Free The Color of Darkness by Ruth Hatfield Page A

“Your dad’s a piece of work.”
    He nodded his head toward the backseat, but Cath opened the passenger door. Danny stood frozen behind her.
    â€œWhat?” Cath got in and looked out at him. “Got a problem?”
    â€œI’m not getting in there,” said Danny. “I don’t know who he is.”
    Cath snorted. “What you gonna do? Run behind?”
    â€œHe looks like a … like a drug dealer ,” hissed Danny. Stan bared his teeth like an Alsatian at a cat.
    â€œWhat you scared of, kid? You’ll be safe with Cath. She’s tougher than ten of us.”
    Cath grinned for a fraction of a second. The shock of seeing her smile seemed to stun Danny into silence. He opened the back door of the car and Barshin hopped in gamely, leaving Danny with no choice but to follow. He slid down onto the seat.
    â€œWhere’s the seat belt?” he said nervously.
    â€œDunno,” said Stan, pulling off the hand brake and stamping on the wheezing accelerator pedal. “Been wondering that since I got the car. Let me know if you find it.”
    In the rearview mirror Cath saw Danny’s arms: rigid, going straight downward. He was gripping the edge of the seat as though it were his last hold on life.
    She took her eyes off him and watched the town dwindle away around them. It felt good to be driving away from Dad. Away from Johnny White.
    If only she never had to go back.

 

    CHAPTER 9
    THE FARM
    Stan swung the car up a driveway beside a sign that said SOPPER’S EDGE FARM . He bombed over the potholes as if his old clunker were a jeep. The floor scraped on the earth as it shuddered over the ruts, but Stan didn’t care. He slammed to a halt as soon as the driveway widened out into a gravelly yard and cocked his head.
    â€œScram,” he said.
    Cath got out silently. What could she say, anyway? Don’t tell my dad? But if Stan was going to tell, he’d tell, and if he wasn’t, she didn’t need to ask him not to. Everybody understood how it was.
    Maybe Dad wouldn’t find her here. They were miles away from town. There was a redbrick farmhouse that looked like it had been kicked about by the winds and rain and snow for longer than anyone had ever been alive, and there were some black barns behind it, and loads of fences and puddles and bits of metal machinery around the place. The rest was fields, with a strong smell of cows. From somewhere on the damp breeze, Cath heard a long, mournful moo.
    Danny got out of the car, and Barshin slowly hopped down after him, his long ears drooping. As soon as Danny closed the door, Stan turned around and shot off down the driveway. They stood for a second and watched him go.
    â€œThat guy…,” said Danny. “Is he, sort of, a friend of your parents or something?”
    He thinks Stan is lowlife scum, thought Cath. And he thinks I’m the same.
    â€œYou ain’t got a clue, have you?” she said, without anger. “Go on, then, where’s your cousin?”
    Danny shrugged. “I dunno. He’s normally doing something with the cows. Oh crap, there’s Aunt Kathleen.”
    A tall, rawboned woman with a horsey face and wild toffee-colored hair walked around the side of the house. Her hair was struggling out of an elastic band, her clothes damp with smears of greenish slime. Her cheeks were as red as a smacked butt.
    â€œDanny!” she said, looking confused. “I thought you were the postman. What are you doing here? Why aren’t you at school?”
    â€œI need to see Tom,” said Danny. His voice sounded weak, as though he didn’t really mean it.
    â€œWhy?” said Aunt Kathleen, going from confused to suspicious in a nanosecond. Sharper than she looks, thought Cath.
    â€œUm,” said Danny. “Nothing, sort of. I just need to see him.”
    â€œDo your mum and dad know you’re here?” snapped Aunt Kathleen, moving on equally swiftly to