‘Mmm,’ Jennifer said, not entirely surprised. Their father had never even sent her a birthday card.

‘And that’s not all. I went to a real effort, baking a Victoria sponge and those nice little jam tarts that you like.’

Jennifer’s mouth watered at the prospect. Her sister was the best cook she knew.

‘David took the kids into the sitting room and I brought dad and Dominique into the kitchen for a chat. She started looking around the place saying how quaint everything was. Quaint. I’ll give her blooming quaint …’

Jennifer giggled into her hand, reluctant to interrupt her sister’s flow.

‘So I gave them tea and cake using my best china, and … well, you’d think I’d given her poison. She started going on about how bad carbs were for you, and wouldn’t allow dad to have any either. Then it just went from bad to worse.’

‘Worse? How could it get any worse?’ Jennifer said, abandoning her unmade omelette as she pulled out a chair to sit down.

‘She started saying that dad had to sort out his issues before he could move forward, and it wasn’t long before I realised that we were the issues she was talking about.’

‘Bloody cheek. What did he say?’

‘He couldn’t get a word in. Then she said that in order for him come to terms with things, we would have to set up a family meeting so we could all move forward. I said “What things?” and she said – wait ’til you hear this – she said that when dad was regressed, he said you set fire to the boathouse on purpose. Have you ever heard anything so stupid?’

Jennifer held her breath, relieved her sister could not see the look on her face. A sick feeling of dread erupted in the pit of her stomach, the words filling her with shame.

‘Hello? Are you there?’ Amy said.

‘Yeah, sorry, I’m just … astounded.’

‘That’s how I felt … for about two seconds. Then I told her that when we were living in the boathouse, dad was pissed most of the time, and then I told her that her theory was thoughtless and cruel. I’ve looked it up, she’s filling his head with false memories through her hypnotherapy sessions.’

‘Yeah … that’s what it is.’ Jennifer’s hand caressed her throat as a red flush spread from her collarbone to her jawline.

‘That’s when I threw them out.’

Jennifer would have laughed if she were not feeling weak at the revelation. ‘You didn’t, did you?’

‘Well, I politely asked them to leave. Dad was full of apologies but she wasn’t. I don’t think she liked me calling her a quack.’

This time Jennifer did laugh. ‘Oh dear. She didn’t do a very good job at impressing you, did she?’

‘Honestly, I don’t think she could have insulted me any more if she tried. First my kids, then my house, my baking, and finally you! Who does she think she is? Snooty cow.’

‘So what now?’

‘I’ve told dad we’re not here to make him feel better about himself. If he just wants to rake over the past, I’m not interested. He’s said he’s sorry, but we’ll see where it goes.’

Jennifer was not sorry things had worked out the way they did. At least now, Amy was back on her side. The comment about the fire made her feel sick to her stomach. The last thing she needed was being confronted about the past. Her sister’s loyalty had proved itself to be fickle, and if the truth came out, Amy would never forgive her. Jennifer emptied the contents of the pan in the bin, having lost her appetite. Much of her life was spent raking over the bones of her past, and she wished she could wipe the slate clean. She shook her head at the irony. She was hunting down a group whose aim was the exact same thing.

She recalled how Zoe mocked her for being so straight-laced. If only she knew. The boathouse … it was so long ago, but the memory was easily recalled, bringing with it a fresh dose of pain. That awful night, when her father came home drunk, calling her dead mother’s name. His breath, soured from beer and cigarettes, was heavy on her face as he climbed into bed, clawing at her nightdress. She wriggled free that night, and he always acted as if he didn’t remember a thing. But Jennifer knew. If he didn’t take her innocence then one of his scummy friends would. She hoped the memory resurfaced in his regression sessions. She’d like to see how his girlfriend would cope with that little nugget of information. But as bad as he was, her father was right. She had set fire to the boathouse. Had she really wanted to kill him as she placed the candles under the curtains where he slept? Hatred had consumed her for the man that was meant to be her protector. It was him or them. She had to protect her sister. Or was that too easy an explanation for a woman who couldn’t face her past? Jennifer rubbed her eyes, trying to push the memories back into their box. She couldn’t face them. Not now. She would rather spend the rest of her days risking her life protecting others, than face her own fraught past.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Bert

The cards were just tools, an extension of the woodlands in which they were hidden. Bert knew his mother would see sense and demand he return the gifts she lavished upon him, but he had hidden the cards far from her reach in the woodland soil.

That night his path was well lit, as he visited his haunt in the forest. The air felt different somehow, and the raven flew with a sense of purpose overhead. Swooping and cawing, it led him to the tall tree that was so alive he could almost feel it breathe. Bert sat at the mossy base, closing his eyes as he inhaled the dead leaf smell. Digging his fingers into the dirt, he enjoyed the tickle of creatures as they slithered through his fingers. Bert sat back on his knees, pulling handfuls of warm moist soil as he dug deeper.. He cleared the soil away from his special hiding place, squinting to see the small tin box nestled underneath the thick root, which had grown protectively over it. Nine months had passed since he had been given the cards, and he grunted as he pulled the small narrow tin box from its hiding place. The lid refused to give and he jammed his stubby dirt-lined nails under the tightly sealed lip. He had bided his time as they absorbed the energies of the land. His tongue poked out the corner of his mouth and he tugged until the lid popped off with a whoosh. Wiping his dirty hands on the back of his clothes, he tipped the contents of the box onto his hands. Now tantalisingly musty and discoloured, the pictures were printed in intricate patterns and colours, emitting an energy all of their own. Like everything in the forest they had a quality that would be negative to others, but felt like home to him.

As dawn streaked through the sky in purple and pink hues, he entered his window as quickly as his muscles would allow. Bert held the cards under his nose, breathing in the sour odour. It was beautiful in comparison to the smell of bleach that permeated the house. The cards felt alive as he laid them on his bed, and each one told a story. They had lain in the ground for a long time, and returned to hands that would make good use of them. Bert did not need instructions, and in the quietness of his room when everyone was asleep, he laid the cards out again and again until he understood their meanings. They worked with him as he flicked them over, getting to grips with each image. Their hypnotic quality made him lose hours of the night under their spell. Once mastered, Bert began to resume a normal sleeping pattern. He was keen to get out in the world to put them to good use. The fact the raven chose him simply reinforced the knowledge that they were interlinked with the forest. His research on ravens in the old school library told him they were highly intelligent, associated with witchcraft and powers of divination. Bert smiled. He was strong and he was not alone. And with the cards giving him the power of prophecy, he was Raven.