“Mr Opal, I’m sorry, I—”

“This is an unknown town, Una. Didn’t you listen to me? You have to assume it’s unfriendly.” He got up again, half standing, half crouching. He held his leg and grimaced.

“But she’s all right, Dad. It’s Maggie – she’s my friend, our friend. She helped us.”

He felt around on the floor beside him, picked up a fork and pointed it at me. “Get out of here.”

I shouldn’t have come.

I’m not a hero.

I’m not an eldest.

I’m not brave.

My mouth dried up.

Mr Opal – Una’s dad – he could’ve killed Mr Wetheral’s family. He really could’ve.

I’ve put the whole of Fennis Wick at risk. Mum, Dad, Trig – everyone.

“You can’t trust them, Una.” He hopped towards me, blanket fixed round him with one hand and fork held fast in the other. He growled with the pain.

Stay calm, Maggie.

You can outrun him.

“I had to trust someone, Dad. You were really sick. We had nothing to eat. She saved your life. She saved both our lives.”

“Argh.” He tripped over the blanket, fell to the ground, eyes squeezed shut. He clutched his leg. “What have you done, Una? You shouldn’t have brought her here.”

I grabbed something from the nearest tree stump. Something covered in leather.

Evidence.

I shoved it into the front of my shorts and pulled my T-shirt over the top.

“But, Dad, she’s my friend. She won’t tell anyone about us. I know it. You won’t, will you, Maggie?”

There were tears in Una’s eyes. Real tears.

I took a step backwards.

And another.

“You won’t, will you, Maggie?”

I turned and ran.

CHAPTER 18

I scrambled up the stairs and collapsed on to my bed.

“Maggie?” Dad called up after me. “Is that you? We’ve been worried about you.”

“I’m fine,” I shouted back. “I’m fine.”

I’m not fine.

I’m not.

My ribs heaved. Up-down-up-down-up-down.

I pulled the leather thing from my shorts, turned it round in my hands.

A sheath.

One end was flapped over and tied up with a lace.

I untied it, unfolded it. Pulled out a knife.

It was well used. Dented, dulled, dirty. But sharp.

Its wooden handle had a design carved into it. I tilted it towards the light. Fine antennae, wide wings, whorled patterns. Butterflies. I ran my fingers over it. The carvings dipped and curled under my fingertips.

Now I had proof.

I’d take it to the mayor. Soon as she was back from camp.

She’d know what to do.

“Maggie?”

I shoved the knife under my pillow. Fumbled with the sheath.

“Come down, love. I’ve got some food out.” Dad opened the door, just a little. “Leftovers. Thought we could all eat together. The four of us, I mean.”

“Yeah,” I said. “OK.”

The four of us.