Is that you, Rock? I ask. The feeling grows.

‘Ummm. I feel something unusual in my hands. A kind of poking or nudging,’ I whisper.

‘Well done,’ says Sylvie. ‘Let it fill your body.’

I’m hearing the rock! I think, with a rush of joy. I wish Mum were here for me to tell. Or Kit. I really can do this! See? See? The sensation spreads over my body, and I can feel myself grinning from ear to ear.

I hear voices in the distance. Maybe it’s townie kids coming up the hill. Mum and I have seen them here before. Then I realise it’s just one voice, and I know whose it is.

‘I hear Mum!’ My eyes fling open. I can’t pick out her actual words, but I’d know that friendly, slightly husky voice anywhere. ‘Where is she?’ I look around, hope erupting in my chest. It’s her! It’s her!

‘She’s not here,’ says Sylvie. ‘But it’s good you can hear her. Lie down, close your eyes and soak up the –’

‘MUM!’ I call, but my voice disappears into the thick bush. ‘MUM!’ I scramble to my feet and look around. ‘Are you there?’ I say softly, my eyes prickling with tears.

‘She can’t hear you, Tulsi. It just means you’ve absorbed enough of nature’s energy to make contact with where she is.’ Sylvie actually looks impressed.

‘Does she know I can hear her?’

‘No.’

‘And you’re sure she can’t hear me?’

‘I’m sure.’

I sit down again, ears straining. Mum, I say in my head. Are you there? Please say something.

Nothing. Until, a couple of minutes later, I hear her, clear as anything. ‘Oh no!’ she says, sounding scared or upset.

I open my eyes. Sylvie hasn’t heard Mum, that’s obvious. She’s sitting quietly, eyes shut. My fingers have started up a fierce sizzle.

Mum! I call inside my head. Are you okay? What’s happening?

But she’s gone again. There’s nothing but a few magpies carolling and an aeroplane droning overhead. While my mum is missing, everything just carries on like normal – the birds and the plane and the circus. Why is no-one doing anything? Why is Dad giving up on her? Doesn’t anyone care?

I punch the air and point a tingling, angry finger at a tree on the other side of the rock, and imagine energy shooting from my fingertip.

There’s a burning, rushing sensation under my skin and a great crack! comes from the tree. As if in slow motion, the tree trunk splits in two and crashes onto the rock in front of us with a monstrous thundering, twigs and chunks of branches shooting into the air.

CHAPTER 11