Free Shattered by Teri Terry Page A

sunshine.’
    I bristle at his tone. ‘Of course not. It’s conservation, public access, education and safety.’ I’d been lurking at the edges long enough to already hear the spiel.
    ‘Do you have any relevant skills?’
    ‘I can read maps, I know how to use a compass. I’m a runner and experienced walker, so I’m fit. I love the outdoors in all weather.’
    ‘Really?’ His voice is still sceptical, and even though I had no idea what National Parks did until five minutes ago, something about his tone has my back up.
    I straighten and meet his eye. ‘Try me and you’ll see.’ A challenge thrown down.
    ‘Well, well. You never know.’
    I walk off to hostile glances from many of the other hopefuls; Finley follows.
    ‘You handled him well.’
    ‘Did I?’
    ‘But I wouldn’t get your hopes up. They’ll trial ten and take five this year. But most of the others have been volunteering with National Parks all through school and have staked their claims; even if you make it into the ten, it’s a tough competition.’
    So much for place of origin being inadmissible criteria.

CHAPTER TEN
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    The afternoon is free: should I go back to the house? Probably. Most likely everyone will be at work, and Stella and I could talk some more, and isn’t that what I’m here for?
    But the sun is shining. It’s lunchtime, but after the Breakfast of Giants this morning I’m good, and the sun sparkling on the snow-dusted fells above is calling, making my feet restless.
    I wander about Keswick to start with, paying no attention to where I am going, and after a while find myself outside Keswick Primary School. That teacher said every child in Keswick goes to this school: it would have been my school. It must be their lunchtime; there are children running and playing all over the grounds. It looks a happy place, without the undercurrents at the secondary I was at until recently. Do they get visits from Lorders here, too? Do Lorders stand to one side during school assemblies, and drag off troublemakers, never to be seen again? No. That’d be ridiculous. It’s a primary school, not full of potentially dangerous teenagers. I stare a moment at the white buildings, but nothing feels familiar.
    But all the while the fells are calling me. I want up , to climb into the sky and touch the sun. I start to follow a footpath sign that leads out of town, taking whichever way goes up and out. Then I stumble across another sign that points the way to Castlerigg Stone Circle. I almost stop breathing when I read the words: is this the stone circle from my dream, the one with Dad? Counting the stones together: the Mountains’ Children.
    I’m walking faster and it isn’t fast enough, so I start to run. It’s uphill on uneven ground and the cold air catches in my throat, but it feels good to be running. I told that National Parks rep that I was a runner, but how much have I done of it lately? I’ve barely even jogged: it reminds me so much of Ben that it hurts. But now my mind is full of Castlerigg, of getting there as soon as my feet can take me.
    I slow to a walk when I finally see a gate in the distance. It is the gate; I’m sure of it. I pull my coat in tight around; despite running and the sun, the temperature seems to have dropped, and has a prickle of expectation about it. Snow? Distant clouds are moving closer.
    Leaning up against the gate I can finally see it. A wide field with the stone circle at its centre; the mountains, standing guard, are an amphitheatre all around. I open the gate and step through, then stand there, staring, something stirring and shifting inside. Not just a dream, I’m sure of it. I remember , and the joy of memory makes me laugh out loud. I’ve been here , many times before, in all weather: picnics on sunny summer days, walks in blustery autumn rains and snow-covered magic, searching for bright dots of spring wildflowers. It was our place, mine and Dad’s: our special place we came again and again.
    I walk