Page 17 of The Heart and the Hawthorn

The idea of Raz speaking in technicolour, the Noz pounding his stick and greeting her as if he came from the craggy depths of the trees themselves, Lucky taking her to a land of mist and releasing an extinct fairy from the Hawthorn of fucking Higgleton? She could only imagine what Cliff would think. She broke into a cold sweat at the very thought. But would he have to shut down Forest anyway? Probably. And what if she was wrong? She thought about Cliff asking Antony what had really happened last night, and her poor hapless friend, incapable of lying, caving quicker than a sand worm. Telling their boss, who cared so much about his keepers’ mental health, about her most recent fall, her fresh head tomato, the fact that she’d thought she’d been purple . . .

Her heart thundering in her ears, she started to inch towards the door. And then she began to run, typing into her phone as she fled.

Chapter Eleven

As the long cul-de-sac of oak trees at the base of the hill loomed before her, she was already having second thoughts. But when she saw Antony and Hamish leaning against Antony’s sturdy zoo buggy, bickering in that easy companionably way of theirs, they looked so reassuringly real, she almost wilted with relief. All she needed was for them to tell her categorically that there could be no fairy hiding in the Hawthorn.

She propped her bicycle against the broad trunk of an oak and steadied herself as Antony and Hamish pushed themselves off the buggy, a beast of a thing Antony had nicknamed Grace. Hamish looked at her empty hands in dismay.

‘Where’s our waffles?’ They had a single line of bronze eyeshadow across their upper lids, and it twinkled in the midday sun. ‘You said you’d bring waffles!’

Frida might have – possibly – said something of that ilk, but she was so relieved for this semblance of normality that she launched herself at Hamish, wrapping them in her arms.

Hamish, looking bemused over her shoulder at Antony, sighed deeply. ‘I told you that she’d forget, Ant. We should definitely have brought our own waffles.’

Antony chuckled. ‘Fri, what are we doing here?’

She let go of Hamish, and winced. Both their hands were stained a deep sapphire blue, and that could only mean one thing. They’d been re-planting a rare genus of lepidoris fungi. Hamish, as inept with plants as Frida, had taken a particularly vivid interest in fairy mushrooms recently, but she suspected this had less to do with the mushrooms and more to do with Antony’s extensive library of mushroom-lore, which Hamish just had to visit Antony’s bedroom to read.

‘I’m sorry, you were busy,’ Frida said guiltily. ‘And I didn’t even bring lunch.’

‘There are more important things than lunch sometimes,’ Antony said sagely.

‘Blasphemer!’ Hamish cried.

Elbowing Hamish in the ribs, Antony looked at Frida with concern. Her message had been a tad overdramatic, she supposed, full of URGENT CAPITALS. She glanced at the trail into the wood. It shone Oz-yellow, the trees swishing in the peachy sunshine. In the branches, a robin sang a cheerful tune. Everything seemed peaceful, at least. But . . . was it too peaceful? Everything had felt peaceful last night, too. And besides, it shouldn’t be peaceful, because it was Saturday afternoon in the summer holidays! Sure, it was Moira the manticore’s feeding time and a lot of guests were probably watching her roll around in a bloody puddle of sheep’s livers. But still. There was usually someone who wanted to see the Hawthorn. The words on the elaborately carved sign nailed beneath the last oak caught her eye. Welcome and beware. All who enter this wood, prepare to be enchanted. She gulped.

‘I have to tell you something,’ she said, turning back to her friends. ‘And I need you to tell me that it is categorically not possible.’

Hamish quirked an eyebrow, patting Antony on the back. ‘Antony James Ruiz, ride or die cynic at your service.’

Antony glared. But Frida’s attention had just snagged on one of the gnarled oaks. An unfamiliar vine of velvety roses had curled around and around its branches like a snake. ‘Hey,’ she murmured. ‘Have there always been roses growing there?’

Hamish cocked their head. ‘You called us here to talk about gardening–’

Just as Antony said, ‘What’s wrong with your eyes?’

Frida startled. ‘What?’

Antony was suddenly looking at her so strangely, she turned pink. Quickly, she peered in one of Grace’s wing mirrors, but her eyes looked normal to her. A bit weird, but they were always a bit weird. Her mum’s eyes had been brown, but the splashes of blue and copper had come from somewhere else. Her dad perhaps, but her mum had never talked about him, and she’d never asked, beyond knowing that it had been a one-night stand.

‘They look fine,’ she said nervously.

Antony shook himself. He peered closer at her, then shrugged. ‘Yeah, I guess they are. I just – they looked different for a moment.’

‘Anyway,’ Frida said, exchanging a baffled look with Hamish. ‘I . . . um . . . something happened today. It’s a bit weird. And I’m not sure if . . . ’ As she trailed off helplessly, Antony slipped his warm, calloused hand through hers and squeezed.

After her mum had died, it had been Antony’s family she’d gone to stay with. It was his mum who’d tucked her wordlessly into the spare bed at night, surrounded by the spicy, rich scent of her cooking. Fried plantain, jerk chicken, sweet potato pudding . . . without Frida knowing it, the warm spices had seeped into her bones. She’d spent days, weeks – she didn’t know – watching Premier League football games with his dad. She hated football, but their sofa was old and soft and scratchy, and it was the only place she’d managed to sleep, lulled by the drone of the commentator and his dad’s occasional shouted curses at the TV.

‘Fri, it’s ok,’ Antony said confidently, dark curls framing his face. ‘Whatever’s happened, you can tell us.’

‘Yeah,’ Hamish echoed. ‘If you’ve released a grootneck into the Extraordinary Café, mistakenly let one of the root lizards drink your coffee, or braided one of the hangferns into a V formation rather than a dreaded W – we’re here for you, babe.’

Frida drew in a shaky breath. ‘Right.’ For the thousandth millionth time, she realised just how much she did not deserve her friends. ‘I spoke to Lucky.’

It wasn’t the best start, but it was all she had.

Antony dropped her hand.