Saffelia Forrest and the Snowfall Grove (Teen Edition)

By Dominic Jericho

Saffelia Forrest and the Snowfall Grove is an intriguing mystery set amid the pale snow of a bleak winter in a dark forest.

Sixteen year-old Saffelia has a problem for which she cannot ask her friends for help. Concealing the origin of her mysterious blackouts is becoming a constant struggle as she approaches her final year at St Oliver Plunkets.

When she takes a camping trip into the Snowfall Grove, she and her friends unwittingly encounter several new intruders who disrupt their idyllic expedition. To their horror, on return to school they discover the intruders have joined the teaching staff. So begins a year of oppression, fakery and a toxic battle to close down freedom of speech on their school newspaper, The Oracle. Classes on Romantic poetry split their year down the middle as a gender battle breaks out among the students. But Saffelia has a much darker concern - she knows something about one of the teachers no-one else does, and confiding this secret could tear her fragile world apart. Will she find the courage to face her hidden shame?

This is a gripping and twisty thriller about a secret plot to exploit young people set in the environs of a mysterious forest and a gothic school. Fans of Paula Hawkins, Jo Nesbo and Stieg Larsson will enjoy this book. Saffelia Forrest and the Snowfall Grove is the second novel in Dominic Jericho's coming-of-age series, and explores how friendship can withstand misplaced authority, amid the destructive seduction of Romantic poetry. Fans of Melvin Burgess, Judy Blume and Amanda Hocking will love Dominic Jericho's books.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dominic Jericho
• Release date: Sep 17, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463246771

Dominic Jericho

Dominic Jericho is a writer of young adult fiction. He's been writing stories since before he was a teen himself. He started with a pencil on a scruffy notepad before rapidly buying up multiple packs of empty exercise books so he could fill them with ideas, lists, concepts and illustrations. He now writes all his novels on a shiny new laptop, which unfortunately has the annoying distraction of an internet connection.Dominic lives in the South East of England.You can keep up to date with Dominic’s writing by visiting and following his blog. The blog is stuffed full of interesting book-related reading lists, reviews and lovingly flawed interpretations of literary classics. Visit now at: https://dominicjericho.wordpress.com/

Book preview

Prologue

As she dipped her thumb in the cool pool, the rippling waters closed round it. She sucked it before wrapping her pink handkerchief around the swollen stump. The blood stains shone no more. They had become faded rouge, russet-brown. She looked up at the moon, her eyes smeared carelessly with mauve mascara, as the evening air penetrated her nostrils like an invading army. It hurt, but it was not pain that bothered her. It was the noise from beyond the trees. The leaves rustled in the night wind, but she also heard footsteps on twigs, echoing louder. Distinct crunching over snapped wood, crackling closer.

She walked to the far side of the picnic bench and lay down on one side, her back cooling on the damp wood. Staring at the heavens she watched stars twinkle across an ink sky: crimson, silver and violet. A shooting star tracked an effortless course across the darkness. She sighed. The momentary thrill was not enough to save her now. With poison bubbling in her veins she realised something more disturbing, even now, here at the end. She knew the will to live was lost before she even took a single sip. Lights were already extinguished, the blackness was descending. It was all she had come to know. Her doctor diagnosed her with seasonal affective disorder. Disorder? Everything was in order. That was the problem. For the first time everything made sense. It was just now it did, she wanted to die.

The potent fluid lurched into her stomach and she sat up, wretching as if it were possible to rid her body of the rancorous toxins that overran her kidneys and liver. She recalled the time she’d been sick with food poisoning. She had looked up helplessly into her mother’s eyes, praying not for life to return in abundant waves, but for one tiny touch on her hand. For one tender caress to be permitted to escape her mother’s icy demeanour, her midnight frost. It had not come. While she recovered, her mother deteriorated, becoming more withdrawn, humourless and inhumane. The one thing she retained was the duplicity of her false smile whenever issuing a new put-down.

It had been the start of a slippery slope for her. Her nickname at school had been Monny, a distortion of Monastery. A childish label she assigned by two bullies not accustomed to twentieth century names like Abbey. With an ‘e’. Her friends had lovingly given it a warm edge. For a while she felt like she belonged. However, when the results were in they all shot off to University and Monny was left alone. While they were busy making posh friends, she was shelf-stacking at the local supermarket. On their holiday returns her group of friends had gained a new exclusivity. They talked about Freud, Turner and the Romantic movement. She didn’t know anything about the Romantics and, with the crushing realisation of her own annihilation, she knew she no longer fit their lives.

Exclusivity swamped her. Through the slow absence of contact she gradually became cast out. The text messages didn’t include her. The emails arranging the weekend parties contained surreptitious notes to ‘not invite Abbey’ and ‘she drags us down’. She even overheard a couple of her closest friends saying ‘she talks funny’ even though they had all talked the same as her as a child.

It wasn’t any surprise to them, or indeed her, when she felt forced to surrender the one thing she had left – her body – and go on the game. Sex was the only armour or weapon remaining. With no love from her mother, and experiencing selfish rejections amid the concrete edges of modern friendships, Abbey’s understanding of unconditional love was poetic but entirely theoretical. A desert stretching far beyond her. The deepness of a vast blue sky. The relentless peacefulness of a serene sea. Not having known it first-hand, her ideas of loving, and what it would be liked to be loved equated very strongly with ideas of heaven, which she now reached out to. She felt within that angel’s grasp. Despite poisoned by another, she felt no resentment, just a strange inexorable drive towards destiny.

It was coming. She could feel it now, heavy and thick like disinfectant over school floors she smelt when she arrived early. When life was all possibility, when teachers didn’t think she was some sort of slut and when she still believed she could achieve motherly love. The crumpled piece of paper in her lap drew her attention for the last time. Tears began to fall from her eyes onto the unseen, already wet wooden bench. She reached out a hand to touch the reassuring wetness, but before her skin could make contact with the cold, splintering oak she slumped forward on her stomach, dead.

My ballet shoes hurt. It’s the toes at the end. I think they’re too small. All the other girls don’t wince like I do. They throw them on and swiftly run on the dance floor. It takes me a full five minutes. All of them. Apart from Lucy.

The Clubhouse

Twittering gleefully the small bluebird jumps from the rough Amber branch into windless air. A slight fear rushes through its small skeleton that it might hit the ground hard, clamouring upwards at a million miles an hour. Then our little bird stretches open its modest wingspan and floats effortlessly. With a power it takes for granted it soars and then glides like a feather, through thinning trees and pale leaves.

With a unique grace, almost supernatural, it rises above the tree in which it nests, ascending higher and higher, where the air is shallow and winds gust, tossing the bird about like a paper bag. It grows frightened and seeks escape from what seems to be a gathering storm. A pocket of breezeless air absorbs the bird like a sweet kiss in a torrent of angst. Seizing his chance, our small friend swoops down into static clouds and the thicker summer air.

Flying slowly, the bird sails above a row of houses which stand silently on a quiet road littered with lush willows. Beyond the road and far away from the rolling fields that sit behind, lies a hill soaking up the summer sun. An accumulation of russet and emerald trees reach skywards, as if standing to attention for the sunlight breaking through the melting fog of morning. The bird spies her destination and speeds like a darting arrow to meet the dense woodland of the distant Grove.

Fluttering through glistening virescent trees like a butterfly, our bluebird seems free and happy to the outward eye. Spying a fat little worm the bird swoops to a patch of wet leaves, accelerating in deadly silence, letting her little ball of body drop in gravity’s slip-stream. Travelling at the speed of bluebird she is too fast for the worm and picks him off easily from the ground, flying back into the luminescent haze, the worm tucked safely in her beak.

As the mist clears the bluebird flies, feeding on her worm. Looking down at a small pool of fresh water as she consumes her last, she does not see the approaching eagle, talons sharp, curving rapidly towards her. As the bluebird contemplates diving down to the pool of shimmering blue, to submerge itself in the blissful relief of water, it meets its end, pierced on the claw of a hungry eagle, the sweet relief of death coming without sound or warning, cloud or odour.

Danny awoke. The crisp night hosted sounds of hooting owls from the trees above. Tim still slept, bubbling up gigantinc snores. He could tell when Tim was dreaming as his snores grew louder. Danny suspected Saffelia was also sleeping ill because of the noise: she kept tossing and turning in her sleeping bag, like there was a rustling ferret in there with her. Not that he was looking. Amanita had eventually drifted to sleep after she and Danny had listed their top five favourite actors. Then actresses. Then musicals. Then soap stars. And finally celebrity chefs.

He poked his head out the green canvas tent and let the outside filter into his gaze. Squinting his eyes from sharp moonlight, he stepped out, arms outstretched in case he should bump into something dangerous. A tree, or worse still, a wild animal. The balmy air delivered soothing oxygen, fresh from abundant plant life, and Danny inhaled slowly, refreshing his mind with each intake of breath. Small pinpricks of light seemed to flash from the trees beyond. As he stood silent, he wondered what they might be. Tricks of the light. Flashing torches coming his way, perhaps. No. He had been stupid. They were fireflies, buzzing about in the night summer air.

Once his eyes adjusted to the moonlight he wandered to a thick-barked tree, and from behind it pulled down his boxers. The relief spread from his bladder to his torso, and the warm feeling leaving made him shiver. As the steaming fluid splashed and tinkled on to the dried leaves below the sound amused Danny. He wondered if anyone would hear and wake up; if there were any other groups out here, camping in the woods. Probably, he thought. It being mid-summer some tourists would be bound to find their way to the Snowfall Grove, despite an obscure location remote to many it was well-known to local residents.

As he pulled his boxers back up, he reflected on the dream that his waking had interrupted. Memories of the tragedy at the end of the school year had not faded, but had lost their sharpness. It wasn’t the shots and the tumble into the water that lodged in his mind, but the little things. The smiles, glances, gestures and poses of the girl he had known for too short a time. If they stayed with him forever, then it was no bad thing, he thought. In his dream he relived the moment at the end of a history lesson when she nearly asked him out. The dream offered up a version in which she delivered her question, and the resultant embrace culminated in a brief kiss. It had felt soft and warm and damp and sweet. It was like falling blissful and blind into cushioned velvet. The sensation had overwhelmed Danny and he had ejaculated in his sleep, with the wetness waking him. Consciousness, the thief of fleeting desires, sought to suppress Danny’s joy and readmit the bittersweet distance that always followed a rousing from pleasant dreams. Chardelia was still dead, he was still alone and she would never be able to ask him that question to his face he so longed her to ask. He returned to the tent, his ear pricking up at soft voices distant in the woods. Probably the next camp site, probably new visitors he thought, before clambering back into his tent.

Tim and Amanita were sound asleep: Tim still snored noisily, Amanita breathed heavily. A light was shining from the other corner. Saffelia was reading her book, a Coleridge collection which they would study next year for their poetry examination.

‘You’re awake.’

Saffelia looked up from her book, smiling mysteriously.

‘Isn’t Tim cute when he’s sleeping?’

‘No.’ Danny said shortly, climbing back into his luxury green and orange sleeping bag. Janna had bought it for him last year, before they had split.

‘I think he looks pretty repulsive if you ask me.’

Tim was snoring louder than an elephant and drooling from the side of his mouth. Love is blind, thought Danny as he lay down, resting his head on the small orange cushion he had brought to double up as a pillow. Saffelia put her book down and supported her head with her left arm. She gazed at Danny with ardent eyes.

He was tired. It had been a long day. After regaling them all with netball triumphs from her time as a student at Plunket’s, Saffelia’s mother Phoebe had dropped them off at camp after lunch, and the quartet had spent the afternoon erecting the tent. Unfortunately Tim had fallen too far into the camp spirit and decided to light a bonfire, even though it was only three in the afternoon. For firewood he used some peculiarly shaped twigs he found lying near the tent bag. The fire reached a steady blaze and Tim was about to stick some sausages on a fork when Amanita spotted some of the tent pegs were missing and called on Tim to help look for them. The resultant look on Tim’s face had majestically failed to disguise his guilt, even for a masterful actor like Tim, and Danny was sure Amanita’s shrieks of rage could be heard back in Amberleigh.

Once they calmed Amanita down, they scoured the site and collected a succession of twigs of adequate thickness before carefully hammering these into the ground, hoping they would hold. The tension between Amanita and Tim that night was palpable. Danny managed to prevent the simmering row from exploding by sitting between them at dinner, and munching loudly on his sausage sandwiches which, smoked with charcoal and oozing ketchup, tasted delicious.

With both of them asleep he found the day’s worries had died away and his brain cleared of concerns that seemed huge hours ago. He smiled back at Saffelia.

‘How did you get your name?’ Danny asked, ‘if you don’t mind me asking?’

Saffelia looked surprised before her usual expression of contented glee spread across her face.

‘My Mum always wanted to call me Saffron, and she still does some of the time, when she wants to be nice to me. But my Dad had this dream of calling his first daughter Ophelia. After my brother was christened Luka, and Mum insisted on Jane for my older sister, my Dad put his foot down when I was born. Well kind of. So Saffelia was created! I always think it makes me the odd one out.’

Danny listened, although his eyelids began to droop.

‘I see,’ he said, offering Saffelia a smile that indicated tiredness.

‘How about yours?’ Saffelia asked.

‘My what?’ Danny said confused.

‘Your name, silly!’ Saffelia said, beaming at him.

‘I guess it’s not that unusual. My Mum or my Dad must have thought of it. Maybe they like names ending in the letter ‘y’. My sister’s name is Polly.’

‘Ooh...that’s such a pretty name. Much better than Jane. Mmmm I’m tired now. It’s so nice being back here in the Grove. It’s been years since I’ve seen it and it hasn’t changed at all.’

Danny sat up again.

‘You’ve been to the Snowfall Grove before?’ he asked, a note of interest rising amid his drooping eyes.

‘Oh yes,’ Saffelia continued, closing her eyes and drifting into a light doze. ‘I came here every year when I was a kid. My family insisted we take our holidays here. We didn’t have a lot of money back then. Well, we still don’t I guess.’

Danny rested his head back on his orange pillow. Sleep was returning fast to claim him, he could feel it advancing like a train. Slow at first in the distance, then faster. A ten-ton juggernaut, hurtling out of nothing to steamroller you into unconscious. Saffelia continued.

‘We used to play hide and seek here when I was young. Me and my sister used to go and hide and Mum and Dad would come running to find us...’

He only had time to see her eyes glaze over and hear what he thought were slurred words from Saffelia’s direction, before sleep retrieved her too.

‘He’s so like my Dad used to be...’

*

In the morning an eager sun broke through the blue rainsheet, penetrating the green canvas of the portable home containing and protecting the four friends. Amanita yawned and stretched her arms out of her pink sleeping bag. Danny raised open his right eye, spying her actions silently in his warm snug. She ran a hand through her bushy fair hair and pulled a mirror from the vanity case next to her sleeping bag. Checking her face didn’t carry any unwanted blemishes, she moved strands of hair back and forth across her face until she was happy they presented her in a reasonable light. Sitting up she instantly saw Danny’s open eye staring at her. Danny shut it too late.

‘Danny Canterbury! How long have you been watching me?’ Amanita demanded.

Danny snored half-heartedly in protest, pretending to be asleep. She reached across and tickled him in his ear. He leapt in surprise and Amanita giggled. Saffelia and Tim who, in the middle of the night had conjoined their sleeping bags at various points, both awoke and joined in with the laughter.

Tim looked to Saffelia like a little lost puppy and squeaked out a word.

‘Breakfast.’

Saffelia undid herself from Tim.

‘Are you asking me to get your breakfast Timothy?’

‘Well since you’re offering?’ Tim rebutted hopefully. Saffelia looked at Amanita with exasperated eyes.

‘Come on Danny, let’s leave the lover birds to cook breakfast. How about a walk?’

Danny and Amanita dressed, although it was not easy. When they laid down there seemed plenty of room in the tent but when they stood up there wasn’t much space to move. After a few mild kicks and nudges in the elbows from Tim and Amanita, Danny managed to pull on his jeans and t-shirt. Removing themselves from Saffelia’s taunts to Tim to comb his hair and brush his teeth, the morning hit their somnolent faces with dazzling light. Amanita stretched her arms, accidentally touching Danny on the shoulder.

‘Isn’t it all just...beautiful!’ she breathed.

It was certainly a change from his normal summer routine at Dunkinley. Normally woken at six by his father getting ready to leave for work, Danny would drift back to sleep until Polly woke him around half seven, usually by bouncing up and down on his bed.

‘What’s the time now?’ Danny asked.

‘Crumbs! Forgot my watch! Won’t be a sec.’

She dived back into the tent but just as quickly re-emerged, alarm written on Amanita’s face.

‘Perhaps there’s a clock up at the club house?’ she giggled.

They walked round the remains of the camp fire that cooked their dinner the previous night. A thicket surrounded the area to the rear of their site and an area with wild undergrowth obscured any obvious paths through the forest. Resorting to pulling aside branches, Amanita endured twigs sticking in her bushy hair from meddling trees.

‘What’s the action plan for today Am?’

Amanita removed yet another leaf from her fair locks and considered its faded pastel shade. Barely green, most of its colour was drained from its smooth surface.

‘We’ll eat breakfast, then a hike before lunch. I thought this afternoon we could play a game in the woods. Hide and seek perhaps?’

‘You were listening last night?’

‘No. What do you mean?’ she said

Danny observed the knowing look in her eye Amanita always failed to conceal. They walked on through a patch of wild flowers, where a mini-meadow bloomed amid a clump of black trees arranged in an imperfect circle. Amanita squealed.

‘Look!’

She bent down and held her hand to a flower. It would have remained hidden had it not been for a violent purple rush creeping behind a stone overgrown with lichen.

‘It’s a...damnit. It was on the tip of my tongue a moment ago.’ Amanita said.

She ran her hand through her hair, which she always did when frustrated. Several small leaves and twigs fell to the forest floor.

‘I hope not Am, it looks poisonous!’

‘Very funny,’ Amanita replied, her gaze still concentrated on the foliage. She diligently moved across the clearing to a bunch of plants that bore no flowers but thrived amid the far corner of the patch.

‘This is mint. And this is thyme.’

‘What’s the thyme?’ Danny said, riffing.

‘It’s a herb, silly.’ Amanita replied, unwilling to move in the sphere of Danny’s schoolboy humour.

‘I kinda meant maybe we should be moving on. Maybe the clubhouse might have a few recent editions of the Amberleigh Post.’

Amanita groaned and reluctantly rose to her feet. She cast her eyes across the meadow, washed-out petals the shade of pastel mixed with olive greens. A line of white flowers climbed a tree at the rear of the clearing, while rushes of green poked from between their feet. They trod through the copse, finally reaching the Orb, a grassy field at the centre of the Grove kept empty for groups to play in. The glory of seeing an open green after stumbling over dense twigs and obscuring trees for ten minutes seemed as vast as the space into which they now stared.

‘Race ya!’

Amanita shouted before running off across the grass, her bum bobbing lightly behind her. Danny smiled, before launching himself between the emerald green alive beneath his feet and the sweeping blue desert above.

Amanita sat waiting for him on the lowest step of the clubhouse veranda. While she had run all the way Danny, realising victory was beyond reach halfway across the field had slowed to a walk. He inhaled the crisp summer air, as the flushing sun cast light on his slow-burning neck.

‘What?’ he asked, in response to the withering look she gave as he approached.

Amanita shook her head in disappointment and stood up. Walking into the clubhouse, they discovered it was deserted. A long room, empty apart from a sturdy looking oak table and four garden chairs, extended before them. More garden chairs were stacked up against the far wall. Beams of pallid light streamed through crumbling window frames, and illuminated dust which billowed in thick waves amid the sunrays. Cream and black check stone tiles covered the floor. At one end a wall showed two portrait paintings: one of a man looking away into the mid-distance, the other of a woman looking at the viewer, smiling. Both appeared to be prints of pre-twentieth century art. Between the two paintings sat a pale panelled door, with a bottle-nosed door-knob. It was the type of handle that could detach with a simple pull, to leave the door shut forever and those on either side eternally separated. Inherently curious, Danny walked down to the door and turned the handle. He heard a click. It didn’t come off, but the door wouldn’t open. Kneeling down, Danny spied through the keyhole and tried to peer inside the crack between the wall and door. Only darkness greeted him. He couldn’t tell if the door was simply locked or wedged shut.

Amanita stood at the other end of the room examining a rickety noticeboard. Pinned to it were yellowing pieces of paper, with faded and jerky type only an old typewriter could produce. To Danny, the whole room felt like a step back in time of twenty years. He walked back to Amanita and lightly put his hands on her shoulders, in his mind the gesture of a friend. She relaxed back in his arms, and her head turned to him, inches from his face.

‘It’s just us here you know,’ she whispered.

Danny took a step back, and removed his hands. It was a stupid, thoughtless move. An interminable moment of silence hung between them, and the history of the room seemed a third listener to their wordless conversation. Danny raised his hand to his forehead, wiping away warm sweat with his cold and clammy fingers.

‘What’s that notice you were reading?’ Danny asked.

Any smile that had appeared on Amanita’s face had vanished. She sighed and returned her attention to the board.

‘It’s a parish notice. It tells the time of local church services and other events nearby. There’s details of the next village fete,’ Amanita pointed to an ill-designed poster set in large type and clumsy red borders.

Danny tapped his foot on the stone floor to see how loud it would be. Already his feet were aching. He glanced at the other notices on the board. One was a fixture list of football teams in a Sunday league. Another was a recipe for orange pancakes and he saw different hand-written signatures below the typed ingredients. Danny heard a creak to his right. Amanita was pushing open another wooden door and disappearing through it.

‘Hey – it’s a kitchen. Come and look,’ he heard her call, her voice echoing in stereo off the stone floor.

Danny followed and was taken aback to see a gleaming modern kitchen, all set out with oak panelling and beige apricot tiles. It seemed out of keeping with the rest of the clubhouse. Danny wondered whether the whole place was under refurbishment, and they had only just started with the kitchen. He looked at Amanita – her eyes were shining.

‘Look!’

She pointed at the working surface furthest from Danny. On it lay an array of ingredients. Eggs, flour, sugar – and like the golden hemisphere outside, vibrant oranges.

‘Come on Danny, get the others, I’ll cook orange pancakes for breakfast!’

Amanita rushed to unpin the recipe from the noticeboard.

‘Those ingredients might belong to someone,’ Danny warned cautiously. She turned her head to look at him.

‘Who else is there? We’re the only campers in the whole Grove!’

Danny wouldn’t let it go.

‘Who would leave perfectly good ingredients out on a kitchen surface.

‘Maybe some campers who’ve just left and didn’t want them. Who cares? We’re going to have a fantastic breakfast! Be a darling and go get Saffy and Tim.’

Danny resented being bossed, but knew trying to shake her resolve when she was in this sort of mood was futile. It was unusual to see Amanita so keen to do something slightly dodgy. Perhaps it was the effect of the momentary exile from Amberleigh and watching Tim’s illicit fumblings that had left her feeling unconstrained. He sighed and left the clubhouse to retrieve the snogging duo.

When he arrived at the tent Danny was surprised to see Tim and Saffelia had not risen. Muffled giggles leaked from behind the green canvas like cloud-filtered sunrays. Not wishing to intrude on whatever early morning love antics pursued their natural course from beneath the canvas, Danny coughed loudly and spoke.

‘It’s Danny. Amanita says you’re to come to the clubhouse shortly. She’s found some stuff for making pancakes – we’re going to have them for breakf...’

Tim popped his head out of the tent. It didn’t take Danny long to realise he wasn’t wearing anything, or at least nothing on his torso.

‘Did you mention food, Danny boy? That’s right up my stomach gully! Come on Saffy babe, throw me my trousers. We’re going to get fed!’

Tim was pulled back into the tent and a few moments later they both emerged, hair ruffled and uncombed. Saffelia smiled at Danny as she began applying a film of caramel lip gloss. The three of them rambled through the twigs and trees to the clubhouse. When they arrived, Amanita was already in the process of serving up six fluffy-white pancakes, each adorned with vibrant orange segments. A pot of maple syrup stood on the table in the middle of the clubhouse. She had found three mugs from the cupboards and brought in a steaming pot of tea. Tim didn’t need any further persuasion than this, and seated himself right in front of the maple syrup. Dipping his finger into the sticky goo and sucking it dry, he licked his lips satisfyingly as he grinned at his friends.

Please stop. It hurts. Don’t. Don’t. Please don’t. No. Please. I thought we were playing. I thought we were just playing. Ow. Not there. Please no. No. Mummmm. I’ll tell Mummy. She. Ow. No. What are you…Ow ow ow.

The Orb

The countdown had begun. Danny ran first towards the playing fields, but then realised how exposed he would become. So he changed tack and took off to his right, into dark thickets beyond the concrete shower blocks. Pretty soon he was among dense and prickly trees. As the branches’ veil of green phosphor covered the jade below like a protective shield, the light overhead gradually receded. Danny found a thick tree and resolved to hide behind this, before thinking how pathetic a hiding place it was, and how bored he would get standing up. So he continued further into the wood and after a few minutes reached a fence which marked the border of the forest and the edge of the Grove. The fence wasn’t tall and he couldn’t resist climbing up and looking at the patch of land on the other side.

It was an allotment. Rows and rows of mud with little white flowers peeped through the earth. At the other end of the allotment stood a house. Light from the uncovered land broke onto Danny’s face and the warmth of the sun covered him like a blanket. Although it was bright, Danny saw a faint light from the house’s upstairs window. Dull silhouettes moved against the light, like lorries edging through a traffic jam. The crispness of the sun beat down on Danny’s neck and semi-consciously he reached a hand back as if to scratch the heat away. A door opened from the house onto the patio. Danny could not see who exited what he was sure was a kitchen, but a low grunt told him it was a man.

Somewhere behind, the plaintive high-pitched calls of Amanita rose up with irritating recognition. The wily bird was looming closer in her search. He tried to steady himself on the fence and pull himself up further to get a closer look, but his foot slipped from the narrow beam he trod and struck the ground, crumpling loudly on a straggly branch and crunching it in two. With the knowledge Amanita’s hearing was like a hunter’s, Danny knew it was over. Yet still he crouched low, hoping without further movement he could evade Amanita’s nearing explorations. It was no good. She waded through the undergrowth towards him, smiling cheerfully.

‘It’s no use Danny. I saw you five minutes ago when you were spying on that family.’

‘I was not spying!’ rejoined Danny, semi-angrily, although he could not think of another explanation for what he had been doing.

Danny glanced at Amanita’s chest. She wore a lilac and cornflower striped tee. The thought lodged that it was unusual for her to wear something tight, which drew attention to her figure so blatantly. Was it teen confidence finally emerging? She didn’t look unattractive. She paused looking at Danny for a moment, getting her breath back, sweating slightly.

‘So. What’s on the other side?’ she asked, taking a seat on a charred tree stump.

‘I’ve no idea,’ Danny lied. ‘You disturbed me before I could take a decent look.’

‘Liar,’ Amanita whispered soothingly. ‘Come on. Let’s find Tim and Saffy. They’re probably sitting up a tree…’

‘…K.I. double S .I.N.G.’ finished Danny.

They walked side by side through the forest, the second time in as many days they covered the same ground. Danny considered Amanita’s position within their expanded friendship group. He had worried she might feel displaced with Tim stolen by Saffelia and Danny emerging from a traumatic relationship, still harbouring grief for what he never had. Only Amanita had yet remained untouched by emotional teen entanglements. Danny searched in her face for any sign she felt excluded, remote or distant, but instead observed a new confidence in Amanita that seemed not to derive from isolation. Or perhaps it did. She appeared stronger and even more down-to-earth, if it was possible to be so. Naturally cheerful with every new day, Danny no longer sensed the overtones of grief that haunted her so resolutely in the past. As for their own friendship, Danny felt its nature hung in the balance like a precarious pendulum. Invisible but always potent, Danny wondered if Amanita’s hitherto unspoken desire for him had subsided, or if it remained undiminished, like her two new