Free The Witch in the Lake by Anna Fienberg

into the light.
    â€˜Papà!’ whispered Merilee. She moved towards him.
    â€˜Franco,’ cried Francesca. ‘Thank goodness you’re here. Tell her she can’t take Merilee. She’s too young to start that kind of life, she doesn’t want it.’
    Franco waved a jug of wine in the air. ‘Ah, leave it alone, Francesca,’ he mumbled.
    His words were slurred. If they’d been written on a blackboard, Leo thought, they’d look blurred as if all the letters had been rubbed together with a duster. Leo could smell the stink of wine on Franco’s breath, as he burped loudly and lurched towards the carriage. He tripped on a loose stone and went sprawling over on the ground. The jug smashed and Franco let out a cry.
    â€˜Damn and blast,’ he swore, ‘I’m bleeding, ‘Cesca. Oh, I’m going to be sick—help me!’
    Beatrice stared down at him in disgust. She pointed at him with the toe of her shoe, as if he were a particularly ugly species of insect. ‘What kind of education will your daughter have here, Francesca? What kind of life can she lead with this
ubriaco
, this drunk for a father?’
    â€˜All right, all right,’ Francesca said tiredly.
    Beatrice reached out and took Merilee’s hand, pulling her towards the carriage.
    Leo’s heart was thumping. Now, I should do something
now
, he told himself. But he felt frozen, paralysed. His legs wouldn’t move. His throat was dry.
    Merilee didn’t look back at her mother or father as the driver helped her inside. Leo watched the darkness swallow the small pale moon of her face. Beatrice swung up into the carriage after her, and leaned over the side.
    â€˜
Arrivederci!
’ she called merrily. ‘Stay well and get plenty of rest, Francesca, dear!’
    â€˜It will only be for two weeks, then, won’t it?’ Francesca called back. ‘I’ll see you both in a fortnight, won’t I?’
    But the driver had already whipped the horses and the wheels began to spin and Beatrice was calling goodbye so loudly that Francesca never heard a reply.
    When all the pieces of the broken jug had been picked up and Francesca had helped her husband inside, Leo came out of the shadows. He walked down the stony path, into the swim of darkness beyond it. He began to run, his feet fumbling over uneven ground. He ran blindly, trying to escape the hot spurt of shame that was flooding him.
    A rabbit hole sent him tumbling and he lay where he fell, not moving. His arms and legs splayed out wide on the damp, cold grass. He felt like a fallen star, grounded, burned out, useless.
    He closed his eyes and all he could see behind the lids was the word,
failure
.

Chapter Seven
    It was two and a half weeks since Merilee had gone, and Leo had heard nothing. Every day he did the same things he usually did. He washed, ate, did his lessons, went to the market, but the life had gone out of it all. Sometimes, in the afternoons, he played tag or spun tops with other boys in the square. But deep inside he felt there was nothing to look forward to, no warmth in the days. Just a dull grey dust over everything, with a nagging stab of worry behind it.
    Then at the market one morning, he saw Francesca. She was buying some new season’s pears. He went and stood next to her, breathing in her familiar scent. Rose and jasmine. It made sudden tears prick behind his eyes.
    â€˜Leo!’ Francesca turned towards him and put her hands on his shoulders. ‘It’s so good to see you—
dio
, how much you’ve grown!’
    It was true. He was nearly as tall as she was. They both glanced nervously about as they began to wander through the stalls, talking.
    Leo could hardly believe his luck. It just didn’t seem real, as if they were walking in a dream. How different it all was without Beatrice hovering near. He kept expecting that any minute he’d wake up and Francesca would disappear, like mist