The Light Jar Read online

  For Stuart, Ben, and Isobel

  TITLE PAGE

  DEDICATION

  CHAPTER 1: THE NONHOLIDAY

  CHAPTER 2: THE COTTAGE

  CHAPTER 3: OPERATION: CLEANUP

  CHAPTER 4: THE TV GAME SHOW

  CHAPTER 5: ALL ALONE

  CHAPTER 6: THE TENNIS BALL

  CHAPTER 7: SAM

  CHAPTER 8: A STRANGER IN THE WOOD

  CHAPTER 9: GRANDMA

  CHAPTER 10: AMY AND MEENA

  CHAPTER 11: HELPING KITTY

  CHAPTER 12: KITTY’S STORY

  CHAPTER 13: THE YEW TREE

  CHAPTER 14: HIDING

  CHAPTER 15: GARY

  CHAPTER 16: SEARCHING THE COTTAGE

  CHAPTER 17: KITTY KNOCKS

  CHAPTER 18: THE ICE HOUSE

  CHAPTER 19: INSIDE THE ICE HOUSE

  CHAPTER 20: AFRAID OF THE DARK

  CHAPTER 21: OFF TO THE POTTING SHED

  CHAPTER 22: TELLING KITTY ABOUT DAD

  CHAPTER 23: CHARLIE AND DEXTER

  CHAPTER 24: THE BIRTHDAY

  CHAPTER 25: THE MAZE

  CHAPTER 26: FINDING THE WAY

  CHAPTER 27: THE BIG HOUSE

  CHAPTER 28: LOOKING FOR KITTY

  CHAPTER 29: COLIN

  CHAPTER 30: LOOKING FOR FIREWOOD

  CHAPTER 31: GOING BACK TO THE COTTAGE

  PREVIEW: THE GOLDFISH BOY

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  COPYRIGHT

  I love Mum’s tunnel-singing trick.

  She always did it when she drove us to Grandma’s for one of her Sunday lunches. In the car, Mum would put the radio on and we’d both sing along to whatever was playing, although I’d usually have to make up the words. We had to go through a long gray tunnel on the way there, and when we drove into it, the music would go all crackly and fizzy and then disappear altogether. I’d stop singing, but Mum would just keep going. I’d watch her from the back seat as she lifted her chin and shook her head to make the high notes go wobbly. The tunnel would go on and on and on, but Mum wouldn’t stop and then … whoosh, we’d come out into the daylight, the radio would come back on, and Mum would be singing in exactly the right place. I’d clap and she’d laugh.

  She hadn’t done it on this journey yet, even though we’d already been through a long tunnel. The radio was on, but this time Mum wasn’t singing. She was too busy looking into her rearview mirror every few seconds at the dark road behind us.

  “Why are we leaving now?” I said. “Couldn’t we have waited until the morning?”

  Mum switched the windshield wipers on, and they creaked slowly across the glass as if they’d just been woken up too.

  “We want to beat the rush hour, don’t we?”

  She looked at me in the rearview mirror and her eyes crinkled like she was giving me a big smile, but I wasn’t sure as I couldn’t see what the rest of her face was doing. She was acting like we were going on holiday, but it was pretty obvious we weren’t. First, we only had two small bags and my backpack with us, and you need far more than that for a holiday. And second, I’d only known we were going away when she shook me awake at one in the morning saying we had to leave right now. This definitely wasn’t like any holiday I’d ever been on. She’d stood by the window, watching the street while I quickly packed a few things, still half-asleep. I knew she was looking out for Gary even though he was away on a business trip and not due back until the next morning. We went downstairs in the dark, and Mum put our bags into the trunk of a car that was parked outside. I’d spotted it near our house when I’d come home from school. There was a sticker in the back window advertising a rental company, and I’d guessed it belonged to one of our neighbors. Mum didn’t have her car anymore. Gary told her they didn’t need two cars after he moved in.

  I gave a big yawn as I looked out the window on to the wet road. The clock on the radio said 2:55 a.m. Nearly three in the morning. I don’t think I’ve ever been awake at three in the morning in my whole life. I was awake at two once, on a New Year’s Eve. We weren’t at a party or anything; someone let fireworks off in a field near our house. I’d been dreaming I was in World War II and I had crawled into a metal trash can to escape the bombs, and when I woke I realized the bombs were actually fireworks.

  The highway was deserted at 2:55 a.m. We hadn’t seen another car in ages.

  The rain began to drum really hard on the car roof like a billion fingertips all going rat-a-tat-tat. This went on for about ten minutes and then suddenly it stopped. It was just like someone had turned off the world’s biggest hose. At first I thought it was some kind of weird weather like I’ve read about in the best book ever, Freaky Things to Freak You Out, but then I saw brick walls and orange lights and I knew we were just going through another tunnel. I looked at Mum and wondered if she was doing her tunnel-singing trick in her head.

  I’ve read Freaky Things to Freak You Out three times now. Apparently, there is a ninety-six-year-old man in Brazil who has a pet maggot living in his eyelid. Mum says it’s all made up and they’ve just written those stories to fool kids like me, but there’s a photo of him holding the maggot, so it must be true. I brought the book with me and planned to start at the beginning and read the whole thing again. As well as Freaky Things to Freak You Out, I’d packed:

  My soccer ball alarm clock (you can’t actually kick it, it’s just round)

  A blue flashlight

  A tennis ball

  A puzzle book

  Two pens

  Mrs. Ellie-Fant (a stuffed toy that I’ve had since I was a baby)

  My Ask Me a Question magic ball.

  I got the magic ball out of the front pocket of my backpack and pressed the ON button. The little screen glowed green as the words scrolled across …

  Greetings from the Ask Me a Question Magic Ball!

  Think of a thing and answer my questions …

  … then be amazed as I read your mind!

  You can conjure up anything and, as long as you answer everything correctly, it reckons it can tell you what you are thinking. Sometimes it gets it right if you pick something easy like an apple or a train or a balloon, but most of the time it’s pretty rubbish.

  In my head I thought of a clown. I pressed the START button and it began:

  Is it a vegetable?

  No.

  Does it come in a box?

  No.

  Can you buy it in a supermarket?

  No.

  I wasn’t saying the answers out loud; I actually had to press a YES or NO button.

  Does it walk on two legs?

  Yes.

  Can you see it?

  Yes.

  Is it used for entertainment?

  (I thought about this one. I didn’t find clowns particularly entertaining, but I guessed it was a yes.)

  Yes.

  It asked me loads more random questions, and then the little green words on the screen got faster:

  You cannot fool the Ask Me a Question Magic Ball …

  I’ve got it!

  I am the smartest being in the whole land!

  Be amazed when I tell you this …

  … I can actually read your mind!

  This goes on a bit too much if you ask me. It’s just showing off about how clever it is, and it takes ages before it gives you an answer.

  Are you thinking of …

  … an imaginary friend?

  Useless.

  I huffed, switched it off, and put it back in my bag.

  A lady on the radio was giving a weather forecast with warnings of icy conditions and sleet, with heavy snow to come later in the week.

  I’d been putting off asking Mum too many questions. She’d looked so anxious and on edge before we left, but now I could see her shoulders rela
x.

  “Where are we going, Mum?” I said.

  “Oh, you’re going to love it!” she said, her voice sounding all weird and squeaky. “It’s a sweet cottage that belonged to one of Grandma’s old friends: a gardener named William. There are two bedrooms, an old wood stove that heats up the whole place, and a little garden with a door that goes through to a forest. William died a few months back. There’s no one around for miles, so it’s a real secret haven. We went there for a holiday once when you were small. Do you remember? He let us stay in the house while he was away visiting friends.”

  I thought about the holidays we’d had with Dad when he still lived with us. We went to Spain once, and me and Dad went on a paddleboat five times. That was a brilliant holiday. I also remembered going camping—it rained a lot, but I remember it was funny because I couldn’t get out of my sleeping bag. The zipper had gotten stuck, so Mum had to pull me out of the top. I couldn’t remember visiting this cottage, however much I tried.

  The inside of the car lit up. Someone behind us had their headlights on at full beam. It was the first car I’d seen for ages, and I looked around to see who was out in the middle of the night like we were.

  “Keep your head down, Nate,” Mum said, squinting in the mirror. The other car was getting really close and the lights dazzled my eyes, so I scrunched them up to try to see.

  “Nate, did you hear me? I said get down!”

  I slid down in my seat. Mum kept looking in her mirrors, first the one on the side and then the one in the middle. She was looking in her mirrors more than she was looking at the road in front of us. The car overtook us, and Mum slowed down as it passed and put her hand up to her forehead as if she was scratching it. The car drove in front of us for a while, and then its orange light blinked and it turned off to the left, and Mum’s shoulders sank once more. Her hand appeared around the side of her seat, and she patted me on the knee.

  “Sorry I shouted. I just couldn’t see out of the mirror properly, that’s all,” she said.

  We sat in silence for a bit, and I looked at the streetlights reflected in the puddles on the road. It reminded me of something from when I was little, but I couldn’t quite place what it was. It was the color I remembered. A yellowish, glowing color. I suddenly felt like I wanted to cry.

  “Mum?” I asked. “Are we really going on vacation?”

  Mum rubbed the side of her face with her hand and took a deep breath before she answered quietly.

  “Not exactly, Nate.”

  “Why can’t we stay with Grandma?” I asked Mum.

  We sat in the car as the rain hammered down and stared at the dirty gray cottage that was lit up by Mum’s headlights. The image I’d pictured of a holiday we’d once had in a cozy, quaint cottage completely vanished. About thirty years ago this house was probably quite pretty, with its white walls and roses around the door. Now the walls were the color of a muddy puddle, and it looked like it was slowly being swallowed by blankets of thick, dark ivy. I didn’t recognize this place at all. The dirt track that we turned down from the main road must have been at least two kilometers long. Mum was right: This was really off the radar.

  I didn’t want to go inside. I wanted us to turn around right now and go somewhere else.

  “I thought it might be a bit untidy … but this?” said Mum, and she leaned forward and rested her chin on the steering wheel. “This is terrible! How has it been left to get in such a state?”

  “We should go, Mum. I don’t like it here. Let’s go to Grandma’s.”

  She ignored me again. Mum and Grandma had had a big argument and hadn’t spoken since Granddad’s funeral, which was months ago now.

  “Wait here, Nate, and I’ll go and find the key. This weather is probably making it look worse than it is. I bet it’s not so bad inside.”

  She pulled her cardigan tightly around her neck, then got out into the torrential rain and waded through the weeds to the front door. She ran her hand along one edge of the porch roof and then went around to the other side, out of sight.

  I stared through one of the cottage windows. There was a faint yellow light coming from the corner of a room. The car window steamed up and I rubbed at it with my sleeve and squinted into the gloom, but the glow was gone. I must have imagined it.

  Mum appeared holding a large key in her hand. She tugged at the ivy on the porch and then fumbled with the lock and began to push at the door with her shoulder. She had to keep stopping to wipe the rain out of her eyes, but after ten more shoves the door began to inch open and she squeezed through, tugging at it from the inside before beckoning me to join her.

  I stared up at the ramshackle old house. Rainwater poured from a hole in the gutter above one of the windows, which made it look like it was crying. Mum waved me toward her again. She was splattered with mud and her hair was plastered to her face and she was gripping the side of the door as if it was helping to hold her up.

  “I don’t want to be here,” I said under my breath, and then I picked up my backpack and opened the car door.

  Mum flicked a light switch in the living room and a bare bulb dangling in the middle of the ceiling spluttered to life, giving off a feeble glow.

  “Look, Nate. We have light!” said Mum, but I didn’t answer.

  She made her way back to the front door.

  “You wait here and I’ll get our bags.”

  I wanted to run after her, shut the stupid, awkward door, and get straight back into the car. The house looked like it hadn’t been cleaned for about a hundred years, and there was a smell like something was rotting. In front of the stone-cold wood stove was a sofa that was probably quite squishy and comfortable fifty years ago, but now it looked like it had had its insides sucked out. Something moved in the gloom and I jumped. Sitting on one of the arms of the sofa was a scruffy brown chicken. She cocked her head at me, and blinked with a dark, round eye.

  “What are you doing here?” yelled Mum, walking in and waving our two bags wildly. “Get out! Go on. Shoo! This isn’t your home!”

  The chicken gave a squawk and then did a half-hearted flutter up onto the windowsill and jumped through a square of broken glass. She huddled outside on the ledge, sheltering from the freezing rain as much as she could.

  The sofa was covered in lots of gray lumps, and it was only when I stepped closer that I realized it was chicken poo, which probably explained the smell.

  “We can’t stay here, Mum. Look at the sofa, it’s disgusting.”

  Mum didn’t turn around. She just stood in front of the broken window, staring at the bird.

  “There are droppings everywhere. And there are probably rats and all sorts of things crawling around. And we haven’t even been upstairs yet. Where are we going to sleep? We can’t stay here—we’ve got to go somewhere else!”

  The chicken sank her head into her body as far as she could, her eyes barely open as the rain and wind blew, ruffling her feathers. Mum’s fingers were clenched by her sides. She didn’t turn around.

  “Mum? I said we’ve got to go! Let’s just get in the car and drive to Grandma’s, okay?”

  She was saying something quietly to herself. Her eyes were wide and fixed on the chicken and she was shivering, her clothes soaked through.

  “She just wanted a home, Nate. She didn’t mean to make a mess. She just wanted a little home to shelter in.”

  Tears were running down her face, but she wasn’t making any crying noises. I put my arm around her and patted her hand.

  “It’s okay, Mum. It’s just a chicken.”

  I looked out into the night, at the pounding rain and the silhouettes of dark trees.

  “I don’t know what I’m doing, Nate. I don’t know what’s right or wrong any more,” said Mum, her voice shaking. “You know that feeling when you think the ground is going to split in two and you could just fall and keep on falling forever? Like Alice does when she tumbles through that rabbit hole into Wonderland? But rather than floating down and landing at the bottom y
ou just keep on going. Down and down and down.”

  I shook my head as she looked at me. I didn’t know the feeling she was talking about. I was scared. I hadn’t seen her like this before. It was as though her body was there, but her insides were missing, just like the sofa. She blinked and her eyes seemed to come back into focus again and she quickly wiped her wet cheeks and patted me on the arm.

  “I’m just tired, Nate, that’s all.”

  She peeled off her wet cardigan and hung it over an old wooden chair.

  I held tightly to my backpack at my shoulder. I didn’t want to go back, but I didn’t want to stay here either. Mum headed toward a doorway that must lead to the kitchen.

  “I’m going to see what I can find to patch the hole in the window. Why don’t you go on upstairs and see how the beds look? We’ll both feel better after some sleep, I’m sure.”

  She turned away and I stood there for a moment, thinking about what to do. Then I headed back through the living room door and stood at the bottom of the stairs. I pressed the light switch and the bulb at the top flickered. It looked very dark up there. I took a deep breath and held on to the banister. Each step groaned as I walked, but amazingly, I managed to get upstairs without crashing through to the floor. At the top of the stairs was a bathroom with an old-fashioned toilet with a chain that you had to pull to flush. There was a fat spider sitting in the middle of the bathtub, and I tapped the side and watched as it scurried away down the drain.

  The next room had a double bed covered with a patchwork quilt, a small wardrobe, and a large, old chest of drawers next to a window. It didn’t look too bad at all and would be perfect for Mum.

  The other bedroom was darker, with a small, low, square window and a wardrobe in one corner. There was a lamp on a cabinet, and I switched it on. On the bed was a brown quilt that had a picture of a cowboy on horseback twirling a lasso in the air. I vaguely remembered sleeping in a bed like that before. The image reminded me of something in my Freaky Things to Freak You Out book. I sat down, unzipped my bag, and took it out. The book was divided into four parts:

  Seriously Silly Science!

  It’s a Crazy, Crazy World!

  The Peculiar Past!