Читать книгу The Land of Roar - Jenny McLachlan - Страница 15

Next morning, I eat my Crunchy Nut cornflakes sitting on the sofa in the garden. It was the last thing we dragged out of the attic and now it’s wedged between the patio and the plum tree and covered in ash from Grandad’s bonfire.

The sky is blue and the sun is shining. A blackbird hops around in the bushes. It seems like a totally normal day, but I don’t feel normal. I drink the sugary milk from the bottom of the bowl. I feel jittery and uneasy and I can’t stop looking up at the attic window.

Grandad wanders out of the house and blinks into the sunshine. He’s wearing a cardigan, an old T-shirt – the one that says ‘NO PROB-LLAMA!’ – and his painting shorts. ‘Hello, mate,’ he says. ‘Where’s your sister?’

I nod towards the neighbour’s garden. Rose’s head appears above the wall, then disappears. There’s a squeak of trampoline springs, then her head pops back up, her hair flying out straight and long.

‘Rose, you’re not doing it right!’ cries Mazen. ‘You look like there’s something wrong with you!’

‘Not got anything to do?’ says Grandad. ‘Rose doesn’t fancy going to the beach?’

‘No. All Rose wants to do is jump and look at her phone.’ I think back to the damp night’s sleep I’ve just had. ‘Right now Rose hates me and I hate her.’

‘You hate each other?’ Grandad chuckles. ‘You two have always got along fine.’

He’s wrong. We used to get along fine until Rose changed into that stranger I can see on the trampoline. But I don’t bother telling Grandad this. Instead I say, ‘Last night we had a fight.’

‘That’s normal. I remember your mum and Jack fighting like mad when they were little. They used to draw blood.’

‘Jack was a cat, Grandad.’

‘I know, but the point is they’d be cuddling on the sofa by bedtime.’

‘I’m fairly certain me and Rose won’t be doing any cuddling ever again.’

He laughs and ruffles my hair. ‘Come on. While you’re waiting for Rose to stop hating you, we can get the camp bed down from the attic.’

I get up, glance once more at the attic window, then with a heavy and slightly scared heart I follow Grandad back inside the house.

It’s amazing what a positive effect sunlight can have on a room. If I ignore Prosecco glaring at me from the corner, there is almost nothing spooky about the attic right now.

Grandad grabs hold of the camp bed and starts to heave. ‘I got this thing up here, so presumably I can get it down again. Do you think we should chuck it out of the window?’

‘Better not. It might kill Rose.’

He laughs. ‘See? I knew you didn’t hate her! Now get over here and give me a hand.’

But I don’t move. Instead I just stand in the doorway, staring at the rubbish old camp bed, which was the start of the best game I ever played, a game that until yesterday I’d almost forgotten.

‘Unless . . .’ says Grandad, ‘you think we should leave the bed up here?’

Yes, I want to say, leave it up here and let’s bring the swords and dressing-up clothes back up too. But what would be the point? Rose is never going to play Roar or any other game with me. ‘No,’ I say. ‘It’s time to chuck it out.’ Then I grab the other side of the bed and start pushing.

We’ve only moved it a couple of metres before Grandad has to stop to catch his breath. We rest against the camp bed while he has a puff on his inhaler. ‘Arthur,’ he says, ‘do you remember when you had a funny turn up here?’

I think for a moment. ‘When I was crawling through the camp bed?’

‘That’s it! I came in and found you curled up on the floor. You had two teeth marks on your wrist.’ He points just below my hand at the pale scar I’ve had for as long as I can remember. ‘Rose said a dragon had bitten you, but I’m guessing she was the dragon?’ Grandad watches me, waiting for an answer.

It must have been Rose who bit me that day . . . so when I look at my wrist why do I remember my fingers touching rough scales, then hearing a warning-growl followed by a flash of movement and then the shock of sharp teeth grazing my skin?

With a start, I realise that this is what my memories of Roar are like. When I think about Win and Mitch, I don’t see me and Rose running around the attic talking to invisible mermaids and pretend ninja-wizards. I see a real girl swimming below the surface of clear water, her thick tail flicking from side to side, and a real boy sitting by a fire. The boy has wonky teeth and he’s grinning at me from under a wizard’s hat.

I take a deep breath. ‘It wasn’t Rose who bit me . . .’

Grandad turns to look at me. ‘Who was it then?’

I rub the pale scar, trying to decide whether to carry on talking or shut up. But I can’t keep quiet. Everything that has happened since we arrived at Grandad’s is too strange. I have to tell someone.

‘I was standing by a dragon.’ My voice is loud in the silence of the attic. ‘The dragon had scales and chipped claws and smoke pouring out of its nose, and even though Rose told me not to, I brushed my fingers along its belly, and then . . .’ I look at Grandad, ‘it bit me.’

Grandad has an unusual expression on his face – one that I’ve hardly ever seen before. He looks serious.

‘Grandad, why aren’t you laughing and telling me I’m talking rubbish?’

He smiles and shrugs. ‘Because I believe you.’

Everything has gone quiet, the birds outside, even Rose and Mazen on the trampoline. The sun shines down on my legs and something warm, like magic, creeps through me. ‘What do you mean?’

He laughs. ‘Just what I said, Arthur: I believe you!’

Grandad is winding me up. He loves playing tricks on us – he loves playing full stop – and this is just another of his games. And yet . . . I know I saw a shadow at the window and heard the wings fluttering in the bed.

Just thinking about the wings makes my heart speed up. I jump up and look at the bed.

‘What’s wrong, Arthur?’ Grandad clambers to his feet.

‘Yesterday I heard something coming from in there.’ I can’t take my eyes off the bed. ‘It made me think of someone in Roar.’

‘A bad person?’

I nod. ‘A very bad person.’

‘And you think this person might be in the bed?’ Again I nod. Grandad puts his arm round me and pulls me close. His cardigan feels soft against my face. It smells of coffee and his shed. ‘Well, there’s one way to find out, Arthur. You need to crawl into the bed.’