Page 12 of Serenity Falls

‘Hi.’

‘I don’t suppose you’ve seen a little boy around here?’

‘Err, no. Afraid not.’

‘Oh.’ The woman squints through her glasses. ‘Do I know you? You look familiar.’

Sadie shakes her head. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘Are you at school with Serena?’

‘No. We just moved here.’

The woman looks up at the house. ‘Here?’

‘Yes.’

‘This house is empty. It’s been empty for years.’

‘Well, not any more. We inherited it, from my grandma.’

The woman continues to study her. Then the veneers flash again. ‘Well, that’s nice. Have you visited Winsom Wonderland yet?’

‘No, not yet.’

‘You should go. My little Davey – he just loves all that magical stuff. At least, he used to—’ She trails off, an odd look on her face. ‘Have you seen him?’

Sadie feels thrown by the sudden switches in conversation. She really wants to go back inside. ‘No, I haven’t.’

‘Well, you better take one of these.’ The woman thrusts a piece of paper at Sadie. Reluctantly, she takes it. There’s a picture on the front: a young boy. Maybe four or five. A shock of blond hair, bright, happy smile. He’s wearing a cowboy hat and a yellow T-shirt with a grinning cartoon cowboy on it (one of Harold Winsom’s famous characters – Buddy). Printed beneath the picture:

Davey Junior. Missing. If you see me, please help.

Sadie frowns. Normally missing posters featured teens or adults. Not little kids. How did a little kid just go missing?

‘Remember—’ The woman taps the leaflet with one bony finger. ‘If you see Davey, you let me know.’

‘O-kay.’ Although how she’ll do that with no contact details on the leaflet, Sadie has no idea.

The woman nods and walks off. Sadie looks at the leaflet again. She’ll show it to Dad, see what he makes of it. He’ll probably tell her not to talk to weird people, but Sadie can’t help it if weird people talk to her. She folds the leaflet and shoves it into her shorts pocket. Then she turns and places a hand on the gate.

And that’s when she hears the scream.

5

I stare at the body, momentarily paralysed. My brain is refusing to compute. A body. In the pool. What, how, why?

My confusion isn’t helped by the fact that the body is dressed in some kind of furry animal costume, like the ones theme-park characters wear – which is: a/ nuts in this heat and b/ probably not great for breaststroke either.

The thought spurs me into action. I yank off my trainers and socks and make my way down the pool steps, past the bobbing balloons (also, what the fuck?) and as far as I can towards the deep end. I’m chest deep before I can reach the man’s arms. I’ve decided it’s a man because of the height, but again, hard to tell in the costume. It’s also hard to move him. The costume is heavy, weighing him down, but somehow I manage to manoeuvre him back to the shallow end and wedge my hands under his arms.

I’m just starting to drag him up the steps when a sudden shrill scream causes me to jump and lose my grip. I miss a step and fall backwards into the pool, head going under, feet struggling to find the bottom. I flail and flap my arms, finally managing to regain my balance and grab hold of the pool edge. Shit. I gasp and shake water out of my hair. Great. Now, the body has floated further away again.

‘Oh my gosh, oh my gosh.’

The screamer, Frances, stands by the pool, eyes wide, hands at her mouth.

‘Is that … oh my gosh … is that—’