S.D. ROBERTSON
STAND BY ME

Copyright

Published by Avon an imprint of

HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street,

London, SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2018

Copyright © S.D. Robertson 2018

Cover photographs © Stephen Carroll/Arcangel Images

Cover design © Lisa Horton/Avon 2018

S.D. Robertson asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008223458

Ebook Edition © January 2018 ISBN: 9780008223465

Version 2018-08-17

Praise For S.D. Robertson:

‘A heartbreaking tale of love, grief and devotion.’ The Sun

‘Exceptionally beautiful, emotionally charged and inspirational.’

Miranda Dickinson

‘Keeps you guessing to the turn of the last page. S.D. Robertson writes with brave assurance that makes the story a must-read and marks him as an author to follow.’ Stewart Foster

‘A wonderfully told tale of devastation, grief and ultimately hope, with a narrative that grips from the start and doesn’t let go until the final page.’ Kathryn Hughes

‘What’s really, really clever about this book is that you don’t realise you’ve been drawn in until it’s too late to stop. The story leaves you sliding down an emotional knife edge until you freefall. It’s soft, subtle, and engaging, then devastating.’ Helen Fields

‘Real. Emotional. Powerful. A must-read for anyone who loves to lose themselves completely in a book.’ Claudia Carroll

‘S.D. Robertson’s writing is so vivid and real that it takes you right there, into each moment with the characters and once you’re there, there’s no escape. You feel everything they feel.’ A Novel Thought

‘One of those unique books that once read will truly stay with you for a lifetime.’ Compelling Reads

‘A strong contender for my favourite book of the year … Emotional, heart-warming, tragic, bittersweet, charming and very, very satisfying.’ Silver Thistle

‘Gave me hope, renewed my faith and made me feel like there is more to look forward to on the other side of life than just an empty space.’ Comfy Reading

‘A sad, sweet, thought-provoking tale about the love and bond between parents and children.’ Lovereading

Dedication

For Claudia and Kirsten

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Praise For S.D. Robertson:

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter 1: Now

Chapter 2

Chapter 3: Then

Chapter 4

Chapter 5: Now

Chapter 6: Then

Chapter 7: Now

Chapter 8: Then

Chapter 9: Now

Chapter 10: Now

Chapter 11: Then

Chapter 12: Now

Chapter 13: Then

Chapter 14: Now

Chapter 15: Then

Chapter 16: Now

Chapter 17: Now

Chapter 18: Now

Chapter 19: Now

Chapter 20: Now

Chapter 21: Then

Chapter 22: Now

Chapter 23: Now

Chapter 24: Now

Chapter 25: Then

Chapter 26: Now

Chapter 27: Now

Chapter 28: Now

Chapter 29: Then

Chapter 30: Now

Chapter 31: Now

Chapter 32: Now

Chapter 33: Then

Chapter 34: Now

Chapter 35: Then

Chapter 36: Then

Chapter 37: Now

Chapter 38: Now

Chapter 39

Chapter 40: Now

Chapter 41: Now

Epilogue: Now

Acknowledgements

Keep Reading …

About the Author

Also by S.D. Robertson

About the Publisher

PROLOGUE

Pain. That was the last thing he remembered. Excruciating, relentless, all-encompassing pain. The kind that focuses your mind absolutely, driving out all other thoughts as it pierces through your defences with shuddering ease.

The past, the future. Neither existed at that moment. There was only the present, rolling in ultra-slow motion.

No air, no up or down. A rag doll on a spin cycle: his tears invisible; his cries unheard.

That pain, dwarfing every other feeling. Had it been there a moment or forever?

He just wanted it to end. And finally, after rising to a blinding crescendo of agony, it did.

Blissful nothingness swooped down from the heavens above and engulfed him.

His return to consciousness was gradual and unexpected. As he became aware of himself again, it was as a detached series of thoughts and memories floating in the darkness. The echo of his torment remained in the background: a low hum, gone but not forgotten.

It was this way for some time. Then, hidden within that low hum, he began to hear the faint murmur of something else.

Was that someone whispering?

He had to strain to hear it, so quiet was the sound. But the harder he concentrated – the more he strove to tune in – the louder it grew, until eventually he identified a voice, androgynous in tone.

It took longer still to comprehend the actual words, delivered in a sing-song manner that was neither quite human nor robotic. At first he heard what appeared to be gibberish. Another language perhaps, but not one he recognised. And yet as he focused his mind on the sound, piece by piece, word by word, he gradually began to understand.

It was one sentence, repeated on loop: ‘Follow the light to its source and find yourself.’

Light? What light? There was only darkness here.

Wasn’t there?

He looked all around. Saw nothing.

And then the briefest flicker of white in the far distance.

It was barely anything – and yet it was something.

Something that wasn’t pain.

A purpose.

CHAPTER 1
NOW
Friday, 20 July 2018

What time had Mike started drinking? He’d seemed merry when Lisa had got home from work, but she’d let it go. It had been nice to see him smiling for once, even if it was artificially induced, and she’d assumed he’d only had a couple of beers. It must have been considerably more than that, though, for him to be so far gone now.

It was no secret that her husband liked a tipple; in recent weeks, they’d spoken several times about how the frequency of his drinking had increased since he’d stopped working. She’d voiced her fears that it was getting out of control and he’d argued otherwise. At best, this had come in the form of calm reassurances that he wouldn’t let it escalate too far. At worst, it had been a slanging match, with him shouting at her to get off his back and her calling him an alcoholic. Not that Lisa actually thought he was. Not yet. She just wanted to shock him into cutting back before it really did get out of hand. But maybe she’d misjudged the situation.

‘What’s wrong?’ Mike asked. ‘Don’t you like it here?’

Lisa wanted to point out that he was slurring his words, despite the fact it was barely 8 p.m. and they were still waiting for their starter to arrive at the restaurant. But at the same time she didn’t want to ruin the evening. He’d arranged it as a surprise to celebrate their wedding anniversary: an unusually thoughtful gesture. So much so that when he’d told her this morning, before she’d set off for school, her initial response had been to wonder what he’d done wrong and was trying to make up for. She’d not vocalised this, thankfully. Nor had she expressed her concern about the cost of a decent meal out in Manchester. They could barely afford to get takeaway in their village; never mind get a taxi to and from the city centre for the privilege of enjoying overpriced food and drink. That was the cold hard truth. But she’d weighed up the matter at work, where it had been the final day of term before the summer holidays, and decided to throw caution to the wind for once and enjoy a rare night out.

So Lisa had dug a pair of heels and her favourite black dress out of the wardrobe; she’d used the curling tongs to add some life to her dull, limp blonde hair for the first time in ages, and made more than the usual cursory effort with her make-up. Mike had worn the smart navy shirt she’d bought for his birthday, swapping his usual jeans and trainers for chinos and tan brogues.

But she couldn’t enjoy being with him when he was so plastered. He might be sitting up straight and behaving himself so far, but his eyes had gone – and that was never a good sign. Being out with her husband in that state was like riding in a speeding car without a seatbelt on.

‘Hello? Earth to Lisa.’

‘What was that?’ she replied at last, shaking her head in a bid to focus.

‘I asked whether you liked it here or not, but you were miles away. What’s up?’

‘Oh, nothing. Sorry. I was thinking about work.’

‘Anything I can help with?’

‘No, it’s not important,’ Lisa fudged. ‘It’ll take me a few days to switch off, that’s all.’

‘I apologise if I’m boring you,’ he said before taking a long swig from his pint of lager, his eyes darting around the restaurant, looking everywhere except in her direction.

Lisa took a deep breath. Things were on a knife edge already, which did not bode well. Thankfully, a young female waiter turned up with their starters. She beamed a toothy grin at them. ‘Hi, folks. So who’s having the butternut squash soup tonight?’

Lisa raised her right hand and smiled back as the girl presented her with the large white bowl, two-thirds full with its steaming orange contents and central swirl of sour cream. ‘There you go. Enjoy.’ She turned to Mike. ‘And the beef carpaccio for you, sir?’

He smiled. ‘Thank you.’

Lisa noted her husband’s eyes lingering a moment too long on the waitress’s ample chest, on display in a partly unbuttoned white blouse, as she leaned over the table with his plate. How embarrassing, she thought, her fingers squeezing her thighs under the table. The girl looked young enough to be his daughter, for God’s sake. And Lisa couldn’t remember the last time he’d looked at her with that degree of lust. They’d barely touched each other in months.

She bit her tongue, lowering her nose over the soup bowl instead to breathe in the aroma. ‘Oh, wow,’ she said. ‘That smells delicious. Yours looks lovely too. Excellent choice coming here, love.’

‘Don’t sound so surprised.’

‘Why not? You springing this on me is a lovely surprise. And of course I’m not bored. I just need a little time to get into school holiday mode. You know how it is.’

‘Not any more,’ Mike said.

‘Oh, come on. Let’s focus on the positives and enjoy ourselves. I’m very impressed. You thought of everything, even arranging for the kids to have sleepovers tonight. Anyone would think you were trying to get me alone.’

This made Mike smile, as she’d hoped it would. He’d always been a sucker for flattery. Feeling the tension dissipate, she allowed herself to sit back in her chair and enjoy a sip of her gin and tonic, trying to heed her own advice.

Things were all right for a while. Although it was still obvious to Lisa that Mike was drunk, he managed to behave himself throughout the starter and main course. This was partly down to her efforts to keep the conversation light and chatty, avoiding danger topics and even engaging in some light flirting with him. She did her best to appear relaxed and happy, although in truth she felt like a firefighter tackling a smouldering blaze near a petrol station. She went with his suggestion to get a bottle of red wine to accompany the steaks they’d both ordered, but drank more than she usually would in a bid to reduce his intake. This backfired when, without warning, he grabbed a passing waiter and ordered a second bottle.

Feeling tipsy now, Lisa couldn’t stop herself from intervening. ‘Wait a minute,’ she said, grabbing the waiter’s arm before he had a chance to leave and then looking at her husband. ‘Is that really necessary, love? Don’t you think we’ve had enough?’

The look Mike gave her in return was thunderous. ‘Ignore my wife, please,’ he said with feigned calmness, his eyes locked on to her face, daring her to contradict him again.

The waiter, not much older than his female co-worker and probably also a student, shuffled awkwardly on the spot, looking from one to the other. ‘Um. What, er—’

‘I said to bring me another bottle of red,’ Mike snapped, raising his voice loud enough so that several nearby diners turned to look.

‘Yes, of course, sir. Right away.’ He shot towards the bar without looking at Lisa again and her heart sank.

Mike thumped his right fist into the top of the small dining table, causing a loud clattering sound that drew yet more inquisitive glances. ‘What the hell was that?’ he growled. ‘Are you trying to make me look like an idiot?’

‘You do that all by yourself when you thump tables and raise your voice in public, Mike. Excuse me for daring to question whether we need another bottle of wine or not.’

Lisa realised at this moment, mortified by her husband’s behaviour, that she barely recognised him as the man she’d married sixteen years earlier. Physically he hadn’t changed that much. He still had the same broad shoulders, brown eyes, olive skin and thick stubble she’d fallen in love with when they’d met as trainee teachers. Even his short black hair wasn’t that different, despite receding a little and gaining some flecks of grey. No, these changes were on the inside, which was worse. The very public collapse of Mike’s career had mentally scarred him in all kinds of ways – and Lisa feared that the funny, kind, driven man she’d once adored may have disappeared for good.

‘If I want another bottle, I’ll have one,’ he slurred.

‘Don’t you think that maybe you’ve had enough?’

‘Oh, here we go. I was waiting for this.’

‘Well, I wasn’t going to say anything, but I could tell you were pretty plastered when we arrived – and now you’re embarrassing me. How much did—’

‘I’m the embarrassing one?’ he replied. ‘That’s rich coming from you. I go to the effort of organising this, and how do you repay me? By making me look stupid in public. Thanks very much. You’ve ruined everything now. Bloody typical.’

Lisa shook her head. ‘I think you’ll find—’

She was interrupted by the return of the waiter, who avoided looking at her as he delivered Mike’s wine and unscrewed the cap. ‘Here you are, sir. Would you like to try it first?’

Mike shook his head and gestured for him to fill his glass. After he’d done so, the waiter’s eyes fell on Lisa’s glass; he hesitated before looking in her direction. ‘Madam, would you, um, like me to—’

‘No, thank you. My husband will be drinking the bottle alone.’

Lisa regretted saying this almost straight away – not because of how it made Mike look, but because it further embarrassed the waiter, who was just a young guy doing his job. He nodded awkwardly before leaving the bottle in the middle of the table, clearing away the unwanted remains of their main course, and scuttling off, leaving the pair of them scowling at each other.

Mike was seething. That much was obvious. But so was Lisa – and she’d not been the one to start the row. Usually she did her utmost to avoid such confrontations, but buoyed by the alcohol and a sense of injustice, she had no intention of backing down on this occasion.

‘Well,’ she said. ‘I’m so glad we came out to celebrate our anniversary like this. How lovely.’

Her husband’s reply was to empty his glass in one go before pouring himself another. ‘Happy?’ he asked her.

‘Ecstatic,’ she replied, standing up and removing her handbag from the seatback.

‘Where are you going?’

‘Toilet. Is that okay with you?’ Then before Mike had a chance to react, Lisa grabbed his glass and threw the wine in his face. Leaving behind the sound of his spluttering and shouting, she sprinted for the exit, retrieving her jacket from the coat stand on the way and instructing the bemused receptionist that her husband would settle the bill.

The first thing she did after hitting the pavement was laugh. She howled like a maniac as she made her way to the nearest taxi rank, no longer minding that people were staring. She couldn’t believe what she’d done, but she knew where it had come from. That was repressed frustration bursting out. Lisa knew the tiptoeing around her husband couldn’t last forever. She’d desperately tried to give him enough space to lick his wounds. But there was only so much time she could wait for him to pick himself back up. For too long there had been a tightness in her chest; a knot in her stomach. She’d squashed down her feelings, like a coiled spring; it felt great to release them at last.

However, her elation began to fade in the taxi home to Aldham, giving way to the realisation that she and Mike had major issues to iron out. She didn’t exactly feel guilty about throwing the wine, still believing her husband had driven her to it. But she was ashamed at how they’d behaved in public. She imagined how mortifying it would be if someone they knew had witnessed it.

‘Late night at the office?’ the driver asked her as they sped through the city streets.

Charming, she thought, wondering who would go to work in heels and a cocktail dress.

‘I’m a primary school teacher, so no,’ she snapped, pulling her mobile out of her bag to avoid further conversation. Luckily, he got the hint and turned on the radio.

It was 8.42 p.m. and still broad daylight, emphasising how strange it felt to be heading home so soon. At least she knew she’d have the house to herself when she got back. Until Mike followed her, of course, although she hoped that wouldn’t be for some time.

Lisa looked down again at her phone and noticed she was gripping it so tightly that her fingertips had gone white. Mike hadn’t contacted her so far. Her guess was that, despite the soaking she’d given him and the inevitable red wine stains on his clothes, he’d stay out drinking by himself, drowning his sorrows and telling his sob story to anyone who’d listen. She didn’t want to think about the row they’d eventually have; it was as well that the kids were out.

At home she kicked off her heels, changed into her dressing gown and flopped on to the couch with a cup of tea. She had promised herself a large glass of white, but that was before the booze from earlier started to wear off, making her feel grotty. More alcohol was the last thing she wanted.

She was flicking aimlessly through TV channels when her phone vibrated on the coffee table. Rather than Mike, it turned out to be Sandra, a fellow teacher and her closest friend at work. She’d sent her a text message from the taxi, hinting at what had happened and hoping for a girlie chat.

‘Hello?’

‘Lise, hi. Are you okay?’

‘Not really. Tonight’s romantic meal turned into a disaster.’

‘How come?’

She recounted the story, veering from tears to laughter and then back again in the process.

‘Oh my God,’ Sandra said. ‘I can’t believe you did that. Was it a full glass of red?’

‘Yes. Was that terrible of me?’

Sandra giggled. ‘Sounds like he had it coming. And he didn’t say anything afterwards?’

‘I didn’t wait around to find out. I jumped straight in a taxi and came home. I’m sure he’ll have something to say when he gets back.’

‘When are you expecting him?’

‘No idea. Do you think I should call his mobile or send him a message?’

‘Gosh, I really don’t know, Lise. Whatever you think is best. He’s had some time to cool down now, but it’s a tricky one.’

‘He’s probably getting plastered in a bar somewhere, moaning about his psycho wife.’

Sandra, who had only met Mike a handful of times, asked: ‘Don’t be offended by this, but, um, he’s not likely to hurt you or anything, is he? You know, if he comes back in a state. Because if you need somewhere safe—’

‘Mike would never lay a finger on me,’ Lisa replied. ‘He has his faults, but he’s not that kind of man. Thanks for caring, though.’

‘Well, you’re always welcome here. You know that.’

‘You’re a good friend, Sandra, but I’ll be fine. There’ll be a big row at some point, I’m sure, but nothing I can’t handle.’

Lisa felt better after ending the call. It was always good to chat to a friend for moral support at challenging times.

She finished her cup of tea and picked up the remote control to unmute the television. A programme about border control at Australian airports was showing. She was about to flick over but got hooked by the tales of people trying to smuggle in contraband.

Watching this made her think about her childhood friend Elliot, or El as she often called him. Although he’d lived down under for the past two decades, he still regularly popped into her thoughts. They’d been best friends throughout their years at secondary school, only for him to emigrate after their A-levels. They’d written regular letters to each other at the start, but eventually these had petered out as life got in the way.

Since Lisa had never been one for technology or social media, her only recent contact with her old friend had been infrequent emails and Christmas cards. All the same, she’d always dreamed of going to visit him one day. They’d been so close as kids – gone through so much together – she couldn’t imagine them not getting along any more. She was confident that they’d carry on where they’d left off, chatting away nineteen to the dozen and making each other laugh at silly things. Mind you, El was quite the success story these days. He’d set up a lucrative technology firm in Sydney and, according to the letter tucked into his card last Christmas, had recently created a popular app for smartphones and tablets. In fact, from what Lisa had read in the Sydney Morning Herald after searching online, this app was doing extremely well. It was some kind of fun educational tool for toddlers, which had already netted him a fortune, by all accounts. Maybe that meant he’d outgrown her.

Lisa was musing on this when the doorbell rang. Oh dear, it must be Mike, she thought, her heart sinking. Who else would call round so late on a Friday night? He was probably so drunk that he’d lost his key. She took a deep breath, turned off the TV and went to answer the front door. Time to face the music.

CHAPTER 2

He was in a small, box-like room without a window. The plastered walls and ceiling were cream: smooth, unmarked and with no fixtures or fittings. A powder-coated white metal door was the only way in or out.

Somehow the room was brightly lit, although this puzzled him, since he could see no obvious light source.

He was sitting at a table in the middle of the room, struggling to grasp how he’d got there or, indeed, where that was. He needed time alone to review his thoughts and memories in order to try and make sense of this. But the man sitting on the other side of the table in the smart black suit and tie, the sort you’d wear to a funeral, kept staring at him and talking.

‘Are you in any discomfort?’ the man asked in a northern English accent. He’d introduced himself earlier, hadn’t he? So why couldn’t he remember his name?

‘Sorry, what was that you just asked me? I don’t seem to be able to, um—’

‘I was asking whether you’re in any pain. Sometimes, when people have been through such a major trauma, there’s a sort of residual … well, yes, discomfort. It usually passes pretty quickly.’

That word pain had thrown him; diverted his mind to unwanted memories. ‘Sorry to be weird,’ he said after taking a moment to regroup his thoughts. ‘I’m struggling to focus. Please could you repeat that once more?’

‘Wait. Bear with me.’ The man picked up a tablet-like device from the table and tapped something into it. He scrutinised the screen, which was directed so that only he could see it, rubbing his light stubble with one hand and nodding his head occasionally. When he looked up, he spoke slowly: ‘You’re disorientated, right? Finding it hard to concentrate?’

He nodded in reply.

‘That can happen, but it should also pass quickly. We need something to ground you. Cup of tea?’

‘Yes, please.’

The man promised to return soon, grabbed his tablet and left through the metal door.

Alone in the room, he found himself tapping his fingers on the table and staring at the floor, which was coated in a shiny grey material with a hard yet rubbery feel underfoot.

His eyes wandered to the metal legs of the oak-effect table and the two brown moulded-plastic seats. They reminded him of school furniture.

But this wasn’t a classroom. It was … somewhere else, the implications of which made him fidgety. His right leg bounced up and down under the table as his mind whirred, fighting to get back up to speed.

CHAPTER 3
THEN
Thursday, 8 August 1991

‘I hate it here!’ Lisa shouted, slamming the door behind her as she stormed out of the house and down the steep concrete driveway.

‘Where are you going?’ her mum’s voice called from an upstairs window.

‘Out,’ she replied without turning back.

She was so angry with her parents right now, she could scream. How could they do this to her? How could they take her away from all her friends at such a crucial time in her life? How could they dump her here – in the middle of nowhere – a boring old village where she didn’t know anyone? It was so unfair.

Lisa had no idea where she was heading. She just needed to get out of that place: the house that wasn’t her home; the bedroom with the manky brown carpet and the awful bright green walls. It was this that had caused the latest row. Jamie, her annoying younger brother, had been winding her up by calling it the Bogey Room. Not once, of course, but over and over again.

‘I could come in here,’ he’d said, ‘wipe my bogeys on the wall and you wouldn’t even notice. Bogey Room, Bogey Room.’

That had been the culmination of a series of taunts by Jamie, who liked nothing better than winding up his sister. Lisa, who’d been doing her utmost to ignore him as she read the latest issue of Smash Hits magazine, had finally lost her rag. She’d hurled one of her trainers at him, delivering a perfect clip round the ear. Next thing, he was running to their mum in tears and Lisa was the one in trouble.

‘He’s fine. It hardly even touched him. He’s a big crybaby.’

‘You should never throw things at your brother,’ Mum had replied, taking his side as always, oblivious to the fact he was standing behind her, grinning and sticking his tongue out at his sister.

‘Tell him to stop winding me up, then. Look, he’s doing it right now. There’s nothing wrong with him. He’s disgusting. He was just saying that—’

‘I don’t want to hear it.’

‘He’s the one who keeps—’

‘Enough. I’m run off my feet trying to unpack and the last thing I need is you two squabbling. Stay out of each other’s way if you can’t get along.’

‘Fine.’

Only it wasn’t, of course; when Jamie had reappeared at her door a few minutes later, whispering the same taunt about the green walls, she’d had to get as far away from him and his wind-ups as possible.

Now where to go? They’d only lived in Aldham for five days and, although it was August, the rain had been almost constant, so she’d barely stepped outside. It was drizzling at present; she ought to have taken a jacket with her. But there was zero chance of her going back for one, so she carried on regardless.

Her dad had mentioned something about a lane that led away from all the houses and into the countryside. He’d pointed it out from the car yesterday, saying it was popular with dog walkers and there was a nice little stream. It seemed as good a place as any to go, so that was where Lisa headed. It was only a short walk from the house and, within a couple of minutes, she found herself on the rough, moss-laden tarmac of Victoria Street.

There were a couple of grand-looking houses at the start, with big gardens and winding drives, but after that the track narrowed to barely the width of a car, with nettles and other wild plants and bushes on either side, flanked by tall trees. These did at least provide some shelter from the rain, although they also made it rather gloomy and creepy.

She thought about turning back, but then a kind-faced, elderly woman appeared from around the corner. Dressed in wellies and a cagoule, she was walking in the opposite direction, a chocolate Labrador at her heels. ‘Morning, love,’ she said, a quiver in her voice, as the tubby dog waddled forward and sniffed at Lisa’s jeans.

‘Hello,’ Lisa replied with a smile, although she continued walking and resisted stroking the dog, not feeling in the mood for having a chat with a stranger. The woman’s presence spurred her on, nonetheless, partly by reassuring her that this was a safe place, but also because it would look weird if she turned around and retraced her steps.

As it happened, once Lisa turned the corner from where the pensioner had appeared, the lane became far less eerie. The trees thinned out, letting in the light and revealing an open field on one side and the stream her dad had mentioned on the other, with more fields beyond. The drizzle was easing off too, so Lisa was happy to keep on going.

She strode along for a hundred metres or so, breathing deeply in a bid to unwind, to try to forget about her irritating brother and the disaster of relocating to a new part of the country, cut off from all her friends.

That was easier said than done, though. Since the move, she’d barely thought of anything else other than how much she missed the gang. They’d all promised to write regularly. She’d even spoken briefly to Paula, her best friend, on the phone yesterday evening after Mum had agreed she could call to pass on the new number. But it wasn’t the same. Plus Paula had been in a rush, which hadn’t helped. She’d been about to leave for the cinema with Zara, a likely candidate for new best friend, leading Lisa to feel even more cut off than before.

They were all getting ready to start at the same secondary school in September – Oak Park, where Lisa had always expected to go too. They were probably all together right now, chatting and giggling on the swings in the park and pretending not to notice the boys showing off on their BMXs. Meanwhile, here she was. Why did Dad have to get a stupid new job that meant they had to move? And why so far away? It had taken ages for them to travel by car from Nottingham, where there was loads to do, to this isolated village north of Manchester. She might as well have been on the other side of the world. She’d been popular before. Now she was a no-mates loser with nothing better to do than go for a walk alone.

Thinking about the injustice of it all brought tears to her eyes. Meanwhile, she reached a poorly maintained stretch of the road and found herself having to dodge an increasing number of rain-filled potholes and mud patches. Still she continued until, misjudging one particular spot, her trainer-clad right foot ended up ankle-deep in cold, mucky water.

‘Yuck!’ she shouted, lurching forward only to lose her balance, slip and fall flat on her bum in the mud.

It was too much. Rather than getting up, Lisa slumped where she was on the ground and started sobbing. She let out all her frustrations in one almighty wail and the tears gushed like waterfalls down her cheeks.

Eventually the moment passed and, coming to her senses, Lisa realised how ridiculous she must look. Keen to avoid anyone finding her in this state, she levered herself up and assessed the damage. Okay, her jeans, shoes and socks were filthy and wet; she’d probably also collected a few bruises. But despite her over-the-top reaction, it clearly wasn’t the end of the world. Thank goodness there was no one around to see, she thought, when a voice cut through the silence.

‘Ouch!’

The sound, which came from nearby, gave Lisa a fright. ‘Who’s there?’ she snapped, scanning her surroundings but seeing no one in either direction on the lane, nor in any of the surrounding fields.

‘Hello?’ she said in the most confident voice she could muster. ‘Can I help you?’

What a ridiculous thing to say, she thought, waiting for an answer that didn’t come. She’d almost convinced herself that she’d imagined the sound, when there was movement and a loud rustling from a thick bush on the other side of the stream. Then: ‘Ouch! Get off me.’

It was clear this time that the voice was high-pitched – a child’s. To Lisa’s ear, well-practised from seven years at primary school, it definitely sounded like a boy.

‘I can see you there in the bush,’ she said. ‘What are you: some kind of peeping Tom, having a laugh at my expense? My dad’s a policeman, you know. I’ll report you to him, shall I? You won’t be laughing then.’

‘No, please don’t,’ the voice replied from the bush. ‘I’m not spying on you or laughing.’

‘Why are you hiding in that bush, then? Come out here and show yourself.’

There was a pause before the reply. ‘I can’t.’

‘Fine. I’ll go and get my dad.’

‘No! Please, I’m begging you.’

Lisa was surprised how well her empty threat was working. She had no idea what this boy looked like, never mind his name or where he lived. And what were the odds of her being able to bring her dad back here in time to catch him? Whoever he was, he obviously wasn’t very bright. How else could you explain it?

‘Show yourself,’ she said. ‘Final warning.’

‘Okay, okay. Give me a second.’

There was some more rustling, another ‘ouch’ and then a beetroot head appeared, peering out from one side of the bush, mole eyes beneath a shock of dark curly hair.

‘There you are,’ Lisa said to the boy, who looked a little younger than her eleven years. ‘That wasn’t so difficult, was it? So why don’t you come properly out, then?’

He shook his head vigorously, causing his chubby cheeks to wobble from side to side. ‘I can’t, seriously. Please don’t make me.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. Of course you can. What—’

‘I’m not wearing any clothes, okay,’ he blurted out, his face turning an even deeper shade of red. ‘They stole them – and my glasses. I can barely even see you, whoever you are.’

Lisa couldn’t believe what she was hearing – and yet she knew without doubt that this boy was telling the truth. The pain in his voice was all too real. Then there was the look of misery and shame on his face. The look of a victim. Suddenly everything had changed.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I had no idea. Who did this to you?’

‘Some boys from my class at school. They invited me out to play with them. I thought they were being nice at last. I should have known better.’

‘So have they left you totally, um, naked?’ Lisa asked, feeling her own cheeks burning.

‘I’m in my pants and socks,’ he replied.

Lisa let out a quiet sigh of relief. ‘Any idea what they did with the rest of your stuff?’

He shook his head. ‘Not a clue.’

‘Why were you crying out before? It sounded like you were in pain.’

‘I was. I still am. There are some nettles back here that I stung my legs on, and quite a few creepy-crawlies.’

‘Oh dear.’

‘It’s my glasses I’m most bothered about. My mum will kill me when she finds out. I only just got them. They were a gift for finishing primary school.’

This got Lisa’s attention. ‘Wait. Do you start secondary school next month?’

‘Yes.’

‘You must be eleven like me. I’m Lisa, by the way. What’s your name?’

‘Elliot.’

‘Nice to meet you, Elliot. I’m new in the village.’

‘Oh, are you the girl who’s moved into Christopher’s house?’

‘I think that was the name of the boy who lived there before us. Did you know him?’

‘Yes. He was my best friend.’

Lisa wasn’t sure how to reply. She almost felt like apologising, but of course that would be ridiculous. It was hardly her fault. She’d never have moved here in the first place, if she’d had her way. She felt sorry for Elliot, though. The pickle he was in put her wet jeans and trainer into context. She decided to help him.

‘Okay, Elliot. What can I do to get you out of here?’

A few minutes later she arrived back home, panting after running all the way. She burst through the front door without saying a word and headed straight for her bedroom.

‘Lisa, is that you?’ her mum called from downstairs.

‘Yes,’ she shouted back. ‘I forgot something. I’ll be heading out again in a second.’

She rummaged through her clothes, many of which were still in boxes, looking for something suitable. Elliot was shorter than her, from what she’d been able to make out, but he also looked a bit plump and boys usually had larger feet than girls. Eventually she came across a large yellow T-shirt, which Mum had bought her to wear as a nightie, plus a baggy pair of grey jogging bottoms. They’ll do, she thought, throwing them into a rucksack along with a big pair of hand-me-down flip-flops she’d received from a cousin but never worn.

‘Why don’t you take your brother out with you?’ Mum called. ‘He could do with some fresh air.’

‘I don’t think so,’ Lisa said under her breath. She grabbed the bag and raced past the closed door of Jamie’s bedroom, heading downstairs before he had the chance to emerge.

‘Bye!’ she shouted as she passed the kitchen, where Mum was on her hands and knees loading something into the back of a large corner cupboard. She thought she heard her say something in reply but pretended not to, continuing on her way.

Shortly afterwards, having passed another couple of dog walkers going the other way, Lisa returned to the spot where she’d left Elliot hiding. ‘I’m back,’ she said. ‘I’ll find somewhere to jump across the stream, shall I? Then I can give you these clothes.’

Elliot’s head reappeared, eyes wide with terror at the suggestion. ‘No, don’t do that. Can’t you throw them over to me?’

Imagining herself in the same situation, Lisa understood why Elliot didn’t want her to see him virtually naked. ‘Yes, that’s fine,’ she replied. Removing the rucksack from her shoulders, she moved to the very edge of the stream and tried a few practice swings in the right direction. ‘Right, I think I can make it. I’m going to aim straight for the middle of the bush. On three, okay? One … two … three.’

She threw the bag as best as she could, getting it across the water at least, but not as far as Elliot. It caught in the low-hanging branch of a nearby tree, a metre or so in front of the bush where he was hiding.

‘Sorry,’ she said as Elliot’s face sank. ‘That didn’t go to plan. I can come over there and grab it, if you like.’

‘No, I’ll get it.’ He paused before adding: ‘But would you mind looking the other way?’

This amused Lisa. At primary school, when they’d had to change for PE or games in the classroom, the boys had usually been happy parading around in their underwear. It was the girls who tended to be more self-conscious. ‘No problem,’ she replied. ‘I’m turning around now.’

Lisa noted how peaceful it was down the lane as the noise of every movement Elliot made carried across the stream. By the sound of things, not least his various grunts and groans, he seemed to be struggling to pull the bag free. She was about to ask if he needed a hand when he shouted, ‘got it.’

‘Great. Can I turn around again?’

‘Yes.’

He was back behind the bush when she did so, but a few moments later, he emerged with a look on his face somewhere between sheepish and relieved. He looked odd in the T-shirt and joggers, both of which were tight width-wise but too long in length.

She threw him a smile. ‘Do they fit okay? They were the best I could find at short notice.’

‘They’re fine, thanks.’ Elliot stepped forward in the flip-flops, which actually looked about the right size, and then almost tripped over one of the oversized legs of the jogging bottoms, barely managing to steady himself on a tree trunk. ‘Oops.’

‘Careful,’ Lisa warned. ‘Maybe you ought to roll up the legs a little.’

‘Good idea,’ he replied, bending forward to follow her suggestion. ‘I’m really not very good without my specs.’

He wasn’t exaggerating about this, as Lisa discovered when she had to take back the rucksack and help him across the stream. Then they made their way back to the village.

‘What do you want to do about getting your things back?’ Lisa asked as they neared the start of the lane.

Elliot shrugged. ‘Nothing, I guess. What can I do? They’re gone now.’

‘But your glasses.’

‘I’ll have to wear my old ones again and tell Mum I lost them.’

‘Why not tell her the truth? She could contact the parents of these boys. Then they’d have to return them.’

‘You’re kidding, right? Then I’d be a telltale, which would only make things worse. It’s not like I can prove what they’ve done. It’s their word against mine. And there were three of them. I wouldn’t want to worry my mum, anyway.’

He stopped walking, took hold of Lisa’s arm and looked her in the eye. ‘You’re not going to tell your dad, are you? Please don’t. I’d be dead meat.’

‘No, of course I won’t.’ She grimaced. ‘He’s, um, not actually a policeman. I kind of made that up. Sorry.’

She expected Elliot to be angry with her about this, but instead he started to laugh, making his deep blue eyes sparkle. ‘Really? Wow, I can’t believe I fell for that. I’m so gullible.’

Lisa smiled. ‘It’s understandable. You did have other things on your mind at the time, what with being almost naked and all. I shouldn’t have lied to you.’

‘That’s okay. You rescued me, which more than makes up for it.’

‘True.’ She looked over at Elliot, in her poorly fitting clothes and flip-flops; then down at herself, wet and caked in mud, and it was her turn to laugh.

‘What?’

‘I was thinking how ridiculous we both look, that’s all.’

Her words set Elliot off again, in a fit of giggles this time, and the way he laughed – which reminded Lisa of a seal – was so contagious that soon she too couldn’t stop.

She lost track of how long they stood there chuckling next to the Victoria Street sign. Several adults walked past in that time and the odd looks they gave the pair only served to make them laugh even more.

Eventually, Elliot announced that he ought to get home. ‘Is it okay if I return your things tomorrow? I could bring them round to your house in the morning, if you like.’

‘Um, sure,’ Lisa replied.

‘Cool.’

‘Not as posh as you’d think, is it, this place?’

‘What do you mean?’

Lisa nodded towards the sign. ‘Victoria Street. It’s a very grand-sounding name.’

‘Oh, right. Yeah, no one actually uses that. Everyone calls it Vicky Lane.’

‘Really?’

‘Yep. Anyway, I’ll see you tomorrow.’

‘Wait. Before you go, you are all right, aren’t you? You know, after everything that happened.’

‘I’m fine, thanks to you. I owe you one.’

‘I was glad to help.’

Lisa could tell that Elliot was itching to leave, no doubt keen to get some of his own clothes back on, so she said goodbye and they headed off in opposite directions.

He seemed a bit odd, she thought. Certainly not a typical boy of her age. But that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, and the laughing together at the end had been good fun.

Maybe they could be friends.

CHAPTER 4

When the man returned to the room, the lapel of his black jacket bore a pressed metal badge, which stated that his name was Will.

Of course. How had he forgotten that?

‘Here you are,’ Will said, handing over a large white mug of tea. ‘Sorry I took a while. It’s hot, so be careful.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Sugar?’ Will asked, opening his palm to reveal some sachets.

‘No, thanks.’

Will, who hadn’t brought a drink for himself, seemed happy to watch him sip the tea in silence. Meanwhile, he scrutinised him with his blue eyes, occasionally running a hand through his thick grey hair. Only when the mug was half empty did Will ask him if he felt more clearheaded.

‘Yes.’ The tea really seemed to have helped. He’d even stopped tapping his fingers and bouncing his leg up and down.

‘Good. You’ve probably got a few questions.’

And of course he did, starting with where he was and how he’d got there.

It was a huge amount to take in, even though some of it was as he’d suspected or remembered. It was devastating and yet also strangely calming. For if the worst thing imaginable had already happened, what else was there to fear?

The last thing he expected was to be presented with a proposal. His unique circumstances and the transitory nature of his current position meant he could help with something, Will explained at length.

‘Is this for real?’ he asked eventually, still absorbing the details. It involved a person who meant a great deal to him – who he’d love nothing more than to help – and an incredible, impossible chance to return to the world he’d thought lost forever only moments ago.

Will responded with a solemn nod. ‘Yes, and so you know, it’s a rare privilege that you’re being offered here. But it will only be for a short time – probably a matter of days.’

‘What do I have to do? How does it work exactly? How would I even get there?’

‘Give me the word and I’ll take care of the details.’

‘It’s that straightforward?’

‘From your perspective, yes. The situation you’d face there is … complex, but we’d provide you with all the necessary information.’

A wave of nervous excitement washed over him. His bouncing leg started up again, vibrating the remaining tea in his mug, as he gave Will his answer. ‘I’m in.’

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