Free Hidden Among Us by Katy Moran Page B

first, everything inside looked normal – dark wooden pews and an altar, a noticeboard with pictures of disciples scribbled all over by Sunday School children. But just by the great stone font, there were tables with groceries laid out for sale: jars of jam and honey, loaves of bread in a basket, tins of tomatoes, packets of toothpaste, stacks of loo roll, kitchen sponges, bottles of shower gel, tea bags, coffee.
    Joe was crouching down by a small fridge plugged in next to the tables – a long grey extension lead snaked off into a stack of plastic chairs. I checked my phone again. It was still working and there was one tiny bar of signal. I could phone Mum. At last.
    I called her, holding the phone hard against my ear as rain dripped off the hood of my waterproof. Straight to voicemail. And just as I was leaving a message, the phone beeped. A text. I read it, not daring to breathe.
Boo in intensive care, ward C3. Try not to worry. Best people looking after her. Will try call soon, bad reception
. I scrolled down. It had only come half an hour earlier. Why hadn’t I tried to call Mum from the landline at the Reach instead of storming out like an idiot?
    This can’t be happening
. There was nothing I could do now but wait. I was useless.
    Hot tears leaked slowly down my face. I brushed them away with one hand.
Let her be OK
, I whispered, feeling like an idiot.
Please, God, please let Connie be OK
. I only go to chapel at school because they make us but I would have tried anything. I stared at the font, a pool of holy water cupped in ancient stone. How many babies had been christened in this place over hundreds of years, had holy water tipped onto their heads, crying as the devil was driven out? How many had died before they grew up?
    I thought of Connie lying silent and still in her hospital bed, drips and lines coming out of her small arms.
    I’ll do anything to save you
, I thought.
    It was my fault: I knew that. If Mum and Dad were still together, Connie wouldn’t be in hospital now. Everything is connected, like an endless row of dominoes. If somebody pushes the first domino, they all fall, one after another. That day had led step by step to this one; I’d picked up the birthday card poking out of Dad’s laptop case, glanced at the artistic black and white photograph of some mountains, then looked inside, read the message.
    “Dad, who’s Elena?”
    Mum turning to stare, mouth half open. “Adam? What’s she talking about?”
    Dad frowning at me. I could see it in his eyes: Elena was meant to be a secret. Now she wasn’t
.
    If I hadn’t made that mistake, the infection in Connie’s body, in her blood, would have found another home.
    All because of my stupid fat mouth. No matter how many times Alice or anyone else tried to reason with me, I knew it was my fault Mum and Dad had split up. Alice had said it so many times I lost count:
Seriously, Lissy, your dad must have wanted to be caught. Why else would he keep a birthday card from his secret girlfriend in his laptop bag and then ask you to get his charger? Come on, you’re being stupid about it!
    The truth was, in the split second before I’d spoken, I
knew
that Elena was meant to be a secret. And it wasn’t fair. Mum deserved to know. Rafe has hated me ever since.
    He blamed me.
    But really it was idiotic, swearing to save Connie’s life. Because what could I do?
    I stared, miserable, at the font. There were carvings in the stone but they’d nearly worn away. That’s how old it was. I could just make out a snaking vine with leaves and flowers, tried to imagine a stonemason wearing the funny medieval clothes I’d seen in books: a baggy tunic, tight leggings. He must have crouched for hours with aching arms and legs, working slowly at the stone, perhaps almost a thousand years ago. There were people-carvings, too, mostly worn to nothing, but down near the base of the font I could clearly see a small group – saints maybe? – completely dwarfed by the