Scarlett - Cathy Cassidy [11]
‘More like the Jurassic Age?’ I ask sweetly. ‘Mmm, I can tell.’
We crawl onwards, up twisting mountain lanes, dipping down into a vast, empty valley. The houses fizzle out, except for a tumbledown cottage with donkeys in the garden and a selection of derelict ruins overgrown with ivy.
Then, through a stand of trees, I glimpse a long strip of silver-blue water that glints in the afternoon sun.
‘That’s Lough Choill,’ Dad tells me. ‘Lough is the Irish word for lake – it sounds just the same as the Scottish word loch.’
‘Fascinating.’ I scowl.
‘The name means lake of the hazel tree,’ Dad says. ‘There’s an old hazel at the tip of the lough that marks a holy well or a spring or something. People still come to see it. It’s supposed to have magical properties, according to local legend.’ I fake a yawn, and Dad abandons the running commentary.
We’re quite close to the water now. Lough Choill looks cold and still and timeless, rimmed on the far shore with silver birch trees that seem to dip their toes in the water. Beyond the woodland, a huge, gaunt hillside rises up, smudged with heather and gorse.
‘Almost there,’ says Dad. We drive round the tip of the lough, turning off into a lane that’s so skinny it might not even qualify as a footpath back in London. There is grass growing up through the middle of the road. Unreal.
The car shudders to a halt outside a whitewashed cottage with red-painted windows and climbing roses all round the doorway.
‘Well,’ says Dad. ‘This is it.’
The cottage looks like it’s escaped from a picture postcard. A stone workshop with a tin roof stands behind the cottage, and strewn across the neatly mown lawn in front are a pink bike, a pogo stick, an abandoned Bratz doll. A couple of chickens mooch about in the flower beds, and there’s even a neat vegetable plot. It looks like Dad got his country-cottage dream, anyhow.
A tyre swing hangs from a tree, swaying gently in the breeze. My mouth sets into a grim line.
Dad grabs my suitcase and grins at me, that old lopsided smile I know so well. ‘Don’t be nervous,’ he tells me. ‘They don’t bite.’
Too bad, I think. Because I do.
*
The fridge is crowded with magnetic letters that spell out ‘Welcome, Scarlett’, and the kitchen smells of roast meat and gravy. Yuk. I drop my eyes to the floorboards, scowling.
‘Scarlett, this is Holly,’ Dad says, and my eyes flicker upwards against my will. Holly looks about nine, with mouse-brown hair scraped back into pigtails. She is setting the table with plates, glasses and cutlery, and she looks nervous but friendly, like she’s pleased to see me. Weird.
‘Wow,’ she says, eyes flicking from my hair to my rucksack to my red wedge sandals. ‘Wow! I’m so glad you’re here. I can’t believe I’ve really got a sister at last!’
‘I am not your sister,’ I say. Obviously she’s not very bright.
‘Stepsister then.’ Holly shrugs. ‘Mum’s done us a roast dinner specially – lamb and mint sauce and roasted potatoes! It’s a celebration!’
‘I’m vegetarian,’ I snap. ‘Didn’t anyone tell you?’
Holly’s face falls.
‘Your mum didn’t mention that,’ Dad says, frowning. ‘Pity. Well, I could open a tin of tuna…’
‘No meat, no fish,’ I say coldly.
‘Right. No, of course. Cheese then? And some of the vegetables?’
I shrug, stony-faced.
‘I’ve always wanted to be veggie,’ Holly chirps.
‘At least, I’ve thought about it. You can tell me all about it, Scarlett. You’ll be sharing my room – it’s going to be cool!’
Yeah, right. I look at Dad and he raises one eyebrow shiftily.
‘It’s just one of several possible options, room-wise,’ he says.
‘No,’ I correct him. ‘It isn’t.’
And you’re at my school.’ Holly beams. ‘Isn’t that the best? I’ve told everyone all about you.’
Oh yeah? No pressure, then. She is nuts, clearly. I shake my head.
‘You’re at