First published in Great Britain in 2020
by Electric Monkey, an imprint of Egmont UK Limited
2 Minster Court, London EC3R 7BB
Text copyright © 2020 Penny Joelson
The moral rights of the author have been asserted
ISBN 978 1 4052 9491 1
eBook ISBN 978 1 4052 9514 7
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher
Stay safe online. Any website addresses listed in this book are correct at the time of going to print. However, Egmont is not responsible for content hosted by third parties. Please be aware that online content can be subject to change and websites can contain content that is unsuitable for children. We advise that all children are supervised when using the internet.
To my nephews and niece,
Asher, Sammy and Layla
CONTENTS
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
39
40
41
Acknowledgements
The voice startles me because it sounds like Charlie. I’m good at recognising voices, but it can’t be him, can it? Charlie used to be in my form group at school, but no one’s seen him for about six months. I’m down a quiet path – not far from my house. He’s calling my name.
I move my camera from my eye and stand upright. The poppy on the grassy verge, the one I was about to photograph with my macro lens, shape-shifts from perfect crimson petals around deep dark stamens to a slight fleck of red. I can only see clearly one or two centimetres in front of my eyes. My guide dog Samson shuffles beside me and stands as if expecting us to move on.
‘Wait, Samson,’ I say, pulling gently on his harness as I turn in the direction of the voice. Someone’s there, but he’s just a vague, dark blob.
‘Libby!’
He says it again – my name. His voice distinctive, gravelly, but sounding older than I remember. He’s coming nearer and the blur of him is familiar: the height, taller than me, light hair, the way he moves. It’s him – now I’m as sure as I can be. But I’m not sure if I want to talk to him – or if I ought to.
‘Charlie? Is it really you?’
I feel a pull as Samson turns too, his warm back nudging at my legs. ‘Sit, Samson,’ I tell him. ‘Sit.’ Samson sits obediently and I stroke his head.
‘Yeah . . .’ Charlie’s close now. He sounds nervous, awkward – and I’m not surprised.
‘Where’ve you been all this time?’ I demand. ‘You just dropped out of school. No one knew why.’
When he speaks his voice is low, bitter, emphatic. ‘Stuff . . . life . . . y’know?’ he says. ‘Things happen.’
‘I guess,’ I say.
‘And you,’ he says. ‘You got a dog now!’
‘Yeah – this is Samson,’ I tell him.
‘He’s lovely. You’re lovely, boy!’ he says to Samson. ‘I like dogs.’ He sounds sad now, wistful.
‘What happened, Charlie? Can’t you tell me?’
‘Na. But . . . I want to ask you something – a favour.’
My heart speeds up, wondering what he could possibly want. Perhaps I should have ignored him. I’ve always felt nervous around Charlie. He got excluded from school for fighting – more than once. He was sent to a referral unit for a while, for