“History happened. I like that,” Hal says thoughtfully. A gust of wind catches his hair and ruffles it – and for a second, I can’t stop myself from wondering what it feels like.
His hair.
Okay.
A path leads off the side of the drive, dividing into two, marked with a signpost cut out of a huge lump of tree trunk. One arm of the post points down a long, gentle slope while the other follows the line of a gravelled track, twisting off through the trees. The first one is marked Grotto. The second, Lake.
In front of them, Hal stops and folds his arms. “Which way do you want to go? They probably join up somewhere, so it doesn’t really matter, but…”
Lake or grotto.
Which way do I want to go?
Backwards…or forwards?
What’s waiting for me on either path – and will I like it? Will it help?
Lake or grotto?
“Grotto. Let’s go to the grotto.”
“Cool.” He takes a step forward – then stops, puzzled. “I forgot – did you say there was something you wanted to do here?” He nods towards the signpost. “We can go down to the lake if you want?”
“Oh. Umm…” The water glistens emptily through the trees at me. “You know what? It doesn’t matter.”
Another rumble overhead makes us both look up. “Grotto it is then.” And he magics his sunglasses out of his bag then stuffs his hands into his pockets, setting off down the slope, his hair like a beacon.
And I let him lead me away from the house and the lake, and on to the grotto.
The way down to the grotto winds through trees and big overgrown plants that flump across the path…and then narrows to a tunnel with steep sides and an arching brick roof.
It. Is. Dark.
“This isn’t exactly how I pictured it,” Hal mutters somewhere ahead of me in the gloom. There’s a scuffing sound as he trips on the uneven floor. I’m not even going to risk getting my phone out for light – if I drop it, it’ll definitely smash.
I reach a hand out to steady myself against the walls. My fingers sink into cold, damp moss. At least, I hope it’s moss. “I was definitely expecting something…prettier.”
“Hang on – it’s lighter ahead.”
And it is. We stumble out of the dark and into a brighter cave, the floor made of big pebbles sunk into the ground in swirling designs, the walls and ceiling lined with hundreds – no, thousands – of shells. I can’t tell where the light is coming from, but it’s soft and white and beautiful. Not just pretty, but flat-out beautiful.
“That’s more like it.”
Hal is crouched down in the corner, so busy peering at the collection of little ferns growing around a poem engraved on the floor that he hasn’t even noticed the rest of it.
“Hal. Hal, look.”
Nothing.
Slowly, I reach out a hand and touch his shoulder. His head snaps round like a whip. And then he sees.
At the far end of the grotto is a figure emerging from a pool of water, life-sized and carved from stone so white that it glows.
“The River God.” My voice comes out as a hoarse whisper. I don’t mean it to, but apparently that’s how the grotto works.
“This is where she came.”
“To whisper his name into the water.”
We both walk to the edge of the statue’s pool and stare down into the water, as though Albie’s name is still in there. Side by side, we stand and we listen – and as we do, the water starts to shine. Brighter and brighter, like it’s silver – and then brighter again, until it isn’t water at all but liquid light, throwing shimmering patterns across the roof, the walls, us. Like it’s a sign.
“There must be a light well in the roof somewhere,” Hal says, tilting his head back to look for it.
Of course there must be. It’s part of the design – a magic trick, an illusion meant to have exactly this effect…But a chill still runs down my spine as the light flickers around us. “Kind of a coincidence, though, isn’t it? The sun coming out right now?”
“I don’t believe in…oh.” He turns around, so close to me that I could count every freckle on his face, count the pale eyelashes lowered over his eyes – and when his eyes meet mine the chill turns warm, sliding into every limb, spreading across every centimetre of my skin.
“I know.”
Outside the grotto, there’s a low rolling rumble – and there’s no way to pretend that isn’t thunder.
“And you’re going to tell me that’s a sign too, are you?” Hal’s words echo as we follow the cobbled path back into the dark.
We make it outdoors again, and he follows my gaze up to the sky…right as the first fat raindrop hits my face.
“Yes. It’s definitely a sign. A sign we should go.”
Another drop. Another. Another and another and the air is suddenly heavy with the thick scent of wet earth and the hissing sound of a million raindrops all coming right for us.
We outrun the rain as far as the slope down from the drive, and then the heavens split completely open. I open my mouth to say that we’re not going to make it before we’re soaked through, but I don’t get that far because quickly, carefully, perfectly naturally, his hand closes around mine. He starts running for the car, pulling me into him with one arm, the other holding his bag above our heads like the world’s worst umbrella…And all the while the biggest raindrops I’ve ever seen are hammering down around us and drumming on the ground, on the roof of the car, splashing into the fountain and sending up a dozen tiny echoes of themselves. When we make it to the car and yank the doors open and throw ourselves in, I don’t know if I’m more out of breath from the running or the laughing. Or both.
We look at each other and he’s grinning, even as he’s wiping the rain from his face.
“Let’s get out of here,” I say, pushing my damp hair out of my eyes.
“You didn’t like the house?” He rubs the heels of his hands up and down his face, trying to dry it off. All it does is make his eyebrows stick out.
I don’t answer. How can I tell him about the things that bother me about Fallowmill’s past without telling him about mine? Instead, I wipe a drip of water off the end of my nose and try to make it look casual.
There’s a long silence, and then quietly he says: “I’m glad you came, anyway. I know it sounds kind of selfish…”
I lean back in my seat, studying him. The tips of his ears are turning pink again as he leans over the steering wheel. “You wanted the company. I get it.”
It feels like this is going…somewhere. Somewhere I don’t quite know how to handle.
Does my mood match the moment?
My hands pick this exact point to start shaking. A lot. I tuck them both under my knees, pressed into the seat.
“It’s not just that. I mean, it is that, but…”
But what?
If my heart beats any louder, I’m not going to hear anything he says. I press my lips together.
“It sounded like you really wanted to come, like it was important, and…” He clears his throat, coughs again and scratches at the back of his neck. And then we speak at the same time:
“I was so happy you did, because I didn’t really want to do this without you.”