Besides, she didn’t pose any threat any more, so the least I could do was help her out of the hole then give her something to protect herself with while I went to help Olivia.

It didn’t take long to reach the hole. I crept up to the edge and peered down.

She was gone.

Chapter 49

Spiders’ legs crawled across my neck. I scanned the silvery trees. Listened. The wood lay silent and still. Shivers criss-crossed my spine. I looked back down at the hole. Blood darkened the leaves and soil, turning the ground purple-black. One side of the cube-shaped well had caved in a little, its wall crumbling and full of stab marks.

She must have pulled the knife out of her leg then used it to help drag herself up and out of the hole.

A trail of blood led away from the hole, further into the woods. I followed the path as far as I could with my eyes, but it was soon swallowed by shadows.

I wondered how she had the strength to haul herself out of the ground like that. Her legs had been bent at strange angles; I’d thought they were broken, but they obviously weren’t. I bit my lip, annoyed that I’d wasted time going back to help her.

I looked down. I’d dropped the branch. I picked it up. If Mother came after me, I could use the branch to defend myself, but I doubted that she would have the energy to do more than sit and wait for help. I told myself to relax; it was good she was out of the hole – she could defend herself from wild animals much better now, but she was too weak to come after me, too injured to do anything but crawl. She was harmless.

For a moment, I hesitated, stunned by the calmness of my thoughts. Despite everything, I was using logic to survive. I thought about my trick with the tights and smiled; how clever of me to come up with something like that.

Hope lifted my shoulders and I ran away from the hole, back towards the cottage. I had made it this far – I could make it to the end. I could help Olivia reach a hospital and I could make it to the police. I wouldn’t give up. I would keep going until I found my parents. My real parents. Jane and Peter Dalton. My MUMMY and DADDY. The words sounded so special. So magical – like they ought to be written in capital letters.

Fear nibbled and gnawed when I thought about how they might react to me, but an explosion of happiness came when I imagined seeing them. At the same time, my need to see them was so strong I worried my heart would pop out of my chest and fly into the sky like the kites in Mary Poppins.