Blood Crazy by Simon Clark Page B

come.
    I walked round the hilltop. Castle Rising is a straight-sided little hill that pokes out of the flat countryside like a monster zit. I’d not chosen it for its picturesque setting but its views of the surrounding fields. If the crazy people should come we’d see them a mile off.
    Sarah’s sisters sat on a blanket, eating sandwiches. I avoided them. They never stopped asking questions.
    â€˜Will mummy and daddy be all right now? When can we go home? Who’ll look after Pookah and Chestnut?’ (Their ponies.) ‘If that car isn’t yours whose is it then? Won’t we get into trouble if we don’t go to school?’
    I completed the circuit of the hilltop and sat beside Sarah. A faint fatherly instinct suggested I put my arm around her and tell her everything would be okay. But at seventeen you don’t do that kind of thing.
    â€˜Sarah. I planned on driving south. I reckon we should be out of the affected area after a few miles … You and your sisters can come along if you like.’
    â€˜Thanks … And thanks for picking us up back in town. You took a risk.’
    â€˜Don’t worry about it.’ I drained the can. ‘We’ll have another half-hour here then we’ll be off.’
    I picked a patch of soft grass on the sloping hillside and lay down. Sunshine warmed my face and the beer and sandwiches made me feel that the world was going to be all right after all. My eyes closed.
    The birds sang, the two youngest girls were laughing. At this distance it sounded musical.
    I let myself imagine I was drifting on a cloud, a mile high above the countryside; it was as soft as cottonwool. I relaxed into it; I relaxed and I relaxed and I floated out of this world.
    â€˜Nick! Here, quick!’
    I ran down the hillside so fast that when I tried to stop I skied the rest of the way, my trainers buzzing over the grass.
    â€˜What is it? What’s wrong?’
    Then I stopped and gawped stupidly at the two people in front of me.
    â€˜Mum … Dad.’ I had to laugh out loud then or cry hysterically. ‘How did you find me? Are you all right? Did – did you see what’s happened in Doncaster? They – they … It’s all—’
    â€˜Nick … It’s all right, Nick. We know what happened.’
    My dad, smiling, showing the gap in his top teeth, walked up and put his arm around me. The hug was tight and loving. Mum hung back, pushing back her hair. Her smile was pure mother love.
    â€˜Nick, I bet you’d given us up for dead,’ she said. ‘Whatever happens we’ll never leave you again.’ She kissed me on the cheek. If she could she would have picked me up like a toddler and hugged me.
    â€˜Come on, let’s go home. The car’s parked on the road.’
    â€˜John’s waiting to see you. He’s been dying to show you those new games he bought.’
    A cold lump squeezed through my guts to my legs. A bastard dream.
    I shook my head. ‘Yeah. John’s dying to see me. And where’s Uncle Jack? Playing crazy golf?’
    My mother laughed like a teenage girl. ‘No. We left him practising his guitar in the kitchen.’
    I still wanted to go with them. I really did. I wanted them to strap me in the back of dad’s car and ride home like I was seven years old. But something deeper said:
    NO. RUN LIKE HELL, NICK ATEN. SHOVE YOUR PARENTS AWAY AND RUN, RUN, RUN. THEY’RE GOING TO QUEER YOU UP, BOY.
    â€˜Here you are, Nicholas.’
    â€˜You know he’s going to either end up a millionaire one day or end up in jail.’
    Run, Nick, run!
    Too late.
    Mum and dad pushed me down and held me flat on the ground, my arms outstretched. I was seven years old, not strong enough to stop what they were going to do to me.
    â€˜Now, Nicholas, don’t be silly. I’m not going to hurt you.’ It was the voice my mum used when she used to cut my toe nails. ‘You want to look