we went camping and discovered a girl had committed suicide in the place we were staying, one of our best friends keeps having blackouts and collapsing, the GCSE examinations are coming up where I'll probably fail everything and have no future to speak of, most of the girls in the school want to string me up for crimes against the fairer sex and on top of all this there's a group of teachers out to frame me for drug-running. What could I possibly be worried about?'

Amanita looked at him, an odd smile crossing her face.

'I only asked.'

Danny sighed. He hadn't meant to take his frustrations out on Amanita. It was just she had sat beside him at the wrong moment.

'How are you Am?' Danny asked, trying to forget his rant. Amanita beamed.

'Not so bad.' The smile on her face and the glint in her twinkling eyes told Danny things were infinitely better than "Not so bad".

'Come on Am, you can tell me,' Danny coaxed, as her smile widened.

'Edmund Cloves asked me out last night.'

Already perched precariously, Danny's buttocks slipped and he nearly fell full off the front of the bench.

'Edmund Cloves! Why?'

It was too late. The question had fallen from his lips like a posionous raindrop before he had taken the chance to think or summoned the will to stop it. Danny quickly apologised, but the purple look on Amanita's face illustrated the great offence he had caused. She picked up her tray and went to sit beside Olive and Lorraine.

Gazing into his empty plate, Danny wished it would open up and swallow him. Regretting what he had said, he reflected he had now unwittingly added to his list of woes. He took a long, deep breath and gazed out of the window at the sunlight filtering off the ocean and peeping into the Roasthouse. Summer had arrived with interest and seemed determined to pack an unforgiving punch.

*

Ursula Calcite strode into class with her nose pointed into the air. Her streaky buttermilk hair dropped onto her back with grace and ease. She wore a purple frock sliced by a thick black belt and what looked like a solid gold clasp. The dress clutched across the chest, revealing a small amount of her exceedingly flat bosom. Her face looked fresh and gleaming and mauve lips pursed and pouted as she stood in front of them all. When she stuck out her hips violet-coloured fingernails tapped against each one. She looked lithe and sprightly. At her most beautiful. At her most dangerous, Danny thought, who sat towards the back of the class beside Edmund Cloves.

'Liam Flicker!' Calcite called in a voice laced with silky seduction.

'Yes, Doctor,' Liam replied politely. Danny detected an imperceptible hint of irony on the word "Doctor".

'Just checking you are here, darling,' she smiled with the false sweetness Danny despised.

'Class, today we are going to be exploring the poems of William Blake. Now William Blake was a renowned engraver as well as a poet, and through his engravings and his impressions, he came to see things in dual opposites. By light and dark, in good and evil, and through the deceptively intangible spheres of innocence and experience. Now most of you, I know are completely innocent and naïve. I, on the other hand, am experienced – that is why I am the teacher and you are the students.' She added a small giggle to the end of her sentence. 'Please turn to page six-hundred and eighty in your anthologies.'

The familiar rustling of paper filled the air as students pulled poetry books from their bags and turned through the two thousand page tome to the correct section. Danny's passion for this particular textbook was matched in equal measure by his loathing for Calcite. He remembered with fondness one summer sat on a sun-lounger in his garden flicking through it, happening on random poets, and rating them according to his own internal system of meter, rhyme and imagery. It was he reflected, the best way to discover literature – by chance. It felt as if an unseen hand had guided him through the book, as through life, stationing him on some poets and rushing him through others. Now they were back at school, it had become teacher's prerogative which poets they read. He still enjoyed the imaginative and creative dance of establishing an author's original intention and meaning, but the teacher-selected writers had been stripped of the ability to pleasantly surprise him. Just as he was becoming lost in this reverie, Calcite spoke again, bringing him back down to earth with a thump.

'Danny Canterbury will now read "The Sick Rose" to the class,' Calcite announced casually, her voice dripping with oil, like freshly applied wet paint.

Danny looked enquiringly into Calcite's face. About to ask a question – should he stand to read the poem or remain seated – the words stopped in his sternum before he could utter them. In spite of her broad smile, pristine teeth and shining lips, Danny sensed some forlorn glow ripple outwards from within Calcite. Feeling sure only he could see it, Calcite stepped forward and reached out her hand.

'Do stand dear, the class wants to hear the poem!'

Danny gazed at her again, and the sensation he felt a moment before vanished.

He cleared his throat and held the book out in front of him with one hand. The weight of all two thousand pages suddenly felt extremely light in his firm and confident grip.

"O rose thou art sick

The invisible worm

That flies in the night

Through the howling storm

Has found out thy bed

Of crimson joy

And his dark secret love

Does thy life destroy"

Danny finished with relief and sat down at his desk, still sweating from the summer heat. Silence reigned like a ghostly monarch, constantly re-emerging in the poetry classroom. Danny was unsure whether his fellow fifth-years felt mere confusion or awe at the music of the diphthongs. Or perhaps they said nothing because it was him: the anti-feminist. The misanthrope. The misogynist.

'Now class, I would like you all to review this poem with your next-door neighbour. Be sure to pay close attention to hidden meanings. I would then like you to present your interpretation of the poem to the class. You have ten minutes.'

Calcite turned over an ominous looking hourglass on her desk. He was irresistibly reminded of the wicked witch in the _Wizard of Oz_.

Danny turned to Edmund who looked uncharacteristically anxious.

'So Mr Cloves,' Danny began, looking over the poem again.

'Danny – tell me! Does she like me?'

An insistent note pleaded in Edmund's voice.

'Sorry?' Danny asked confused. 'Does who like you? Are you talking about the poem?'

Even as he asked this last question it dawned on Danny who Edmund was talking about.

'I never meant to ask her out. It just sort of slipped out. I bumped into her in O'Donnells, y'know we were both on our way for an evening out in Wilfields. I just figured we could go together.'

Edmund wore a deep look of panic on his face.

Danny sat back in his seat, reflecting on his last encounter with Amanita in Wilfields, and what had happened between them both afterwards. That they both never mention it to each other again had become an unwritten rule of their friendship. Danny figured she'd wanted revenge on him for all the times she felt slighted by his persistent refusal to fancy her. Now Edmund had made a move on Amanita himself and Danny wasn't sure at all how he felt about this.

'Perhaps we should just talk about the poem?' Danny offered.

'You're her best friend!' Edmund pleaded, his eyes lighting with a fervour Danny thought wasn't possible, or at least probable in someone like Edmund.

'Not her only one,' Danny hit back, 'Tim's pretty close to her as well.'

'Yes, but you're the one she trusts.' Edmund said in a defeated tone.

'How do you know that? How do you know she trusts me?' Danny asked, floored by Edmund's resigned statement. There was a pause as Edmund pulled his anthology closer towards him and began to read the poem again.

'O rose thou art sick...'

'Wait!' Danny exclaimed, alarmed at the growing volume of his voice. 'You can't just make a statement like that and not back it up. How do you know Amanita trusts me?'

'I think the rose represents femininity...' Edmund said.

Danny was becoming more and more infuriated.

'Edmund – can you answer my question!' he cried.

'...and the worm represents man, possibly part of a man...'

'I am not discussing the poem with you until you explain why it is you think Amanita trusts me!' Danny shouted. Sensing a story, Dawn and Hazel in front of them turned their heads to listen.

Edmund stopped reading the poem and looked again at Danny.

'I would have thought that was obvious. She let you sleep with her, didn't she?' Edmund said, quietly.

All of the regret and sorrow Danny held in his heart at his last comment to Amanita now vanished. A brewing rage rose up in him. It was only the concerned and alarmed look in Dawn and Hazel, who watched his reaction closely, that forced him to calm down.

'Time's up,' Calcite announced. 'Who would like to begin with their interpretations? Ah, I know,' she muttered looking over at the left side of the classroom, where Amanita and Tim sat. 'Miss Walmer, please could you come to the front of the class and present both your's and Mr Gaunt's interpretation of Blake's poem.'

Amanita grudgingly rose from her seat and walked to the front of the class, pushing out her ample chest as she walked past Calcite, who flinched slightly as she did. Danny looked across at Tim who slumped back in his seat, his hands near his face.

'You may begin,' Calcite said to Amanita, disrupting her as she was about to start reading from her exercise book.

'We believe,' Amanita said, loudly and confidently, 'that William Blake intended to portray in "The Sick Rose"...'

She paused for dramatic effect.

'...the entirely male and entirely pathetic struggle with onanism.'

She stopped. Gasps and sniggers rippled across the class, but a few girls including Rosetti Duocorn and Olive Spritser started nodding fervently at their sister-in-arms. Coco Romeo even mouthed the word 'Yes!'. Danny looked across at Calcite who grimaced at Amanita, but was not yet allowing herself to interrupt the girl's presentation.

'The rose represents the man's spirit. Sick, depleted and empty of beauty. The worm is the usual symbol for the male phallus. An appropriate one because it lies in grubby soil, concealed and hidden from embarrassment. It flies in the night, because that is when men most likely practice the repulsive habit. "Dark secret love" is self-explanatory – men do not speak of their love for their own bodily function, and "thy life destroy" is an exemplar of how being so introverted can be ruinous to a male's prospects.'

Amanita finished with a flourishing curtsy. As she did the female half of the class stood up, applauding and cheering, and throwing contemptuous looks at Danny at the same time. Out of the girls only Saffelia remained seated. Danny looked over at Tim who was now near horizontal on his chair, his face completely covered by his broad hands. It was as if he was peeping through a chink desperately hoping the nightmare would be over. The boys would give him hell for letting Amanita say this.

Calcite stood still at the centre of the blackboard, eyeing Amanita with a stony glare. Danny's blood was boiling. The fear of public speaking had disintegrated, He was desperate to get to the front and really stick it to Amanita.

After the cheers and the applause had died down, Amanita retook her place next to a red-faced Tim. Calcite took a step forward to address the class again.

'Thank you Miss Walmer for that interpretation. I do feel that you may have missed the point of Blake's poem but as we are nearing the end of the school year I am afraid there is no more time for remedial classes. I wish you best of luck in the examination because I fear you will well need it.'

Amanita scowled in response. Something in Danny felt a self-satisfied lurch forward. Calcite spoke again. She watched Danny straining at his seat, bolt upright, earnestly hoping he would be picked next.

'Next I think we will have Saffelia Forrest.'

Danny's heart sank. He was so ready to get up there and give Amanita a good verbal kicking. Saffelia tentatively stepped to the front of the class, her pink and yellow-laminated exercise book clutched in her hand.

'In your own time,' Calcite breathed in a thick voice, picking at one of her broken violet nails. When Saffelia spoke, her soft and soothing monotone made the hairs on Danny's arms stand on end.

'Coco Romeo and I believe the rose is a symbol representing female virginity – the cherry if you like. The crimson in the poem implies a colour similar to a cherry anyway. The worm is some kind of unseen predator. Coco thought it might be a vampire because it flies in the might, and the crimson joy might mean,' here Saffelia took a deep breath, 'some kind of need to live through another's blood. However, I disagree with this part of the interpretation. We believe the unseen predator, or the worm, flies in the night because that is the only time he can prey on his victim and truly be invisible. The storm could well be two people arguing, perhaps two adults. The dark secret love...' Saffelia had stopped as Calcite had put her hand on Saffelia's shoulder, and Danny distinctly watched Calcite squeeze it tight.

'I think that is enough, Miss Forrest.'

Saffelia walked back to her seat and calmly sat down. There was no sign of alarm in her face, but Ursula Calcite's face now looked as purple as her frock, and tragic distress beamed from her eyes as obvious as the hazy sunshine illuminating the sea beyond the window.

'Danny Canterbury next,' Calcite breathed his full name in one, forgetting her usual dewy tone and pointing at Danny to come to the front. Calcite was about to speak again, but Danny's eagerness had beaten her to it and was already talking.

'I agree with Saffelia in as much that the rose is a symbol of the female cherry. Such a tragic circumstance that so many girls are desperate to depose it they conjure terrible lies. The worm is a dream that preys on the said female. This dream while innocent enough during sleep takes on a dangerous fantasy when the subject is awake. Sadly the subject starts believing the fantasy and starts spreading it around school.'

Here Danny looked directly into Amanita's confused face and fixed her with a look so accusatory she winced in her seat. 'The storm, I am sure, to this deluded dream-ridden female represents school. Perhaps the dark secret love is the obsession she keeps for a certain male Religion teacher. Of course, I can't be sure. What say you Amanita?'

Danny's face was as hard as the limestone rock in Amberleigh's cliffs and his eyes narrowed on Amanita's face as the dawning guilt showed in her red cheeks. Finally satisfied, Danny stalked back to his seat and slammed his exercise book on the desk, making Edmund jump.

Calcite looked confounded.

'Er...thank you Danny. Again, I am not sure you will pass your examination with that interpretation, but...' and here Calcite threw a nasty glance at Amanita, 'it was interesting hearing it all the same.'

*

There is a swing dangling from an old oak tree. We take turns to be the swinger and the pusher. The seat is made of a broken log but the surface has been smoothed by rain water or snow or something so the roughness has gone although knobbly bits remain and go up my bum when I sit there.

I push Lucy high. High in the sky she soars, like she is carving a circle of love from the earth to the air with the arc of her limbs.

And then, it happens. The rope snaps, the twine disintegrates and, for a moment, when the path back down no longer remains I look at Lucy, at the wildness in her eyes and the way her legs and arm stretch out to the breath of the earth and I realise for the first time in her life she is free.

Saffelia's Diaries

In the changing rooms the boys were talking about the episode in Poetry as they put on their kit and trainers for athletics. Danny's rebuke had saved Tim from a kicking by distracting attention away from his weak surrender to Amanita.

'Did you see the look on old Calcite's face when Saffelia started going on about her cherry?

'I can't believe Amanita would spout so much drivel about a poem! I thought she loved it.'

'Danny Canterbury has done it again for the lads!'

Danny got changed in the corner, hoping no-one would notice or approach him. His opinions were his own. True, he had just given the whole class his verdict on Amanita's untruth. True, he had published his treatise on declining masculinity in the school newspaper. But the instinct to keep private his personal views still raged like a fire within him.

While retrieving trainers from his bag Danny noticed a small scrap of note paper lying at the bottom. He picked it up and looked at, immediately recognising the pink handwriting. It was from Janna, and bore a short and simple message.

If you ever need me, I'll always be here for you.

Jx

Danny glanced round to check no-one was looking. The lads were too busy bouncing balls and seeing who had the largest trainers. Reading the note for a second time he wondered when Janna had planted it. He knew if he had read this at the start of the year he would have found it mildly annoying and possibly discarded it. The wounds were too fresh then and it had seemed an unbridgeable distance existed between them. Despite his better judgement he and Janna had gradually grown closer over the year, like two drifts of snow rolling slowly down a gentle incline to meet in the valley. There was no single moment Danny could pinpoint when the motion began. He guessed he'd grown weary of the indifference he felt towards her, at the resistance he was putting up against the warmth of love that hadn't yet died. He had never managed to just be friends with her until now. It was a welcome change. The absence of game playing; the opportunity to have one person to confide in who seemed to know his soul. When he gazed at the note as if his eyes were burning the words into the paper, it felt like gold-dust to Danny. Janna was there for him. Always. Always, despite what he had done. Despite his anguished diatribes and his confused rants and his cold rejection of their love. This enduring promise meant more than the sweetest moments of their short relationship.

'What you got there mate?' Tim asked from over his shoulder.

'Nothing,' Danny said, stowing the paper in his shorts pocket.

'Okay then,' Tim said suspiciously.

Tim was apparently not satisfied with Danny's response but remained unwilling to question it further.

'Ready for the fifteen hundred?'

Danny's momentary elation at Janna's note was now overcome by an opening pit of deep despair. Did he really have to run fifteen hundred metres around the stupid bloody isle of Fourlawns, develop a stitch and then have to row all the way back. Athletics was, he decided, a completely useless sport.

Spittlebug managed to find a toy gun from which to fire the race starts, and he laughed each time the pathetic bang sounded. It was a mixed lesson again but Harlequin kept the girls behind at the end for extra javelin practice. They had the female decathlon event coming up at St Cecilia's next week.

Spittlebug sang "Row, row, row your boat" all the way back, deafening Tim and Danny who sat at the back trying not to laugh or look in Spittlebug's direction lest he make one of them work either of the intimidating-looking oars.

Back on dry land the boys gathered at the shore, huddled as if conspiring to some great event. Tim and Danny climbed out of their boat onto Watershoot, Amberleigh Castle's boat jetty. Spittlebug began tying the boat to the silver post at the end of the wooden pier.

'What do you suppose they're all talking about?' Danny asked.

'Don't know mate, but I'm damned if I'm going to be left out.'

Tim rushed to the huddle and squeezed himself in between Sol and Benjamin. Danny walked over, and stood just outside the circle so he could escape if attention was drawn to him. He could hear them fine from where he was, and the voice of the ringleader rose above the jostling shouts.

'Right guys, so we're all agreed,' Samuel Mills shouted, 'It's about time those girls were brought down a peg or two. Let's go.'

They dispersed and ran to the changing rooms, Tim included. Danny wondered what the fuss was about. It didn't take him long to work it out as, when he followed them across Pentangle, he saw they were not returning to the boys' changing rooms, but instead storming the girls'. Danny's mouth fell open. Boys were not allowed in there. Even he, someone who had written vociferously about their flaws, could never attempt to breach their privacy so flagrantly. Danny had abandoned Spittlebug to secure the rest of the dingys knowing he would be furious when he discovered what they were up to.

Danny quickly entered the empty boys changing room, determined to keep from more trouble so close to the end of their school tenure and their final exams.

He listened intently as he buttoned up his white shirt. A noise and a few crashing sounds could be heard from the girls' changing rooms. Finally, high-pitched screams and shouts rose above the crashes and Danny realised the girls had arrived back. The boys came bursting in – one mass of rowdy noise. They cheered in jubilation, spinning bras round their heads, twiddling knickers between fingers and thumbs. Skirts, books and pencil cases had all been trawled from the girls' room. The boys dumped them all on the floor, and began to crowd round their winnings.

Danny could resist it no longer. He walked over and pushed himself into the circle of the boys. Clothes, bags, girly trainers and lipsticks lay strewn in an amorphous bundle in the middle of the changing room floor. There, in the centre of the junk the lads had collected, Danny saw a distinctly recognisable exercise book decorated in pink and yellow laminate. A fierce unbidden loyalty rose up in him. Instinctively he reached out to pick it up but Samuel reached across an arm to halt him going forward.

'Now, now Danny, I'm not sure about letting you see winning piece number forty-three. You didn't storm the golden territory with us, did you? You didn't even recce for us.'

Danny glared at him. Samuel was a couple of inches taller but Danny wasn't afraid.

'Fuck off Sam.'

Danny swiped the exercise book without giving Samuel a chance to retort. He quickly stowed the book at the bottom of his bag and determined to return it to Saffelia at the earliest opportunity.

Tim walked in wearing Hazel's and Olive's hairbands around his ears.

'Like the new look lads?'

They all roared with laughter.

*

It was a long weekend. A melting butter sun popped out from behind a pearl cloud and took up permanent residence in the sky, chasing away any faint wisps of water vapour that dare challenge its brightness. Danny had not had a chance at the end of PE to find Saffelia and return her exercise book. As soon as he had changed back into his school uniform, he had rushed from the changing room and run the length of the school to find her. Hazel informed him she had rushed home as she didn't want to be late for a piano lesson.

The warmth of Saturday morning arrived like an oasis in the middle of a bleached desert. Danny allowed sunlight to break through his curtains until it became too irresistible not to embrace the day. A pile of books lay precariously by his bedside. They threatened to topple at the slightest nudge. Jane Eyre was supporting Holden Caulfield. Robin Goodfellow struggled under the weight of Charlie Bucket. Stephen Dedalus, Vernon God Little and little Pi himself were all collaborating to elevate the subversive yet sublime overtones of Humbert Humbert. Danny lazily reached an arm from his warm bed and paddled blindly around until his aimless fingers gently caressed the book resting on top of the pile. He let his fingers absorb the silky laminate surface until he pulled his arm back into bed, gently reprimanding himself beneath the covers. No, he mustn't.

Amberleigh was aswarm with shoppers. Debutante teen girls wore high heels in the height of summer, fidgeting awkwardly as they became trapped between the cobbles down the old lanes. Danny loved to walk down them. Steeply, they wound a diverting path from the bustling centre to the saltiness of the sea and the sweetness of fudge shops and rock sugar. On Amberleigh beach girls bronzed themselves while boys span frisbees and punched volleyballs. A blissful summer day by the seaside. At times like this Danny knew why Amberleigh had forged an irremovable mark on his heart. He felt deeply why the town's name had become a synonym for home.

As he sat on a rock overlooking the beach, Danny opened his bag and pulled out a garlic sausage sandwich. Hungrily he ate, forgetting himself during the brief moment of bliss that was his first bite. Reaching into his bag again he withdrew a carton of orange juice. Piercing it with the thin straw he sucked the molten goodness until the fluid revived the back of his throat with a refreshing tang.

He decided to revise English first. It was his favourite subject after all. He began reading the last act of _As You Like It_ , once again marvelling at the casual way it ended whilst providing a lasting legacy, profound and sublime.

After an hour of reflecting on Rosalind's romantic misdemeanours he turned his attention to Maths. Filling a few matrices, he next turned his attention to his three friends sine, cosine and tangent. He even tried practicing his French oral, but stopped when a group of girls walked past and looked at him sideways. He delved again inside his bag. He had now practiced for all his exams and been through all the books. Well, all of them but one.

By dinnertime it was starting to bug him. He was sure Saffelia wouldn't mind. No, that was a lie to himself. When he thought about it, he was sure she would mind. But still, how would she know? The moral dilemma seemed as poised as the beachball did, balancing atop the rising surf, as it rode its way inshore to Amberleigh beach.

For dinner William Canterbury served up cold chicken salad with cous cous and rustic olive bread. Danny dipped his into a big tub of hummus. Wiping his finger around the rim to catch any excess, Polly caught his arm and started signing angrily for him to stop polluting her dinner as well. They sat in front of the television watching the leader of opposition gleefully denounce the broken society he lived in, tastefully deploring the drug-induced crime culture prevalent in northern cities, all while sipping Pimms in the leafy garden of his home counties house. He's one to talk, Danny thought. He snorted as much as the rest of them when he was at Oxford.

The news finished and a programme discussing the diminishing environment and wilting wildlife came on and bored the three of them. Whilst he watched badgers and foxes nose their way around the night, Danny couldn't stop the thought of the exercise book on his bed interminably popping into his mind, more and more frequently. Perhaps this was the accumulation of withdrawal symptoms it felt like for a crack addict. And there was only one way it was going to end, Danny told himself fatefully.

He managed to withstand the temptation until ten o'clock. Polly had departed for bed and William had switched on an old Clint Eastwood movie and opened a bottle of Rioja. Danny drummed his fingers on the edge of the couch, seemingly waiting for the right moment.

'Dad?' he asked out of the blue.

'Yes son,' William replied, the bleak figure of Eastwood reflecting in his careworn eyes.

'If you were unwittingly given possession of something that wasn't yours... something valuable...would you return it straight away? Or would you keep it for a while, at least...'

Danny asked, hoping he would get the answer he desired.

'Well, it would depend on what it was. If it were something extremely valuable I would probably want to return it straight away. Especially if it was personal.'

Danny's heart sank as the needle on his moral compass sprang to true north. He knew it wasn't extremely valuable except to the person to whom it belonged, but it was however intrinsically personal.

'Right,' Danny replied blankly. 'I'm off to bed.'

'Night son,' William replied, pouring himself another glass and reaching out for a cheese cracker.

Danny's journey upstairs felt like an eternity. When he weighed the moral dilemma, he realised desperately it became impossible to make the scales balance. It was no use. It wasn't justified. He would have to face it, he would have to bury it at the bottom of his bag and forget all about it until the time came to return it to its rightful owner.

That night his fitful sleep tossed and turned him through summer humidity. Several times he woke up imagining he had already read the exercise book and satiated his thirst for knowledge. The satisfaction of having that tantalising desire quenched collapsed with a crash when returning sentience affirmed that permission was still denied, and that those sweet revelations still lay beyond his reach. He reached out his arm to touch the book, but never once allowed himself to open it.

Awoken by the insistent ring of his mobile, Danny shifted on his soft mattress. The effort to answer it would be to acknowledge the annoyance, which irked Danny. Still bleary-eyed and wiping away somnolent grit from his eyes, Danny jammed his thumb into the call answer button and murmured a weak greeting.

'Danny Canterbury!'

The alertness of the voice emitting from the receiver made Danny sit up. The crystalline assertiveness amid the context of the familiarity surprised him.

'Saffelia?' Danny answered, his mind working frantically to anticipate the next question.

'Danny – have you got my English exercise book?'

The urgency in her voice carried an insistency that again irritated Danny this early on a Sunday.

'Would you like to meet up for lunch?'

Danny asked, ignoring Saffelia's question.

'You've read it, haven't you?' Saffelia asked, her voice clear and bright over the airwaves.

'Read what?' Danny asked, stalling for time.

'You know full well what. I can't believe you Danny, I thought I could trust you,' Saffelia opined.

It was half on Danny's mind to reply with – 'You thought wrong,' but he resisted.

'Look Saffelia – it's half seven on a Sunday morning. I haven't even had my weetabix yet?'

Danny half-smiled to himself. He had never eaten a fucking weetabix in his life. There was silence and soft breathing coming from the other end of the phone. Danny knew Saffelia was weighing up her next move.

'Will you return it to me please?'

Saffelia's voice strained with forced politeness. Danny thought for a second.

'Wilfields at one pm?' he proffered, knowing she wouldn't refuse.

'Okay.'

The line went dead and Danny allowed himself to fall back on his soft pillow where indulgent morning slumbers drifted over him like a gentle deluge of sweet snow.

Saffelia was waiting inside sipping a coke when Danny arrived, his school bag slung across his shoulder. It had been a pleasant walk along the seashore to Wilfields, and he had allowed it to affirm in his mind the resolve for what he was about to do. The mild summer's day was the perfect antidote to the busy weeks both ahead and behind; the wind kept the air moving fast enough to dissolve threatening humidity. Sea waves crashed onto rocks, blasting sand and spray in the air and against Amberleigh's sea wall. Situated at the other end of the coast from Amberleigh castle, Wilfields contained a wooden veranda directly overlooking the beach. From this distance, the school looked an exotic distant visitor from a strange land, protruding from the steep headland on which grew reams of green moss. One of the four turrets at each corner of the castle was instantly recognisable as the press room he, Amanita and Tim used for the _Oracle_. It was such a routine venue in his daily life, but from here the castle looked alien and other worldly.

Danny bought an orange juice and lemonade and went to sit with Saffelia.

'Any exciting plans for today?' Danny asked.

'Oh stop it Danny. Are you going to hand it over?' she asked, a resigned tone marking her voice.

Danny gazed at her, a serious thought entering his head.

'I haven't read it Saffelia. But I will, if you don't tell me what's going on.'

Danny spoke slowly and determinedly.

'That's a cheap trick, you know,' Saffelia said, matter of factly, pursing her lips and narrowing her eyebrows in frustration.

It was at this point Danny saw how pretty Saffelia looked. He had never really noticed before how grown up she was becoming. Her dressy attempts to look like a small girl always downplayed her abundant lips, shapely thighs and pallid breasts. With her lost weight her remaining curved contours spoke with womanly power. A light film of neon pink shone from her lips and a pink and yellow ribbon tied her hair which lilted in pastel shades from the straw coloured sun.

'I know,' Danny replied simply.

Saffelia gazed at him intently with soft eyes. It was like being watched by a harmless deer or another benevolent yet wild animal. Danny moved in his seat as she continued to radiate emotion in his brown eyes with no hint of threat or compromise. The moment didn't last. Without warning she rose, downed the remains of her drink in one, and walked from Wilfields. Head held high, Saffelia didn't utter another word.

*

The bracken and the brown leaf slush breaks off our bare feet but neither of us care. We're sliding away from life, both of us together.

Lucy lights a candle she stole from a posh shop in Amberleigh. They won't miss it, she says. It's one of them large ones with a giant base that will take ages to burn. We place it in the middle of a set of stones and rocks so we don't set the whole wood alight. It sends a scent of jasmine infused cocoa spiralling into the sky and I am glad because this aroma will now mark this place our hidden spot where no one will find us.

He fucked me fully last night and I didn't even cry out this time.

The Fall

It was several years since Danny visited London. He had been taken there as an infant when his father had taken him and Polly to the Natural History Museum. The tube had fascinated him. An underground network of tunnels and corridors swerved and twisted maze-like beneath the stately city above, amazing Danny at every turn. He had gambolled along the embankment and thrown twigs from the nearby maples in the Thames. He had raced Polly to Tower Bridge and stood with awe below Big Ben, looking up and wondering how something could get so high.

The long day had exhausted him and his last memory was shaking a snow fountain of the Houses of Parliament on the train back, falling asleep against his sister's shoulder.

Now he was travelling to that strange land again. This time he was accompanied not by family but by Professor Carmione and Belladonna Whimsy. They were making the lengthy sojourn to interview celebrity chef Candice Crennell for the school newspaper. Apparently she agreed because of the opportunity to comment on the nutritional content of school food. Danny also suspected Bella had something to do with the surprising rapidity with which the excursion arranged itself.

Carmione was buried deep in a cookery magazine, tapping her fingers occasionally against the armrest. Danny could tell she was nervous. Belladonna drummed her polished nails casually on the table and gazed out of the window at the countryside rolling by. Today her pouting lips were flush with a ruddy cream and as if to cement the authority of her immaculate appearance she spoke in short brittle blasts. Through surreptitious glances Danny ladled spoonfuls of her gorgeousness in the insatiable mouth of his ravenous hormones. As much as he despised what the woman represented, he couldn't resist the urge to want to fuck her. Partly to try and see the secret that drove her untypical behaviour. Partly because he just wanted to fuck her.

'So when did you first meet her,' Danny asked Belladonna politely.

Belladonna, who had been admiring her reflection in the train window glared at Danny once, and then turned away as if she hadn't heard him and continued to gaze at her classical profile. She licked her lips as if finishing off a delicious morsel of something unseen.

Now Danny was the one growing nervous. Amanita had delegated this assignment for him. She had been unable to travel as her mother Christy was whisking her away for a girly spa weekend. At the time excitement had rushed in, swamping any feelings of apprehension. One of his foodie heroines, she had a likeable habit of softly cursing as she delivered delicious goods to waiting mates. Now he was hurtling towards the capital, albeit flanked by two teachers, he knew he would be the one to ask the questions. Danny was the one who would write the interview and it would be his article that the local or perhaps even national paper might print if they liked it. His blazer and shirt had been freshly laundered and ironed by his father the previous evening. Although this might be one of the last times he would wear it, his school uniform shone with Plunket's identity. Danny joined Bella in gazing out of the window and noticed a dark raincloud rolling in off the hills. More and more buildings – cottages, warehouses, offices, churches – were popping on the horizon and Danny knew they were not far from London. The butterflies of the countryside disappeared only to be replaced by butterflies in Danny's stomach.

The sandwich cart wheeled round, pushed by a large wheezing lady. Carmione put her magazine down and beamed up at her.

'Could we have a couple of sandwiches please? Belladonna – would you like anything from the cart?' Carmione asked in the same friendly tone.

Bella roused herself from her trance.

'No thanks Professor, I have some dolce-latte and mascarpone samosas in my bag.'

Carmione looked at her a second longer than Danny thought normal before she broke into a smile and turned back to the cart lady.

'Okay, just two sandwiches then. Danny, what would you like?'

'Could I have chicken salad? Thanks Professor,' Danny murmured.

The cart lady passed over a tightly wrapped polythene bundle to Danny. Straggly bits of lettuce peeped out from their clumps between damp wholegrain bread while uninviting splodges of mayonnaise seeped through holes in the crusts.

'I'll have cheese and pickle. And can we have two of those caramel flapjacks please?'

Carmione winked at Danny, and Danny smiled weakly back in return.

As they both munched on their sandwiches, Belladonna stood up, elegantly pushing out her cleavage in Danny's direction as she pulled down her bag from the overhead shelf. Trapped in the glare of those unguent demi-spheres, Danny gulped a large part of his sandwich down. With military pertness her breasts appeared to him as attendant soldiers, ready to go into battle at the slightest order from their commander.

Whimsy pulled down her bag and fished in it for her samosas, which she eventually removed with gleaming red-nailed fingers. A petite Italian salad in a smart pink tupperware box also emerged alongside a flask of something Danny thought looked urine-coloured.

'Oh that looks lovely dear, what is it you have there?' Carmione asked. Danny detected the hint of intrigue hidden beneath her inquiry.

Belladonna turned her pretty head to Carmione, her long black hair swishing over her shoulder as she spoke.

'I am having a tuscan salad with greek cheese samosas washed down with homemade root ginger wine,' she said.

'Mmm. Sounds delicious dear,' Carmione said without the slightest hint of meaning it.

They all continued to eat hungrily. Carmione polished off her flapjack in one go. The landscape continued to change as the train hurtled on through patchy rain. Danny thought he saw Alexandra Palace rising on a hill, a patch of green lying between curtains of forest. Soon they were rushing through tall Victorian houses and high-rise flats. Danny knew they were approaching the station as Belladonna stood up for a second time, this time asking Carmione to allow her out.

'I'm going to have a cigarette,' she said unceremoniously.

Carmione looked slightly alarmed that she said this in front of Danny, but unabashed Whimsy pushed herself out of the seat. In direct view of the already corrupted Danny she fished in her bag and withdrew a crumpled pack of Marlboro lights. Inserting one between molten red lips she proceeded to speak to them both with the cigarette dangling like a lowly private in her army of feminine wiles.

'See you in a minute.'

Danny thought she looked like a film star.

After an exhilarating ride on the underground in which Danny managed to eye up no less than twenty nubile honey-skinned beauties sweating through the little they wore, they arrived in Islington. High street shops quickly gave way to markets and bazaars selling scarves and jewellery of multitudinous colours. Amid outdoor racks of CDs and vinyl, eccentric London shoppers attempted to haggle a bargain.

'It's just down here,' Belladonna uttered in a breathy voice.

She led Danny and Carmione down a narrow alley where smells of rotting vegetables and grease filled the air. The alley quickly opened up into a small cobbled street where a couple of vans unloaded what looked like trays of tomatoes. A chubby young woman wearing chef's whites strode out of a fire escape, a dirty white apron flapping over faded jeans beneath. Belladonna squealed with delight.

'What's up darlin'?' Candice Crennell was saying to an unseen man inside the van. 'Fraid they'll have to go back.'

'What all of them?' came an irritated voice from the van.

'Yep, fraid so darlin'. They're a little too ripe for serving. By lunchtime they'll be mush and me reputation will be the same. We need the vine-ripened ones, a day or two earlier – that'd be bonzer! See you later,' said the chef as she turned from the van, catching the eye of Belladonna.

Before Danny could believe he had just watched Candice Crennell ordering food for her restaurant, Belladonna rushed forward to imprint dark circles of red on each of her chubby pink cheeks.

'How are ya darlin?' Crennell enthused, giving her breasts a generous pinch. 'Still full of cream I see?'

'Not too bad, not too bad.'

Whimsy enunciated in a weird jovial voice, blushing at Crennell's interest.

'So you've brought a couple with you, I see. Looking damn sexy by the way Whimsy.'

Belladonna blushed again as she nodded for Carmione and Danny to come and be introduced to the great woman.

Inside the restaurant Crennell poured them welcoming cocktails, a non-alcoholic one for Danny. He thought the place looked a cross between a hospital, a back-street café and the inside of a lady's handbag. While Belladonna and Carmione rummaged around for notepads and pens Danny had his primed. His list of questions sat in front of him, fully prepared and tested, ready and waiting.

Crennell plonked the tray down on the table and sloshes of fruit juice splashed over the rims.

'Whoops!' she said jovially, clearly not minding the spillage at all. Carmione and Belladonna both tried to speak at once, but when they ceased from embarrassment, Danny spoke clearly into the silence.

'I was wondering if we could begin at the beginning. Your rise from the odd catering job to your first sous-chef role? What was it like being a penniless chef, unknown, unheard of, with just a big mouth to rely on?' Danny asked, politeness edging his blunt question.

Carmione and Whimsy gasped but Crennell just sat back and laughed raucously, before turning to Carmione.

'You've got a cheeky one here, haven't you? Reminds me of me at that age.'

Lustrous nodded, blushing furiously.

'Well, me young nipper, it was hard for a while but it was also a laugh, you know. There were loads of us in it together when I first started in a kitchen. We all went out every Friday to the local curry house then we used to go back to mine and I would try and replicate the recipe. Had a few failures mind, but you can't progress as a cook without cocking up a few gos along the way. I remember one time, when I just met me fella, I was doing him a lemon soufflé with this raspberry coulis. You know, wanted to impress him like. Well I burnt it, didn't I? Too enamoured with getting ready and perfume and all that malarkey. Felt like a right fool. Still he forgave me, didn't he?' Crennell winked at Danny, and Danny smiled.

'How about when you did your first television show? That must have been nerve-wracking?' Danny asked, warming to his role as interviewer.

'A little yes, but don't forget everyone was looking after me. There weren't that many people involved during filming, just a few cameramen and telly producers. And they were out of it most of the time, if you know what I mean?'

'No?' Danny asked crisply. 'What do you mean?'

'Gone. Stoned. Whacked. They were all on it. Belladonna here knows, don't you?' Crennell said, realising at the last second she had made a grave error. Belladonna's face turned barley white. 'Well anyway, it wasn't that difficult, actually.'

Crennell finished, still hesitant after her mistake.

Danny raised his eyebrows, looking down his sheet at his next question.

'Have you ever taken drugs yourself Candice?'

*

As he walked into Plunket's for his first GCSE examination Danny thought it was nice not having to wear the school uniform anymore. Wearing a blue and purple tartan shirt which hung over a black-tee with faded blue jeans, he felt himself at last. All night he had woken up fitfully thinking of how the Religious Studies paper would treat him. With extra sessions from Wonder and subtle coaching from Amanita he was sure he now carried an edge over even his superlative mocks performance.

Amanita and Tim waited for him at the school gate, both nervously smiling. Danny strode over to them, Islamic myths and Jewish protocols still churning round his head.

'Ready mate?' Tim asked.

'No,' Danny replied, smiling.

'Nope, me neither,' Tim grinned back.

'Honestly you two are hopeless!'

Amanita spoke with the exasperation of a teacher. Clutching her copy of the New Testament she led the pair into St Basil's for the examination. In the corridor his fellow classmates all crowded around waiting to go in. An air of anguish and comradeship seemed to descend on the anxious fifth-years. They were all in this together. They would go into it together and they would come out of it together. Wherever life's path took them, today was a day that would commence for all of them, the beginning of their journey into adulthood.

After the examination, Benjamin and Ian approached Tim and Danny who were trying hard to ignore Amanita's random outbursts on which questions she was sure she nailed. Danny didn't want to remember their answers nor the questions. He wanted to forget and focus on the free feeling now they were released with one down.

'Fancy a kickabout over the hill?' Benjamin asked.

Nodding vigorously and glad of the relief from Amanita's incessant post-mortem, both boys joined the other two and played football until the sun went down over Amberleigh.

The month of exams rolled into gear like a plane switching the burners on at twenty-thousand feet. Sometimes Danny felt he was caught in a whirl-wind only those who swirled around with him could understand. He went home every night, successfully avoiding answering gentle interrogatory questions from his father, but succumbing to his sister's sweet attempts to engage him in childish play. Yet still the sun continued to rise each morning on a new day, heralding another exam like a beacon of dread.

The Design and Technology paper saw them seated at wide desks in St George's gym. Different coloured pencils and A3 pads lay on the desks for sketching the plans of a kennel they were to build. Biology saw Danny scratching his head in St Basil's desperately trying to remember the names of all the reproductive elements of a plant. Was it a stamen or a carpel? When faced with the human reproduction diagram he recalled Anjalie. And Janna. And Phoebe. He was sure he got every part right. The Geography exam marked the middle of the exam period. As Danny sat studying the central business districts of two new towns and drew diagrams of the erosive overflow from waterfalls he reflected on what it would be like to be far, far away from exams and studying. To have completed all his GCSE exams, achieving satisfactory grades safe in the knowledge his transition to A-levels was secure and his future had got off to the best start possible.

It was in Mathematics that Danny developed the weary headache revision had pounded into him. Functions followed matrices followed probability followed trigonometry followed by expansive and complex quadratic equations. As Fuzzair pulled his exam script off his desk and announced the end of the exam, Danny nearly fell from his chair in relief the exam was over. He glanced over at Tim and Amanita. Tim shook his head slowly with disbelief. Amanita just stalked out the hall with head hung low. Danny had never seen her looking so defeated; she had left without uttering a word to anyone.

That night Danny needed some relief and, although knowing he shouldn't with final exams in Literature and Poetry the next day, he departed Dunkinley at nine o'clock and took himself to Wilfields for a quiet hour of solitude.

As he walked into the bar he saw a scene not of empty chairs but buzzing merriment. Tim, Amanita, Benjamin, Michael, Sol, Mary, Hazel and Olive were all crowded round a table, laughing at some hilarious joke Sol had just told.

Danny ordered a coke and could not help smiling to himself. Nine months ago he entered his final year at St Oliver Plunket's. He remembered his bawdy encounter with Amanita early on and how, while the year gradually buried the memory of that kiss, resolution had never descended with the finality he craved. He went to join them and sat on the edge of the circle, quietly reminiscing how it would have looked if Chardelia Foss were sitting amongst this group of friends. If it hadn't been for Flambeau. As the others told each other ruder and ruder jokes, spilling drinks on the ale-soaked wood, a tear of pure salt trickled down his blank face. Inches from their jubilation, the torture of memory provided a proximity his living friends could not match.

A grey cloud hung over Amberleigh Castle the following day. The weather was a grim refusal to acknowledge the cheeriness Danny felt should prevail on his last day of exams.

As he waited outside St Basil's with his pen and his pencil, eagerly holding in his hand a copy of Shakespeare's _As You Like It_ , he caught a glimpse of Tim's back resting against the door at the bottom of the corridor. Starting to move towards him, Danny saw Saffelia approach round the corner and lean into Tim, almost pleadingly. There was a second's pause before Saffelia stepped back. It took Danny another second to realise Tim had pushed her away from him, before storming into the hall to take his seat. The corridor was empty apart from Danny looking straight into the ice-blue irises of Saffelia.

Danny got into his stride in the discursive essay. The only sound was of pens scribbling and then stopping, of the clock ticking gently, of the clip-clop of Ursula Calcite's heels on the wooden tiled floor. This was his longest exam; a full three hour test of intellectual rigour and wrist endurance. Yet Danny felt he had saved the best for last. Rosalind was his; he wrote pages and pages, trawling through the different themes – nature, eden, exile, pastoral, gender, friendships, family, love, education, adventure, the unflinching constancy of loyalty. He looked up at the clock, a layering happiness forming and sealing in his stomach. With forty-five minutes remaining Danny knew he had planned his time perfectly. He could round off the section about Celia and end with Rosalind's life philosophy. It couldn't have turned out better.

At lunchtime he sat with Tim and Amanita munching on a scotch egg and grinning to them both. At last, poetry had arrived. Their last exam was in an hour and a short time after it would all be over. They would all be free. Free from examinations, free from compulsory education, free from Ursula Calcite. Forever.

Pretty soon they were all seated back in St Basil's Hall, the afternoon sun instigating a humid stickiness that found Danny sweating as he read the essay question:

Describe in no more than five hundred words what you think Wordsworth's intentions are towards nature and nation when composing his poem "I travelled among unknown men"

They had reprinted the immortal words below. With the deliberation of a poet allowing himself the illicit pleasure of wallowing in luxurious words one last time, Danny read the momentous lines again:

I TRAVELLED among unknown men,

In lands beyond the sea;

Nor, England! did I know till then

What love I bore to thee.

'Tis past, that melancholy dream!

Nor will I quit thy shore

A second time; for still I seem

To love thee more and more.

Among thy mountains did I feel

The joy of my desire;

And she I cherished turned her wheel

Beside an English fire.

Thy mornings showed, thy nights concealed

The bowers where Lucy played;

And thine too is the last green field...'

Danny did not have time to read the last line of the poem. From the back of the hall came an unutterably loud and feral cry. A desperate piercing blood-curdling scream.

'Fuuuuucccccck!'

The sound of a chair and desk crashing to the floor penetrated the silence. The echo upheld the illusion of an every-day accident that can hide something like a poison mercilessly infiltrating flesh. The hairs on Danny's neck went from limp to erect in less than a second. He could see teachers from all sides of the hall rushing to the point of commotion, like a singularity sucking gravity towards it, scurrying towards the student in peril. All but one, who stood with a stony glare and a face as pale as freshly fallen snow. To Danny, it felt as if life had begun to run in slow motion. Everything seemed paused as if the snowy sludge of disaster had applied a brake to time's neverending clock.

Somehow Danny knew before he turned. Somehow he knew as he met Amanita's frightened eyes with his own. Somehow he knew as he saw Tim wailing by her side, before he allowed his eyes to roam over the pulsating body spasmodically retching. Somehow he knew as he saw teachers trying to halt the ceaseless flow of snow-like foam spilling from her gushing mouth. Somewhere deep inside him where the angels protected his secret kernel of love and grief and kept his identity as steady as a rock, somehow he knew it could only be, it _would_ only be the one girl who had nurtured and challenged his self-honesty. In their final exam Saffelia Forrest had fallen.

*

The candle has burnt down too fast. Spring is coming but it is still cold. A squirrel runs up an ash tree as the softness of day crowds out the dawn.

I am alone.

The peace is disruptive. Where I could think clearly when her hand was in my hand, my thoughts become as scattered as the fallen leaves and as bitter as the morning frost when it is me alone.

Without Lucy.

I walk up to Amberleigh Abbey, the relic of your name, and of a time when virtue was cherished. That's what you said, that's what I remember. Cherish. Each. Second. Like it was the purest gift the universe could offer. I don't cherish those seconds we spend apart. I just cherish you Lucy.

Where are you?

Lucy

As he stood on the grey tarmac in a playground bathed in blinking blue light, all Danny could concentrate on was the expression on Amanita's face as they lifted Saffelia on the stretcher. He had written all year but Danny could never put words to the desolation drawn in Amanita's anguished eyes. As she silently wept teachers moved Saffelia delicately into the recovery position.

Tim rested his hand on Danny's shoulder. For support Danny supposed, but whose he was not sure. Before he knew what he was doing he was speaking to Alessandro and Pry, who watched with concerned gazes at the departing ambulance.

'Can I come?' Danny asked with an intent earnest nod forward.

Alessandro turned round, closing the ambulance doors behind the last paramedic. He was about to speak but as he looked at Danny he seemed to become lost in the moist pools of his brown eyes.

'I'll drive.'

Alessandro spoke with an aura of finality.

Soon Amanita and Tim and Danny were piling into the back of Alessandro's red Volvo estate while Pry gracefully descended into the passenger seat.

As they sat on the back seat nobody spoke, although Amanita hugged Danny's arm as if it might fall off. Pry occasionally muttered 'Poor girl' while giving directions to Alessandro lest he not keep up with the speeding green and white van transporting Saffelia to hospital.

'But I don't understand,' Tim eventually whispered to Danny after a long silence had grown between them. 'She was muttering something about the Grove to me before the exam. She said I didn't understand, none of us did'.

For the second time in an hour the hairs on Danny's neck stood to attention and the prickling sensation ran through his body like a lightning strike of rancid poison. Danny could not look at Tim, but returned Amanita's desperate grasp on his arm by resting his head against hers.

Alessandro motored through the traffic as fast as was legal. Twice Danny saw unnerved cyclists swerve to avoid the oncoming car as it sliced the roads in its haste to follow the darting ambulance. As they pulled into Nightingale Hospital, the nearest to Amberleigh town, Danny gently pushed Amanita's arm away and prepared himself for what lay ahead.

*

It was hours before they could see her. Pry and Alessandro took turns to retrieve cups of coffee and make calls to school regarding the continuance of the exam. All three of them: Danny, Amanita and Tim would have to retake the exam and could not now leave the side of the invigilating teachers lest anyone pass on forbidden information. Saffelia too would have to retake. If she made it through. Danny did not want to think about the alternative. Instead he sat on the uncomfortable hospital seats, rigid orange plastic welded to a thick metal bar and tapped his foot on the laminated floor.

A nurse eventually appeared from behind a windowless door, a patient, well-worn smile painted on her weary face. They looked up in unison, a chorus of expectant stares.

'Saffelia is sleeping now. You may all go in though and see her before her mother gets here, as long as you're quiet.'

Danny stood up instinctively, warm relief flowing through his body like a wave. Pry and Alessandro led the way into the small room.

The room was bright with a vista looking out on hospital gardens. The sun had started to set in a cloudless sky and the distant sound of grasshoppers' drifted through the open window. Danny thought it was a good room for Saffelia – natural and full of light. Had she been awake she would have been itching to explore the gardens to pick some flowers. For her hair perhaps.

Pry and Alessandro sat on chairs by the door as the three schoolmates stepped forward in a line to see Saffelia. Her eyes were shut and she laid on one side as if in a peaceful dream. One hand dangled from her bedclothes. Dressed in a white nightie the lower half of her body was covered in apple-white hospital sheets. A cerulean blanket lay at the edge of the bed. Amanita reached out and pulled it over Saffelia as she slept quietly. Danny looked at Tim, his face blank and expressionless, but his eyes burning with shame. Danny could only imagine what he was thinking. Amanita fussed by the bedside, rearranging flushed-pink coxes and lemon-yellow bananas in the fruit bowl, before deciding to sit down on one of the empty chairs. Tim reached out for the hand that was visible, gently stroking imperceptible blonde hairs on the back of her pale wrist.

'I think we'll give you a moment alone,' Pry said from behind them. Alessandro led the pair from the room, closing the door for what seemed like an eternity until it clicked shut, definitively, like a full stop.

Amanita gasped.

Saffelia opened her eyes and round circles of blue shone out at them like gaps in the clouds.

'Saffelia! We thought you were asleep?' Amanita said, perching herself on the end of her chair and leaning forward with eager inquisitiveness. 'Are you okay? What happened?' she asked.

Saffelia didn't say anything for a moment. She adjusted her pillows and pulled herself up so she could face them sat up, bold and bright. Danny noticed the colour, seemingly absent from her face in St Basil's, had returned. Her cheeks were growing as rosy as the apples on her bedside cabinet.

'I'm fine. Really I am. I've had my stomach pumped, so I'm a little weak, but the doctor said I'm going to be fine. I just need a little rest that's all.'

'Of course you do.'

Amanita spoke in a bossy voice, standing up and ushering Danny and Tim to exit the room. He could not say how he knew it, intuition perhaps, a symbol of the unwitting proximity he had developed towards Saffelia over the past year, but Danny anticipated that Saffelia would call them back.

'No wait! I have something I have to tell you,' she shouted, before adding in a lower voice. 'To tell you all.'

She slumped back on her pillows, the effort of calling out exhausting her.

Tim stood still; Amanita looked from Tim to Saffelia, a confusion revolving with concern in her disposition. Danny stepped forward and knelt down before Saffelia. He looked up at her round blonde face and made his face the epitome of patience.

'Please begin,' Danny said slowly. Saffelia began.

'You have to go to the Snowfall Grove. It was my regular stock, I'm sure of it. I always double-check before I...Someone must have tampered with it, added something to it. It was a fast-acting poison...that much was obvious and in combination with...worked much quicker. I can tell you both I thought I was gone. The hall was crashing down in my head, it was a sound...a noise so loud and terrible I thought my ears would surely burst...and it kept getting louder. The next thing I knew they were carrying me in the ambulance and everyone was looking at me even though they looked like multi-coloured shadows to me. You have to go to the Snowfall Grove as soon as possible...'

Her voice faded and became indistinguishable as an articulated lorry drove past on the road outside the hospital.

Amanita looked at Danny and Tim, both struck with confusion.

'Saffelia, tell us why we have to go to the Grove?' Danny asked.

An eerie late afternoon atmosphere had entered the room. A solitary shaft of sunlight coursed through the picture window highlighting a million grains of dust swimming in heavy air. Salmon-pink had turned to purple-mauve, bleached-red had turned to russet-brown, yellow-cream had turned to orange-rust as the sun descended to meet the earth. Tim stared straight out the window as if hit with a football on the side of his head; Amanita was wringing her hands, her curly hair falling on her face with liberal frequency. In the morphing light Danny saw his three friends as they truly were: alone, afraid and reckless.

'Because that's where they're growing all the drugs – all the poisons. Haven't you wondered why so many students have been off, why so many have been ill? These teachers don't care as long as they're developing a new stream of clientele.'

Amanita crouched next to the bed and whispered.

'I knew it.'

'You knew' gasped Tim and Danny in unison.

'I guessed it. Odd things were happening to students all over the school, not just in our year. Second years have been bunking off, taking days off sick. Fuzzair's maths class was half-empty the other day ,so many students were missing. I've got no proof though so I couldn't say anything, least of all hint at it in the _Oracle_. Calcite and Travershall were watching me closely, but you read the article about the history of the Grove – that was as close as I got. Look at the reaction that got.'

Danny shook his head.

'But I thought that...my article about shoes...'

Danny mumbled while the overriding truth began to dawn in exponential waves.

'No, that was just a smokescreen. A welcome one, I admit, but a smokescreen nonetheless. That is all,' Amanita finished.

'What now?' Tim asked after a momentary silence. 'How do we get to the Grove?'

'Mum will take you' said Saffelia, her voice croaky as she adjusted her head on the pillow and allowed her eyes to half close. 'Sorry I'm really tired...' Saffelia's voice was fading again. 'Just don't be...'

'Don't be what?' Danny asked, unable to conceal the note of urgency his instinct betrayed.

'Just don't be too hard on...Calcite.'

With that mysterious parting word Saffelia's head rolled over on the pillow and she submerged into sleep. A second later the door clicked again and in walked a nurse, followed by Pry and Alessandro. Danny thought he had seen the nurse's face somewhere before.

'I would like my patient to get some rest now. Please leave,' said the nurse abruptly. Pry nodded for them to obey. In single file and with deep lingering looks cast at the sleeping Saffelia they exited the small sun-broken room.

In the corridor outside, the three school friends huddled together as Pry and Appalachian began to lead them out into the car park.

'We can't go back to school now,' said Tim.

'What other choice do we have?' said Amanita. 'We're not supposed to leave the teachers' side while the exam is still continuing.

'Calcite,' said Danny. 'We have to speak to her. Get to the truth of all this.'

'What, and she's likely to just spill if we ask her?' Tim blurted out, still ashen-faced.

Danny knew seeing Saffelia in a hospital bed had brought back to Tim all the affection he had for so long been trying to suppress. Pry and Appalachian advanced.

'I'm afraid we must return to school now,' Alessandro said, clearly interpreting the looks of distress on the three faces as merely concern for their fallen friend, and not anxiety for their anticipated investigation.

*

After uncomfortably sitting the remainder of his exam amid the disquiet raging in his restless head, Danny found Ursula Calcite alone in her classroom. The sun had faded again behind a grey cloud, transforming the sky into an alluring mix of amber and ruby, throwing colourful silhouettes against the classroom wall.

At first, Danny thought she was laughing to herself at some private joke. Then he thought he had never seen anyone laugh to themselves whilst holding their head in their hands. When her face finally emerged from her palms to see who approached, Danny stopped in his tracks. Her make-up, usually pristine in its metallic perfection, was completely compromised. Tracks of black and violet mascara trailed down her face. From well-defined eyes and heavily blushed cheekbones down to her jutting chin, her features wobbled with nerves. Stricken with tears, Danny approached slowly and made his voice as soft as he had ever used it.

'Miss...I mean, Dr Calcite.'

'I've always encouraged you to use my first name, Danny.'

Calcite gazed into some ornament standing on her desk. As Danny edged closer he saw it was a statuette of a small ballerina. Gingerly, he managed to seat himself on a wooden chair, a few feet away from the tear sodden Calcite.

'My poor Lucy,' Calcite said softly, before bursting into a wailing frenzy.

Danny stood again, startled. He felt useless and incompetent. True, Calcite had not been particularly friendly to him or anyone in his year; true, he was not even sure he could say she was a pleasant person. But the thin line of respect dividing teachers and students still wavered, albeit tentatively, between them. Now, she was crying. Now she was making herself vulnerable, the ice cold impenetrable teacher. Danny would obey them, battle them, argue with them, cheek them, ignore them – but never had he been called on to comfort them. Especially Ursula Calcite, the woman of insidious nightmares.

'There, there.'

Danny murmured softly as he moved his chair closer to bend his head over hers. He could see his poetry exercise book lurking near her hand.

'Please don't cry. It can't be that bad.'

Calcite looked up at him, wet tears bulging past dissolved mascara.

'Oh but it is, Danny. It is. I cannot be helped.'

Drawn into her drama, Danny had nearly forgotten why he had come to see Calcite. A small voice whispered in the back of his head to beware. Perhaps this was another trick of Calcite's. Perhaps it was a more elaborate deception.

'Ursula.'

It felt funny using her first name, but as the image of Saffelia burned fresh in his mind Danny surged on.

'What do you know about a drugs ring in this school?'

It took all his effort not to declaim the question. A hard instinct brewed within. To demand answers to his question. To not leave and ask her to answer another day. So pitiful did she appear he could feel his inquisitiveness subsiding the longer he looked at her. He sat back and resolved to see it through. The gulps in his throat grew ever larger like the rising tide. Perhaps he should leave. The sweat built in his palms as Calcite emitted a couple of half-hearted sobs. Then, as Danny was about to get up to seek sanctuary, to leave the situation unresolved, like a broken picture, Calcite spoke.

'She was only a baby. I did love her. I didn't want that to happen. To lose her like that. She was so far gone she couldn't recognise me. Her own mother. I never meant to do all those things, to say all those things that made her hate me. She was my baby.'

Danny sat still, waiting patiently as a bird flew past the window, a twig in its protective beak.

'My daughter was my pride and joy when she was born, Danny. I loved her beyond anything else in the world. I couldn't keep myself from spoiling her when she was a baby. And then,' Calcite breathed an ominous sigh, 'and then the drugs took hold. I couldn't offer the same love anymore. Pretty soon I couldn't offer her anything else at all. Apart from the dance classes. That was where she met Saffelia, five years her junior. They played together. I think Lucy used to confide in her about me, about how bad a mother I was. And Saffelia used to confide in her about...' Calcite broke into another wail, and Danny waited until she calmed again before asking his next question.

'I thought your daughter's name was Abigail.'

Calcite looked at him and once again, like a flash of lightning in a sunny sky, Danny saw the cold penetrating eye question him, wondering how he deduced that piece of information.

'How do you know that?' she asked.

'I just do,' Danny shrugged, silencing himself in the hope she would continue and yield even more information, perhaps about Saffelia.

'My daughter's name was Abigail, that is true. She was Abbey or Monny to her friends, or to those that eventually abandoned her. Like me I guess.'

Another tear rolled down Calcite's left cheekbone. 'To me she was always Lucy, the girl in Wordsworth's forgotten poem. The girl who loved stones and rocks, flowers and trees. Oh, how I miss her Danny! How I wish she was with us right now this second!'

A heavy well of pity seemed to boil in Danny's stomach. Like quicksilver, he felt himself overheat as compassion threatened to halt his wounded purpose. Danny realised he did not have to ask anything anymore. It was true. Like the feeling he felt for Chardelia Foss, the girl he sacrificed. He found it staggering. At the outset they couldn't have been more different. Her: false and superficial and slippery. He: angry and difficult and pensive. Yet they both shared something deep: the loss of a young girl from their lives. Danny stood up and did something he never would have believed when he sat up the tree in the Snowfall Grove those many months ago. He reached over and put his arms around Ursula Calcite, as she cried salty tears into his exercise book.

*

Still no further to the truth of the drugs enigma, Tim and Amanita sat slouched against the outside wall to Calcite's classroom while Tim idly remembered the previous inhabitant. Danny could see them from where he was stood, embracing Ursula Calcite, waiting for the tears to cease.

'Are you alone?' Danny asked, before thinking about what he was saying.

'What do you mean?' Calcite asked, alarm reflecting in her tired eyes.

'I mean, is there anyone else in your life. Someone you can talk to. What about Mr Travershall?'

Calcite laughed cynically, and Danny released her from his arms.

'The day I can trust Jim Travershall is the day I'll see him hooked up to a lie detector. Even then I wouldn't be so sure.'

Danny sat down and folded his arms, stubbornly determined to eke out the story of Calcite in tiny spoonfuls. She stood up and, looking much stronger than before, began to re-apply her disturbed mascara.

'Tell me.' Danny said, abruptly.

'No.' Calcite batted back, the steeliness in her voice forcing to Danny to frown. 'I can't say anything; I don't want to be involved anymore. I never thought Saffelia would be targeted. That was the final straw. There: I've said too much. I cannot say any more.'

'Saffelia told us to go to the Snowfall Grove.'

Danny hoped the admission would force another trickle from Calcite's confession. When she turned and looked him full in the face he thought she might relent but for the first time during their encounter Danny saw bitter anger and determined resolve burn bright in her face.

'Then you must go to the Snowfall Grove.'

Their meeting was at an end. Outside Danny led Amanita and Tim down the corridor towards Appalachian's office. He would have to listen to him now; he wouldn't be able to refuse him surely? The door was ajar, and Danny saw a crack of light peep from beyond. The light of truth beckoned. At last he would acquire the tools to resolve this; to find the font of Saffelia's madness; to discover the cause of the school's hidden scourge for the past twelve months. In a sudden surge of excitement Danny burst into Appalachian's office, Tim and Amanita on his heels.

Appalachian was seated behind his large mahogany desk marking some coursework assignments. He did not look up immediately, apparently lost in thought over the mark he was about to give the essay before him.

'Professor – you have to take us to the Snowfall Grove. Now!' Danny said, almost shouting.

'Danny?' Appalachian said, looking up at him, and then to the side of him.

Danny held his gaze on Appalachian. Nothing was going to divert him from his focus in finding the solution this time.

'Sir, we have to move now! All the students who have been ill; there's a group of teachers behind it. Saffelia – her secret is held at the Snowfall Grove.'

Danny's voice pulsed with urgency, obliterating everything else in his peripheral lines of sight.

'Danny.'

A soft voice he knew to be Amanita's came from behind him. Why was she interrupting him now? Just when he found the courage to challenge the weak headmaster. Just when he was, at last, demanding answers to this crisis.

Eyes bulging at Appalachian, whose forehead remained creased in confusion, Danny was fixed ahead but from the corner of his eye he saw a shadow grow stronger.

'Danny – we're not alone,' came Amanita's voice again.

With a cold dread dissolving all the bravery in his stomach he turned to his right.

Jim Travershall walked forward, the late afternoon light revealing his face and the familiar frown.

'Danny Canterbury – your plight does indeed sound worrying. A group of teachers you say? How terrible,' Travershall said with supreme indifference. 'May I venture, given the recent circumstances of a student fainting during an examination, the investigation into Cedric Claw and Edmund Cloves and the end of school events to plan, our headmaster has...more pressing matters to be concerned with?'

Travershall smiled so sweetly Danny felt sick knowing all the power that smile concealed.

'That's why I've come to see the headmaster! To tell him there's an explanation for everything!' Danny shouted. With a sinking feeling Danny knew he was being outclassed and outplayed. There was no way he would be a match for Travershall and his soft whispers, like Iago, in Appalachian's ear.

'And of course Canterbury, I'm sure he will want to hear your story in time. Everything in time. But maybe now is not the best time, little boy? Perhaps you should run along?'

Appalachian's overwhelming silence during these suggestive insults offended Danny more than Travershall's slights. How could Appalachian have let this insect into the school? How could he have not foreseen this? Was the man going to speak at all during this confrontation?

'Maybe we should let Professor Appalachian be the judge of that.'

Danny spat out, his cheeks red with fury and Saffelia's image interchanging with Chardelia's through his hurtling thoughts.

Appalachian took a deep breath and looked round the room. From a stricken Amanita, to the imposing Timothy, to the fireball of rage presented in Danny. Finally, he looked at Jim Travershall who, once again was pretending to admire the paintwork on the office ceiling.

'Danny,' his voice was gentle and, Danny felt ominously, deeply officious, 'I think perhaps Professor Travershall is right – you should run along.'

Appalachian again looked down at the paperwork in front of him. Danny followed his eyes to the name on the top of the essay and, inspired by the seeming omnipresence of this girl, fell to his knees and began begging Appalachian in front of the desk.

'Saffelia would want you to investigate this. Do it for her.'

Before Appalachian could respond, Travershall had moved in front of the desk.

'Out!' Travershall pointed toward the oak panelled door with a solitary white finger.

As Amanita and Tim exited, Danny rose from his knees. Casting one final disparaging look at Travershall, he silently followed his two school friends.

*

The note is written on yellow paper and addressed to me in a pink envelope. I've never seen her handwriting before but I know it's from her. It has that same jasmine candlewick smell. Perhaps she rolled the parchment around the candle before she sent. Perhaps that is why the letter unfurls beneath my palm like an ancient scroll.

I move the ball of my finger across the ink, the delineation of her sublime intention, the expression of her soul, the sweet contours of discreet harmony, the words that are the vague substitute from hearing her brackish voice in my ear.

She tells me she is safe, for now. I rejoice in it.

She tells me she can't see me for a while.

I forget to tell her I love her.

**  
**Back to the Grove

The three of them stood in the visitor's reception area, the glass trophy cabinet hiding them from Appalachian's office. Danny sat down on the bottom stair of Central Spiral, which he knew led directly to the school staff room, and pondered his options.

Appalachian was refusing to help, Travershall was being as impossible as Danny knew he would be; no doubt covering his tracks. But did any of it constitute more than a refusal to help? The way Travershall thrust himself in front of the headmaster when Danny drew attention to Saffelia reminded Danny of the panic he felt a year ago when Ella Amur cocked that gun back. He wished he could have thrust himself in front of Chardelia. Damn it! It was all connected in his mind. Nightmares and dreams. Reality and fantasy. Danny had long since felt a stranger in his own school, but the fear now sweeping his limbs was a stranger in his own body. Was Travershall really innocent? Was Danny about to make a huge teenage fool of himself, yet again?

On the bottom stair Amanita and Tim sat on either side of him. Danny knew they were both thinking about going home. It was their last exam, it was supposed to be a time of celebration. They were getting nowhere with the teachers and had grown weary with resignation. It hurt Danny to think they had been defeated and should leave the matter until they returned to school to collect their exam results. Trying desperately to remember Saffelia's words in the hospital, he now saw no other rational option but to leave Plunket's, possibly forever.

With a loud slamming sound the wooden double door entrance to Plunket's opened. The spinning doors bounced off the walls with a thud and sent Appalachian and Travershall rushing into the reception area to investigate the commotion. Danny and the others stood up, watching. Through the glass of the cabinet, reflecting off the gleam of the golden netball trophy, they saw the large fuming face of Phoebe Forrest, radiating fury and towering incandescence.

'What have you fucking fools done to my daughter!?'

Phoebe boomed into Appalachian's face. He took a step back, visibly shocked at the sight of an angry parent entering his school.

'Now Mrs Forrest, perhaps if we go in to my study to discuss it a little further.'

Phoebe Forrest set a penetrating gaze upon Travershall, but again addressed the headmaster.

'I will do no such thing. I want to know why my daughter is lying in a hospital bed when she is supposed to be out celebrating with her friends at the end of her exams.'

A pleading note crept into her voice.

'What _have_ you done to her?'

Danny stared at her, embarrassed. He could not help feel shame at their illicit relationship. It was over but the horrible feeling of betrayal and wrongness gnawed at him. The three adults stared at each other aimlessly, completely oblivious to the student voyeurs concealed by Plunket's trophy cabinet. Phoebe spoke again.

'What of it _headmaster_?' Phoebe demanded again.

Danny wondered why she had said headmaster in that half-ironic way. It was almost as if they knew each other from a previous life.

Jim Travershall stepped back. Danny moved, about to stand up until Amanita grabbed hold of his arm and pulled him back down.

'Headmaster,' Travershall said calmly,' I think it best if I leave you to handle this situation alone.' With that Travershall turned his head and, looking directly through the trophy cabinet, smiled at Danny maliciously before exiting the building. Danny wanted to stand up and go after him but Amanita's grip was telling, and Tim had grasped his other arm.

'Mrs Forrest, what has happened to your daughter is truly a terrible ordeal. We have no place for the kind of...incident that has happened to your daughter in this school.'

Appalachian blustered out empty platitudes. Danny knew he had said the wrong thing the moment the words left his lips. Phoebe drew herself up to her full height, pushed out her hefty bosom and barked again at the headmaster.

'What the fuck is that supposed to mean? My daughter is the victim of a weak and callous school. She is not the perpetrator!'

Appalchian did not say a word, successfully incriminating Saffelia in Phoebe's mind with his silence. She stepped toward him and adopted a low whisper.

'Perhaps this isn't about my daughter after all. Perhaps this is about something else. Perhaps when Mr Forrest comes back from his business trip I should send him into school to have a little word with you.'

Appalachian looked terrified. Phoebe advanced, picking up the end of Appalachian's mountain-designed tie and twirled it in her hands.

'Oh yes,' she whispered in an even softer tone, 'I am sure he would want to have a little word once he realises who is head of Plunket's now.' She leant in closer so her pale cerise lips were inches from his face, 'and what he has been up to.'

Nodding ominously to Appalachian she dropped the tie and, with her head held high, and wearing more dignity than Danny had ever seen in her, marched out the wooden doors, one of which now hung from its hinges.

Once Appalachian safely retreated back inside his office, Amanita, Tim and Danny surged forward, all thinking the same thing. Bursting through the outer doors and into the curling, twisting light of their last school day, they looked round for Phoebe's car. It didn't take long for them to spot the large estate vehicle, accelerating forward towards them. Danny waved his arms outstretched, but she hadn't seen them. In a split-second decision Danny performed an act both immensely brave and incredibly stupid. He lunged into the road, throwing himself into the path of the oncoming Volvo. The tyres screeched and Danny heard the clamping, grating sound of the brakes being applied with full force as the car rested to a standstill centimetres from his feet.

Phoebe emerged from the car.

'What on earth do you think you are playing at?'

Danny rushed to the passenger seat, waving Tim and Amanita into the back seat.

'We're going to the Snowfall Grove. We can stand around here and chat if you like but it'll put Saffelia in greater danger if we do. The choice is yours.'

Phoebe looked at him for a second, about to protest. But the bottom of her pink lips quivered and Danny knew the mention of Saffelia had turned her. Phoebe got into the car and thrust out the school gates, leaving tyre marks worthy of a formula one race driver.

*

Danny had never been driven through Amberleigh town at such velocity. He looked behind him. Amanita and Tim were strapped into the back seats, one knowing, one unwitting. Beyond them out the back window, the cobbles faded into distant heat haze.

Taking a curve at speed Danny's seatbelt locked rigid and such was the force with which Phoebe drove he felt himself thrust into the seat leather. Danny looked over and saw her face riveted to the road like a bolt.

Soon they were racing through the suburbs and outlying villages that bordered Amberleigh. The roads to Fairleagh and Forradern zoomed past alongside spiky hedgerows and fields of sun-parched earth. Simple farmhouses stood out in the flat fields, pivots of life in the Northumberland country. When rows of trees began to crowd the road Danny knew they were close. The sun disappeared behind a large pine tree and the car was cast in shadow as they turned into the twig-strewn drive to the Snowfall Grove. The car park was deserted as Phoebe swung the car round to face the blank and empty field. They were surrounded on all sides by tall trees, menacing in the dipping light. When they got out of the car they watched the sun drift behind another tree as it cast long, pointed shadows across the freshly cut lawn. Out here something dark was brooding. There was a furtive stealth to this place Danny only recollected amid the site's unique mix of light and odour. Here in the twilight, isolation became abundantly apparent.

He remembered how it had been last time: the moonlight summer wanderings, the hushed stories in the tent, the jokes and giggles as everyone tried to snuggle down for sleep, the owls hooting in the trees and the sounds of bats' wings flapping from branch to branch. He remembered the hide and seek, the interruption to their brief imagined idyll and the portentous arrival of what he now knew to be a group of careless, irresponsible teachers. Saffelia had been with them all that time. It felt odd she was not here now, but that she was the reason they had come. Staring blankly at the grassy orb, lined by a perfect circle of brown-trunked oaks, Danny had no idea what he should do next.

'Come on then Danny, you've brought us all this far. What was the reason for this dramatic excursion?' Phoebe said, her voice betraying impatience.

Amanita and Tim looked to Danny also, and he felt the enormous responsibility of his sudden impulse bear down on him. Threatening to pummel him into the ground, the onus felt so strong he looked at his feet to check they weren't sinking beneath the turf. Opening his mouth to speak, to say what he did not know, he found his voice overcome by the echo of a more regular and continuous sound. The irritating noise of a machine muffled by someone's pocket, bounced off the trees and amplified the interruption.

Phoebe fished the mobile from her pocket and swung the top open, bleating into the mouthpiece.

'Hello? Yes, this is she. What? Okay. When?'

Amanita looked at Danny. Danny looked at Phoebe who was gazing into the mid-distance.

'How is she now?' Phoebe asked again of the little black device. 'I can come right now, I can come right now.' Phoebe must have identified the alarm in Amanita's eyes as she put her hand on her shoulder.

'That was the hospital. It's Saffelia. I have to go, I'm afraid.'

As Danny and Amanita struggled to release the words for their next question, it was Tim's deep voice, strong and confident that cut across them both with baritone authority.

'Is she alright?'

Phoebe looked at Tim for a moment before glancing at Danny and Amanita. She bit her lip, water welling in her eyes and obscuring her pupils.

'She's taken a turn for the worse. The hospital think she'll pull through though. I have to go.'

'Pull through?' Danny asked, rushing to Phoebe's side, half-thinking he would ask to accompany her to the hospital. It was happening all over again.

'That makes it sound...as though she might...'

The word was not said, the meaning heard ten times louder as a result. Phoebe looked him hard in the eyes.

'I have to go, Danny.'

'Take me with you,' Danny countered, not believing she would refuse.

'I'm afraid that is impossible.' Phoebe bent over Danny and whispered in his ear so only he could hear. 'You made your decision a long time ago.'

She opened the car door. Before Tim and Amanita could argue or mobilise a stunned Danny into action, Phoebe Forrest swung her car around and blasted out of the Grove car park. Sending clouds of dust emanating into the dusky sky she left the three friends alone with nothing but the grove of trees for back-up.

Without looking behind him nor afraid of the enquiring looks of Tim and Amanita, Danny strode off in the direction of the clubhouse, which appeared dark and deserted. Peering into a side window he saw nothing that looked any different from the last time he was in the clubhouse. Apart from...no it couldn't be, it was a trick of light surely...no he was right! The locked door he and Amanita had come across last year was now swung open. Wide open. He squinted his eyes but in the failing light could not see the contents. They were shrouded by the shadows of surrounding trees.

'Amanita – take a look!' Danny insisted.

Amanita stepped up to the window while Tim went round to try the main door.

'I can't see...it's too dark...hang on...no, I can't make it out.'

'You saw something, what did you see?' Danny asked, growing excited.

'It was nothing, it's too dark, it was silly.'

Amanita spoke in a tone Danny recognised as needing to be pushed one last time.

'Go on, just tell me.'

'It looked like a...lion. Like a lion, on wheels.'

Danny stared at her, thinking maybe after all of the stress of the day she had gone a little mad. He turned to Tim who just shrugged his shoulders.

'The doors are locked and bolted and there's a big chain with a padlock. We're not going to get in without a crowbar and some wire cutters.'

'I think we should walk into the forest,' Danny said tentatively. He watched Amanita who pulled her cardigan tightly round her shoulders as the warm evening air began to thin.

'What for?' she asked.

'I think that's where they're growing them. The drugs.'

Amanita shivered as a breeze rustled the trees and Danny heard the light sway of leaves touching leaves.

'How will we see in the dark?' Tim asked, observing the fading sun and failing light.

Danny struggled to come up with a positive answer except haste.

'Come on, let's go,' he said and marched off across the orb shaped field, hoping that against their better instincts his two friends would follow.

He felt it now. The cooling wind brushed his cheek and made his hairs stand on end. Goose pimples on his arms and legs stood proud. Walking across that field – though he had done it many times before – now felt like the pathway to an alien world. The sun had descended but its departure filtered copper shades and bronze shapes in the air amid scattered clouds. It was an illusory false dawn; eventually kneeling before the thick navy sky that arrived like a sentry to guard the oncoming dusk. In this light the orb appeared a carpet of purple grass. He smelt the familiar aroma of grass at twilight intermingle with the odours rising from the trees. Soon he would be there, at the rim of the orb, at the edge of the forest, and he hadn't looked behind him once. He didn't need to.

'What now?' Amanita asked, intertwining her arm with Danny's for warmth.

The arrival of the first affection Danny received from Amanita since the night they kissed nearly forced a tear to Danny's eye. He breathed in slowly and caught another whiff of that kaleidoscopic yet unearthly smell. It instantly reminded him of the party when Saffelia had...

'We follow the smell,' Danny said confidently. 'Can't you smell it?'

Soon they were trudging through thick undergrowth, tripping over twigs, avoiding low lying branches. Still the smell grew stronger. They passed a clearing Danny recognised as the one where he and Amanita had stopped a year ago to admire wild flowers. As Danny expected the light was dissolving. Slow at first, and then with a speed belied by its arrival. Tim walked into Danny by mistake, not being able to see. No longer could the trio pick out the trail they were following and the first prickle of panic ran down the back of Danny's neck.

'I can't see anything Danny,' Amanita whispered.

'Why are you whispering?' Danny asked, as an owl hooted in the distance.

She squeezed his arm so tightly he knew she had spotted something or even worse, heard someone. Someone other than the three of them. They crouched behind an old oak tree, listening intently. Wrapping their clothes even tighter around them they felt an icy wind blow through the wood. At first there was nothing, just the leaves rustling and the odd night-time sounds of hidden wildlife. Then, there was an odd sound that jarred with the panoply of forest noise. While Tim and Amanita bent closer, straining to hear, Danny recognised it instantly as the voice of his maths teacher, Grace Downly.

'I couldn't...I mean she was only a second year. She was crying.'

There was nothing in response. Irritated by the pervading silence Danny leant closer to hear better, and clumsily stepped on a twig. The resultant crack pierced the silence almost like an explosion.

'Did you hear that? I think there's someone there?'

Grace's voice rang out again, only to be greeted by another silence. Danny's heart skipped a beat, and Amanita's grip on his arm tightened as he held his breath.

'Must have been a badger or something,' Grace said to the invisible presence. 'I presume you will be taking some more back tonight?' Grace said again, her voice quivering. 'Look, I didn't want to cause any trouble – can't we just sort this out like friends?'

Again there was silence. Again Danny heard the pulsing heartbeats of his two friends. They drummed nature's rhythmic response to the adrenaline surge the tension invoked. Danny peered out from between trees and caught his first glance of Grace, or rather the silhouette of her large figure against a shaft of torchlight in the middle distance. He mustn't step out too far, or he too would be caught in the glare. He could not see who held the torch.

'I never meant to get in this far,' Grace said again, her voice pleading that made something within Danny chime with sympathy. 'I never meant to hurt anyone, I thought it would just be about...I'm sorry!' she cried.

Danny's heart beat faster. It was so loud against the quiet night he was sure someone would hear it. There was no movement or sound from the invisible torch-bearer, who now must have been standing still for over ten minutes.

A click resounded and echoed round the trees. Amanita gasped. There was a momentary silence in which Danny tried to retrieve the sound from his memory. It seemed to be buried deep in his unconscious. Before his mental pulses could pinpoint the nature, direction and pitch of the mechanical note conclusively, there was another, more obvious disturbance.

'Noooo!' screamed Downly, her blood-curdling scream making the trio jump and sending shivers of fear whipping down their spines.

They felt the rush of the wind as Grace Downly flew past them, unseeing and unseen. Listening to her fading moans as she negotiated twigs and branches, not meant to be taken at speed, the three of them watched the torchlight rebound off the dark trees and disappear in the same direction.

The fear surged through Danny, cleaving his back in spasmodic ripples. They accumulated at the base of his spine like a growing pool of horror threatening to flood his soul. What had Grace seen? What had the sound been they all heard? He knew before he wanted to. The horrible dawning thought of Chardelia falling in the river of fear last year. The noise Ella Amur created before she pulled the trigger towards her, and released Chardelia from worldly torments. It could only be the unmistakeable sound of a gun being cocked.

Amanita was breathing in his ear in primal grunts.

'We...have...to...get...out...of...here!'

Danny glanced to the side of him. Tim crouched on the floor examining a transparent plastic pouch.

'This fell from Grace as she ran past. I saw it fall from her pocket.'

Danny edged out from behind the tree, still nervous but confident Grace's pursuer had fled the scene.

'What is it?' he asked, knowing with one glance.

Tim dipped his finger in, about to taste the white powder before Amanita reached out as fast as wildfire and grabbed his wrist sharply.

'Don't – we don't know what it is!'

'I think the coast is clear,' Danny said. 'Come on let's get out of here.'

They walked on in the silence of the night. With no light at all it was much harder to find their way back to the grassy orb. After twenty minutes of wandering and bumping through thorny bushes and impenetrable trees, a cloying feeling of panic began to grip the trio.

'What if we never find our way out of here? Amanita moaned as the three of them ducked under a nest of adjoining trees, each branch seemingly embracing that of its neighbour.

'We will,' Tim said resolutely. 'We have to.'

Gritting his teeth, Tim led the two of them through the trees.

Danny said nothing. Amanita's voiced concerns echoed his larger unspoken fears. With little shelter but the trees to protect them against the cold wind, it looked like they may have to spend the night here. Worse than this, he knew they were not alone in the forest. None of them were safe while someone dangerous with a torch and possibly a weapon prowled the foliage.

Another half hour passed with the three of them rambling determinedly through the blackness. With a sinking feeling Danny recognised the spot they had passed ten minutes ago.

Wasting time, trapped in circles, they couldn't seem to pinpoint the area where the path diverted. Danny never knew the Grove was this big. For the sake of everyone staying calm, he hoped no-one else noticed. As soon as this hope was formulated it was immediately dashed.

'Wait a minute,' Amanita said, stopping in her tracks. 'I've seen this spot before.'

Tim also stopped and stared at Amanita.

'What do you mean?' he said, accusingly.

'Guys, keep your voices down please!' Danny whispered.

'What do you mean?' Tim said again, in a louder voice.

'I mean we've been going round in circles! Unless you can find us a trail out of here it looks like we'll be spending the night.'

Amanita spoke deliberately cruelly, out of irritation with herself for not asserting her doubts sooner.

'Well if you're such a brilliant orienteer, why don't you try and find us a way out? Do you think I'm desperate to sleep on a bed of twigs?' Tim said again, even louder.

'Please!' Danny said, worried they would be heard. Tim squared up to Amanita in the darkness.

'You just think I'm thick, don't you? You're always going on about how clever you are, how you're going to ace the exams. I'm sick of it. Well if you're so clever, think your way out of this one,' Tim said.

'I never asked to be here with you two,' Amanita said, continuing in a spiteful vein. 'I'd sooner be at home in bed. But no, I had to agree to get caught up in another stupid escapade.'

A malicious silence fell over the trio.

'Saffelia is our friend.' Danny said in a low voice, wondering if he could forgive Amanita for what she had just said. Somewhere an owl hooted. Rustling in the trees could have been wind. Or it could have been someone listening to their conversation. Without warning Tim turned on Danny.

'Yes mate, but she was my girlfriend. If anyone should be leading this particular expedition it should be me.'

Danny's mouth fell open in disbelief. With two deft swoops Tim revealed his deepest insecurities.

'Well if you felt like that why didn't you say something earlier, you fool!'

Danny shouted, the anger inside of him burning any instinct to remain quiet and safe.

'Who are you calling a fool?'

Tim approached Danny who instinctively, like an animal of prey, took a step back. As he did, a curious sensation surrounded Danny, filtering his fear. At first it was the assured and assumed knowledge there would be earth to step back on to. When it didn't materialise and his foot fell into the badger set his other foot, expecting to follow, flew up in the air. Danny cursed the ironic lack of trees for him to hold onto as he fell backwards onto his back, banging his head against a slat of wood.

'Oww!' shouted Danny, watching red and blue stars flashing in front of his eyes. 'Damn tree!' he shouted to nobody in particular.

'That's not a tree mate,' Tim said, looking at him with alarmed eyes.

Danny pushed himself up, throwing Tim a dirty look in the process. He saw at once he had fallen against a wooden fence that had otherwise been hidden by vines and undergrowth. The second realisation was this was the same fence with which he had tried to hide from Amanita a summer ago.

'I know this place!' Danny said, excited.

'Yes, so do we,' said Amanita, her voice dripping with bored irony. 'It's the Snowfall Grove.'

'No, no no,' said Danny, chuckling to himself at the misunderstanding.

'Yes, yes, yes,' said Tim, deliberately trying to goad Danny into confrontation.

Danny stared at him – his best friend. He had only been trying to protect Saffelia all year. Although not meaning anything by it, he knew now what Tim thought – that Danny hadn't made a very good job of it. He didn't know if Tim found out about him and Saffelia's mother. To tell him now – well it might ease Tim's anger at him – but it was not the time or the place.

'This is the fence where I played hide and seek last summer – over there,' Danny pointed over the fence, 'there's a house and fields and flowers...' His voice trailed off as a gust of icy wind blew past. Danny saw Amanita shiver and felt a blast of guilt from bringing them both here. He had to find something; to make the journey, the trek, the misadventure and the arguments worthwhile.

'I'm going to take a look,' Danny said.

His scurrying feet dug in the mud to gain purchase on the back of the fence. At his first attempt he reached for the top of the wooden slat, but the dark forced him to misjudge. With gravity's grasp pinning him in mid-air, he stumbled back again into the bed of mud and twigs.

'Let me have a go.' Tim said in a conciliatory tone of voice, but Danny's stubbornness roused.

'No. I'm going to do this.'

The second attempt was more elegant. He launched himself at the fence and managed to fix a hold with his left hand on the top edge. Using his arm as a lever he pulled himself up. With a sly glance at the other two, Danny disappeared over the splintered top before landing softly on the other side.

A crunch sounded as his feet touched the ground. Glancing down he saw nothing but glints of gold. As he brought his eyes to the field before him, and the house which towered over it, he opened his mouth for words but the cold air took them from him. A light emerged from the top bedroom in the house and cast wide beams of light through its windows, two arms reaching into the darkness towards Danny. The light illuminated the field. Danny saw a canopy stood in the centre. No white flowers bloomed, but hundreds, possibly thousands of transparent plastic bags lined the plant rows. The potent white powdery substance gleamed like snow in the light reflected from the house. It was here: he had found it at last. Saffelia had been right all along and Danny had been right to bring Tim and Amanita here. A sense of triumph momentarily flowed through his body before the full weight of what he faced hit him. Drug running. School teachers exploiting students. Who was protecting him?

The two soft thuds behind told him Tim and Amanita had landed on the soft peat.

'What on earth?' Tim exclaimed, helping up Amanita who had landed and fallen forward on her knees.

'I only bought these jeans last week,' Amanita said, frenziedly trying to brush away the dirt from the embroidered pattern beneath. Pausing mid-speech she looked up at Tim, then Danny and finally at the rows and rows of neatly lined white packets.

'Looks like we found the drugs then,' she said calmly.

'We need to go in the house,' Danny said firmly.

'Are you crazy?' Tim asked, rolling his eyes. 'We don't even have any weapons.'

'We don't need any,' Danny said. 'We have teenage dexterity on our side.'

They walked slowly towards the house, taking care not to trample on the plastic bags and to avoid the rays of light radiating from the house. As they approached, it seemed to Danny a tractor beam from some alien spaceship pulled them all against their will.

Blackness surrounded them as they began to walk up the path to the glazed front door. Danny thought he saw something odd. He couldn't be sure. Perhaps...no. But maybe... Yes! The door was ajar. He heard the sound of a tap running and tentatively pushed the door open.

'Hello?' he called out without conviction. Tim shook his head.

'Is there anyone here?' he bellowed, making Amanita and Danny jump. 'Is there anyone here we should know about? Particularly anyone who wants to do away with us?'

Danny looked at Tim, who grinned with thick-skinned affability. Shrugging his shoulders by way of unfelt apology he followed Danny into the kitchen. No-one here. Danny stared for a moment at the tap. It ran clear water but he thought he saw specks of something dark in the sink. Wanting to turn on the kitchen light to check what it was, he reluctantly concluded it was not wise. Resolve, like wakefulness, was failing him.

Congregating in the hall the three of them silently gestured to each other. Danny pointed up the stairs. Amanita met his gaze and nodded gravely. Danny stepped lightly onto the carpeted staircase. Delicately, they advanced all the way to the top and began to approach the room from which the light shone. As he shuffled along the landing toward the lighted room Danny's heart starting throbbing like a bass drum. He could see the rim of artificial glow frame the edge of the door, like a rectangular eclipse. Upon his next step a creak rose up from the floorboards. All three of them stopped in their tracks, praying to themselves. Danny reached the door, and mentally spoke to himself, "Well, here goes nothing" before turning the knob until it clicked open.

They faced a well-lit children's bedroom. Across the ceiling ran three thick wooden beams. In one corner stood a bunk bed, neatly made up, with pillows showing a light blue cartoon train design. From waist high upwards the walls were playfully painted in buttery yellow. A colourful border ringed the room and concealed the edge of deep lilac paintwork which reached down to the pink skirting board. An overflowing box of toys stood in the corner, out of which a plastic space hopper and a circus train peeped. Just behind sat a spinning top and an etch-a-sketch while above a pair of toy clowns gazed out at them with doleful expressions. On the box, engraved in light varnish read the initials 'L.C.'

These fragile details were lost on the three friends. They stared and stared directly into the centre of the room until they could bear it no more. Amanita gasped. Tears streaked her cheek and she ran back down the stairs, out of the front door, screaming at the top of her voice. A heaving Tim hurtled down the stairs to comfort her. Danny just stood where he was, limp and numb, while he gazed onto a sight which was the definition of despair.

At times like this he wished the world would close up and swallow him whole. He longed for something to anaesthetize him to revelations like that before him. Once again, immense pain laid out in front of him like an unspoken truth, the only path to take. He longed for a distraction like love to remove him from these moments. Only he knew deep down it was love that would always end up bringing him closer to sorrow. At moments like these, he longed for some wild spirit to pop out of nowhere, like in a Shakespeare play, to point out an uncommon and magical path for him to take. A path hitherto invisible. It was the knowledge he would never attain these desires combining with crashing anguish and helpless confusion that pushed him, like an invisible arm, onto his knees where he sat crying unwanted tears, thinking unwanted thoughts, feeling like a flayed curse set upon the earth.

Directly below the middle wooden beam, eyes bulging open, unmistakeably dead, hung the previously exquisitely proportioned, yet now amorphous form of Phoebe Forrest.

*

Sea of Malice

A cavalcade of adrenaline crashed through Danny's limp body. Stunned and numb, he continued staring at the lifeless form before him. At times like this he wished he could paralyse permanently his cherished lust for thought. With cruel regularity, the pleasures, solutions and fantasies that normally circulated in his mind, could about-face to reveal nightmarish horrors, like a coin landing on the wrong side, haunting and tainting his soul with indelible marks. Surprising himself, he felt able to withstand the revulsion and did not turn his gaze away. Instead he became fascinated with the human figure which dangled precariously on the creaking beam. The arms which had held him through cold winter evenings now appeared like two aimless batons. The thick gold curls sprouting from her crown still reminded of her middle-age prettiness, now lost forever. Her long legs were enshrined in black cotton. He remembered those black legs wrapped around his body but it was now too horrible to remember. Sweet memories had become bittersweet in an instant.

Danny approached the dead body, peering up at it from below in supreme wonder. What had departed Phoebe so dramatically that she was still a full physical being yet now appeared so empty? It was outrageous to Danny, the momentary seconds in which her soul had fled completely, compared to the endless sea of time stretched out in front in which she would simply not be. As natural as a leaf falling from an autumn tree. Danny glanced towards the open window, as if Phoebe's soul was waiting just beyond, and the earth expected it to reappear at any moment.

It was a long time before he summoned the courage to uncross his legs and remove himself from the room. It would mean saying goodbye to Phoebe; it would mean greeting the horrific nightmare that awaited him in the outside world; and the even more troubling memories he knew waited in later life. Jim Travershall's face flashed into Danny's mind's eye, wrenching fear and striking anger across him like a blow to his mid-riff. Somehow Danny was sure. Travershall's mock-frown smugness would not escape. Danny wanted him dead.

In an effort to deter the oncoming wave of guilt and the terrible rebirth of knowledge, Danny marshalled more of his thoughts in the direction of Travershall. He was the all-seeing, all-hearing all-powerful leader of the invaders. Too protected by an armour of distance, he was difficult to attack. The tables had been turned so quickly. Danny suspected him ever since he smelt the ginger man's aftershave, but now all evidence, all indicators lit the path to a dark figure so likely to be him. The last third was always the trickiest to prove.

Again anger, like an old friend slowly burned inside. Until he felt it warm his cheeks and create a barrier between his soul and mind he would not move. He would not let this man – an intruder, a coward, a person recklessly and wilfully transgressing the Plunket's spirit – make the school succumb to him. It was Danny's resistance, proud and strong. As silent accusations rolled round his mind like a ship weathering a stormy sea, he found himself walking back down the stairs to reconcile himself with his two friends.

Lunging back into the night air, a fresh wave of woodland oxygen greeted him like a reminder of earth's steadfast loyalty to life. He closed his eyes. Suddenly the emotion, the flow of feeling he had attempted to stem gushed freely and Danny sank to his knees. Salt water streamed forth involuntarily, creating thick puddles in the dewy mud. He opened his eyes, looking for Tim and Amanita. Squinting, his eyes still blurred by tears, he could only make out the silhouette of a figure illuminated by the pale ghost of the moon. As clouds crossed the sallow light's path, Danny became unsure if there was actually someone there. It was only when the figure stepped forward and spoke Danny knew he was not alone.

'She was always taunting me,' said the voice.

Danny wiped his eyes to look again at the person in front of him, scarcely believing the extent of deceit that had undone him.

'She always thought she was the better mother,' came the icy voice again. There was no honey dripping from it this time. Danny stood up. His knees felt wet from being sunk in the mud. The clouds cleared from the moon and he saw her full duplicitous face, white and drawn in the ghostly light, her hand hanging by her side clutching something dark and pointed.

'I thought...' Danny started.

'You thought wrong then,' Ursula Calcite cut across him. 'Jim Travershall?'

She laughed gently into the night. It was an eerie sound, with no-one to hear her or sympathise with her. This was probably the story of her life, Danny reflected.

'You didn't think a woman could orchestrate all this by herself? You thought she would need help from a man? Danny – your articles in the school newspaper, whilst admirable for their surge of teenage rebellion, were woefully misguided. Women are more powerful than men. The sooner you accept that the better.'

Danny stood still, trying to think of any escapes he could make. The terror of where Amanita and Tim now remained, or lay, shot through him like bullets. He blocked out the fear, aware it was an unnecessary distraction. He had to find out where they were, and he had to get away.

'Yes, she always liked to hang around to pick up little Saffelia after dance class. Her smug superior glance was never lost on me. She never considered how hard things might be for someone on the wrong side of town, someone without her advantages. Not any more. Now it is I who has the advantage. And her daughter has grown to know what it's like for someone on the wrong side of town,' Calcite emitted bitterly.

'Advantage? What advantages did she have?' Danny asked indignant, scared from the clunking sound the pistol made against Calcite's leather trousers.

'She had all the advantages!' Calcite shouted. 'She had a family, she had a husband – she had stability, she had it all. It wasn't through any talent – no, she was a piss-poor dancer herself. No, it was just fortune that set up Phoebe Forrest.'

Danny's head was reeling. A part of him wanted to run far away. Another part of him was riveted to Calcite's unfolding story.

'Now her daughter looks to me to comfort her,' Calcite whispered, a sullied smile crossing her lips.

'What, so you feed her drugs?' Danny shouted, his voice breaking mid-sentence and making him sound ridiculous. Calcite looked at him pityingly.

'Not quite a man yet, are you Danny Canterbury? How would you know the sublime comfort a quick shot can bring? Well, you may in due course,' Calcite said, waving the pistol around her lips seductively. 'She needed something to take the pain away. I merely provided it. Believe me Danny, after what her twisted family put her through, she needed an opiate stronger than the rest.'

'Lies! Lies!' Danny shouted, urging himself to refuse to believe Calcite. Tears stung his face as he knew, from the arcane cavern within, the worst was to come.

'Oh no Danny – you came all the way out here,' Calcite said softly, advancing towards Danny so quick his heart skipped a beat in dread. The pistol was now inches from his chest. 'You deserve to hear the truth. The full truth. You see, terrible mother I might be I never subjected my own daughter to the horror perpetrated upon Saffelia Forrest – by her own family!'

Danny opened his mouth to speak, but his brain couldn't locate the words and his throat was devoid of sound. His voice, paralysed by fear, screamed internally against the pressure of the pistol against his chest.

'She wasn't old when it happened Danny,' Calcite went on, her voice more delicate than Danny had ever heard. 'It was here, this very place, just a few yards from where we stand now. It was, I hear, meant to be a pleasant family weekend. A glorious summer picnic. Just another trip to the Grove. But, sadly for them, Luka, their errant son, Saffelia's sixteen-year old brother, had other ideas.'

Danny gulped, his eyes glaring at Calcite. Unable to move from the threat of being shot, his instinct also kicked in: for better or worse he had to hear the finale of Saffelia's story. At last he would discover what was driving his friend mad; at last he could hear what had been kept from him all year, a truth so primal and deep and disturbing it had become a taboo to acknowledge its existence.

'The family were busy picking flowers in the wood when it happened,' Calcite said breathily. 'They all got separated: Mum and Dad went off in one direction looking for primroses; Jane was in pursuit of wild herbs; Saffelia wanted to find a snowdrop, even though they all died when summer stole spring's mantle. Luka – well, he was chasing a flower of a different kind.'

Danny's eyes narrowed as Calcite continued.

'Luka caught up with Saffelia as she rustled through the hedgerows on the west side of the Grove. He told her he'd found some snowdrops on the east rim of the grassy orb. So excited was she, she ran off as fast as her legs would carry her to the other side of the field. Unfortunately for her Luka was an athletic runner, and he had been thinking all morning of a new game he could play with his sister. He managed to catch her in the middle of the field and pulled her to the ground. It all happened very fast. One minute they were giggling on the newly cut grass, brother and sister playing innocently; the next Saffelia's skirt was down, Luka's trousers shorts had been thrown to the side and they were both complicit in an appalling crime.'

Danny gasped in shock. He took a step back and fell over in the mud. The towering leather-clad, pistol waving figure of Ursula Calcite loomed large.

'She didn't say anything for a couple of years. Luka continued at school at normal. Until one day during PE Saffelia suffered a blackout in the middle of Fourlawns. The social workers, counsellors and parents eventually wrung the horrible truth from her. Sometimes I wonder if the process of extracting the truth articulated in words was more traumatic than the actual experience for Saffelia: another thing Phoebe never considered, so determined was she to clear her beloved son. Well, she didn't quite manage it, did she? Had to pack him off to an American school to get rid.'

'How...how?' Danny asked, stumbling over his words.

'How do I know all of this? I told you: Saffelia belongs to me. She is my daughter now. And a daughter's things belong to her mother as well. Including her diary.'

'You bitch!' Danny shouted, venom filling his mouth.

'Don't be too harsh on me Danny,' Calcite said tauntingly. 'We are all products of our own environment. Now, it is time for you to join your friends. Up!'

Danny stood as Calcite directed him back into the forest and led him through the trees. The night was starting to clear; dawn was rising over the tree tops. Indigo was turning to a rusty glow. The new morning was bringing with it a cloudless sky. Danny, full of fear and hatred and anger, felt an unusually heightened sense of clarity.

Soon they approached a clearing; the same clearing where the four friends had hidden from Rover and Belladonna last summer.

'Down you go,' Ursula waved with her gun ominously. 'My chums Rover and Belladonna used it for disposing of their rubbish. Very environmentally unfriendly, don't you think? I found a much better purpose. As Danny descended down the rough steps he blinked as artificial light greeted him from all sides. Tim and Amanita were sat in one corner, tied back to back and gagged with cloth and masking tape. In the opposite corner, both similarly bound and gagged, sat Grace Downly and to Danny's shock and amazement, Jim Travershall. Behind them all stood transparent sack piled on top of transparent sack. There must have been over a hundred at least. Each one was full to the brim with white powder.

He felt a prod in the back as Calcite pushed him forward with the pistol.

'No-one here to tie you up with Danny. Oh, don't worry. I'm sure Saffelia will get curious soon enough, and she'll be joining you all. Such a shame your hero Chardelia couldn't make it...'

The final taunt pricked something in Danny. A bulbous rage flared. A thousand images of Chardelia falling in the water; Janna crying at the tennis club; Saffelia convulsing; Phoebe's dead body swinging in the children's bedroom. Downly gasped as Danny swivelled on the spot, grabbing the barrel of the gun in his left hand. It instantly went off, sending a tiny eruption of powder into the surrounding air and temporarily blinding him. He clung on to the gun barrel for dear life. As the smoke cleared he saw the purple face of Ursula Calcite straining and her wiry arms wrestling with his to retrieve the gun. She was surprisingly strong. Her fingers, like wire tentacles, were getting closer to the weapon. As he swung her round he saw the bulging eyes of Amanita will him on. When he saw his struggle with Calcite reflected in Amanita's eyes it was hard to block the thought of Saffelia's pain. He knew. Amanita didn't. Bearing that knowledge was an extra burden he wished could be relieved. The distraction enabled Calcite to lay her finger on the trigger, the barrel pointing somewhere behind her.

As they fought, Danny saw Tim and Amanita struggle with their ropes, and Downly kick out against the concrete walls. However, it was no good for either of them. Although he was losing his battle with the ice-cold steel-nerved drug-addled mother, Danny was their only hope. It was a contest between duplicity and honesty, corruption and purity, malevolence and morality, a grown woman and a growing man. Danny was grasping for a hold on her arm as she nearly wrenched the gun from his grip. Danny looked again at the four hostages: Amanita desperate with her attempts to free herself; Tim contracting and bulging his muscles in an effort to split the ropes; Grace Downly looking on in disturbed horror; Jim Travershall, his feet trying to gain some purchase on the concrete, to allow him to stand. Finally, he looked again into the face of Ursula Calcite and thought he saw behind the narrowed eyes, a hint of remorse drowning in a sea of malice.

A deafening, cracking sound rent the tension and split the air with smoke. The gun had gone off. A large cloud of powder spewed from the steel barrel. It was followed by a loud human groan. In that human noise, Danny thought he detected sounds synonymous with shock. Then weariness. And finally, painful resignation. The grip on his arm loosened and the smoking gun fell into his grasp. Danny fell to his knees as he wept over another dead body.

*

Danny shut his eyes. In the few seconds he was immersed in blackness it felt like an alternative lifetime. Somewhere untouched within himself he did not have to face this awful horror, this outrageous trauma called life. He felt a hand on his shoulder and opened his eyes. Jim Travershall had moved round so he faced Danny. Again Danny saw that familiar frown as Travershall surveyed his face, tracks of anguished sobs and salty tears staining his cheeks.

'Danny. She is dead now. It's over,' Travershall murmured, his hand still squeezing Danny's shoulder.

Danny found it difficult to speak. Once Jim had untied the others, they all had to help Danny back up out of the bunker. His legs had become limp and useless. Outside they saw the icy wind had been a harbinger to a broader downfall. As they emerged from the darkness of the bunker, the dawning sun lit up a field of white. Snowflakes had fallen on the tree branches, the leaves and the grassy floor. As they trudged away to the orb, Danny gazed up at the sky – an indistinguishable canvas of ash and slate, cream and pewter – and thanked God he was still alive.

*

Whispers passed around the playground like a plague of hissing snakes. Sprogs and students stood in groups in the sparkling sunshine, shirt sleeves rolled up, ties lopsided, some wrapped around their foreheads like native americans. They shared the gossip that their friend's brother's mate had overheard in the form room that terror had returned to Plunket's. Another teacher had died.

The snow had passed now. Soon they would all know, Danny thought, as he watched Rover Burberry and Belladonna Whimsy stalk furtively across the tarmac, hand in hand, towards Craftwork, the CDT block. Hmm, I know what you're about to do, Danny reflected as he turned his gaze towards the sea.

The great North sea: sometimes it was the only place that could exercise a calming influence on his soul. Danny's affinity with the water had been permanently marked in him last year. Today it fizzed and popped gently against the rough sand and shale shore below. At times a glittering cerulean, at times a tranquil bean-green, like the shade of Chardelia's eyes. Danny breathed the thick salty air hungrily, gulping down the atmosphere as if it were manna from the cornflower clouds. When those sounds combined with that vista he felt he was transported back in time. Back in time a year ago, when he might have had the chance to change the way events unfolded. Moisture stained his cheek. It could have been sea spray, it could have been humidity-induced sweat, but he knew it was neither. He moved his hand up to his face to wipe it away, only to find it being replaced by another rolling drop of salt water. Chardelia was not on his mind now – he had partially reached an understanding with his grief about her fate – but Saffelia and the knowledge of the sustained grief she would have to bear. The undesirable knowledge that can only be attained by experience. Some weird part of him felt he was passing her a baton. It was her turn now, and Danny's turn to be the guard and guide. He thought of her at home alone with her father, wondering if the family would reunite, or not. A shudder of revulsion pulsed through him like a wave of fear, and suddenly he was back. Back. Back in the cave, gazing deep into Flambeau's eyes and praying for some miracle.

He leaned forward on the fence and hunched over it as he watched the sea crash against the rocks. White surf bubbled up and descended down again like an indecisive angel, perpetually teasing him with her slow approach before withdrawing at the crucial moment. A hand on his shoulder, thin ivory fingers and an aroma that smelt like home, although he would never admit it to her.

'Hi Janna,' he said before turning to face her.

'Thought you might want some company,' Janna said, squeezing his shoulder. Danny smiled at her and looked into her sky-blue eyes, steady and freedom-inducing

'Are you going to attend graduation?' Janna asked.

'Might as well. Nothing better to do. As good a way as any to round off the year. Where's it going to be held?'

'The Snowfall Grove', Janna replied without missing a beat. 'It had been planned for weeks. Before...'

Danny smiled to himself at the irony. For a few moments they both watched the groups of students, still huddled as if discussing a conspiracy to overthrow the school.

'What are they saying?' Danny asked, indifference infiltrating his tone.

'Oh, the usual. A teacher gone. A major drugs bust foiled. Belladonna and Rover are engaged, you know. A few people are gossiping about that. Apparently Travershall's going to be leaving next year. Hazel Brock overheard him telling Appalachian that he was a fool to put his trust in Calcite, and apologised for recommending her. No-one's really talking about Saffelia, or her mum. All the parents are threatening to pull their students from school. None of the students want it though; nothing this exciting has happened at Plunket's for, well, a year...'

Janna's dulcet voice faded into an uncomfortable silence. Danny knew she was desperately trying to avoid the subject.

'I never did thank you.' Janna said quietly.

'For what?' Danny asked, looking at her full in the eyes.

'For saving my life.' Janna replied.

For a moment confusion clouded Danny's mind; what was Janna talking about? Before he could put his finger on it, she was kissing him softly on the mouth, before walking back across the playground, her distinctive lengthy stride growing smaller in the distance. He looked up, and saw some movement in a distant turret.

*

**  
** The Unique Grace

Amanita was sat at the computer monitor, avidly typing, barely blinking. Her face was lit by the glare from the screen.

'I thought I might find you here,' Danny said, catching his breath back after the walk up the stairs.

'I have to finish this for the last edition,' she said, still concentrating on the computer screen.

'What is it – another expose on the Parent's and Teacher's Society? A round-up of the year's romances? Predictions on student's grades?' Danny asked, taking a seat on the squashy maroon sofa facing Amanita.

'Not quite,' she said, a mischievous smirk crossing her plain features.

'Do you realise,' Danny began, reflecting on the year's events, 'we might never come back here after this year? It's come so quickly, the end. It's like I never expected it to happen. It seems like only yesterday that I walked through those gates – a small, timid boy afraid of the world, with what seemed like an eternity of authority ahead of me. Now it's over, or very nearly over. We're being cut free Amanita – I'm not sure I like it.'

Amanita whacked out a dramatic full-stop on her keyboard, and turned to look at Danny.

'Go on – I'm listening.'

'Well, everyone will be leaving – going their separate ways. It's like the end of an era.' Danny finished, somewhat clumsily.

'Not getting sentimental are we Danny?' Amanita said.

'No, it's not that. It's just – so much has happened here. I can't believe we won't be here at the start of next year.'

'Come over here.' Amanita said, smiling at Danny and pointing to her computer screen. 'There – take a look at that!'

Danny read down the page. It was a layout of the front cover of the _Oracle_ , the headline unmistakeable as it covered the whole page: Plunket's to open sixth form.

'What?!' Danny cried as Amanita sat there proudly.

'Yes – there's going to be a sixth form,' she said into Danny's face of incredulity. 'Come off it Danny – you never wanted to go to the local college did you? This way we can stay at Plunket's for another two years, stay with all our old friends and, even more importantly,' a twinkle gleamed in Amanita's eyes, 'we can continue with the _Oracle_!'

Danny didn't know whether to laugh or protest. He was about to do one or the other when he noticed an elderly gentleman, who seemed to have appeared from nowhere. He swept the floor in the corner of the room.

'Oh don't mind me, young sir and miss, I'm just tidying up for the summer break,' said Dunstan Blackbuck, the caretaker, his grey hairs turning silver in the sunlight. A sudden quiet descended on both Amanita and Danny and seemed impenetrable as Blackbuck continued unabashed.

'A sixth form eh? In all my years I never thought they'd put a sixth form here. Usually by their fourth year here students are ready to leave. Not you two eh? Ah well, I suppose it can't do any harm, unless...'

Blackbuck paused and looked out the window at the playground, casting his glance down to the sea and rocks below, and the caves and coves buried within them. Amanita and Danny looked quizzically at each other during Dunstan's enigmatic silence.

'Unless what, sir?' Danny ventured.

'Ah, just the silly musings of an old man. I was going to say unless it attracts...unwanted visitors. We've only just got rid of one, we don't want to invite him back.'

'Who? Who do you mean?' Danny blurted in an insistent tone, forgetting himself and stepping towards the old man. Worried Dunstan might step back or look intimidated, Danny was disabused when Blackbuck took a step forward to meet his steady gaze. His pale eyes penetrated as calmly as the joker with the knife.

'Why I mean the fiery one, of course Master Canterbury. You don't think he has forgotten about you, do you? Be on your guard, Master. He wasn't always bad; he made a lot of friends – some of them couldn't see the difference between the bad and the good, some got taken in by him.' Blackbuck said conversationally.

Danny's mind raced away from him.

'Are you saying that Ursula – she was one of his?' Danny whispered into those slate blue eyes, shining brighter than the sunlight from the window.

'Something happened to him Master Canterbury, something happened to make him bad. Be on your guard!' Blackbuck warned Danny, as if no-one else was in the room.

'What do you mean? What happened to him? Was Calcite his?'

'Master Canterbury,' said Dunstan, before the door creaked open and in walked Tim munching on a piece of ginger cake. Amanita and Danny swung round to see who the intruder was. In the instant it took them to pivot back they both realised that Blackbuck was gone, his vacancy marked by a remarkably clean patch of floor.

'He must have nipped down the back exit,' Amanita said. 'Well done Tim, she said ironically.

'I've never been congratulated for eating cake before, but I must say it's a most pleasurable experience. Do keep it up Amanita,' Tim said joking. She scowled.

'How's Saffelia?' Danny asked, and Tim's face darkened.

'She's...well, she's not so good obviously. Fighting fit again, nothing wrong with her physically,' Amanita raised her eyebrows at this, 'But, well, I don't think she truly understands that she's lost her mum yet.'

Tim's words echoed in that unknowable, haunted place in Danny's brain. The room filled with silence and Danny walked to the window again, looking down at the rocks. He could feel their gazes upon him; he didn't want to face them. Some part of him wanted to break the glass and jump – a hundred metres down below to sweet oblivion. Another part of him, a stronger part, was telling him his path lay elsewhere.

*

A huge white pyramid stood statuesque in the middle of the Orb like a dramatic three dimensional arrow pointing up to the heavens. All of the students of Danny's year were seated on dinner tables, dressed in tuxedos and summer dresses. Ian Phalanger made rude shapes from the decorous napkins. Florence Croft and Lorraine Carr were busy applying make-up and checking the heels on their shoes were still intact. At the front of the marquee a long table stretched out before the students. Seated behind it were Professors Pry, Wonder, Fuzzair, Alessandro and finally, Appalachian.

Appalachian rose, about to speak. Students continued to chatter. It was only when Professor Pry stood (only raising her height an inch or so) that students' noise translated to hushed whispers, before ceasing into silence.

'Students! Or should I say, young men and women ready to begin their journeys into the world?' Appalachian began, his grandiloquence booming into spectacular ignorance. Students slouched in their seats and yawned. Appalachian continued, unfazed by the lack of interest. 'This year has been a hard year, it has been a tough year, it has been a year full of surprises.'

Tim nudged Danny.

'Yeah. Mostly cause he's been a bullshit headmaster,' he murmured.

'We have all worked hard – most of us – and now we are set to reap the rewards of our earnest endeavours. May I wish you all the very best when receiving your GCSE results, and I'm sure you will have done you, your teachers and your parents proud. There can be no finer educational achievement!'

Apart from A-levels, or a degree, or a Masters, Danny thought.

'Of course, there will be changes in your life in the future. Some of you will be leaving full time education. For those of you whom these examinations will be your last, for a while at least, please remember learning is a lifelong experience. While your education may no longer be confined to the four walls of a classroom it is important, indeed it is vital to make room for learning in your future lives. For those of you who will be continuing, I have a pleasant surprise.'

Appalachian paused and momentarily scowled as Amanita lifted the latest issue of the _Oracle_ and began reading, the front page clearly visible to all those who had not had a chance to read it. The point was subtly made: Amanita was already one step ahead of the school authority. She looked over at the table, at Professor Pry, who smiled back.

'As I was saying,' Appalachian continued, his voice faltering, 'I am very pleased to announce that as from next year St Oliver Plunket's will open a Sixth Form. We are exceptionally pleased to say we will be adopting all of the A-level students from the local college, as well as those of you here who will continue with your A-levels.'

A ripple of murmurs passed from table to table at the news. Some already knew, having read Amanita's special edition of the _Oracle_ , but for those who hadn't there was a mixture of smiles and frowns. Appalachian continued.

'This will be a unique opportunity for lots of you to make new friends, meet different people and develop richer experiences.'

A few students giggled. Appalachian for some reason did not hear, and continued.

'There will be a distinct difference between those in the sixth form and those in the lower school. For one, uniform will not be mandatory in the sixth form...' Appalachian paused while several people cheered and applauded at this news. 'Secondly, sixth formers will have their own common room, which they can visit independently of anyone in the lower school. Thirdly and finally, in an effort to introduce the world of work on an ongoing basis to students, sixth formers will open and run their very own student bar!' More cheering and applause followed. 'This new student bar will be built on the south side of Amberleigh Castle and will, of course not sell alcoholic drinks.' Groans greeted Appalachian's last comment.

'As I mentioned, we all have to face change in our future lives. Unfortunately St Oliver Plunket's has this year has been the target of a small group of intensely malicious drug dealers. As most of you will now be aware, this led to the deeply regrettable death of one of our teachers at the end of the summer term. I am pleased to say this team of evil predators has now been rooted out and expelled from the school. However...'

It was too much. Danny was on his feet, shouting with all his heart, his cheeks unconsciously flushing bright red. The notes he had made earlier were memorised in his head. He was not going to let this opportunity pass.

'What about all the promises you made?! Did you think we'd forgotten? What about us no longer being the target of terrorists. What about us no longer facing the hub of horror, the prey of panic-makers, the denizens among whom demons reside! Do promises not mean anything to you, or are they merely words meant to seduce and manipulate. What about your promise to us. Do you remember that Professor? Your very eloquently made promise made to all of us when you took over as Head: that you will be harsh on terror, and harsh on the origins of terror!'

Standing defiant, Danny finished. His eyes blazed with anger. With folded arms his steady gaze bored into Appalachian like an unrelenting drill. Danny saw him move on his feet, as if he was almost about to sit down. Then at the last second, he saw Alessandro make some movement and Appalachian was back on his feet facing down Danny with fear in his weary, lined eyes.

'As I was saying...' Appalachian continued, but Danny was not going to be ignored.

'Aren't you going to answer my question?!' Danny demanded. All students' eyes had turned upon him. Appalachian let his gaze meet Danny's and addressed him directly.

'Danny – if you will allow me to continue, your answer will become apparent. As I was saying, however we must all face the challenge of change. And that includes myself. As of next year,' Appalachian paused to gulp. He tried to hide it but it was visible to everyone, 'as of next year, I will no longer be your head. Along with some of our other teachers, I will be leaving Plunket's, for pasture's new as it were.'

Increased murmuring and whispers echoed round the dinner tables. No-one, not even Amanita had anticipated this.

'A new headmaster or headmistress will be appointed in due course. And so, in conclusion, please may I ask you to raise your glasses while I propose a toast to you all: You're the future now. So make the most of it.'

Appalachian sat down again. Danny stared at his palms. Had he done it? Something had happened above him, without him but was it because of him? He slunk off into the corner as the dance floor was cleared for the band, and reflected on whether the power a sixteen-year old boy kept hidden was, after all, more potent than he thought.

Twilight passed as Danny watched the revellers from his year fall from the marquee, stumbling drunkenly in his direction. Mary Oconee and Olive Spritser giggled incomprehensibly, tripping over the hem of their dresses.

'You know Tim, I don't think I could ever imagine myself getting that blind drunk,' Danny said quietly.

'Couldn't you?' Tim said, taking another swig from his Budweiser.

A pleasant silence fell between the two friends. They sat among the trees' edge, drinking their drinks, watching the night blackness fall, making the rim of the orb more invisible with each passing second. Dawn Russet and Samuel Mills walked out of the tent, arm in arm, heading towards the woods with furtive urgency.

'What do you suppose those two are up to?' Tim asked.

'I dread to think, but I hope he's thought about the future.' Danny said. It had been last week when he visited Anjalie Marjoram and his son, now over a year old. During the time they played with his new toys Danny felt an enormous weight lift from his shoulders. As though God spoke to him through his son. He brushed the idea aside with his cynical casualness. He had never really been the religious type, but life had a funny way of surprising him with small pleasures when he was surfing headlong into emotional meltdown.

The last of the students exited the marquee, laughing and talking with increasing volume as taxis pulled up in the Grove car park. Amanita appeared at the edge of the tent, chatting to Professor Wonder.

'What do you suppose is being said in that romantic interlude?' Tim asked.

'Do you think he's proposing?'

A beat, and both Tim and Danny burst into loud laughs, turning the heads of both Wonder and Amanita. A tall dark-haired woman walked over to the pair, carrying a child, and holding the hand of another.

'Uh-oh. Looks like Amanita's about to be displaced,' Danny said, watching Wonder's wife as she embraced her husband. Amanita strolled over to Danny and Tim.

'Hello you two – having fun?' Amanita said, with enforced cheeriness.

'Didn't it work out?' Tim said, half-giggling. 'She has had two children with the man after all.'

The thwack that greeted Tim's ear was enough to make Danny get up, still laughing, to distance himself from the arguing pair. He walked into the woods a little and looked up at a tree that seemed familiar. A few moments passed and he sat at the base of the tree trying to remember why it seemed to make his heart tremble. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a figure approach. A girl in a yellow dress with a wide pink belt, walking slowly forward.

'Hello Danny, how are you?' asked Saffelia.

He stood, shocked. Danny had thought Saffelia was still at home, resting and grieving with her family. He felt a fool facing her after all that had happened, after all he had found out, after everything that had passed and now ended, between him and her dead mother.

'It's alright,' Saffelia said instantly. With these words a wind of spiritual calm grasped Danny's soul. 'I can imagine how you must feel.'

'I can't imagine how you must feel,' Danny said, tears forming in the crest of his eye. Before their wailing began they were in each other's arms: hugging, comforting each other and crying. It was terrible, it was awful and it was incomprehensible. But more than these crushing emotions Danny felt completely and utterly that for Saffelia, while her grief was beginning, now and forever her torment had ceased.

'Are you okay?' Danny asked as they pulled apart.

'I'm going to be okay. I'm Saffelia Forrest. I will always be my own person – generous and kind. Thank you Danny.'

She leant over and kissed him lightly on the cheek. Danny looked over her shoulder at the tree that had rooted him to the spot. It was the same tree in which he conducted his first conversation with Ursula Calcite. Breathing deeply the engulfing smells of the forest, he stared with unafraid fascination at the tree and the infinite trembling in his heart finally subsided.

*

It was during a late summer Saturday morning, the weekend before he received his GCSE results that Danny sought a quiet walk on his own. He wanted time to contemplate the week ahead. Strolling down to the beach, he ambled along the short promenade for a while until he arrived at the dunes, where wisps of tall grass hid hilly mounds of sand. Upon reaching the end he walked the dunes, sand caving into his leaking trainers before coming to rest on a light hill. Pausing, he took a seat on the crumbling shore and watched the effervescent sea roll in and out. In and then out, like a beautiful tease. Gazing out on the dramatic blue that thinned near the shore, he noticed the figure of a young woman walk along the edge of the water. She wore a white vest top and dark blue shorts, and lightly hopped as the water ran over her naked toes. Her blond hair bounced upon the nape of her neck, and she twiddled a pink and yellow ribbon between her fingers.

The shore felt soft and pleasant this morning. Millions of grains of compressed rock and stone crumbling beneath her feet. Saffelia looked up at the empty sky. The bruises down her leg itched, and the scars down her face stung. She recalled the childhood she was about to leave behind. The traumas and the happiness, the people she had known. The hidden toys she had played with Abigail Calcite at the Snowfall Grove. Larry the Lion, her beautiful Victorian Doll house. Endless stuffed animals and cuddly toys. The circus train and the pretty clowns. No-one had discovered them until Calcite had maliciously opened the cupboard. Now she had retrieved the key she locked them safely back up in the clubhouse. No-one else need ever know about them. They would be her secret. Hers and Abbey's.

She fished in the pocket of her shorts and pulled out a piece of paper. Looking at it fondly she smoothed it out in her palm. With her eye travelling slowly across the page and savouring each word, she read the letter back to herself:

Dear Saffy,

I hope you know by now that I love you, and the times we have shared together as children are irreplaceable. I know if you look on them with at least half the joy that I do you will carry supremely happy memories with you always. Between the two of us there have been wild carefree moments and there have been scarily tender moments. All a subtle consolation against the machinations of others who would thwart our heaven. How did it come to this? Both of us taken in by my malevolent mother. Both in slavery to an evil thought cruelly conceived and perfectly perpetrated.

I remember the secret glances in the changing rooms at dance class. I remember you helping me on with my new shoes. I remember playing in the Grove, running the perimeter of the orb until we lay down where we fell. I remember you scrambling up to meet us. I remember when you first started to notice boys. I remember when I had my first client. You were always there to talk me down after. In those sublime moments your sweetness made me fall. We listened to each other's trauma. My unhappy family life – and yours. I would never have guessed until you told me. Sweet passive Saffelia, I only think of you as the image of innocence, yet what you have had to endure is beyond my experience. We supported each other as true friends should. You never stopped me or stood in my way. But you were always there.

I remember that night – that cold winter night after the dance tournament. My mother had left after beating me to go and get stoned. I remember you holding me by the small dying flames in the Grove club-house. We had been playing all afternoon with the toys you had hidden there. I remember our lips touching and the balmy smell of your hair. I remember us falling asleep in each other's arms. I remember everything in the most minute detail; it is what keeps me sane when the balance threatens to spill over.

And now I come to the end, I know it is already too late for me. Do not grieve for me. We had the best of each other. Now you must go on and make something of your life. I would be no good for you in the future anyway. No-one can save me. I am best left to the mercy of nature; to the salvation of the rocks and stones and trees. I know you will understand eventually. Life dies out but love is immortal.

Never forget me – I will never forget you.

Yours ever,

Lucy xxx

Saffelia breathed in the warm morning air, the salty smell bracing her for what she was about to do. Facing the ocean, from her pocket she pulled the key to the cupboard in the clubhouse and looked at it, smiling. It was like the sea knew what was about to happen, and it roared with its deep belly, white surf prickling her toes. Birds circled a mile inland. They were expecting something. A small bird caught Saffelia's eye and she watched it whirl round in its unique grace, a circle slightly apart from the others. Saffelia understood: no longer would she follow the others; hers was going to be a life of individuality from now on. A fresh start. Saying goodbye to childhood and embracing an uncertain but exciting life where freedom opens up and asks the question: what took you so long?

With a lithe, sudden turn, she threw her arm back and propelled the key as far as she could towards the open, consuming ocean. She looked up again at the circling birds, and for the first time in her life felt she didn't need to be ashamed.

* * * *

A Violet by a mossy stone

Half-hidden from the Eye!

\- Fair, as a star when only one

Is shining in the sky!

William Wordsworth

Author's note

Thank you for downloading and reading _Saffelia Forrest and the Snowfall Grove_ , and I hope you enjoyed it.

The novel was inspired by the deep and enduring memory of studying Romantic poetry in a wonderful university in the North of England.

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 Saffelia, 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: _Robin Vernal and the Brownleaf Spring_

Robin Vernal  
and the Brownleaf Spring  
The Danny Canterbury Tales: Book III

"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."

A global search is underway for a missing child, stirring dark memories for Danny Canterbury. As hope begins to reawaken, can Danny uncover what really happened to his childhood friend – Robin Vernal?

Robin Vernal and the Brownleaf Spring uncovers a dark truth that hides behind Danny Canterbury's pain. In this arresting third installment of Dominic Jericho's coming-of-age saga hope and despair intermingle, until they face each other in a final confrontation where all bets are off.

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
