Prologue
Seven Years Ago
Newt’s head was bursting with facts about the First World War, the Cold War and the spread of communism in East and South-East Asia. Alongside that, he had to remember explanations for forgetting—oh the irony—proactive and retroactive interference and retrieval failure due to absence of cues. And then there were his texts for English literature.
Brain overload!
Though psychology and English Lit weren’t until next week. History was what he needed to concentrate on.
But he’d had enough. If he didn’t stop reading, he’d never go to sleep. At least everyone but his mother and younger sister, Rathnait, was out tonight. Probably up to no good. No probably about it. He’d hoped the house would stay quiet while he revised, but he’d had to ask Rathnait to turn her music down twice. Their brothers shared a flat in town but still spent a lot of time in the family home. Probably for their mother’s cooking. She was a terrible mother, to Newt anyway, but a fantastic cook who was currently watching TV downstairs. Some comedy show, he thought, judging by the laughter.
Newt put his notes on the floor and flicked off his bedside light. All he’d done for the last few months was revise for his A levels, and yet he still didn’t feel as if he’d done enough. Though had he ever when it came to exams? Three days ago, he’d emerged from his first history paper feeling he’d done okay, but by the time he got home, he’d convincedhimself he’d messed up one of the answers.
Confidence was not one of Newt’s strong points, not just in his school work but in life. He tried to stay in the background, tried not to be noticed at home and at school. He was predicted to get top grades, but that just made him even more anxious. What if he didn’t do well? Everything he’d planned would be lost. Still, it was too late now to cram more into his head, at least with respect to history. After the exam tomorrow morning, he’d give himself the afternoon off, then continue revising for his other subjects.
He turned over in bed. The great escape he’d planned was almost within reach. Even allowing himself to consider that made his heart thump harder and his stomach churn with anxiety, as though some freaky clown was going to pop out of the wall sayingThat’s what you think!
Nothing could go wrong. He couldn’t allow the idea of failure into his head.
His eighteenth birthday was two days after his final exam. The plan for that day was to set his alarm for five, quickly pack his bag—he wouldn’t risk doing it in advance—and leave this house for good. If any member of his family discovered what he was planning, they’d stop him, or in his sister’s case, tell on him. There was nothing Rathnait liked better than getting Newt into trouble.
Even his brother Phelan, who was mostly on Newt’s side, wouldn’t dare defy their father. Newt didn’t want to think abouthowhe’d be prevented from leaving,but a way would be found. He couldn’t let it happen. He was expected to join the family business and he’d rather die.
A touch dramatic, but he meant it. He really did. It horrified him that he was a member of a criminal family. But what could he do? No way would he tell the police. He justkept quiet and kept out of it as best he could. He had no interest in cars other than using them as a means to get from A to B. He didn’t care how they worked. He didn’t want to wash, valet or wax one ever again, let alone learn how to fix them up or respray them whether they were stolen or not. But most importantly, he didn’t want to get involved with the illegal side of what his family did. He’d caught sight of the accounts and the business didn’t generate that sort of income. On top of everything else, he thought his father was laundering money.
Newt had a little cash saved, but not much. Most of it had found its way into his possession when he’d seen it lying around in the house. Some he’d found in cars he’d been ordered to clean. It was theft, but since he’d never been given pocket money or paid by his father for the hours of work he’d beenmadeto do at the weekends, he didn’t feel bad about it, especially when his sister only had to ask and was given whatever she wanted.
He’d never taken much from the house. Just coins. No one had noticed. The cars had only yielded coins too. Every now and again, Phelan had given him cash to buy something and Newt had always gone for the cheapest option. He had more than enough hidden to buy a train ticket from London to York though nowhere near enough to survive for long on his own.
His family had no idea he’d been offered a place to read psychology at York Uni, providing he achieved three A grades. His throat thickened and his heart fluttered. What if he didn’t…? He clamped down on that and rolled over again.No wavering.He needed to believe in himself.
Except I don’t.Newt pressed his face into the pillow. If he’d believed in himself, he’d have left home when he wassixteen, come out as gay, asked for help…
Don’t, don’t, don’t…
He flipped onto his back. He couldn’t mess this up. Once he reached York, he’d find a way to survive until he started university. From what he’d read, student welfare services would help him. It was knowing they’d step in that had given him the courage to plan this.
Newt had asked that all university correspondence go to the school for the attention of his pastoral care teacher. Luckily, Ms Mitchell liked him. She’d sometimes seen Newt’s bruises when his father hadn’t been careful where he’d hit him, and rolled her eyes at the lies Newt told—a fall on the stairs, a slip on the pavement, walking into a door. Last month, she’d reported her concerns to the school’s designated safeguarding person and Newt had to lie his way out of that. He knew he’d disappointed his teacher but he had no choice.
Now, apart from exams, school was done. He wouldn’t be going to the prom, though he’d told people he had a ticket; he’d never see or hear from anyone at school ever again. He didn’t much care. No one had been a good friend. Part of that was down to him not being willing to trust anyone. Betrayals were a hard lesson. His father had long arms and hard fists.
Newt had been an unwelcome surprise seven years after Phelan was born, nine after Sean. His parents had been desperate for a girl and got him instead. A sickly baby who didn’t thrive. ‘You were nothing but trouble’ was a favourite expression of his mother’s. Difficult to feed. Slow to walk. Slow to talk. Always throwing up.
He’d understood from early on that he wasn’t wanted. When his sister, Rathnait, had been born three years later, she was treated as the angel of the family, the child they’d been desperate for. He couldn’t help being jealous of the love andattention that flowed her way. She could do no wrong and Newt could do no right. It was Phelan who’d looked after him, read to him, helped him learn how to read. Reading had given Newt other worlds to enjoy, ones he could live in. His only way to escape.
After he’d learned what a changeling was, he’d spent much of his childhood believing he’d been switched as a baby. Once he accepted faeries weren’t real, he latched onto the prospect of a mistake at the hospital. Maybe his real family was out there somewhere trying to find him, because the man who regularly beat him, who’d even stubbed out his cigarettes on him, the woman who neglected him and made him walk to school on his own when he was only six because his sister was still asleep in her cot, the brother who bullied, teased and mistreated him, made him afraid to walk down a dark hallway…none of them could possibly share his blood. Without Phelan, he wasn’t sure he’d have coped as long as he had.
He was sad he wouldn’t be able to say goodbye to Phelan, but it was too big a risk. Phelan was the only one he’d miss. Though Newt wouldn’t miss his smoking. He’d tried to get him to give up or at least change to vapes, but he wouldn’t. Phelan had taught Newt to drive even before he was legally allowed on the road. Newt had taken his test on his seventeenth birthday and passed—all thanks to Phelan. His brother had covered for him sometimes when he’d messed up on jobs for their father and never laughed at him or mocked or scared him, like the rest were prone to do.
Newt was a rule follower. He’d always wondered if being a good boy was the only weapon he could wield against his family. The others were rule breakers—even Phelan. Newt was kind, and apart from Phelan, the others were mean andcruel. Newt’s father and brothers were physically strong, big muscular guys, well over six feet tall and Newt was not. He was 5’10 and skinny, nothing like them at all, apart from the dark brown hair and green eyes. They all shared that, including his mother.
Phelan and Sean cycled through girlfriends too fast for Newt to keep up with their names. Though Phelan’s girlfriend Lily had lasted longer than most. If pressed, Newt had pretended to like a girl in his class. No one knew he liked boys but he thought they suspected. He’d never heard Phelan say anything homophobic, but his parents and Sean were definitely anti-gay, anti-anyone in the LGBTQ spectrum. No way was Newt opening himself up to more abuse by coming out while he lived at home. But once he was in York… He couldn’t wait!
He curled up, dragging the duvet around his shoulders.Go to sleep!Three weeks until he was free. He had a smile on his lips as his eyes closed. He’d make his own future. He could be what he wanted, do what he wanted. He’d learn to breathe. He’d be brave. One day, he’d see Phelan again. His brother would understand why he’d run, that he’d had to save himself while he could or he’d have been pulled into the pit and he’d never have climbed out.
Newt woke suddenly and yelped at the sharp pain in his arm. He blinked open his eyes to see his mother crouched over him. In the half-light from the open door, he caught sight of a syringe in her hand.What the hell?She stepped back and as Newt tried to speak, the words fell apart in his mouth. The room blurred, then went dark.
He came round to the sound of banging, people shouting, feet thundering up the stairs.What the…He gaspedas his door burst open. Dark figures in helmets and body armour swarmed into his room, guns in their hands. One man yelled something into his face, spitting on his cheek and Newt’s heart jumped into his throat. He was so stunned, he couldn’t take in what was happening. The next moment, he was forcibly shoved face down in bed, a hand pressing hard on the back of his neck as his wrists were cuffed behind him.
