Burning Secrets by Clare Chambers Page B

exploded on his tongue. It was like sucking an old rusty nail or a leaky battery. “Bleaagh!” he spluttered, spitting the fibrous pulp into the kerb. “That is disgusting.” He spat again, and wiped his tongue on the back of his hand. “How can you eat that?”
    Ramsay, still chomping away happily, looked at him in amazement. “You are funny,” she said, shaking her head. “Don’t you like sweet things?”
    â€œThat wasn’t sweet!” Daniel exclaimed. “It was like . . . ugh!” Words temporarily failed him. A coppery aftertaste remained in his mouth and his face was screwed up with revulsion.
    â€œSorry,” said Ramsay. “I thought you’d like it. Everyone at school loves the stuff. And the best thing is, it grows wild all over the island – even on the school field. So it’s totally free.”
    â€œI can honestly say I wouldn’t eat that even if I was starving,” said Daniel with feeling.
    They walked across the village green, past the café where he and Louie had been given the ancient cola. A group of teenagers was sitting on the grass playing cards and passing around a bag of Leaf as though it was full of sweets. They gave Ramsay a wave, which she returned without slowing down.
    â€œAre they your friends?” Daniel asked.
    â€œEveryone’s my friend,” Ramsay replied, not boastfully, but in a matter-of-fact way. “They’ll be talking about us now,” she added, when they were out of earshot. “They’ll be wondering about you. Wanting to know what you’re like.”
    â€œWhat are you going to tell them? What am I like?”
    Ramsay met his gaze cleanly without blinking. A tiny current, an invisible spark, arced across the gap between them. “I’m not sure,” she said. “I’d have to do more research.” He looked away first.
    â€œThere are all sorts of rumours flying around,” Ramsay went on.
    â€œLike what?” said Daniel in alarm.
    â€œOh, like you’ve come here to spy on us.”
    He almost laughed with relief. “ Spying? Who for?”
    â€œI don’t know. People are saying your mum is writing a book about the island.”
    â€œWell, that’s not true. She’s translating Swedish crime novels.”
    â€œHave you read them?”
    â€œNo. She’d be a rubbish spy, anyway. She hardly leaves the house.”
    â€œWhy did you come here? Why don’t you come to school?”
    Daniel sighed. It wouldn’t do any harm to tell her about Louie. Not everything, of course – some things were off limits – but she was so nice, so easy to talk to . . . “We came for my sister, really. She got bullied a lot so she moved schools, but then she got bullied there too. She seems to attract it, I don’t know why. Well, I sort of do. She can’t keep her head down and just fit in. She got really depressed and started self-harming and stuff.”
    â€œWhat do you mean, self-harming?” asked Ramsay, as if such a thing had never reached the peaceful shores of Wragge.
    â€œShe used to burn herself with cigarettes. Stub them out on her arms.”
    â€œWhy on earth would she do that?” said Ramsay.
    â€œI suppose it made her feel better. Or worse. Or both. I dunno. I don’t want you to think she’s a total freak. I mean, quite a lot of people do it.”
    â€œNot here they don’t,” said Ramsay.
    â€œYou won’t tell anybody else this, will you? I shouldn’t have said.”
    â€œNo, of course not.”
    They had nearly come to the end of the village. The road led away towards Filey, completely the wrong direction for Daniel.
    â€œThat’s where I live,” said Ramsay, pointing towards the last house on the left. It was a two-storey cottage, like The Brow, but larger and in much better condition. A dark-haired boy, not older than Daniel but certainly bigger, was