Free Burning Secrets by Clare Chambers Page B

– especially a really untrustworthy person – could say yes to a question like that. “But you can trust me not to tell anyone about tonight. Who am I going to tell, anyway? I hardly know anyone.”
    â€œIt’s too late and cold to stand here talking about this now. Come to the music room after school on Monday and I’ll explain everything. No – on second thoughts, better come to my house instead: Wren Cottage on the Filey road. But promise me you won’t mention this to anyone.”
    â€œYou hadn’t really lost your lesson notes, had you?” Daniel said. “That was bull, wasn’t it?”
    â€œDaniel,” she said, shaking her head apologetically, “I’m not even really a teacher.”

Chapter 11
    L OUIE WAS STILL up when he let himself in. She had been experimenting: her hair, and in addition her ears, forehead, neck and much of her T-shirt were now an uncompromising shade of red.
    â€œYou’ve been ages,” she said, curiously.
    â€œWe walked miles. It was good, but I’m freezing.” He had no trouble keeping his word to Helen. Keeping secrets was something that came naturally to him.
    â€œI thought I’d dye my hair,” said Louie, pointing at her head as if he might not have noticed. “Do you like it?”
    â€œYeah, it’s great – if you want to look like Ronald McDonald,” said Daniel.
    When he awoke it was mid-afternoon and the house was quiet. He found Louie in the sitting room applying a set of extra-long false nails over her bitten ones. She waggled a set of talons at him. “What do you think?”
    â€œHorrible,” he said. It wasn’t so much the look of them, but their habit of dropping off. They would turn up in the bottom of the bath or stuck to Chet’s fur like giant ticks. Either she was doing something wrong or she needed stronger glue. In daylight her hair looked even more alarming, but he didn’t risk any more McHair jokes: Louie was quite capable of shaving the whole lot off.
    Outside in the garden Mum was splitting logs for the stove, her teeth clenched each time she brought down the axe. Daniel went out and took the axe off her. It was such a simple, brilliant tool – unimproved over thousands of years. The logs fell open like books at its touch. Soon he had amassed a pyramid of neatly split wood; the sight of it reminded him of the bonfire in the Centennial Gardens.
    â€œI’m going to the fireworks at Port Julian tonight,” he said. “Can I have some money?”
    â€œMight be some in my purse,” his mum said, vaguely. “Is Louie going with you?”
    â€œDon’t think so,” said Daniel. It was just the sort of thing she’d hate – crowds, strangers, fire – and he didn’t really want her hanging around.
    â€œWhat were you saying about me?” Louie demanded, appearing at the back door.
    â€œDaniel says you’re not going to the fireworks tonight,” Mum replied, ignoring Daniel’s agonised signals.
    â€œYes I am,” said Louie indignantly. She turned on Daniel. “I was invited too.”
    â€œI just thought it wasn’t your sort of thing,” he said.
    â€œWell, being stuck at home bored out of my head isn’t exactly my sort of thing either,” Louie retorted, planting her hands on her hips. She turned to her mum. “If he’s going, I’m going.”
    â€œFine!” said Daniel, bringing the axe down so that the blade sank into the chopping block with a thud.
    Â * 
    The centre of Port Julian had been closed to traffic for the evening, and the approach roads blocked off with bollards, so Daniel and Louie’s mum had to drop them on the edge of the town. She scrabbled in the dashboard compartments for loose change, handing over a fistful of coins with instructions to get something to eat, before driving off.
    Even though they were early, there were already