Page 29 of Vying Girls (Girls of Hazelhurst #2)

Tilda

Heart already hammering, I mapped out a quick path in my head before launching myself off the wall of our new living room.

After a couple of steps, I stopped short, the freshly waxed floorboards sending me sailing the rest of the way.

I shrieked as I impacted with a box labelled ‘kitchen’, giggling as I bent over it.

On the other side of the room, Nic chuckled, her eyes bright as she executed her own skids. Unlike me, she made sure to keep her distance from Mum, whose stress had been mounting all day.

Now Nic’s dad was out of sight, back at their old house sorting the last of it, she let that stress boil over.

It was already evening, not late, but dark enough for the sky to be gloomy.

The recessed lighting of the room was bright, bouncing off the pure white walls.

It was all white in here, apart from the floors which were some kind of dark wood.

Definitely different from the threadbare carpet of our old place, and a hell of a lot more fun.

As soon as Jack was out of sight, Mum was lecturing us about all the white.

Not our fault. They were the ones who chose the place.

Anyway, the floors were more exciting than the walls. Especially in my fluffy slipper socks.

It was echoey in there too, something Jack said would be sorted as soon as they laid down some big rugs.

Tipping my head back, I let out a loud ahhhhhhh , enjoying the sound of it bouncing off the walls. Nic stopped her skidding and watched. I let out some more—sharper, louder. That seemed to give a better effect.

‘Tilda,’ Mum snapped. ‘Stop being fucking weird, would you.’ She made an impatient gesture with her hand, turning back to the open box at her feet. ‘Go on. Get out of here or I won’t be getting that pizza.’

I huffed as I swooped up the small globe I’d found in an upstairs bedroom, as well as the butterfly book Nic found in another. As if she’d be the one buying the pizza later.

‘Come on,’ I said to Nic. ‘Let’s go out there.’

At the rear end of the house was a large conservatory. We’d never had anything but boxy kitchens at the back of ours, so this vast room with all its glass was pretty cool.

The garden beyond was darkening. There were trees at the back, all in shadow, with fancy little bushes and paving stones. I’d already picked where I was going to make my new hut. There would even be room for Nic.

I fell to my knees before the middle windowpane, eyes high on the wooden mask hanging there.

‘Why didn’t they take it?’ Nic asked.

I ran my eyes over the painted designs. ‘Maybe this is its land. Can’t be moved in case…’

‘Curse,’ Nic supplied.

I nodded firmly, carefully placing down the globe and butterfly book. ‘It wants to be worshipped.’

Still standing, Nic eyed me. She did this. I’d say something weird, and she’d size me up before deciding whether or not she wanted to go along with it. In the early days, that was always.

‘Like, prayed to?’

‘Yep.’

Nic began to put her hands together.

‘No!’ I shot out an arm. ‘It’s not that kind. Like this.’

I took a deep breath before opening my mouth. They were noises I’d probably heard before, from TV shows and the like, but I kept my voice pitched low, an endless stream of spell-like chanting.

When I’d settled on a mess of words, I flicked Nic to copy me. She came to her knees, and we stared up at the creepy mask with its distorted features.

It started to rain, great globs of it smattering the panes like bug guts when Jack drove his car really fast. It sounded nice under the vibration of our pretend worship.

In sync, we upped the volume, nearing the end of our chant.

We were well practised at it. Nic was pretty good with the witch stuff by then.

All at once, we stopped. I brought my hands together, completing the chant with an almighty clap. Thunder clapped back outside, so loud it made both of us jump. We snapped our heads to each other, then, by silent agreement, got to our feet and legged it upstairs.

Right at the top of the house was the attic. I’d never been in one like that before. There was no weird hole in the ceiling and none of that weird yellow fluffy stuff that looked like candyfloss. This attic had proper stairs that spiralled upwards, and a proper door at the top.

There were windows too, a bit like the conservatory’s. Huge, floor to ceiling, only these ones rose in an arch shape. They were pretty. We fell on our stomachs in front of them. The floor was cold and hard but I didn’t care. It was the perfect place to watch the storm.

Though it was close, the thunder was muffled. I ran my eyes up the glass, to where there was a latch.

‘Can you reach that?

Nic stood, reaching up one arm. ‘Nope.’

I scrambled up after her. ‘Bet you could if you lifted me.’

Nic was strong. She’d given me loads of piggy backs and only ever complained when she got grumpy, not because she got tired.

I raised my arms in a T shape. Nic bent her knees, wrapped her arms tight around me and lifted with a grunt.

I reached out a hand. ‘Closer.’

Nic swayed, close to dropping me. I fumbled for the latch, pushing open the small bit of glass. Wet air raced inside, misting my face. I breathed in deeply. It stank of mud and concrete.

‘Can I put you down?’ Nic mumbled.

‘Not yet,’ I breathed, curling my fingers around the ledge.

It was summer now, the air heavy with that damp mugginess. The weather had been teasing a storm for days and here it finally was.

‘Putting you down,’ Nic said after a moment, lowering me to the floor.

Back on my stomach, I sighed with content, pillowing my head on one arm. With the other, I idly spun the globe, trying to decipher the tiny names in the dark.

I could hear Nic breathing beside me. That was how I knew she was there most times. Only by her breathing. She never talked too much. Her dad said she was shy but I didn’t think so. Just comfortable.

It was weird how quickly I’d gotten used to her.

I hated her at first. Almost as much as I hated him.

He made my mum act weird. Made her care about me less, like he was her kid or something.

And Nic was just an extra annoyance. I was expected to share everything.

Mum even told me to share my spellbook, the one I was making with coloured paper and glitter pens I’d stole from school.

But Nic was quiet. She didn’t ask for my things.

She didn’t call me weird like Mum did. She even wanted to play witches with me.

Nobody wanted to do that. And she let me do whatever I wanted to her.

She even pretended to be my familiar when I asked her to—a cat that did nothing but sit next to me, meowing on command.

Nic was fun. She was my friend, probably the best I’d ever had.

We had sleepovers and ate our dinner in the garden and watched all my favourite films. When her dad took her out for the day, I missed her.

Mum would call me Mopey Moo. I’d scowl, and keep on scowling, until Nic’s dad pulled up in his fancy car and she was back again.

‘Will you draw on my back?’ I mumbled into my arm.

It was my favourite thing we did. I waited with bated breath until I felt her finger on me, tracing up and down my spine.

‘Guess,’ she said.

I held still, eyes squinted as I tried to make out the letters.

‘B.’

Nic hummed in agreement.

‘E.’

Another hum.

‘S,’ I said next. That was always the easiest.

Nic repeated the next letter twice before I finally shouted out, ‘T!’

I looked up at her and she smiled, dropping her hand from me. ‘Yep.’

‘Best?’

She nodded, coming back onto her stomach, shoulder pressed against mine. ‘Best day ever,’ she whispered.