Where the World Turns Wild Page 13

  Sometimes the lynx is here and sometimes she isn’t. At one point there’s a sound and I know it’s Bear and I turn to him and I don’t know whether I’m going to scream at him or kiss him, but it’s not him at all. It’s the cat again. She’s traipsing over our strewn-out things, looking for a place to settle.

  I pick up a stick to throw at her, furious that she’s not my brother. But I don’t throw it. I sit next to her, talk to her.

  “Bear’s missing! He’s gone! We have to find him.”

  She doesn’t understand, but somehow it’s helpful to say it anyway. For the words to be out loud. It makes it real – finding him. If I say his name, he’s somewhere here. Except he’s not and at some point the cat starts washing herself – stretching out a leg and licking leisurely between each webbed toe.

  Bear’s disappeared and I hate the Wild tonight. I’m cold and I think of him colder. I’m hungry and I think of him hungrier. I’m scared and I think of him scared and crying and this is the worst thing of all. The worst thing I’ve ever felt.

  I’m not in the tent, but outside it, curled at the mouth of the sleeping bag, even though I don’t remember lying down at all.

  There’s a faint beam of early sun and the lynx is standing a few metres away, the black tufts on her ears up like antennae. Her head’s turned to one side. She’s listening.

  I want to yell Bear’s name – make him hear me – but all day yesterday I called and there was nothing. Today I have to try something else.

  I leave the note in the middle of the clearing and I follow her. The cat knows where to go. I see it – not just in her ears and her glassy unblinking eyes, it’s the alignment of her muscles. She’s lowered her body to mirror the ground and her legs stretch out slowly, deliberately, one after another.

  Maybe she’s just following some rabbit or hare but I follow her anyway. And every so often a noise sounds out into the forest. Something sharp and heavy and rhythmic.

  Thwack. Thwack.

  It stops, but the cat keeps moving in the direction the noise came from. Sometimes she’s slow. Sometimes she bounds forwards, quick, like the rabbits do. Maybe she has caught scent of one.

  Every so often, the noise starts up again.

  Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

  I’ve no idea what it is, but I know from Ghost to be quiet. Today everything’s just clearer – the tangle of roots and branches – I can see better where I fit between them. The spaces I can pass through. The unseen paths. Ghost goes first and I follow after. I’m in her slipstream.

  At some point she stops. It’s misty and still only half light and when I first see it, it’s not real at all – it’s like a mirage.

  A deer. A stag, I think, because of its size and its antlers, high above its head like some woodland crown.

  Ghost steps back, wary, even though that’s the wrong way round. Deer are her prey. Lynx catch deer. Yet this one’s out of her league, even I can see that.

  For a while everything stops and then the stag lets out this low noise – this growing moan, or bellow, or belch, from deep inside – and he’s off, to some other adventure.

  And it’s absolute madness but I’m desperate, and I take it as a sign that we’re going the right way. Maybe it was the stag that led Bear away. He couldn’t have helped himself, following something that beautiful.

  The lynx and I, we carry on moving until she stops at the edge of another clearing.

  There’s a stone building – some old barn, or cabin, or cottage, with a loop of smoke curling out from the chimney and a pile of broken logs outside, stacked in a little shed. The woodcutter’s house.

  There are two figures standing in the doorway. One big, one little.

  I hurl myself forward. “Bear!”

  He should be running to me, but he’s holding the hand of the taller person. His hand in hers. Hers because it’s a woman, not a man with an axe. She’s in a long dark coat and is leaning over him protectively.

  “Bear!”

  The woman lets go of Bear’s hand, propels him to me, and I catch him as he falls into my arms, warm and solid and scared.

  “Bear! I found you!”

  “We’ve been waiting for you to show up,” the woman says and I want to hug her too, because she’s here. So much more miraculous than that stag. A person, a woman, out in the Wildwood where I’d started to doubt anyone else could be.

  I don’t mean to stare, but I can’t stop myself. Her hair’s silver, like Annie Rose’s, except this woman’s hangs down over her face, matted with leaves and dirt. Her skin’s thick and tight like leather, and she has small sharp eyes. I think of the fox in the Emporium.

  “I wanted to look for you. I wanted to come back,” Bear’s saying breathlessly, pulling at me. Tugging at my sleeve to bring me lower, taking both my hands in his. “Juniper!”

  “But it was too dark, wasn’t it, when I found you last night?” the woman says kindly to Bear. “Didn’t it happen just like I told you it would? That we’d light the fire first thing this morning and your sister would come. Like a moth to a flame. Our signal worked!” She’s beaming at me.

  I don’t say that it wasn’t the smoke. That it was our lynx cat.

  Ghost’s disappeared anyway. I look around the line of trees but she’s already gone.

  “I found your brother as the light was falling. Wandering around sobbing his heart right out. Without his coat as well!”

  “Thank you! Thank you for finding him!” The words fall out of me.

  The woman’s laugh is shrill. “He made it easy. The volume he was crying at!”

  I shake my head, confused. “I didn’t hear anything. I was calling, calling.”

  The woman smiles. “Sounds are funny out here. The wind takes them away. Sounds can disappear, just like people can.”

  “I thought I wouldn’t ever find him. I thought—” My voice is breaking and the woman cuts in. I must sound pretty crazy.

  “I’ve got water boiling on the fire. I can make you a hot drink and something to eat. I’ve not been able to get your brother to accept anything.”

  “Bear?” I say astonished, my relief coming out in a burst. “That’s not like you. You must be famished!”

  Bear shakes his head furiously.

  “Well, I am,” I say enthusiastically, to make up for his reticence. We should keep the woman on side. She could help us.

  Bear tugs at my sleeve again. “Ju, our journey!”

  “We need to rest, Bear, and eat.”

  “We can eat as we walk.”

  “We’ve barely got anything left. You know that. You’ve told me enough times!”

  The woman’s still smiling her bright smile.

  “Ju!” Bear says. His shoulders are all high and tight, like they always were at school. He’s never been good with other people. Only us and Etienne. But this woman found him. She kept him safe. And she seems so delighted to have us here. She can’t see many people. I’m still reeling over the fact she’s here at all.

  “Juniper! Let’s go. Please!” Bear hisses, still trying to pull me away. The woman’s smile fades. It’s obvious Bear doesn’t like her.

  “Bear!” I say crossly, pulling myself loose from him. “You ran off. I spent the whole of yesterday searching for you, thinking all kinds of things. I’m hungry and tired even if you’re not.”

  Bear hangs his head and kicks his foot into the floor.

  “Come in then,” the woman says as though it’s settled, and she ushers us both into the cottage before her.

  There’s an old stone fireplace and a fire’s burning full pelt in the iron grate, and I’m drawn to it – to the warmth and the flickering flames.

  There’s a strange smell I don’t recognize but that tugs at my stomach.

  The cottage windows are small, closed. Some are boarded up. I didn’t notice from outside. At one of the windows, a fat blue fly is slamming itself against the dirty pane. A bluebottle, Bear would say, if he was talking normally.

  The woman c
atches me looking. “There’s no point cleaning them. Not out here.” Her voice is defensive.

  “No, of course,” I say quickly, smiling in case she thinks I’m disapproving.

  “It’s not what you’re used to, in your shining city.”

  I shake my head because that’s not what I meant. I’m not bothered about dirty windows. “You live by yourself?” I ask, changing the subject.

  The woman nods and I see her teeth through her smile, all brown and yellow. “I’ll make tea.”

  There’s an old sofa by the fire and I sink into it – I can’t help it. I pull Bear down too. “Bear? What’s up with you?”

  “I don’t want a cup of tea!” he grunts.

  “I’ll make one for him anyway. Then I’ll sort out food. I’ll have to pop out, to find something. A rabbit!” the woman says, triumphant, like she’s just solved a problem. “I’ll get you a rabbit!”

  “You don’t need to go to any trouble,” I say and my eyes can’t help go to the table where there are dead animals laid out in a row – rabbits and birds. That’s what the smell is. And that’s where the bigger buzz of flies is coming from. I can see them now. Crawling over the carcasses.

  The woman’s watching me. “I don’t bother so much for myself, but you two don’t look like you’re used to being out here. Your stomachs won’t be as strong as mine. You’d be better with fresh.”

  She goes over to the kitchen area to make the tea, still beaming every time she turns back to look at us, even though Bear’s silent and sullen beside me. It’s sort of surprising she doesn’t ask more questions. We must be as miraculous to her as she is to us.

  Though it doesn’t seem like that. She just seems pleased. Like we’re neighbours who’ve dropped by to drink tea with her.

  “Why are you here? Who are you?” I ask in a sudden rush as the woman returns with two mugs of steaming liquid.

  “Violet.” She places one of the mugs into my hand.

  “Violet,” I repeat and I smile at her. “What tea is it?”

  “It’s a kind of root. I can show you later. Drink now.”

  I take a sip, even though the rim of the mug is grimy. The tea’s sweet and strange. I smile again at Violet’s expectant face. “How long have you lived here?”

  She pulls a strange face. Maybe I’m being rude, asking too much, but then she smiles again. “A long time. Too long. But now it’s your turn. I’m curious. Where are you running off to?”

  “Nowhere really.” I shrug. There’s something about ‘running off’ that irritates me and Bear’s hand is in mine now. He’s digging his nails into the flesh of my palm.

  “You must have somewhere in mind,” Violet says, bidding me to drink more of the strange tea.

  I shake my head as I drink. “Just away from the city.”

  “Why would you want to do that?” She’s still smiling brightly, in a way that makes me wonder why she’s not tired already, of looking happy.

  Bear’s fingernails dig in tighter and I glare at him. “We just had to get away. It wasn’t safe for us.” I pause, not sure how to say it. “Maybe the city isn’t how you remember it.”

  If the woman picks up on what I’m saying, she ignores it. “Drink up, both of you. I’ll go out and see about that rabbit.”

  She picks up a worn black satchel from the table as she leaves, and takes a gun from the wall beside the fireplace. A hunter’s wall – full of guns and knives. Weaponry.

  “It’s an air rifle?” I ask, unable to take my eyes off the gun. Watching her as she snaps it right open and takes a silver bullet from a bowl on the table. She places the little pellet in the centre of the rifle and then snaps it back straight.

  The woman nods. “It’ll do for a rabbit. You both look like you could do with some feeding up.” She smiles at me again. “It can’t have been easy. You’ve done well to get this far.”

  Tears prick at my eyes, and Violet winks at me and pockets a handful of the silver pellets. “I’ll put the catch on the door so you don’t lose the boy again. Get some rest, Juniper Green. You look like you need it.”

  The door clicks behind her.

  “Are you not talking to me, Bear?” I ask once Violet’s gone. The cottage is all crackling flames and I lean back into the softness of the sofa.

  Bear screws up his face and then unscrews it right away. “We need to get out of here.”

  “We need to eat, Bear!” I say, frustrated. “And get warm. She can help us.”

  “She won’t help us, Ju.”

  “She’s out now, isn’t she? Getting food? A rabbit! It’s more than we’ve managed!”

  “Ju, we have to go before she gets back.” Bear’s pacing the rug, not stepping off it, but looking round at the dead animals on the table and that fly still banging against the pane. He points to the knives and guns. “She’s bad, Ju.”

  I shrug. “They’re just the things you need out here. We could learn from her. All those guns, surely she could spare one? And look at this fire compared to ours! I’m properly warm for the first time since we left, Bear. She’s the first person we’ve come across. The only one. We need help.”

  “I don’t want her help.”

  I glare at him. “Yeah, well maybe we need it. I can’t do everything. I can’t do it alone.”

  Bear looks shocked. “You’re not alone. There’s me, and Ghost.”

  “You’re six years old, Bear. And a wild cat isn’t going to feed us. It won’t show us the way to Ennerdale.”

  “Ju!” he cries. “Don’t say that! It’s secret! The woman might be listening.”

  I roll my eyes. “Violet’s gone hunting, Bear. For our breakfast.”

  “There’s something funny about her. Strange.”

  I give him a disapproving look. “She’s just a bit unkempt,” I say. “People used to say that about you, back in the city.”

  Bear sticks his tongue out. “It’s not that.”

  “Look, she’s survived out here. All this time! She knows the land, she knows what to eat. She knows how to stay alive, Bear. She’s properly wild.”

  “Not all wild is good.”

  I can’t help smile at him using my own words against me. “Let’s at least let her feed us. There are things I want to ask her.”

  “Not about where we’re going, Ju. You can’t! You mustn’t!” There’s proper fear in his voice.

  “I won’t say the name, I’ll just ask her if she’s heard of any place like that.”

  “Why?”

  I shake my head. How can I tell him what’s in my head? That since we got out here, since we saw how abandoned everything is, I can’t stop thinking about it. About Ennerdale. What if it’s not there any more?

  “Ju, please!” Bear comes up to me and tugs at my hands again. “She was different before you showed up.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What she said, about being worried about me, she wasn’t, Ju. She really wasn’t. She was mean. She kept prodding me, asking where you were.”

  “Because she wanted to find me, Bear. For your sake. You’re six years old. Out here alone. You must have been a shock to her.”

  “But she didn’t look shocked, Ju. It was like she was looking for me. Hunting me.”

  “Bear!” I exclaim, exasperated. “She doesn’t hunt people. She hunts animals. Rabbits. I spent almost twenty-four hours straight looking for you. I’m exhausted! Please, Bear.”

  He finally shuts up and I slump back into the sofa, gazing at the fire, at the dancing flames. Hypnotized by them. Bear’s still pacing and I let him. I did enough of that last night.

  I’m dozing off, dreaming about the Palm House. This one plant we had, a century plant. It was an agave that Annie Rose said bloomed once in its entire life. Thirty years of nothing but leaves, then it would send up this huge great shoot with a flower on the end. Only the flower took all the energy the plant had, because right after it wilted and died.

  “I didn’t tell her our name was Green.”

&nbs
p; “What?” I say vacantly.

  “I didn’t tell her our name was Green, Juniper.” Bear’s voice floats out into my Palm House dream.

  He’s more certain now. Louder. “I didn’t tell her our surname. I might have said Juniper. When I was upset. Or she might have heard me calling for you, because I called you all yesterday, but I didn’t say Green. I didn’t, Ju.”

  I sit bolt upright. “You get some rest, Juniper Green.” That’s what Violet said as she went out.

  I put my hands on Bear’s shoulders. “When she was asking who you were, where you were from, it didn’t slip out? You’re certain about that?” I’m shaking him. It’s too rough, but I’m shaking him anyway because I have to know.

  “No!” Bear snaps. “I told you! She wasn’t even nice to me. We didn’t talk. Not like that. She just kept asking about you. Where you were. Trying to get me to remember. I didn’t tell her anything about anything, Juniper. I wouldn’t! I told you that, only you didn’t listen.”

  I look at him, horror curdling in my stomach.

  “Why would she know our surname, Juniper?”

  But there’s no time to answer. I’m already throwing open cupboards. Turning over boxes.

  Everything’s mostly empty so I move to the bedroom, to the little alcove off the main room, behind a pink curtain, which throws up a grey cloud of dust when I rip it aside. There’s barely anything here either, except the bed with dirty sheets and an open wardrobe full of stale, crumpled clothes, most of which aren’t even hanging, they’ve fallen to the floor.

  There are no books. No pictures on the walls. No sign this woman does anything except hunt. That’s what the whole cottage smells of. Dead things.

  I slump down in a chair in front of a small table. There’s an ornate oval mirror, dusty, with red velvet curtains either side. I’ve seen ones like it in the Emporium. It’s a dressing table and the mirrors were always in three sections – the main one and a smaller one either side, like wings.

  I tear back the curtains, but it’s just my own reflection, staring back at me three ways in the dusty mirrors – my eyes hollowed out in my face, my skin smeared with dirt.