The Bone Dragon (8 page)

‘“Determination is all you need now.”’

Paul stiffens beside me, but it is Uncle Ben who gives a heavy sigh and says, ‘Well, in that case, you’re set for life, Evie.’ But instead of grinning and quirking an eyebrow as he says it, he sounds tired. Weary. As if having determination is a heavy sentence and not a compliment. As if there’s something sad about it and he wishes something different for me.

I frown, turning to look up at Paul. He pulls me closer and presses a kiss to my forehead. ‘You could teach the world about determination, Evie,’ he says. ‘Amazing girl.’

It makes my throat hurt, so I look down again at the fortune and close my hand about the Dragon. The bone warms in my palm.

‘Well, that was a lovely, lovely meal, Ben. Even though you really must stop being so impossible about paying,’ Amy says brightly. ‘But I, for one, need to take my bursting tummy off home to bed.’

‘Can’t argue with that,’ Paul agrees, rubbing his belly as he pushes back from the table.

As Amy and Paul collect our coats from the waiter, I lean against Uncle Ben, yawning. He ruffles my hair, reaching over me to take a mint from what looks like a goldfish bowl on the counter.

‘Want one?’ he offers.

I shake my head, watching as he takes a second, tosses it into the air and catches it in his mouth.

‘Ben!’ scolds Amy, rolling her eyes. ‘Could you stop teaching Evie bad habits for just a couple of minutes?’

Uncle Ben pulls a face. ‘I suppose. Maybe. Actually, I’m not sure. It might be too painful. Perhaps even dangerous . . .’

Amy throws his coat at him.

‘Or I could just get you teaching Evie even worse habits,’ he says cheerfully. ‘Clearly I can do that.’

‘Yes, clearly,’ Amy says, but she is smiling, flushed from the wine they had with the meal.

I yawn again, slumping against the counter. There’s a little tray next to the goldfish bowl filled with business cards and matchbooks. I pick one of the little booklets out, opening the flap and running my finger across the red-tipped matches.

‘Evie, darling, do you really want matches?’ Amy asks anxiously.

‘Just as a memento,’ I say, closing the little booklet and slipping it into my pocket.

‘I don’t think that’s necessarily the best keepsake, darling. And you’ve got your fortune-cookie messages . . .’

Uncle Ben rolls his eyes at me and moves to put his arm about Amy’s shoulders. ‘Sister dearest, please stop pestering my niece. Those sorts of matches are always useless. They won’t do her any harm.’

‘But what if . . .’

‘Matches, especially rubbish ones like those, don’t light themselves, Amy.’

Amy looks to Paul, who grins. ‘Worrywart,’ he says and Amy relaxes, taking my coat from him and helping me into it.

‘Don’t worry,’ I say. ‘I promise not to burn our house down.’

Uncle Ben’s mobile goes as I turn to follow Amy upstairs. I hear him say, ‘Speaking,’ though I also hear the unspoken ‘Who is this? What’s going on?’ But it’s the ‘What do you mean, “damage”?’ that stops Amy too.

‘Is everything OK, Ben?’ she calls, starting back down the stairs.

He turns at her voice, but I can see the response is automatic: his eyes look past us both and there is a dark scowl on his face. Then he blinks and focuses. ‘Oh,’ he says and blinks some more. ‘Yes. Yes, everything’s fine,’ he tells us. ‘Hang on one moment,’ he says into the phone, then presses it against his chest. ‘No worries,’ he tells Amy, smiling. ‘Off you go to bed.’

But then he turns away again – ‘Sorry, didn’t catch that. Just talking to my sister’ – and there’s an odd tone in his voice, something wrong about the way he’s standing: big and angry. Looming somehow. Almost intimidating. I shiver and hurry up the rest of the stairs ahead of Amy – ‘Evie, don’t trip, darling. Please go slowly.’ By the time Amy is putting my drink on the bedside table, it’s clear she’s forgotten all about the strange phone call and Uncle Ben’s even stranger reaction as she cautions me about accidents and trying to run about too soon after the operation.

I take my time in the bathroom, washing my face, doing my teeth. Listening out. A few minutes later, someone comes running upstairs, two at a time by the sound of it, and I quickly shut off the water.

‘Amy darling, I’m just popping out with Ben for a bit,’ I hear Paul say. ‘Won’t be long.’

‘What . . . ?’

‘Nothing to worry about. Just some kids having one of those parties advertised on the internet and causing a bit of bother. The police want . . .’ He stumbles over the next word, mumbling so badly I don’t have a clue what he intended to say.

‘Or maybe it was the Neighbourhood Watch?’ he offers and I can practically hear his mind whirring. ‘Anyway, I’m not sure who exactly it was that Ben spoke to, but they want everyone to come and check that there’s no damage or anything.’

‘But surely it can wait until the morning. I don’t like the idea of the two of you running into . . .’

‘Amy sweetheart,’ Paul says firmly, in his most soothing voice, ‘there will be a whole group of people and I’m sure the police must be in there too somewhere, even if they weren’t the ones who called. In any case, all those horrible kids will have trogged off to cause mayhem elsewhere by now. We’re just going to check that there aren’t any broken windows that need to be boarded up.’

‘No. No, of course. How awful if they came back later to rob people . . .’

‘Well, we’ll make sure that doesn’t happen. And I promise we’ll stick with a nice big gang of other blokes and we’ll fetch the police sharpish if we think there’re any troublemakers still loitering. Now, don’t get your knickers in a twist over nothing. I probably won’t be more than an hour, but try not to stay up, love.’

When Amy comes to tuck me in, I can tell she is distracted. After she’s kissed me goodnight and closed the door behind her, I stare up at the ceiling, wondering if we’re both lying awake in the dark. If so, Amy will be thinking up terrible worst-case scenarios whereas I’m curious: curious and maybe even a little excited. Paul didn’t tell the truth about why they were going out. Amy was too busy being worried to realise, but I know that there is something more to all of this.

I roll over to face the Dragon and find that I am being watched.

We wait
, says the Dragon before I have time to ask if we’re still going out.

‘You mean in case Paul and Uncle Ben come back? The driveway’s the other side of the house. They’d never see. Though I suppose if they got back and went into the kitchen for a drink just when we were going down the garden it’s possible . . . You don’t think they might want to come and get me up?’ I ask, suddenly worried.

The Dragon’s mercury-dark eyes aren’t catching the light, but I sense intensity in its gaze.
There are things we may learn tonight. We may need to alter our plans.

‘You mean alter
your
plans,’ I scoff. ‘You never tell me
what
you’re planning for us.’

That is not part of our contract
.

‘What contract?’ I protest. ‘I didn’t agree to any contract.’

The Dragon looks at me disdainfully, then turns its back, hunkering down into a crouch. I close my mouth on further denials.

It is safer to wait. Rest
, says the Dragon.
Rest now, while you can
.

I come awake suddenly, without any sense of what has jolted me out of sleep. Sitting up, I see the Dragon watching me from the bedside table, but I know I didn’t hear my name called. As I slide slowly, quietly out of bed, gathering the Dragon up in my palm, I realise I am not the least bit groggy, as if I haven’t been asleep at all, just hovering below wakefulness, waiting.

I press myself against the window frame, turning back just the very corner of the curtain.

‘Why are we out here in the garden?’ I hear someone whisper so loudly I can’t think why they’ve bothered. ‘Can’t we go in the kitchen where it’s warm?’

‘Don’t want to wake Amy,’ someone else whispers back just as loudly.

‘You honestly think my sister’s asleep?’ Uncle Ben. Uncle Ben and Paul.

‘Well, I don’t want her overhearing,’ Paul admits.

I can imagine Uncle Ben is sighing, but this I can’t hear through the window I don’t dare open. ‘How about Evie?’

I press myself flat to the wall beside the window, though there’s no way they can possibly see me from where I know they’re standing.

‘Thankfully Evie’s not taking after Amy as the most accomplished worrier of the century,’ Paul says. ‘Besides, her window’s closed: we won’t wake her talking out here.’

‘I’m just amazed Amy hasn’t come creeping down to find out whether we’ve returned mortally wounded . . .’

‘Which is precisely why we parked two houses over and came round the back instead of going in through the front door,’ Paul interrupts, abandoning the whisper. ‘Besides, maybe she really did fret herself to sleep. There’s always hope I’ll avoid the third degree until morning.’

‘What will you tell her, though?’

‘Just what I told her earlier. Plus that you’re joining the Neighbourhood Watch and I’ll be going with you on your rounds for safety in numbers. She’ll be too happy about that to think anything of the rest.’

‘I still think you should talk to Evie.’

There is a pause.

‘She’d understand, Paul. She’s old enough now. And it might help her, you know, in a funny, roundabout sort of way. It would certainly help you.’

‘Are you honestly suggesting that there is the slightest good to be had from dragging her into all this with us?’

The snort is audible even through the window. ‘As if Amy would ever agree to that in a million, trillion years.’ Another pause. ‘You know I’m not talking about bringing Evie with us. And I agree we can’t tell Amy. I just think Evie’s another matter.’

‘Evie does not need to hear about my troubles. She’s got enough – far more than enough – of her own.’

They don’t speak again for a while after that. Finally, Uncle Ben says he’d better be going and I hear him turn down the side of the house while Paul works the lock on the back door.

I let the corner of the curtain fall closed and creep back to bed, settling against the headboard and placing the Dragon on my knee.

‘Do you think Paul will listen to Uncle Ben and tell me what’s going on if I ask? Or maybe not ask-ask: not outright. But maybe if I just give him plenty of opportunities without Amy there . . .’

We must be very careful
, the Dragon says.

I wait, but the Dragon doesn’t speak again.

I fall asleep watching its tail twitching back and forth, forking at the air, while I wonder if this is a sign of worry or frustration, excitement or concentration. 

The Dragon is purring against my neck as I cycle slowly along the towpath.

I wish I knew how to describe the smell of the fens. Think of dark, slow waters lying heavy between rushes and grasses: see them in your mind’s eye. Now try to imagine that image is a smell. Earth and water and decay and growing things, all combined with something secret: something you just can’t put your finger on, can’t pin down. Not a thing you see or smell or touch exactly. If you swapped all your senses around and tasted what you heard, smelt what you saw . . . then you might finally grasp the scent of that secret thing.