Page 3 of The Fall I Fell

Before I know it, I’m making my way there, driven by a forgotten sense of longing. There is no ladder to the treehouse, so I balance my way up the lowest branch, which bends down like an old gnarly limb reaching out to scoop you up. Once I’m inside, I realise it used to feel bigger. I can hardly stand inside it now; I have to crawl across the leaf-littered floor to not bump my head on the low ceiling. The interior of the treehouse is untouched. I suppose its usual residents don’t visit much these days. None of us are children any more, and we’re all too busy to play spies, or pirates, or knights and princesses. The wooden chest in the corner is unmoved, though a little weed has grown around it.

Instinctively, I move towards it, lifting the lid, and holding my breath as I check to see its contents. I can’t help but hope there’s a note for me here. Alas, nothing. Well, a family of woodlice have taken up residence in one of the corners, and there’s an old wrapper from a cheese string, that was definitely left there by Callum, but no note.

Why would he leave one anyway?

I look around the rest of the treehouse. The photos wrapped in sandwich bags that were pinned to the wall are faded, and the printer ink has smeared so the faces are barely legible. We’d printed them at the library a few years ago, after stealing the rusty bikes from the shed and pedalling into town as fast as we could. We had to beg the librarian to let us use the computer. We did everything we could think of to protect the streaky sheet of A4 paper from the elements, though back then, all we could think of was the leftover plastic bag from Jacob’s jam sandwiches that was still sticky on the inside. I don’t need to see the photo now though. It’s still so engrained in my mind.

It was Halloween. Both of us were in our matching costumes that no one understood but us. Jacob should have another copy somewhere, but knowing him, he lost it before he even made it home. And I doubt he would care for its sentiment now anyway.

A shiver runs through me at the memory of the last time I was here. The last time we were here; when he kissed me.

My body prickles at the thought as goosebumps cover my flesh. If I close my eyes now, I can almost feel him here, his hand wrapped in my hair, his lips mapping out my own with such urgency it was as if he had waited a lifetime for the opportunity. Though my heart pounds now, it didn’t then. His touch had filled me with such peace, such tranquillity, that it felt like coming home to a love that would protect me for the rest of time. How wrong I was.

‘Ava!’ Mum’s voice shouts across the back garden and snaps me out of my thoughts. ‘Ava?’

Peeping my head out of the treehouse door, I see her frantically pacing. She visibly sighs when she sees me. ‘Oh, there you are. What are you doing up there?’ She doesn’t give me chance to reply as she runs a stressed hand through her thinning hair. ‘Come on in and get unpacked. The Thorogoods are coming for dinner.’

Chapter 2

Ten years ago

I first met the Thorogoods when I was eight years old. Bouncing out of the car, my blue glitter jelly sandals filled with tiny pebbles as I crash landed onto Granny and Grandad’s front garden. I didn’t even bother to shut the door as I rushed to Granny and buried my face into her skirts as she welcomed me with open arms. I just knew from her flour-covered apron that she’d been baking my favourite jam tarts. She always put little love hearts cut from the spare pastry on top. Nothing ever went to waste in her house, and she never made anything that didn’t look like it was fresh out of a book of fairytales.

‘Hello, little one.’ She kissed my head.

‘I’ve missed you.’ My voice was muffled through the fabric of her skirt.

Granny laughed softly and pat me on the back. ‘We’ve missed you more.’ She pried my hands from around her legs and bent down so she could look me in the eye. ‘Why don’t you come on in? We’ve got your favourite tea on the table.’

I did as I was told. All of Granny’s teas were my favourite teas, and there was always lots of pudding afterwards, smothered in custard, of course. Well, I loved everything at Granny and Grandad’s house, especially the fields that seemingly stretched for miles and miles. Grandad always let me feed the sheep, and we were allowed to get as mucky as we’d like. In London, we only had one tiny park, where the foxes weren’t too keen on being stroked and the tarmac wasn’t as soft to fall on as the grass. Mum always moaned when I wore holes into the knees of my tights from crawling around, I’d scuff the toe of my shoes within moments of wearing them too. I understand her frustration now, but eight-year-old Ava was more concerned with turning over every stone and piece of litter to look for bugs and beasties.

When the unpacking was done, we all sat down at the kitchen table for Grandad to dish up the roast. Mum always stayed for the first night to let us settle in before she had to go back to London. It always made me giggle because it was like she was a kid here too: Granny warmed her pyjamas on the fire at the same time as mine and Callum’s, Grandad always plated up dinner for her, and made her eat all of her carrots before she was allowed pudding. I always thought it would be nice if Mum could stay all summer, but she said work needed her and that Dad would be all by himself. She didn’t want him to be lonely without her for too long.

‘Anything new on the farm then, Dad?’ Mum was asking, reluctantly plopping another carrot in her mouth. I didn’t know why she was always so fussy. The carrots were grown in Granny’s garden and I always thought they tasted more orange and carrot-y than the ones we’d get at Tescos.

‘Aye, lass,’ Grandad replied with a mouth full of mashed potatoes.

‘Care to share?’ Mum laughed at him.

Granny rolled her eyes and answered for Grandad. ‘We’ve got new neighbours, over the way at Hope Farm. Old Mr Dixon decided to sell up over the winter, and there’s a new family in there now. What were they called again Harry?’

‘Thorns? Thorolds? I dunno, but they have got a lovely John Deer and the fella said he’ll let me have a go on it, but he ’ant been round yet that bloo—’

‘—Thorogood, that’s it!’ Granny interrupted before he could continue. ‘Mum, Dad, and their three boys. I’m pretty sure the middle one is the same age as you twins.’

‘They’ve been out playing in that bit of land at the back, taken over that old treehouse. You know, that Dixon swore was his, but I could bet on my life that it was on our deeds, wasn’t it, Dot?’ Grandad grumbled, but he softened when Granny laid her wrinkly hand on top of his.

‘They seem like good lads,’ Granny said. ‘I still need to have the family round for tea, give them all the gossip about the village; you know how it is, Pip.’

Mum nodded, but I was still hung up on the prospect of new friends over the summer. Don’t get me wrong, I loved the days where Granny was my best friend, but it would be nice to play with people who didn’t just let me win every game we played, and who could last longer than five seconds at tig.

After dinner, once we’d finished the washing up, I tugged Callum by his shirt sleeves. ‘Come on!’ The thought of new faces was still hot in my mind.

The July evening was still light and warm, so I left my coat and shoes behind. I sped across the garden, the grass tickling in between my toes with every step. Dodging around farm machinery, the outbuildings, and the chickens that had squeezed through their fence to pick at the worms, it felt like the rest of the world could be out here at the end of Granny’s garden.

‘Where are we going?’ Callum finally asked as I slowed down to look out across the open fields. He was out of breath, but he would never say no to following me on an adventure.

Scanning the horizon, I pointed to the old willow tree in the distance. ‘There.’