It was a stocking. Now he saw that there was one across the foot of Toby’s bed as well. Someone had come in while they slept and left them. It was Christmas.
He started to reach for the stocking, but his hand trembled. He lay back, pulling the duvet up to his chin. The dream was still too close.
The wave of homesickness that swept over him was so intense that he bit back a groan. He wanted to be in London, in his own room, in his own bed, with familiar sounds and smells drifting up the stairs from the kitchen. Sid, their black cat, would nose open the door and stalk across the room with his tail waving, his way of telling Kit it was time to get up. Kit would go down and help with preparing the Christmas dinner, and their friends Wesley and Otto would drop by to exchange gifts while Gemma played the piano . . .
As hard as Kit tried to sustain it, the comforting fantasy evaporated. He knew too well that being home wouldn’t have stopped the dream—hadn’t stopped it these past few months. It had come often, in various guises, in the weeks after his mother’s death. Then the dream had faded and he had begun to hope it had gone for good, that he could tuck it away along with the images he couldn’t bear to remember.
But it had returned, in isolated snatches at first, then with more
detail and greater regularity. Now he counted the nights he didn’t have the dream as blessings, and he dreaded sleep. His heart was beginning to race again as the distorted scenes flashed through his mind, and he felt his throat close with the familiar choking nausea.
To distract himself, he looked round the room. Toby had pulled the covers up over his face, but a cowlick of blond hair rose from the top of the duvet like a feather, and Kit was glad of his sleeping presence.
It was a calm room, with French-blue walls and white trim. Kit wondered if it had looked this way when it had been his dad’s. There were a few framed prints of famous locomotives, but most of the available wall space was taken up by bookcases. He’d had a quick look at the titles the night before. There was science fi ction, fantasy, detective stories, as well as childhood classics he recognized, like Arthur Ransome’s Swallows and Amazons and the Narnia books, but he’d also seen volumes of history and biography and a book of famous trials. Were these things Duncan had read, or did Hugh use the room these days as storage?
Tess raised her head and yawned, showing her small pink tongue, then stretched and padded up the duvet to settle next to his side.
Freeing an arm from the covers to stroke her, Kit let his mind wander further. What had his dad been like when he’d slept in this room at thirteen? Had he known what he wanted to do with his life? Had he kept secrets from his parents, and got in trouble for it? Had there been a girl, like Lally?
But that idea made him flinch, and his hand fell still on the dog’s flank. He shouldn’t even be thinking of Lally that way. It was wrong.
She was his cousin, and his face flamed at the thought of anyone in the family discovering how he felt.
Besides, last night he’d realized what a fool he’d made of himself when he’d met Leo Dutton.
Things had started to go wrong after they’d got to Lally’s house.
They’d been in Sam’s room, admiring the younger boy’s collection
of Star Wars action figures with varying degrees of enthusiasm, when Lally had heard the sound of the front door.
“My dad,” she’d said, slipping from the room with the quickness of anticipation. Then Kit had heard raised voices, the words indistinguishable, and a few moments later Lally had come back in, much more slowly, her face shuttered.
With the same sort of sibling radar Kit sometimes experienced with Toby, Sam stopped in the midst of demonstrating an X-wing fighter and looked questioningly at his sister.
“Mum and Dad are having a row.” Lally had shrugged, as if it didn’t matter, and perched nonchalantly on the edge of Sam’s bed.
But after that there had been an edginess to the atmosphere and Lally had begun to tease her brother so mercilessly that Kit found himself coming to the younger boy’s defense.
Dinner was even worse. It was a relief when the meal was over and Lally pulled him aside, whispering, “Come on. We’ll say we’re going early to save seats at the church, but we’ll have time to have a smoke.”
“Smoke?” Kit said, before he could think to hide his surprise.
“Don’t sound so shocked.” Lally’s conspiratorial little smile turned to a pout. “Don’t tell me you don’t have a fag now and then.”
“No,” he said honestly. “I don’t like it.” He couldn’t tell her that the smell reminded him of his grandmother Eugenia, and made him feel physically ill.
Lally regarded him coolly. “Well, you can do what you want, as long as you’re not a telltale. Are you game?”
“Yes, okay,” he’d agreed, hoping that once they were away from the house she wouldn’t be so prickly. To his surprise, Sam had not asked to go with them, but had given Lally a look Kit couldn’t
fathom.
He had little opportunity to enjoy his time alone with Lally, however, as her mum had given her a package of leftover food to deliver to an elderly neighbor, and by the time the task had been
accomplished, she’d hurried him down the dark path into the town.
“I promised to meet a friend at the Crown—that’s the old coaching inn,” she explained as they reached the square.
Then, when the tall blond boy appeared from the shadowed archway that ran alongside the old pub, Kit gave a start of surprise.
He’d assumed the friend was female, and his heart sank.
“So this is the little coz,” the boy said, without introduction. He pulled a packet of cigarettes from his jacket pocket, gave one to Lally, then extended the pack to Kit.
Jamming his hands farther into his pockets, Kit shook his head.
“No, thanks.” To Lally, he added, “What’s your friend’s name?”
“Leo.”
“Aw, it’s a sissy boy.” Leo’s smile showed even white teeth in his thin face. “It even has manners.”
Kit knew there was no good answer.
Unexpectedly, it was Lally who rescued him. “Leave it, Leo,” she said. “We don’t have much time.” She fished in her handbag and pulled out a disposable lighter.
“Did you bring my stuff?” Leo asked sharply, as if annoyed at her defection, and Lally looked up at him in surprise.
“We barely got out of the house. And it’s Christmas Eve, for Christ’s sake. We have to sit in church next to our parents in a half hour’s time. That’s pushing it, even for you.”
She tucked her hair behind her ear, then cupped the tip of the cigarette with one hand while she flicked the lighter with the other.
The brief orange flare illuminated the planes of her face but left her eyes in darkness.
The smell of the burning tobacco was pungent in the cold air, and Kit had to stop himself backing up a pace. As Leo reached for the lighter and bent over his own cigarette, Kit took the opportunity to study him. In spite of the other boy’s height, he didn’t think Leo was actually much older than he was. There was a stretched quality to him, as if he’d grown faster than his bones could tolerate. His
blond hair was buzzed short, and he wore a navy wool peacoat that looked like those Kit had seen in expensive London shops. Kit was suddenly painfully aware of his serviceable padded anorak, bought a size too big so that it would fit over his uniform blazer. He looked like a geek—worse, a geek wearing hand- me-downs.