'Will you?' I ask.

'Sure I will.'

As I slip down from Midnight's back, he reaches out and touches my hair, so softly, so quickly, I wonder if I imagined it. Then he wheels Midnight round in the lane and heads into the shadows. As I push open the gate, the door opens and Holly runs down the path and into my arms.

'Scarlett!' she squeals. 'I thought I heard something! We were so worried, we thought you'd run away forever and ever.'

'Well, I haven't,' I mutter. 'Obviously'

'Oh, Scarlett, I'm so so glad you're back!' She clings on to me so tightly I can barely breathe, which is kind of annoying, but not as bad as you'd imagine. It's nice to feel wanted. glad you're back!' She clings on to me so tightly I can barely breathe, which is kind of annoying, but not as bad as you'd imagine. It's nice to feel wanted.

'Scarlett, thank goodness,' Clare says, smiling from the doorway, and Holly drags me forward, towards the bright hallway. When I look over my shoulder, Kian and Midnight are gone, and there's nothing but the quiet clack-clack of hooves on the lane, fading into the distance.

Once the Gardai have gone, we are left alone in the cottage kitchen, Clare, Holly and me. Dad has been driving around the lanes in the Morris Traveller, looking for me, but Clare called him on his mobile to tell him I was safe and he's on his way back now, so I guess I have yet another round of questions to look forward to.

'Better call your mum too,' Clare says. 'She's been worried sick.'

'Scared I'd turn up in London again, more like,' I huff.

'Scarlett, don't,' says Clare, dialling the number, her face all sad and anxious. She offers the phone to me, but Mum is the very last person I want to speak to right now. It's far more entertaining to watch Clare tackle the woman who's hated her so much, for so long.

'Sara?' she begins, clearing her throat and twiddling her hair with one nervous hand. 'Yes, she's turned up, quite safe. She walked from Kilimoor, over the hills and along the lough. She was heading here all the time!'

Well, not exactly. I planned to walk to Knock or Dublin, or else gallop across the lough to a magical land where n.o.body is ever sad or lonely. If Clare wants to think I was heading for home, though, that's fine. Why should I care?

'Yes, we'll talk to the school in the morning. I'm sure they'll understand. It's a big upheaval for her, Sara, but she'll be fine, don't worry. She's too tired to speak just now... I'll get her to call you tomorrow. Bye, Sara.'

Just then there's a noise like a tractor dragging a couple of dozen old tin cans in the driveway outside.

'There's Chris,' Clare says. 'Thank goodness. I'll run you a bath, Scarlett, then we'll get some dinner on. You'll be starved!'

I manage a weak smile. I know she's just pretending to be kind, like that witch in the fairy tale who fattens up children before she cooks and eats them. I know I shouldn't trust her, but right now I'm too tired to fight back.

'Come on, love,' she says, hustling Holly out of the room. 'Let's give Scarlett some time with her dad.'

I'm alone in the kitchen when Dad comes in, and when I see his face, there's a little stab of pleasure inside of me. You see, running away wasn't just about shaking the dust of Kilimoor National School off my red-and-pink wedge heels. It wasn't just about trying to make it back to London, to Mum. Maybe, deep down, all I really wanted was to lash out, hurt Dad the way he's hurt me.

And I've done it.

Last night I had a bath and ate macaroni cheese, and Clare bandaged my ankle and Dad hugged me and told me never to frighten him again like that. Then I went to bed in the little sky-blue room with the nursery border and slept for the first time in a week, dreaming of the woods and the lough and a boy called Kian on a shiny black horse.

Today, though, it's back to normal. Dad is pacing up and down the kitchen, seriously stressy. Clare sits at the table, st.i.tching at some patchwork and trying to keep the peace.

'OK, Scarlett,' says Dad. 'Talk. Let's hear it how the last, last chance fizzled out before you even gave it a proper try. Do you know how hard it's going to be to get that school to take you back?'

'I'm not going back,' I tell him.

'Oh yes, Scarlett, you are. Don't you see how much you scared us last night? What happened to the mobile you were carrying?'

'It fell into Lough Choill,' I mutter.

'Your shoes?'

'Can't remember.' I chew my fingernails absently, chipping off a flake of shiny black lacquer.

'Scarlett?' Dad says. 'You have to talk about this, surely you realize that? You can't just expect us to ignore things the way your mother does!'

'She doesn't ignore it, does she?' I fling back at him. 'I wouldn't be here if she did.'

Dad slumps against the kitchen sink. 'Your mum is at the end of her tether, Scarlett,' he says. 'Things were difficult for her after the divorce, and I expect she let you get your own way too much. You started behaving badly and now it's a habit, a habit that's going to ruin your life. Doesn't that mean anything?'

'My life is already ruined,' I tell him. 'You saw to that.'

Dad takes a deep breath in, face creased with guilt. 'Scarlett, your mum and I got divorced. People do,' he says tiredly. 'In the long run it was for the best. We weren't happy, either of us '

'I was happy,' I interrupt, my voice a little shaky 'Divorce wasn't "for the best" for me. It was the worst, OK? And it's all your fault. So was happy,' I interrupt, my voice a little shaky 'Divorce wasn't "for the best" for me. It was the worst, OK? And it's all your fault. So don't don't start telling me how to behave and start telling me how to behave and don't don't start telling me what I can and can't do. You don't have the right, Dad, OK? You gave up on all that stuff when you walked out on us!' start telling me what I can and can't do. You don't have the right, Dad, OK? You gave up on all that stuff when you walked out on us!'

'Scarlett, enough!' Dad sighs. 'I know you're angry and I know you blame me, but you have to see that you can't go on behaving like this. You need firm boundaries, rules. And as soon as that ankle is better, you're going back to school.'

Yeah, right.

It's lunchtime, and I'm sitting in a cafe with Clare, eating mozzarella wraps and sipping tall gla.s.ses of milk. We are in Castlebar, almost an hour's drive from the cottage, because in this crazy, middle-of-nowhere place that's how far you have to go to get to a proper hospital.

I've had my ankle X-rayed, been told there's nothing broken and that I'm a very lucky girl because wedge heels with ribbon ties are the deadliest form of footwear ever invented. Maybe. The new, flat Velcro-strap sandals Clare just bought me in a hiking shop down the street have got to be the ugliest, that's for sure. Sadly, there wasn't a whole lot of choice I needed something that would fit over my hospital bandage, end of story.

'Good food,' Clare says, polishing off her wrap and hoovering up what's left of the salad and crisps. 'Shall we have pudding? Your dad won't be expecting us back for ages...' The waitress wanders over and Clare orders strawberries and cream while I opt for chocolate cake.

'I'm mad about strawberries, with this pregnancy,' Clare says. 'It's a real craving...'

I roll my eyes and start fiddling with the menu because I really don't don't want to hear about Clare's pregnancy It's the final betrayal proof that Dad has moved on. He's got everything he wants now a country cottage, a stay-at-home wife, a cute little girl with her hair in bunches and a new baby on the way. want to hear about Clare's pregnancy It's the final betrayal proof that Dad has moved on. He's got everything he wants now a country cottage, a stay-at-home wife, a cute little girl with her hair in bunches and a new baby on the way.

Then, guess what, I turn up on the doorstep like a redirected parcel and everything goes sour.

Clare takes the menu out of my hands. 'This must be hard for you,' she says. 'I can see that you might be feeling angry, lost. Please give us a chance, though we really want this to work.'

And I really don't. don't.

'What actually happened at school, Scarlett? What made you lose the plot?'

I blink. It's such a simple question really, but one that Dad never thought of asking. I take a bite of chocolate cake, but it's too dry, too rich. It sticks in my throat, along with Clare's question.

'Dad enrolled me as Scarlett Flynn,' I say at last. 'I'm not Scarlett Flynn any more, OK?'

'OK,' Clare says. 'You can be Scarlett Murray. That's fine.'

'I'm not Scarlett Murray either. Just Scarlett.'

Clare nods her head, frowning slightly. 'Just Scarlett. OK.'

The ache in the pit of my stomach is back, and that choking feeling in my throat. 'I don't feel well,' I say to Clare. 'I haven't for a while. I felt bad on Thursday, at school, and it just got worse as the day went on.'

Clare narrows her eyes. 'OK. So you were feeling, what, sick? Headachey? Feverish?'

I nod, because I felt all of those things, and that was just the start. 'It got worse when Miss Madden started up with that Irish stuff. I had sort of an ache, here ' I press a fist against my chest 'and here, in my throat, so I could hardly speak. My heart was thumping too. Do you think it's serious?'

'Could be a panic attack.' Clare bites her lip. 'What were you doing, in Irish? What was the work?'

'Some worksheet,' I mumble.

'Was there a theme?'

'The family' I whisper.

She puts an arm round me, and I want nothing more than to burrow into her soft, warm body and cry until the hurt goes away. I can't, though, because if I did that, there'd be no going back. Instead, I shake her arm off my shoulder, roughly. 'Don't!' I growl. Just don't, OK?'

I feel the anger rising like a tidal wave, flooding my body and making my hands shake. I slam out of the cafe, and even though I'm limping a little I'm halfway down the street before Clare catches up with me. She grabs on to my sleeve, pulls me round to face her.

'Scarlett,' she says. 'Scarlett. It's OK!'

I shake her off but she grabs me again, hanging on this time. 'Count to ten,' she says softly. 'Then take some nice, steady yoga breaths and let the anger go.'

'Leave me alone! alone!' I scream, and the cry seems to split the air around us. 'Leave me alone,' I repeat, my voice no more than a whisper now.

'I can't,' Clare says calmly. 'I won't, Scarlett. I'm here, OK?'

'I don't want you,' I choke out.

'I know, and I'm sorry' Clare says. 'But I'm here all the same.'

I turn my head away and fight to keep back the tears because I don't want her sympathy and I don't want her help. She's the enemy, and I can't let myself forget that.

Not now not ever.

There's a sound like hail against the little window of the sky-blue room with the nursery border. Then again, I may have imagined it, because you imagine all kinds of stuff, lying alone in the dark trying to keep the bad thoughts at bay.

The room is silent, apart from the gentle swoosh of the swing tree, rustling in the breeze, and some sheep in the field beyond the garden. I snuggle back into my pillow.

Then I hear it again, and I'm sitting bolt upright, my heart thumping. I slide out of bed, edge across to the window and peer out from behind the curtains. And there it is again, a shower of gravel flung up against the window from the garden below, making me jump, making me laugh.

A boy with black hair is standing in the moonlit garden, grinning up at me, arms folded. Behind him, in the shadows at the foot of the garden, I can see a large, dark shape browsing through the flower beds, crunching the blooms from Clare's roses. Midnight. I like like that horse. that horse.

I unlatch the little window and lean out into the night. 'Kian!' I whisper. 'What are you doing?' doing?'

'Keep your voice down,' he hisses. 'C'mon! Quick!'

I shut the window and dress quickly, heart racing. The cottage is silent, sleeping, as I creep down the stairs. n.o.body turns a light on or calls out. I pocket an apple from the fruit bowl, pull back the latch on the back door and slip out into the darkness.

Kian is sitting on the tyre swing, swaying slightly. A stalk of mint from Clare's herb garden dangles from his smiling mouth.

'Hi,' I whisper.

'Hi,' he says, nodding at my bandaged foot and saddo sandals. 'Like the footwear.'

'Mmm. Super cool.'

Midnight appears behind me, snuffling at my pocket for the apple. He sniffs, draws back his lips and crunches into the fruit with huge, yellow teeth. His nose is unbelievably soft, like warm velvet.

'He likes you,' Kian says.

'He likes apples,' I correct him. 'But hey, I'm not proud!'

Kian vaults up on to Midnight's back, pulling me up beside him. I'm so close I can smell the mint on his breath. Down at the end of the garden, Midnight picks his way carefully over a bit of tumbledown wall, half-hidden behind Clare's workshop. We ride out across the field, down towards the woods and the lough.

'So,' says Kian into my ear. 'Everything OK, the other night? No ha.s.sle from the Gardai?'

I shake my head. 'They didn't quiz me about strange boys on horseback, if that's what you're asking.'

'Good,' Kian says as we enter the woods, dark silhouettes of trees closing round us. 'I don't get mixed up with them unless I can help it. How about the ankle?'

'It's not broken, just badly twisted,' I say. 'The doctor kept going on about wedge-heel sandals, but I blame the tree roots.'

'Obviously.'

'All the same, next time I run away, I'll plan my footwear better.'

'Running away's overrated,' Kian says. 'You just drag your troubles right along with you.'

'Yeah, well, I've got plenty of them,' I grumble.

'You could always stick around,' Kian says softly. 'It's not so bad. This is my favourite place in the world kind of timeless, magical.'

I grew up in London, with grey pavements and neon skies and litter. The only magic I ever saw there was when someone decorated the bus shelter outside our house one night, with spray-can graffiti in a dozen different colours. 'That's not magic,' Mum had sniffed. 'It's vandalism.'

Midnight moves slowly along the dark woodland path, hooves crunching over leaves and twigs. Suddenly, an owl swoops past us, ghostly pale, the breeze from its wings cool against my cheeks. I'm grinning in the dark, I realize, eyes wide.

'See what I mean?' Kian whispers.

We come out of the woods right by the hazel tree at the tip of the lough. Kian dismounts and I slither down beside him in the moonlight. Midnight drifts off, cropping gra.s.s, and I sit down beneath the hazel tree. Kian flops beside me, just a breath away. A crescent moon hangs silently above us, painting the world with silver.

'I can see why you like it,' I admit. 'I guess I'm just not a country girl. Maybe I'll get to like it too!'

Right here, right now, I feel safer, calmer than I have in a while. I'm not sure it has anything to do with the woods and the lough, though. Maybe more to do with a skinny boy with dark eyes, raggedy black hair and slanting cheekbones.

'Stick around, Scarlett,' he says again.