Tell Me No Secrets by Julie Corbin Page B

you?’
    â€˜No.’ The palm of his hand feels warm, his fingers firm around my upper arm. Safe. I shrug him off and move away, put the desk between us. ‘I’ll be fine. I’ll manage.’
    â€˜I might be better at talking her round than you.’
    â€˜I doubt it, Euan. She never liked you. I think I can do it.’ I take a purposeful breath. ‘I know I can do it.’ I go over to my own desk and sit down. There’s a stack of photographs for me to look through. They are views from Margie Campbell’s home in Iona: my next commission and one I was looking forward to. I love painting the sea in all its colours and moods and she has given me free rein to interpret the photographs however I want. The canvas is primed and I hoped to start today but I already know that I won’t be able to concentrate. Orla’s intentions loom large in my head. I just want to know what I’m up against and can’t wait for tomorrow to be over so that I can get back to my life.
    June 1976
    Euan and I are playing in our den at the edge of the forest. He’s just joined the Scouts and now he always carries a penknife and string in his pocket. He’s been practising his knots and I have both my wrists tied together and then the string is looped around the trunk of the tree. ‘I’m going to go back home and get us something to eat,’ he says, running off. ‘Wait for me.’
    I wait for him. There’s not much else I can do, tied up as I am, so I rest my head against the bark and watch ants crawl up and over my hands. I drift off into the gap between sleep and wakefulness and the next thing I hear is the sound of my mother’s voice.
    â€˜What in God’s name?’
    I jump guiltily. ‘Euan’s coming back in a minute.’
    My mother wrestles with the knot. ‘What sort of a game is this, Grace? Look at the state of you!’ My skirt has ridden up almost to my waist and she yanks it down. ‘And those are your new sandals!’ When the knot comes loose, I try to wipe the dirt off them but my mother shakes me roughly and gripping on to my arm marches me back up the road.
    Mo answers the doorbell, wiping her hands on her apron. The smile dies on her face as my mother speaks. ‘I have just found Grace.’ She jerks me forward. ‘Tied to a tree down at the far end of the field. By herself. Her skirt practically up around her neck. Anyone could have found her. Anything could have happened to her.’
    Euan appears at Mo’s side. ‘I was going back.’ He holds up a bag of sandwiches, some home-made gingerbread and two bottles of lemonade. ‘I’ve got the supplies.’
    â€˜Next time, Euan, bring Grace back with you,’ Mo says, stroking his sticky-up hair flat.
    â€˜But I was guarding our den,’ I say.
    â€˜Yeah.’ Euan is frowning at both our mothers. He drops the food on to the ground and pulls the ends of his fingers until his knuckles crack. ‘We weren’t doing anything wrong.’
    â€˜He had her tied to a tree, Mo.’ My mother is shouting now and Mo takes a step backwards. ‘ Tied to a tree .’
    â€˜Now, Lillian, a wee bit of freedom doesn’t do them any—’
    â€˜ You have the cheek to tell me how to raise a child? With Claire hanging out with the local boys and George drunk of an evening – and Euan! What of Euan? Never out of trouble!’
    Mo’s face turns whiter than her freshly laundered sheets that buffet and bounce on the line.
    My mother looks down at me. ‘You’re not to play with Euan any more.’ She looks back at Mo. ‘I’ll be making other arrangements for after school.’
    My mother turns and I am half walked, half dragged down the path. I look back and see Euan still cracking his fingers and then he punches the doorframe and Mo urges him to come inside.
    At school the next day, he won’t speak to me.