Mirrorland by Carole Johnstone (books for 6 year olds to read themselves txt) 📕

He shakes his head, turns back to look out at the firth. ‘I’ve been coming here … I don’t know why. To feel closer to her, I suppose.’ He closes his eyes. ‘And I enjoy being battered to bits by the weather, it calms me down.’

I like him. El probably liked him too. I bend down to pick up a small stone. When I throw it into the water, it leaves behind a slowly widening circle pricked by raindrops. ‘“I tried to drown my sorrows, but the bastards learned how to swim.”’

‘She said you were funny.’

‘She did?’ This seems as likely as Marie’s Ellice told me all about you, of course.

‘She talked about you a lot.’

We’re talking about her in the past tense, I realise. Just like Ross.

‘Did you ever go out on her boat?’

Vik looks at me quickly, sharply, as if surprised by the question. ‘No. I get seasick watching The Blue Planet.’ He looks over at all the neon buoys in the water. ‘It was a good-looking sailboat, though,’ he says. ‘All shiny mahogany and chrome fittings.’ He smiles again. ‘When she bought it, it was called Dock Holiday.’

‘D’you know which mooring was hers?’

He frowns, points to a yellow buoy close to the eastern breakwater wall. ‘I think that one, but I’m not sure. Around there anyway. She needed to taxi out.’

‘She doesn’t like yellow.’

‘What?’

‘Yellow. She hates it. I always hated red and she always hated yellow.’ I stare at the buoy. ‘I forgot that.’

‘Are you okay?’

‘Sorry. Ever since I’ve come back it’s like I’ve only just remembered that there’s so much I’ve forgotten.’ I pause, look at Vik. ‘I suppose you think she’s dead too?’

He looks at me. ‘Yes.’ He says it carefully, like I’m a bomb that might otherwise go off.

‘Did she tell you she was getting threatening letters?’

‘Cards, not letters,’ he replies. Nods.

I take in a breath, hold it, let it go. ‘She’s sending me emails.’

‘She sent you emails?’

‘No. She’s sending me emails. Today. Yesterday. Since she’s gone missing.’

‘What do they say?’ he says, in that same careful voice.

‘Nothing important. But I know they’re from her.’

‘Do they say they’re from her?’

I grit my teeth, suddenly angry. ‘That doesn’t mean that they’re not. They are.’

‘And these emails, they say that she’s alive?’ There’s nothing at all in his expression that says he believes this for a minute.

I shake my head, force myself to say nothing more. To tamp down my frustrations and doubts and what ifs until they’re flat and quiet again.

‘Look,’ Vik finally says. ‘Could we swap numbers? I just … it’s hard only getting information from news reports. I thought maybe you could let me know if anything …’

‘Fine.’

I give him my number, and he texts me his, and then we fall silent again, while the rain comes down harder, bounces up from the tarmac.

‘She was terrified of him.’

I turn my head so fast, my hair whips against my face, stinging my skin. ‘What?’

Vik’s eyes are wet, and he’s looking anywhere, everywhere, but at me. ‘She was terrified. In the last few months, she changed.’ His voice is lower, harder. ‘She’d lost weight, she wasn’t sleeping. She had bruises.’

‘Who is him?’

‘Cat. Maybe you should—’

‘Who?’

But, of course, I already know what he’s going to say before he says it. I watch the up-and-down bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows. When he finally looks at me, his expression is as sorrowful as it is certain.

‘Her husband.’

*

I go back to Westeryk Road because there’s nowhere else I can go. And there’s some defiance in it too, I suppose. I might be starting to believe that El could be in trouble – or worse – but I don’t believe even for one moment that Ross has done away with her. Any more than I believe that she was terrified of him.

The house is in darkness. There’s another envelope on the hessian doormat. The late afternoon light bisects my name, exposing only CAT.

I pick it up, rip it open. A picture of a teddy bear sitting in a hospital bed with a thermometer in his sad mouth, another teddy bear standing anxiously alongside. Get Well Soon.

And inside: YOU’LL DIE TOO

I turn around, run back down the path, through the gate, and onto the street. I look left and right, but there’s no one there. The card could have sat on that mat for hours. It starts to rain again: fat cold splashes against my skin, my hair. I screw the card inside my fist.

‘Fuck off!’

It hurts my throat, but I don’t care. A double-decker goes past, and heads swivel towards me in bored interest. I go back up the steps, slam the red front door shut, and the house shouts back its echoed outrage. And I don’t care.

*

The Witch is dragging me along a black corridor into darkness, her fingers pinching my skin, her breath loud and laboured in my ear. And I’ve been shouting for too long; my voice is only a whisper. ‘No, no! I don’t want to go!’

Belle and Mouse race towards me, take hold of my arms to pull me back into the light.

‘Sail away with us,’ Belle cries. ‘Come with us!’ Her boot heels scream against stone as the Witch pulls us along behind her.

Tears are streaming down Mouse’s cheeks. ‘We have to go to Mirrorland! She can’t get you there. You’re safe in Mirrorland!’

And then El comes out of the darkness. Her face covered in paint, thick and careless as if spread by a knife. She grabs hold of the Witch, wraps an arm around her neck. Turns to me with bright fury in her grey-blue eyes. ‘RUN!’

It takes a few terrifying seconds to orientate myself. I’m lying on my bed in the Clown Café. It’s harder to shake the nightmare off, and I’m glad to be distracted by the sound of raised voices.

I get up, go downstairs on unsteady legs. DS Logan, DI Rafiq, and another younger woman are standing next to the kitchen table. Ross is pacing, pulling