Mama’s gonna trap you inside a dream.
And if that dream is a scary place,
Mama’s gonna put a pillow over your face.
Hush, little baby, don’t you cry,
Sometimes we live, sometimes we die.
There were magazines spread across Lily’s side of the room – she loved Just Seventeen – and there was a pair of scissors on top of an open page, where she had been cutting out the faces of her favourite boy bands and sticking them to the wall. Lily was obsessed with boys by then, and to be fair, they were fairly obsessed with her in return.
I could hear my sisters and their friends playing a game downstairs in the hall, so crept out onto the stairs so that I could listen. The game involved striped drinking straws; the kind Nana normally used for home-made lemonade. The rules of the game seemed hard to follow, but the boys picked blue-and-white straws, the girls picked red-and-white ones, and the boy and girl with the shortest straws were locked in the cupboard under the stairs for one minute. The cupboard with no light. And mice. And spiders. But spiders aren’t the only ones to spin webs to catch their victims.
I peered down at them all through the banister, and it didn’t look like a fun game to me. When Rose and Conor chose the short straws and were locked inside, Lily looked very upset. The group of ten or so teenagers were all counting down the seconds, and giggling, and I couldn’t resist slowly creeping down the stairs to get a closer look. When the clocks in the hallway all struck midnight, the kids all screamed.
Lily unlocked the cupboard.
But Rose and Conor didn’t come out, they were too busy kissing.
‘Look! It’s the real Daisy Darker!’ said a boy I’d seen staring at me earlier. He looked like he ate too many chocolate bars.
Nobody else noticed me at all, they were too busy staring at Rose and Conor. I guess I’m one of those people who other people just don’t see. Lily was crying in the corner of the hallway for some reason; the mascara she had been wearing had leaked down her cheeks in a series of inky tears. Rose and Conor were still kissing – as though the rest of us weren’t there – and I decided that it was time for bed after all.
I ran up the stairs and back into my sisters’ bedroom, pulling off the blue designer dress. I could still hear all the clocks striking midnight down in the hall, and they sounded louder than normal. That’s when I noticed the scissors on top of Lily’s pile of magazines again. I didn’t really think about it, didn’t hesitate. I shredded that blue dress so that Rose would never ever get to wear it. Then I put the thin strands of silky blue material in her bed, hiding them beneath her pillow. I put the scissors on Lily’s bedside table and left everything else exactly as I found it.
Lily got the blame, and a silent war started between my sisters.
Everyone thought it was an act of revenge.
They were right about that part.
Thirty-one
31 October 3:15 a.m.
less than three hours until low tide
Back in the present, I think I’m the first to hear a noise spoiling what should be silence. It’s the sound of ringing in the distance. Like an old-fashioned alarm clock.
‘Can anyone else hear that?’ I whisper.
‘What is that?’ Lily asks.
‘I don’t hear anything,’ says Conor.
‘I can hear it,’ Trixie says.
‘So can I. Shh. Listen,’ says Rose.
We all strain to hear the sound coming from somewhere outside the lounge, possibly outside the house. Nobody has left the room since Rose went to the bathroom.
‘I’ll go,’ she says.
The gun in Rose’s hand is a surreal sight to see.
Conor shakes his head and picks up the torch.
‘No. We’ll all go. We should stay together,’ he says.
Without another word we all leave the room, except for Poppins, who is fast asleep again by the fire. Conor and I lead the way, with the rest following close behind, so close that Rose nearly walks right into me. Lily is holding Trixie’s hand; I doubt she’ll let her out of her sight again after what happened earlier.
We follow the sound of ringing to the kitchen. The back door is open, letting in the rain. The door bangs loudly, and the gust of wind that is battering it blows a swirl of dead leaves inside. One by one we all look up at the chalk poem on the wall and see that, once again, some lines have been struck out.
Daisy Darker’s family were as dark as dark can be.
When one of them died, all of them lied, and pretended not to see.
Daisy Darker’s nana was the oldest but least wise.