one of Dad’s homemade squirrel sausages, I might even consider eating it.
We must be about six miles away from Bream by now.
I’m tempted to wander over to the couple and ask to use their mobile phone, but I glance at Sophia and lose heart. She’s looking really determined. She’s also looking like she might cry.
“Sophia,” I ask gently, “what exactly are we doing?”
She’s silent as a group of ramblers wander on to the beach and start chucking pebbles into the sea.
“We’re going to find Mum.”
“And where is she?”
She sits in silence, spinning stones across the beach.
“I think – I don’t know exactly.”
I’ve never been very good at whistling between my teeth, but it comes out sufficiently loud to make one of the ramblers turn sharply and fling a stone at his friend by accident. “So where do we start? Why don’t you tell me something about her?What does she do?”
“She’s a singer…”
“Would I have heard of her?”
“Doubt it – she mostly performs in other countries – that’s why she’s never here. In fact I only know she’s here at the moment because I heard Wesson and Pinhead talking about her on the way down here. But that doesn’t matter. The point is that Pinhead knows where she is, so if we can get to his office, we can find out where she’s performing. If we get there soon, we can get to her first.”
“Couldn’t you just email her or something?”
Sophia shakes her head. “I don’t have her email address. Pinhead’s never given it to me, and he tries to send me to school in remote places where the internet doesn’t work. That’s why he sent me to Bream Lodge. Out of sight, and out of contact – he always wants me well out of the way.”
I thought everywhere had the internet these days, except for us, of course, but I pick weed from between my toes and try to imagine how I’d feel if I was kept away from my mum, how I’d feel if someone wanted to take all her money and I knew about it and she didn’t.
“If he wanted to defraud her, wouldn’t he do it miles away, in the Cayman Islands or somewhere?”
Sophia draws a heart in the sand. “He’s got cronies here. This is his turf.”
“Oh,” I say. This is a world I thought I knew about from my books. But perhaps I don’t.
“Of course, she could be dead,” says Sophia. “That could be why I haven’t seen her for years.”
“Surely you’d know if she was,” I say. “You’d have been told at school, you know, like in
The Twelve Fish Scales,
where Sarah Turnbull gets called into the Head’s office and told her parents have been killed in a terrible airship-meets-herd-of-cows calamity.”
She sniffs. “He might have kept it a secret from the school, too.”
“Oh!” I say. I can’t think of anything else. I throw some pebbles at a can, and miss.
“We could go back, get the police to investigate?” I say. “Tell them your mum’s missing, that you haven’t seen her in – what was it? Five years?”
“NO!” says Sophia, her face twisted with anger and tears. “They wouldn’t believe us, and he’d hide the evidence – I have to do it myself; if you want to leave I’ll just go on, alone…”
“Where’s his office?” I ask, looking around at the almost empty beach as if Pinhead’s office might be just round the corner, but really I’m dreading the answer.
“Bristol.”
“That’s quite a long way away,” I say, imagining the journey stretching across a map of the South West. “Maybe a hundred and fifty miles?” We sit in a long contemplative silence while I think about whether I can be hero enough to carry Sophia through all this, and help her find the truth.
I remember Irene, and the plane crash. She was alone, in a cold fog, hundreds of miles from home. “Do you know anything about Irene Challis?” I ask.
“Irene Challis?”
“She’s the old woman that died and left her house to Pinhead.”
Sophia shakes her head. “Never heard of her – I
We must be about six miles away from Bream by now.
I’m tempted to wander over to the couple and ask to use their mobile phone, but I glance at Sophia and lose heart. She’s looking really determined. She’s also looking like she might cry.
“Sophia,” I ask gently, “what exactly are we doing?”
She’s silent as a group of ramblers wander on to the beach and start chucking pebbles into the sea.
“We’re going to find Mum.”
“And where is she?”
She sits in silence, spinning stones across the beach.
“I think – I don’t know exactly.”
I’ve never been very good at whistling between my teeth, but it comes out sufficiently loud to make one of the ramblers turn sharply and fling a stone at his friend by accident. “So where do we start? Why don’t you tell me something about her?What does she do?”
“She’s a singer…”
“Would I have heard of her?”
“Doubt it – she mostly performs in other countries – that’s why she’s never here. In fact I only know she’s here at the moment because I heard Wesson and Pinhead talking about her on the way down here. But that doesn’t matter. The point is that Pinhead knows where she is, so if we can get to his office, we can find out where she’s performing. If we get there soon, we can get to her first.”
“Couldn’t you just email her or something?”
Sophia shakes her head. “I don’t have her email address. Pinhead’s never given it to me, and he tries to send me to school in remote places where the internet doesn’t work. That’s why he sent me to Bream Lodge. Out of sight, and out of contact – he always wants me well out of the way.”
I thought everywhere had the internet these days, except for us, of course, but I pick weed from between my toes and try to imagine how I’d feel if I was kept away from my mum, how I’d feel if someone wanted to take all her money and I knew about it and she didn’t.
“If he wanted to defraud her, wouldn’t he do it miles away, in the Cayman Islands or somewhere?”
Sophia draws a heart in the sand. “He’s got cronies here. This is his turf.”
“Oh,” I say. This is a world I thought I knew about from my books. But perhaps I don’t.
“Of course, she could be dead,” says Sophia. “That could be why I haven’t seen her for years.”
“Surely you’d know if she was,” I say. “You’d have been told at school, you know, like in
The Twelve Fish Scales,
where Sarah Turnbull gets called into the Head’s office and told her parents have been killed in a terrible airship-meets-herd-of-cows calamity.”
She sniffs. “He might have kept it a secret from the school, too.”
“Oh!” I say. I can’t think of anything else. I throw some pebbles at a can, and miss.
“We could go back, get the police to investigate?” I say. “Tell them your mum’s missing, that you haven’t seen her in – what was it? Five years?”
“NO!” says Sophia, her face twisted with anger and tears. “They wouldn’t believe us, and he’d hide the evidence – I have to do it myself; if you want to leave I’ll just go on, alone…”
“Where’s his office?” I ask, looking around at the almost empty beach as if Pinhead’s office might be just round the corner, but really I’m dreading the answer.
“Bristol.”
“That’s quite a long way away,” I say, imagining the journey stretching across a map of the South West. “Maybe a hundred and fifty miles?” We sit in a long contemplative silence while I think about whether I can be hero enough to carry Sophia through all this, and help her find the truth.
I remember Irene, and the plane crash. She was alone, in a cold fog, hundreds of miles from home. “Do you know anything about Irene Challis?” I ask.
“Irene Challis?”
“She’s the old woman that died and left her house to Pinhead.”
Sophia shakes her head. “Never heard of her – I
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