‘Thanks a lot,’ I say quietly. I turn my face away from them so they can’t see my stupid teary eyes.

‘Oh, come on, Charlie,’ Beaky says gently, joggling my shoulder. ‘It’s just that you were gone for nearly two hours and … your dad was all ready to call the police until we said you …’

‘Two hours? What d’you mean two hours?’

‘What do you think she means?’ says Lamont. ‘It’s been two hours. One minute you’re hiding up a tree spying on us. Next minute, you’re acting like a total grumpster and legging it off into the forest. Then, after two hours of us searching every millimetre in this whole forest, there you are running at us out of the bushes …’

I blink. ‘What day is it?’ I say slowly.

‘I told you it’s conk cushion,’ hisses Beaky to Lamont, tapping her own head.

Lamont throws his arms in the air. ‘Stop messing around, Charlie! What day do you think it is? Same day as it was two hours ago! Saturday! Your birthday, you nutball!’

‘My birthday …’ I murmur.

My legs go all wobbly; I lean on the Spirit Stone to keep myself steady. ‘But I’ve … but I’ve been … I’ve been …’

‘Never mind where you’ve been, Charlie,’ says Lamont. ‘We’ve found you now. But you’re in trouble …’

‘… BIG trouble,’ chimes in Beaky.

‘Big trouble,’ Lamont agrees. ‘Your mum and dad have been worrie—’

I snatch Lamont’s wrist. ‘Mum! Dad! Where are they?’

‘Oi, Charlie. That hurts. Get off!’ He yanks his arm away from me and checks his phone. ‘Last message says that your dad’s going back to your house to look for you and your mum’s at the hospital …’

My blood goes cold. The hospital! ‘Dara!’ I shout.

‘We just spoke to your dad a minute ago, Charlie.’ Beaky’s lips smile but her eyes don’t. ‘Dara’s in having his operation now. Your dad said he’d be fine though.’

The cold, frightened feeling comes rushing back, filling up my belly.

‘Dad always says things will be fine,’ I say. ‘But what if they’re not?’

Head spinning, I bite my lip and close my eyes. What about Harby’s mum? Sometimes things aren’t fine. Sometimes really bad things do just happen. The familiar wave of panic crashes through me and all I want to do is to run away from Dara and all his awful possibilities – Dara might not live and Mum and Dad will be sad forever, or if he does survive he might always stay little and baby-bird weak and then Mum and Dad will be worried forever, and maybe they’ll never forgive me anyway for not loving my brother properly right away, how I should, and maybe that is actually unforgivable, maybe even Beaky and Lamont will hate me for it, maybe they already do.

My heart pounds louder than thunder. I want to put my hands over my ears and to escape from it all; I want a sinkhole to open and swallow me whole; I want to run run run, fast and far; I just want to run away and forget it all.