Shalott: Dangerous Magic E-Book

Felicity Pulman

• Herausgeber: Holmes House Press
• Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021

Beschreibung

Five teenagers set out into the unknown to change the legend of Camelot. Instead they find they are rewriting their own lives and destiny

Is Lev still in Camelot - or did he die in the fire at the Tower? Can El survive the plague? And can Callie undo a death - or will she cause another? Will Guinevere achieve her desire to have a child, an heir to the kingdom - or will Callie succeed in her quest to win Lancelot and so save Camelot? In Shalott: Dangerous Magic, the Old Ways clash with the beliefs of the newly Christian court, while Morgan weaves her deadly magic to ensure that the teenagers are caught in the crossfire.

‘In this extraordinary trilogy Felicity Pulman shows both her understanding of the Arthurian legend, of the Shalott story, and a rich and imaginative capacity to expand and explore its deep meanings for today’s teenagers. This is an unsettling, unusual, intriguing and moving series, rich in character, action and mystery, full of the atmosphere of Arthurian legend, yet without falling into the trap of mere retelling.’ — Sophie Masson

Leseprobe

About Shalott: Dangerous Magic

Five teenagers set out into the unknown to change the legend of Camelot. Instead they find they are rewriting their own lives and destiny

Is Lev still in Camelot - or did he die in the fire at the Tower? Can El survive the plague? And can Callie undo a death - or will she cause another? Will Guinevere achieve her desire to have a child, an heir to the kingdom - or will Callie succeed in her quest to win Lancelot and so save Camelot? In Shalott: Dangerous Magic, the Old Ways clash with the beliefs of the newly Christian court, while Morgan weaves her deadly magic to ensure that the teenagers are caught in the crossfire.

Contents

About Shalott: Dangerous Magic PROLOGUECHAPTER 1CHAPTER 2CHAPTER 3CHAPTER 4CHAPTER 5CHAPTER 6CHAPTER 7CHAPTER 8CHAPTER 9CHAPTER 10CHAPTER 11CHAPTER 12AcknowledgementsAbout Felicity Pulman Copyright

PROLOGUE

Lev stood beside the river watching Stephen pole the barge through the water. The current caught the boat and it picked up speed, heading down the river towards Camelot and the open sea.

Had he done the right thing? Should he have gone with his friends? Lev couldn’t be sure. All he knew was that there was nothing for him in the world to which his friends were returning, the world of the twenty-first century. All that he valued was right here, at Camelot: the friendship of the knights and the possibility that he might serve King Arthur.

Lev’s anxious expression relaxed. He might not have deserved his knighthood at the beginning, but he was proud of what he’d achieved; he believed he was now worthy of the honour of being made a knight at King Arthur’s court. More, he was determined to live by the vows he’d made — to himself, to King Arthur, and to God. He stared after the boat, squinting slightly to see the vessel more clearly through the smoke billowing from the fires that ringed Camelot, protecting it from the plague that had come to the tower where they’d been staying. Stephen was now only a dark silhouette as he bent and straightened to the motion of the pole, driving the barge onward. To fit in with the legend, he was dressed in Lev’s armour, pretending to be the dying Elaine of Astolat’s brother, Sir Lavaine.

El lay stretched out on the seat beside Stephen, but she wasn’t acting; she already had the plague, and Lev was almost sure she was dying. The other two, El’s twin, Callie, and their friend Meg were hiding under a cloth at the bottom of the boat. Although only Stephen was visible, Lev found himself praying that they would all make it safely back so El could get the medical attention she needed; so that she wouldn’t die. She couldn’t die! Rude, bossy, outspoken El. Lev had hated her when they’d first met, hated the way El seemed to look right through him into his lonely, secret, rotten self: a homeless druggie living on his wits and anything else he could lay his hands on. It had been a matter of survival for him, but no wonder she had despised him.

Things were different now. He was Sir Lavaine, a knight of King Arthur’s court. Lev squared his shoulders and stood taller, taking pride in the fact that he had managed to save the servants from the burning tower and they’d all escaped. So had he, but only just. His painful arms and legs bore witness to how close he’d come to burning up in the fiery barricade. He’d earned his knighthood the hard way. Even El had finally shown respect.

He could barely see Stephen anymore. The barge was approaching the high stone walls of Camelot that were barely visible through the shroud of smoke. There were people at the wharf, gathering to look at the boat and its occupants. Lev swallowed hard against a suddenly dry throat. Would his friends reach home — or be sucked into limbo and die in the space between realities? He’d never know. But their going meant that he was on his own and he would just have to make the best of it. Fear shivered through Lev’s thin frame. How would he cope without the others? How would he get by without their help and support?

With a sigh he hitched up Stephen’s breeches and pulled his belt tighter to keep them up. Stephen’s clothes were way too big for him, just as his own armour had been too tight for Stephen. He narrowed his eyes and checked the river once more. The barge had disappeared, along with his friends.

He badly wanted to lie down and go to sleep. The poppy syrup he’d consumed and the terrifying ordeal he’d managed to survive had left him feeling sick and exhausted. With a heavy and fearful heart, he turned to go. And stopped, stunned by what lay in front of him.

A barge was moored beside the river. Surely the same boat that, only moments ago, he’d seen carrying his friends downriver to Camelot? Lev scanned the river once more. There was no sign of his friends or the boat they were in but he could see knots of people forming and reforming along the wharf, waving their arms and looking agitated.

They’re discussing the death of Lady Elaine of Astolat, he thought. It’s happened just like Callie said it happened in the legend. No wonder their tongues are wagging. No wonder they’re upset, Lancelot most of all. He loved Callie; he’ll believe she’s the one dying, not knowing it’s actually her twin. And I don’t dare tell anyone any different because no one would believe me.

Lev blinked away tears as he looked downriver towards the sea and prayed for the safety of his friends.

A ship lay at anchor, its tall mast forming a dark cross against the smoke-stained sky. Small rafts manned by oarsmen ferried goods between the ship and the wharf beneath the castle walls. In the distance a sailing vessel moved slowly out to sea, its sail bellied out by the breeze. There was no barge, nor any other craft that Lev recognised.

He glanced sideways at the barge lying among the spiky reeds. It was the same boat, he was sure of it. ‘Stephen!’ he shouted. ‘Callie!’ But there was no reply.

A horrifying thought struck him. Had the boat come back here because Callie and the others had been flung off into the void? Maybe they’d died trying to reach home? Another thought turned his blood to ice. What if their bodies were still on board?

The sweat of fear stuck Lev’s tunic to his back as he thrust through the reeds to investigate. The boat rocked as he jumped on board. There was no sign of any life at all.

‘Stephen!’ he shouted again. ‘Callie! Come on guys, this isn’t funny. Talk to me.’

Dreading what he might find, he lifted the black linen cloth. No bodies. He breathed a sigh of relief. The barge wasn’t entirely empty, he noticed. Below the seat lay Callie’s paintbox. He unclipped the catch, lifted the lid, and caught his breath in surprise. Inside, nestled among the tubes and pots of paint was a huge diamond, winking and blinking a fiery radiance as the light reflected in its multi-faceted surface.

Lev picked it up. The gem felt cold and heavy in his palm. He remembered Callie’s pride when Lancelot had won it at the tournament, and her joy when he gave it to her and not to Guinevere. Callie would never have left it behind if she’d had the choice. So what had happened to her — to all of them?

Lev’s glance fell on something else. Meg’s lute. If his friends had fallen into limbo, surely these things would have disappeared, and the boat too? So perhaps the objects were still here because they didn’t belong in the real world with his friends? The thought cheered him, and his spirits lifted further as he looked at the diamond in his hand, assessing its value. He could sell it and use the money to set himself up at court, as Callie had suggested. He’d be able to mix it with the best of them then. The brief spurt of elation quickly vanished as he tried to visualise what it would be like in Camelot without his friends. He missed them already. He felt desperately lonely and unsure of himself.

I can’t afford to give in to doubts and fears, he thought, as he tried to muster up enough courage to face whatever lay ahead. I’ve chosen to stay here in this reality, so I’ll just have to make the best of it.

Knowing that he needed to remove the paintbox and lute before the boat’s owner found them, Lev bent to pick them up. He’d keep the diamond, but he had no use for the other things. Should he just chuck them away? There was no sign of Stephen’s mobile, he realised; hopefully that proved the others were all back home, along with Stephen’s twenty-first century technology. But the paintbox and lute belonged here, and they didn’t need electricity or batteries to work. Perhaps he could sell them?

‘Go you downriver to Camelot?’

A voice sent Lev spinning around so fast he set the boat rocking wildly. He reached out his arms to steady himself, and turned to stare at a boy standing on the riverbank. His clothes were torn and dirty, and far too big for him. He looked as though he lived in a hedge, but still there was something familiar about his appearance. Where had Lev seen him before? Had this ragged urchin helped to serve at the feast they’d attended at Camelot?

No. Lev scanned the boy’s lean face and roughly chopped hair. For some reason he’d thought of Meg when the boy had spoken. But Meg was no longer here. ‘Who are you? What’s your name?’ he asked.

‘Mark.’ The boy jumped onto the boat, his gaze shifting from Lev’s face to the lute. ‘I am a minstrel.’ He stretched out a grubby hand towards the lute. ‘I am seeking a position in King Arthur’s court.’

‘A minstrel? So where’s your lute or guitar, or whatever?’

The boy shuffled his feet, but his gaze stayed fastened on the lute. ‘I have no instrument, but I know how to play a lute, and I can sing.’

Lev didn’t believe him. But he recognised something of himself in Mark’s fixation with the lute. He’d been exactly the same when he’d lived on the streets in Sydney. A pickpocket, a bag-snatcher, and worse. His quick fingers and quicker feet had often meant the difference between shelter and food, or an empty belly and a night huddled in a doorway with a discarded newspaper his only protection against the rain and cold. It was either that or beg from the charities that sometimes helped him out. But Lev doubted there’d be the equivalent of Lifeline or the Salvation Army here in Camelot.

He inspected Mark carefully, taking note of the smudges of dirt on his skin and his tattered clothing. He knew very well that if he turned his back, the lute would be gone in a flash, and the boy with it. He’d be willing to bet the diamond on that! He curled his fingers around the shining gem and shoved it into the leather pouch hanging from his girdle. No point putting too much temptation in the boy’s path, he thought, as he pulled the drawstring tight. But it wouldn’t hurt him to walk away and let Mark grab what he wanted.

He was about to step out of the boat, then turned back to study the boy more closely, touched by his innocence. Lev remembered how quickly he himself had turned feral after his mother died; how he’d treated every situation and everyone he met as a means to an end — his survival. He could tell Mark wanted the lute so badly he would steal it, but did he have form or would this be a first for him?

Lev made up his mind to help the boy. He bent over and picked up the lute. ‘Here.’ He held it out. ‘You can have it.’

It took a few moments for Lev’s offer to sink in before a great joy illuminated Mark’s face. ‘My thanks to you!’ Giving Lev no chance to change his mind, Mark snatched the lute from Lev’s hands. Reverently, his fingers gently stroked the strings. A simple melody, delicate and beautiful, sang through the smoke-filled air.

‘So you really can play a lute. Where did you learn how to do that?’ Lev asked, surprised that such a scruffy wretch could have so much talent and ability.

‘The nuns trained me to sing and to play both the lute and the harmonium. In chapel, I led all the chants and prayers.’

‘The nuns?’ Lev lifted an eyebrow.

A tide of red flooded the boy’s face. He shoved the lute under his arm, ready to leap off the boat and run.

Acting on impulse, Lev shot out a hand and grabbed his sleeve. ‘Wait,’ he said. ‘I’m not sure who you really are, but I’m not who you think I am either.’

‘Who are you then?’ The boy trembled in Lev’s grasp.

‘My name is Lev. Sir Lavaine. I am a knight at King Arthur’s court.’

‘A knight?’ The boy’s voice rose an octave. ‘Oh, beg pardon, sire. I thought you were but a lonely traveller. Forgive me if I have caused offence.’

Lev looked down at Stephen’s tunic with its rolled up sleeves, and at his ill-fitting, baggy pants. ‘I’m not exactly dressed like a knight, am I?’ He grinned at the boy. ‘Actually, I’m not Sir Lavaine at all. I’m a time-traveller from another century, from the future.’

‘A time-traveller?’ Mark’s mouth hung open in amazement.

Lev let him go. ‘Yeah. Blows your mind, doesn’t it?’

The boy shook his head. He began to edge away, keeping a wary eye on Lev.

‘Don’t go.’

But Mark had hopped out of the far side of the boat into the muddy water. He held the lute high as he waded through the reeds around the boat towards dry land.

Lev jumped out of the boat onto the riverbank and blocked the boy’s path. ‘Wait!’ he said urgently. ‘You don’t know anyone at court and neither do I. Not really. Maybe we can help each other?’

He peered closer at Mark. Surely he knew this boy? ‘Who are you?’ he demanded.

The boy lowered his head under Lev’s fierce gaze. ‘I am known as Mark. I have no other name.’

‘And where are your parents?’

‘Dead.’ The boy sounded desolate.

‘Were you born near here? When’s your birthday?’

‘The day of my birth?’ The boy looked troubled. ‘Only Christ’s nativity is celebrated. Not ours. The nuns said …’

‘So you were looked after by nuns, not left on the streets to starve. You were lucky.’ Lev stepped forward and cupped the boy’s chin in his hand so that he could study his face.

The boy trembled in terror, and Lev released him. At once he jumped back out of Lev’s reach, wincing as a sharp stone cut into his bare feet. Lev lunged after him and grabbed his sleeve, holding him tight. ‘You’re on the run, aren’t you? Tell me the truth now.’

Mark glared at him. ‘Tell me.’ Lev’s grip tightened on his arm.

‘The nuns have looked after me since I was a babe abandoned at their door,’ Mark admitted reluctantly. ‘They have been kind to me while I, in turn, have served them to the best of my ability. But the life of the church is not for me. My only wish is that they might understand, and forgive my ingratitude.’

‘Surely serving God is better than living in a ditch?’

‘Aye. There’s more comfort sleeping in a dormitory than under a hedge or in a byre with the cows and pigs.’ Mark wriggled free from Lev’s grasp and bent to wipe a smear of mud from his torn hose. ‘But the truth is, sire, I ran away from the nuns and their bells and their praying because I want to be free to play the music that sings in my heart, as well as the chants and the hymns of our Holy Mother Church.’

Mark’s fingers caressed the lute strings once more. ‘I thought to become a minstrel, to take my chances at King Arthur’s court and thus earn my keep. And I am ever grateful to you, sire, for putting into my hands the means to achieve my heart’s desire. I shall play and sing and, God willing, I shall charm King Arthur and his queen so they will never send me away.’

‘They’ll never take you on looking like that,’ Lev observed. ‘Where did you get those clothes? They’re surely not yours?’

‘I took them from a dead man, sire.’

‘You what?’ Lev was appalled, but impressed. He’d lived a rough life in Sydney, but there’d always been charity shops or shelters if he got really desperate. Slack-jawed, he stared incredulously at Mark.

‘He was dead! He had no further use for them.’ Mark defended his actions. ‘And I dunked them in the river before I put them on. But sleeping in rain and mud outdoors, or in a barn with animals and their dung …’ The boy lifted his arms in a hopeless gesture.

‘Perhaps you’d better go for a swim before we venture into Camelot,’ Lev suggested. ‘That’ll clean you up.’

‘A swim?’

‘A ducking in the river. Then we’ll go rob a clothes line.’

‘Clothes line?’ Mark looked even more confused.

‘Where do people wash their clothes?’ The answer came to Lev even as Mark answered.

‘The river,’ they chorused together. ‘We’ll follow the course of the river until we find some clothes to steal,’ Lev suggested. He thought of the diamond nestling in his pouch. It was more than enough to buy a tunic and hose — but he wasn’t prepared to give it away in payment for a few old clothes. It was far too valuable for that. Selling it to the highest bidder would take time though. Making a mental note to pay something later to recompense the washerwoman, he continued, ‘Don’t worry, I’ll do it. I’ve had plenty of practice.’

‘But you are a knight!’

Conscience pricked Lev. He grimaced as he remembered his good intentions. What if he was caught stealing clothes? Briefly, he reflected on how easy it was to promise to live an honourable life, and how hard it was to keep that promise in the face of human need. He looked at Mark. His feeling of unease grew deeper. Despite the boy’s apparent innocence, there was something about Mark that he didn’t quite trust.

‘I’ll see what I can do. But tell me, how do you expect to meet the king?’

‘My plan is to find a knight to serve so that I may accompany him when the king next goes hunting.’

‘But Camelot is ringed by fire.’ Lev gestured at the flaming barricade and the pall of smoke that shrouded the castle and was drifting their way.

‘That is why I hoped to come to the castle on your boat, sire. There is no time to lose. As soon as the danger passes, the king may ride out again, and I need to be part of his company.’

Lev was impressed by Mark’s determination. He knew what he wanted, all right. And he had it all worked out. ‘So you go hunting with the king. What then?’

‘After the kill, when the company is resting, I shall sing for the king’s pleasure, and so hope to secure my position at court. I have heard that my lord is more easily pleased than his lady, and I shall direct my songs to him. But my first task is to find a good knight who might take me into his service. Oh!’ Mark swung around and faced Lev, his eyes shining with hope. ‘You are a knight! You told me so yourself. Will you take me with you when the king summons the knights to a hunt?’

‘But I don’t know how to ride. And I can’t —’ Lev stopped abruptly as the difficulties of his future at court loomed before him.

‘You do not know how to ride? But you are a knight!’ Mark sounded incredulous.

Lev thought about Mark’s proposal, and about his own future. When they’d all arrived in Camelot, they’d told the court they were brothers and sisters. He would have to come up with some explanation for being here on his own now. Would he still find a place here without his friends?

A hunt might be a good way to reintroduce himself, he thought. People already knew he couldn’t ride so it wouldn’t matter if he made a fool of himself. Although his backside still hurt from his riding lesson with Sir Bors’ squire, Howell, he now knew in theory what he was supposed to do. Perhaps he could ask Bors for the loan of his horse and persuade Howell to give him lessons again?

Lev glanced at Mark. The boy looked so hopeful, so trusting. So needy. He made up his mind.

‘Okay, I’ll take you hunting with me,’ he promised, and was rewarded with a heartfelt smile. Lev caught his breath. He’d seen that smile before, and not all that long ago either. Yet Mark claimed to have spent all his life cloistered with the nuns until he’d finally run away.

So who was he really? And where had Lev seen him before? Camelot? Or in Australia?

CHAPTER 1

At the sound of Honey barking, Callie jumped. She shot an anxious glance over her shoulder before bending to remove the key from its hiding place under the stone dragon by the door. There was a brief silence, broken by a low, hoarse croak and more barking. It’s only Honey chasing birds, she reassured herself as she turned the key and let herself into her father’s studio.

Wasting no time, she hurried to the work station, typed in the password, and tried to access her program. But the huge screen stayed blank. Where had Camelot gone? She couldn’t believe that something, which only a few days ago had helped them visit the real Camelot, could now have disappeared forever. Why couldn’t she find it? It wasn’t as if she wanted to go back there: the consequences were so terrible she never wanted to access anywhere else ever again. No — what she wanted now was proof of where they’d been and what had happened there.

She frowned at the keyboard as she tried once more the sequence that had always allowed her into her father’s programs in the past. This was the first chance she’d had to sneak back to her dad’s studio. She didn’t have long. Her dad had abandoned the international conference in the States to come home to keep vigil beside her twin sister. El had fallen ill after their return from Camelot. She’d been admitted to hospital, and was now so sick that doctors were grim-faced and silent over her chances of survival. When Callie had told El, her dad and gran, the doctors, and anyone else who might listen, that they had come in contact with a medieval plague, no one had believed her. The one doctor who’d taken Callie’s claim seriously enough to examine El more thoroughly and order some extra tests, had declared herself baffled by El’s symptoms and blamed some new and unknown virus instead. ‘Whatever this infection is, it’s apparently resistant to any antibiotics currently on the market,’ she’d said.

‘She’s got an ancient form of the plague, I already told you that!’ Callie insisted.

‘We’re living in the twenty-first century, not the Dark Ages.’ The doctor had tutted impatiently, and hurried off to complete her rounds. While El’s grip on life slowly weakened, the doctors continued to argue over what treatment might be best.

Her father had been right to warn her not to meddle with the past, Callie thought. But she had meddled anyway, thinking it was safe because this was a legend, not history. And now her sister was dying because of it. Callie could feel El’s pain as if it was her own; she shared her despair, and couldn’t hide her grief over the consequences of her actions. As soon as her father had arrived home, she’d confessed to him what she’d done and what had happened as a result. Not only had he not believed her, he’d been furious that she’d gone into his studio without his permission. But it was worth stirring him up all over again, Callie thought, if she could only show him the actual scenes and characters she’d created. If he truly believed that they really had been in a tower in Camelot, and that people had died of the plague while they were there, he would insist that the doctors give El the treatment she needed. But would they be able to find a new and more effective antibiotic than the ones they’d already tried? Frightened, Callie brushed the thought away.

She remembered how easily she’d been able to summon up all the scenes she’d wanted once she’d started devising the program, and how all the characters from the legend seemed to have been waiting for her to find them. Maybe she should just start all over again?

Lev! The thought came to her that with the program gone, Lev had also gone. Had he died in the fire here in real time? A wave of fear gripped Callie as she thought through the alternative: that before leaving, she should have warned him to stay within the scenes of Camelot that she’d created. What if he decided to go hunting, or ride off to battle with King Arthur? As soon as he moved beyond her scenario, he’d be zapped back to real time. Unless Lev was already dead?

How could she have been so thoughtless, so careless! With a low moan, Callie clapped her hands over her ears, trying to block out the questions that tormented her. She could hardly bear to live with the knowledge that her experiment had gone so wrong. The only good thing to come from it had been Meg’s decision to study music, even if she wasn’t quite sure why. She’d loved her first lesson, and had told Callie that she’d finally discovered what she wanted to do after leaving school.

Camelot had also been good for the lonely, try-hard Stephen, Callie thought. He was such an arrogant know-all when they’d first arrived in Camelot, but he’d started to change while they were there. Although Stephen couldn’t remember any of it now, he’d made friends there, and become more approachable and much happier. He’d hated leaving Howell behind without saying goodbye — but it seemed he’d now become friendly with a new guy at his school. Callie was glad of it. She just wished she could meet a look-alike Sir Lancelot to fill the empty space where her heart had been.

Lance. A wave of misery and grief engulfed Callie as she visualised the handsome knight. When she’d first set out to capture his love and seduce him from the queen, she’d never added into the equation that she herself might fall in love with him. If only she could see him one more time, hear his voice and feel his touch. Callie ached with wanting. At night he haunted her dreams. By day she walked around feeling as though a large part of her was missing. Did Lance miss her too? Did he believe she’d died on the barge? Was he grieving for her as she grieved for him?

Another thought rocked Callie, and she groaned aloud. Believing that she had gone forever, had Lancelot once more pledged his love and loyalty to the queen? If so, all her efforts to save Camelot would come to nothing.

Callie blinked at the blank screen in front of her, fighting tears. She couldn’t think about Lancelot now. Saving El was much more important, and she needed to stay focused.

She began to import the high walls of the tower once more. The computer hummed into life, and Callie suddenly found herself looking at a familiar scene. She was there, in the tower, along with El, Meg, Stephen and Lev. She frowned, remembering that she’d deleted them from the screen right at the start, yet they’d been in Camelot with her, and here they still were, wearing medieval clothes and jewels just as she’d originally created them. Relieved, she saved the scene and then, holding her breath, began to scroll through the scenes she’d set up that would take them from the tower and along the road to Camelot. If she could only remember how she’d managed to take them there in reality, would she find Lancelot waiting for her? She was tempted, but told herself sternly that she’d vowed she’d never try to go anywhere again. Nevertheless, her hands trembled as she moved through the forest towards Camelot.

She stopped abruptly as the sound of Honey’s barking came closer: sharp, hysterical yaps that had nothing to do with birds. It sounded as if the dog was almost outside the door. What was going on? She quickly saved everything and sat still, listening intently.

She heard a knock, so soft and tentative it was hardly audible above the noise Honey was making. She didn’t move. Perhaps whoever it was would give up and go away if there was no reply?

‘Callie? Are you in there?’

She froze, cemented to the stool by the sound of her mother’s voice. Was she imagining things? Her mother had been gone for six years. Had she suddenly come home again?

She heard the voice again, louder and stronger. ‘Yes, Honey, I remember you and I’m delighted to see you too.’ A sharp rap on the door. ‘Callie? Will you let me in?’

‘Mum?’ Callie mouthed the words, unable to say them out loud. Could this really be happening? She glanced at the screen, just in case by some miracle she’d conjured up her mother in virtual reality. But the scene still depicted medieval time. It was this world that Callie had to deal with now.

‘Mum?’ She forced herself to stand up and move to the door. As she fumbled with the catch, she blinked back tears. She had missed her mother so much, and now here she was, right on the doorstep. Callie took a deep breath to steady herself. She’d been devastated when her mother abandoned them. She would never allow herself to be so vulnerable again. And the first step was not to let her mother see how much this meant to her. Slowly, she opened the door.

Suzanne Le Blanc stepped forward, arms outstretched to embrace her daughter. Her face was glowing with excitement. Deliberately, Callie stepped back out of reach.

Her mother stopped short, wariness tightening her smile. ‘Hello, darling,’ she said.

Callie studied her. She looked older and thinner. There were more lines on her face than Callie remembered. ‘Hello,’ she said coolly.

She bent and quickly caught hold of Honey before she could dash into the studio. Honey licked her face, her salty tears. The dog’s saliva gave Callie an excuse to wipe her eyes. ‘What are you doing here?’ she asked, as she put Honey down outside and closed the door on her.

‘I’m on my way to the hospital. I’ve come to see El. And you, of course. I just got in from the airport.’

‘How did you know about El?’ In spite of her determination not to show any interest in her mother, Callie was curious.

‘Gran told me. I came as quickly as I could.’

‘But … how did Gran know where to find you?’

‘Gran’s always known where to find me. So has your father. Didn’t you know that?’

Rendered mute with shock, Callie shook her head.

‘Although we’re divorced, your father has always kept in touch. He emails sometimes and sends me photographs, and tells me what you’ve been doing.’

‘Dad sends you emails?’ Callie felt dazed. ‘He never talks about you. Neither does Gran. I thought you’d totally abandoned us. I thought no one knew where you were.’

‘And I thought you didn’t contact me because you wanted me out of your lives.’ A flash of anger crossed Suzanne’s face as she continued. ‘I don’t know what your dad’s told you, Callie, but I’ve never stopped loving you, both of you. Never.’

‘You’ve got a funny way of showing it.’