village. Samuel came by each evening and sat with Scarlett and Valerie. He brought them soup and simmering casseroles, tenderly coaxing Scarlett to finish at least a few spoonfuls before the sun set and he returned home.
For the holidaymakers, unaware of the drama, the campsite remained a place of laughter and sunshine.
As for me? Well, I heeded the note. I worked as hard as I could, head down, mouth closed. I filled up my car and restocked my fridge. I spent the evenings with my windows shut and door locked. I tried to sleep, wondering what on earth I was doing there and if it could really be coincidence that less than a week after my arrival, the âPeace and Pigsâ campsite, once so aptly named, had become a lie.
Â
Tuesday it rained. The campsite resembled a ghost town. Tents zipped up, families either huddled inside or went out to the cinema, shops or museum. The downpour turned the whole world grey. We scurried from one shelter to the next, accompanied by the unrelenting staccato of warm, fat drops drumming tirelessly upon the roofs of the caravans and beating time on the oak leaves. Waterstreamed off the ends of our noses and became one with the rivers running along the campsite paths.
The rain was familiar to me, yet different. Rain is rain, and we get all types in Ballydown, but I was unused to the mud coating my boots â and therefore any floor I stepped on â with dark, gritty sludge. The air reeked of it: a rich combination of sodden sky and earth. The forest seemed wild and harsh without the warmth of sunlight to lift it. When Grace stepped out from between the trees, it was as if she had summoned the wind and water to herald her return. A perfect manifestation of the storm that lived within her soul.
She disappeared inside her mobile home with Scarlett, emerging hours later to feed the pigs as if she had never been away. Her face was set in an expressionless mask, but the black streaks of make-up on her cheeks betrayed something of what had gone on behind the blue door.
Valerie found me scrubbing a caravan vacated that morning. Thankful for an excuse to put down the muddy cloth, I helped myself to the teabags left behind in one of the cupboards and put the kettle on.
âGrace is back, Marion. I canât believe it!â
âI know. Scarlett must be so relieved.â
âRelieved? Sheâs hopping mad. Instead of shouting, sheâs whispering in this calm, creepy voice like a crazy bad guy. Grace is pretending not to be scared, but she is totally freaked out. She expected to be grounded or something, but this is way worse. She wonât crack though. Wonât say where sheâs been, or why she went. Or who she was with, or anything. Just sits there. Scarlett tried being nice and Grace still wonât say. Then she cried, and Grace got angry and screamed that she was sorry but if people just told her the truth she wouldnât have to go looking for it. Scarlett went dead white then. I thought she was going to faint, but she asked me to give them some time, so I came to find you.
âWhat does Grace mean, about having to look for the truth? Scarlett doesnât lie, not ever. Itâs one of her lessons. When Gracelied about meeting Gregory Fisher in the woods, Scarlett taught her that lesson. And when the exchange student lied about the money in the till, Scarlett said he had to go back to France.â Valerie shook her head, cradling her tea in both hands. âI donât understand why anyone would want to leave the Peace and Pigs. Thatâs why all those visitors keep coming back every year, because itâs so good here. They pay money to come and stay, and can only come for maybe a week, or two weeks. Grace gets to live here for free, all the time. Why would she want to run away?â
âI donât know, Valerie. I think, maybe, when people expect you to stay somewhere â especially if itâs the place youâve always been â
For the holidaymakers, unaware of the drama, the campsite remained a place of laughter and sunshine.
As for me? Well, I heeded the note. I worked as hard as I could, head down, mouth closed. I filled up my car and restocked my fridge. I spent the evenings with my windows shut and door locked. I tried to sleep, wondering what on earth I was doing there and if it could really be coincidence that less than a week after my arrival, the âPeace and Pigsâ campsite, once so aptly named, had become a lie.
Â
Tuesday it rained. The campsite resembled a ghost town. Tents zipped up, families either huddled inside or went out to the cinema, shops or museum. The downpour turned the whole world grey. We scurried from one shelter to the next, accompanied by the unrelenting staccato of warm, fat drops drumming tirelessly upon the roofs of the caravans and beating time on the oak leaves. Waterstreamed off the ends of our noses and became one with the rivers running along the campsite paths.
The rain was familiar to me, yet different. Rain is rain, and we get all types in Ballydown, but I was unused to the mud coating my boots â and therefore any floor I stepped on â with dark, gritty sludge. The air reeked of it: a rich combination of sodden sky and earth. The forest seemed wild and harsh without the warmth of sunlight to lift it. When Grace stepped out from between the trees, it was as if she had summoned the wind and water to herald her return. A perfect manifestation of the storm that lived within her soul.
She disappeared inside her mobile home with Scarlett, emerging hours later to feed the pigs as if she had never been away. Her face was set in an expressionless mask, but the black streaks of make-up on her cheeks betrayed something of what had gone on behind the blue door.
Valerie found me scrubbing a caravan vacated that morning. Thankful for an excuse to put down the muddy cloth, I helped myself to the teabags left behind in one of the cupboards and put the kettle on.
âGrace is back, Marion. I canât believe it!â
âI know. Scarlett must be so relieved.â
âRelieved? Sheâs hopping mad. Instead of shouting, sheâs whispering in this calm, creepy voice like a crazy bad guy. Grace is pretending not to be scared, but she is totally freaked out. She expected to be grounded or something, but this is way worse. She wonât crack though. Wonât say where sheâs been, or why she went. Or who she was with, or anything. Just sits there. Scarlett tried being nice and Grace still wonât say. Then she cried, and Grace got angry and screamed that she was sorry but if people just told her the truth she wouldnât have to go looking for it. Scarlett went dead white then. I thought she was going to faint, but she asked me to give them some time, so I came to find you.
âWhat does Grace mean, about having to look for the truth? Scarlett doesnât lie, not ever. Itâs one of her lessons. When Gracelied about meeting Gregory Fisher in the woods, Scarlett taught her that lesson. And when the exchange student lied about the money in the till, Scarlett said he had to go back to France.â Valerie shook her head, cradling her tea in both hands. âI donât understand why anyone would want to leave the Peace and Pigs. Thatâs why all those visitors keep coming back every year, because itâs so good here. They pay money to come and stay, and can only come for maybe a week, or two weeks. Grace gets to live here for free, all the time. Why would she want to run away?â
âI donât know, Valerie. I think, maybe, when people expect you to stay somewhere â especially if itâs the place youâve always been â
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