PROLOGUE
LIAM
The girl’sbeen talking to the frog for ten minutes, and from my hiding place amongst the trees, I can’t help but watch.
I’m guessing she’s the same age as me, but her legs aren’t as bone-skinny, and although she has twigs in her hair, she looks like she gets bathed more regularly, too.
Remembering the last time Dad hosed me off in the garden makes me shiver. Lifting my arm, I sniff at myself, scrunching my nose at the sour smell.
She’s kicked off her boots by the side of the stream and is up to her thighs in the cold water. Her dress reminds me of the lemon sherbet my granny once gaveme, the one time I was allowed to meet her. It’s tucked into her knickers to stop the ends getting wet.
Her hair is what draws me closer to the edge of the water; it looks like it belongs to an angel. Long and pale blonde, curling at the ends. I’ve often imagined that she’s been sent to save me. To pluck me out of my dad’s house and steal me away to her world of clean hair and endless sandwiches.
My tummy rumbles at the thought of the soft, fresh bread and the sharp cheese it always contains. She knows I follow her and never pressures me to come out and play, yet always leaves me a sandwich.
I’m at the edge of the water now, closer than I’ve dared to go before.
She talks almost constantly, and I’m never sure if it’s to me, the bugs and frogs, or herself. From her chatter, I’ve learned that the big oak leaning over the stream is the old wizard, steeped with magical powers in her games. The flat rock in the deepest bit of the stream is the throne, hers, of course, as a princess. The frog is called Gerald and is always told he needs to try harder to find love.
‘Gerald, you can’t just sit there. Your lady love will be out there somewhere.’
Gerald doesn’t seem to care about the girl. Or love.
She puts her hands on her hips and sighs dramatically. My lips press together to stifle a laugh.
Finally, she sets those pale blue eyes on me andgives a smile. ‘About time. Come on, teach me to throw the rocks the way you do, where they skip over the water. I’ve seen you do it before. You didn’t know I was there.’
My tummy flips at the idea of her watching me. What else had she seen? My face heats at the thought. I hope she hasn’t seen me cry. I can’t help it sometimes.
Holding out a wet hand, she tilts her head. ‘Well, come on then.’
I’m scared to take her hand. I can’t remember the last time I had a kind touch. Not without pain following.
But this girl knows no fear. She leans forward and slides her chilly palm in mine. It’s like a plaster on a grazed knee. In that moment, I feel like her touch makes everything better. The dark nights and the tears. The fear and desperation. Gone, for a moment.
We throw the stones together. I don’t speak. Using my voice has only ever made things worse, and I’m worried that if I speak to her, she’ll find a reason to hate me.
So we play despite my silence, and with her sweet voice filling the space between us until the sun is low in the trees, sending its dappled rays over us.
‘Show me again,’ she demands when her stone fails to skip the water for the hundredth time. I’m impressed that she hasn’t given up yet.
She watches me with eyes as fierce as the old dog down the road, the hungry one. It makes no difference.
‘It’s a silly game anyway,’ she huffs at last, and although I think she’s wrong, my hands and feet are frozen, so I’m glad.
As we wade for the bank, I see something white shining below the shimmering surface of the stream.
A stone that is no good for skimming, it’s not flat enough, but that hits my childish soul in a different way. I reach down and grasp it, pulling it up to the light and marvelling in its heart-like shape.
It’s pretty and unblemished, and it shines like the girl.
So I hold it out to her.
‘A rare gem, the wizard must have lost it,’ she says, but doesn’t take it from me.
Stumbling over the slippery rocks, I press the stone into her palm.
‘You want me to have it?’
