Chapter One 

Pumpkins and Pain 

Kneeling over the pumpkin I scoop out the last bits of orangey flesh with a metal spoon. A small mound of seeds and pulp sit on the plastic mat Mum put down to protect the floor.  

I rock back onto my heels and sigh. Mum had been helping me until Mrs Penrose called round for a visit. She’s always popping in these days.  

She lives on our street, in a house with so much ivy growing on it you can hardly see the bricks. She’s probably the same age as my gran, but she looks quite different with long grey hair hanging past her shoulders and a black-and-orange skirt which swishes round her ankles. My eyes are drawn to her boots covered in little silver stars and moons.  

“Piskies and Pebbles is a lovely shop and the owner, Esther Crossly is a real gem,” Mrs Penrose says to Mum. “It would just be a few hours a week to start with but I think it will be good for you, Katie.” Mrs Penrose pats Mum’s knee. 

Mum sniffs and takes a sip from the coffee mug she’s been hugging for the last twenty minutes. 

“It will probably be good for you all.” She adds in a hushed voice, glancing at my little brother, Ed, playing silently with plastic bricks on the floor. She flicks her eyes to me and smiles. “You’ve all been through so much since the accident.”  

Just the mention of it makes me shiver, as if the patio door beside me has been flung open allowing icy wind to rush in. 

Our cat, Cookie, rubs past my arm and meows. Scooping up the black and white cat I cuddle him to my chest and nuzzle my face into his warm fur. 

I know the shop Mrs Penrose is talking about. There are always scented candles burning, so it smells different each time you go in – like the sea or a field full of bluebells or maybe like a spicy apple pie cooking in the oven. It’s crammed full of locally made things like pottery and paintings of lighthouses surrounded by crashing waves. There are piles of cushions covered in seahorses and starfish and rolls of blankets stacked like pyramids. Glass cabinets sparkle with jewellery made from sea glass and silver.  

It’s popular with tourists who visit our seaside town. I suppose they want to take a little piece of Cornwall home with them. 

“Esther wants to start selling online so the holidaymakers can buy things from the shop all year round. But she needs help sourcing new products and setting up a website.” Mrs Penrose explains. “It would be perfect for you, Katie. Ease you back into things. A little bit of routine. What do you say?”  

Mum gave up her old job after the accident. It was all too much for her to cope with. 

With a small sigh, Mum puts her mug on the coffee table and takes a slip of paper from Mrs Penrose. It looks like there’s a phone number on it. 

“It would be nice to have something else to think about.” Mum chews her lip as she watches Ed. “And I can’t say the extra money wouldn’t come in handy.”  

“Why don’t you go and ring Esther now. Have a chat. I’ll keep an eye on the little one.” Mrs Penrose tucks her swishy skirt to one side and plonks herself on the floor next to Ed. “This looks fun,” she says, pushing the sleeves of a black velvety top up to her elbows. She scoops up some bricks and builds a tower. “What shall we make?”  

Mum picks up her phone. I hear her footsteps going up the stairs. 

Mrs Penrose chatters away about red bricks being her favourite whilst Ed says nothing. 

My little brother used to call Mrs Penrose the witch lady. He wouldn’t say that now. Not because he knows it’s not true, but because my brother hasn’t actually said anything for three hundred and nineteen days. Selective mutism following serious trauma – that’s what the doctors say. I guess it’s to be expected after being in the car that killed your dad. Ed wasn’t physically hurt, but none of us know what he saw that evening.  

Mum’s been told that with time and the right support Ed should recover … speak again. I really hope so. I want my little brother back. The guilt I feel over what happened to Dad is more than enough to try and live with. 

Cookie wriggles free of my arms. It’s like a warm scarf has been pulled from my neck. 

My fingers automatically reach inside my pocket for the comforting touch of my special fifty pence coin. Dad gave it to me for the vending machine at running club that fateful day. I’m so glad the machine was broken and I never got to use it.  

Mrs Penrose turns her attention to me. “And how are you doing, Livvy?” 

Should I tell her guilt and grief chase around my head like they’re playing a game of tag? Or that my insides feel like they’ve been pulled out and stuck back in upside down?  

I don’t. I just shrug and blink away the tears that are never far away. 

“It will get easier you know, in time,” she says. 

My knees ache and the smell of the pumpkin is making me queasy so I stand up and turn my back on Ed and Mrs Penrose. I really don’t want to talk about it. Maybe Ed’s right, not talking is easier. I stare out at the garden through the patio doors.  

The sky’s the colour of pebbles and wind plucks leaves from the trees as if they’re just seeds from a dandelion clock. I wish the wind could scatter my thoughts as easily. 

Something catches my eye outside. Up by the compost heap. 

I push my face closer to the glass, wondering if Cookie has nipped through the cat flap. But it’s not a cat, it’s not fluffy enough. A seagull perhaps? No, too small. 

There it is again. It moves quickly, whatever it is. 

“Livvy?” Mrs Penrose touches my shoulder. “Are you alright?” I jump, startled, and edge away from the window.  

“Can you tell Mum I’ve gone into the garden?” I call, already slipping through the living room door and grabbing my coat from the end of the banister. “I need some fresh air.” 

Mrs. Penrose watches me from the patio door. She nods and raises her hand in a wave. I ignore her, and run up the garden, my wellies squelching on the damp grass as I head to where I saw the movement.