‘You’re one of them.’

  I rolled my eyes. One of them? I was a few ‘thems’ . . . Now, which one was he talking about?

  His top lip curled and the way he jutted out his chin reminded me of the Fablehouse chickens, and I nearly laughed, but I swallowed that urge because the girl’s fists were bunched and her twisted expression was meaner than a mad dog’s.

  In other homes, sometimes the staff were handy with a belt or strap. I quickly learned that laughing or smiling – even if it was just nerves – was the worst thing to do. People do not like being laughed at.

  ‘What are you even doing out here, darkie?’ the boy barked.

  I held my breath. I wasn’t going to take his bait, though I knew the likes of him would keep on goading.

  ‘Yeah!’ The girl smirked. She jerked her thumb towards the sea. ‘Go back to where you came from.’

  Back to where? Where exactly did I belong? I ignored the comment – I’d heard similar before – and instead clenched my fists, mirroring the girl. Another thing I’d learned was you don’t run. Even when your legs are quivering, and your heart pounding, you never run.

  Stand your ground, whispered the wind. My ground? Yes, this was my place. Mine. Without even thinking, I’d moved closer to the cairn. I put my hands behind me, and my palms met the stones, as if they’d give me power or protection. Soft, damp moss cooled my hot fingertips. My feet were planted firm, solid – like they were made of stone. Like the cairn; forever here. Don’t run or show fear. Don’t feed bullies scraps. If they knew that underneath my gritted teeth and clenched jaw I was trembling harder than rain on a leaf, then I’d be done for.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ I asked. ‘All this land belongs to Fablehouse.’

  The girl’s plaits whipped in the breeze. ‘This land don’t belong to you.’ She sounded so outraged, you’d think her own fair hands had built this whole place. ‘My ma says you lot are an abomination!’

  The boy spat on the ground. ‘My dad says the woman who runs that broken-down old home is a . . . freak! A weird old witch! Dad reckons you darkies should be put to work. Do something useful for us who put food in your bellies.’

  I stared at the horrible globule of spit and leaned back on the stones a little, feeling their support and weight. A sharp edge dug into my lower back, forced my mouth open.

  ‘I ain’t working for no one. Nor going anywhere neither.’

  The girl’s tight sneer vanished. ‘Leave, or . . .’

  ‘Or?’ My throat burned with anger. I felt that if I opened my mouth any wider, I could scorch her with the fire from my heart.

  ‘Or we’ll make you,’ said the boy. He rolled up his sleeves and picked up a stone. He turned it over in his palm before throwing it close enough to hit my boot.

  I stared at the stone.

  With that first stone thrown, silence fell over us, a wisp of menace now on the wind. Decisions needed to be made, and fast. Fight or flight?

  Lightning quick, I rushed forward and bopped the girl on the nose. She staggered back, surprised, cupping her nose, eyes shiny with tears.

  I’d gone and done it now; I wished the cairn could swallow me whole. I was out here alone and no one knew it. It was two against one. I prepared myself – no time for regrets. I crouched, preparing to tackle Red – take his legs out from under him, and then I’d run.

  Red lumbered forward, pulling his arm back, hand in a fist . . .

  ‘Ow!’ He stumbled, whipping his head around, as something glanced off his cheek.

  ‘Bog off!’ cried a voice that I recognised. Arlene?

  I rolled back my shoulders and stood up straight. Arlene, Nat and Lloyd leaned out from behind the tree in the glade and raced towards us.

  I hadn’t spoken much to any of them really. Although me and Arlene shared a room, all I knew about her was she liked to sing day and night. She loved having her hair done; always looking perfect, her hair in fancy plaits tied with red ribbons and bows. Nat was nine and excitable as a puppy, always wanting to play, chattering away to the chickens, and practising magic tricks to anyone who’d watch and . . . well, I’d already formed my theories about Lloyd.

  What were they doing here? I did not need rescuing.

  The girl screamed, ‘No one wants you!’

  ‘Says who?’ Nat shrieked back, fierce. His usual goofy grin wiped out.

  ‘My ma says you lot should get lost!’

  Striding forward, hands on hips, Arlene said, ‘Bet your ma wishes she could get rid of you an’ all!’

  ‘You tryin’ be smart?’ the boy grunted, frowning.

  Arlene poked her tongue out. ‘I don’t really need to try . . .’

  Red looked like he wanted to thrash her. Although the village kids were bigger and older, they exchanged a shifty glance like they must have known, sensed somehow, that they weren’t a match for the four of us.

  ‘Animals!’ the boy muttered, scuffing up dirt as he backed off.

  ‘ROAR!’ hollered Nat, hooking his fingers into claws and baring his gnashers. I stifled a laugh.

  ‘Let’s go – c’mon, Mary.’

  ‘Bye, Scary Mary!’ Arlene chirruped, giving her the V.

  I’d settled back, leaning into the cairn, just watching them. Lloyd was too. I felt protected and supported, but not because the three of them were here. It was something else.

  Mary sneered. ‘When we get back to the village, we’re gonna tell on you.’

  Arlene howled with laughter. ‘Tell who what?’

  ‘We’re gonna let everyone know that you lot are wild! You’ll get in trouble and then they’ll close down that rotten home for good. You’ll be in the gutter. It’ll serve you right!’

  ‘Don’t you mess with us Fablehouse kids!’ Lloyd shouted at their retreating figures. ‘Or you’ll be sorry!’

  The village kids scrambled down the rocky path and across the heathland until they’d vanished.

  ‘I coulda had them,’ I grumbled, uncomfortable at the way Nat, Arlene and Lloyd were now grinning at me, as if we were a team or something.

  Smiling, Lloyd said, ‘What’s wrong with having a little help, Heather?’

  I bit down hard on my lip, ridding myself of the irritation and racing feelings, leaving behind only a familiar fog of not being able to say what I was really feeling. I realised that Lloyd hadn’t apologised or tried to make friends with those kids. I thought he’d be the turncoat type, avoiding trouble at any opportunity, but he’d . . . stood up for me. They all had, and they didn’t even know me.

  Nat shoved his hands into his pockets and booted a pebble. ‘Why’s it have to always be like that – us and them?’

  ‘Dunno.’ Lloyd shrugged. ‘It’s not right, is it?’ And once again, that quietness I sometimes glimpsed behind his eyes – an expression I recognised – vanished as quickly as it had appeared, and he was sunny optimism again. ‘Anyway, we got rid of them well and good!’

  Threat gone, I peered at the three of them, frowning. ‘Whatcha doing out here anyway?’

  They all avoided my gaze. Nat started picking his nose and Arlene smoothed down her pinafore with one hand and her hair with the other.

  ‘Did you . . . follow me?’ I asked, surprised.

  Arlene’s expression was haughty. ‘No, we did not!’

  Lloyd scratched his head, his short black curls bouncing. ‘We were going to ask if you followed us, actually.’ He rearranged the satchel strap around his shoulder, fingers touching the buckle.

  I squinted suspiciously. ‘What?’

  ‘Well . . .’ Nat bounced up and down, full of energy, like he was on springs. ‘This is our place. This spot, right here.’ He spread out his arms, wide. ‘The Stony Tower, the view of the sea.’

  I huffed. ‘It has a proper name. Miss Isolde said so. It’s a cairn.’

  Nat pouted. ‘Don’t care. I call it the Stony Tower cos that’s what it is. We always come here together.’ He glanced at Arlene for confirmation. ‘Lloyd leads the way, he knows the best shortcuts.’

  ‘Without him we always get lost.’ Arlene nodded, arms folded. ‘Yep. We tell stories and make stuff up.’

  ‘And it’s funny –’ Lloyd thrust his hands in his pockets – ‘because whichever path I take from Fablehouse, we always wind up here somehow. This place is . . . perfect. Special. We all feel it. I mean, know it.’

  He turned his head away, towards the sea, the sun glittering on the water. ‘It’s a place to come and just . . . be ourselves. I feel peaceful here. Happy. Makes me feel close to people I don’t see no more.’ His voice dipped. ‘Probably sounds silly to you.’

  He turned to me, but I couldn’t look at him and dropped my gaze. My heart wanted to say It doesn’t sound silly at all, but the words wouldn’t form; they were blocked, trapped right there in my throat. It was often like that, I couldn’t speak cos the words always came out wrong.

  But even if I understood, I still didn’t want the cairn to be their place! This was mine – I needed it. I didn’t have anywhere else. My throat burned, which meant hot tears weren’t far away. I gulped them down. Last thing I wanted to do here, in front of this lot, was to start bawling like a baby. But since Mum being taken away, this was the first place where I’d felt good. I didn’t want to give it up; I’d only just found it.

  About the Author

  Emma Norry has a BA (Hons) in Film and an MA in Screenwriting. Emma’s previous books include Son of the Circus, which was shortlisted for the Diverse Book Awards, Amber Under Cover, a middle-grade adventure about a teenage spy, The Extraordinary Life of Nelson Mandela and Football Legends: Lionel Messi. Her short stories have been published in the anthologies The Very Merry Murder Club, Happy Here: 10 stories from Black British authors and illustrators, The Place for Me: Stories about the Windrush Generation and Home Again: Stories about Coming Home from War. Fablehouse: Heart of Fire is Emma’s second book for Bloomsbury.

  Emma grew up in the care system in Cardiff, Wales. She now lives and works in Bournemouth with her husband and family.

  BLOOMSBURY CHILDREN’S BOOKS

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  This electronic edition published in 2024 by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc

  BLOOMSBURY, BLOOMSBURY CHILDREN’S BOOKS and the Diana logo are trademarks of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc

  First published in Great Britain in 2024 by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc

  Text copyright © Storymix Limited, 2024

  Text written by E.L. Norry, 2024

  Chapter illustrations copyright © Thy Bui, 2024

  Title lettering by Tom Sanderson

  Created in association with Storymix Limited

  Storymix Limited and Thy Bui have asserted their rights under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as Author and Illustrator of this work

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  ISBN: 978-1-5266-4956-0 (Pb)

  ISBN: 978-1-5266-4960-7 (eBook)

  ISBN: 978-1-5266-4958-4 (ePDF)

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  Emma Norry, Fablehouse

 

 

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