Chapter One – The Raven Wheel

Ria

It felt like the scar she returned to on the back of her knee. That spot where the skin was so thin. A white, fine film that was taut over the threaded network of tissue, veins, and blood. It was the fragile perfection that made her want to pierce it. The first time she cut herself, she felt like a butterfly, having its wings torn by a cat’s claw. She liked it. She chose a slightly different spot each time, a few millimetres one way or the other, so the skin was new. But it never felt as good. Now, her finger running along the bird’s beak, she was acutely aware of the scars on the back of her knee. Raised, bumped yet smooth, hard. It felt the same.

The black shape waited, patient, while she stroked it. Its feet rested on her forearm, hooked into her sleeve.

‘You’re beautiful,’ she said, reaching into her pocket with her other hand. She drew out a glistening, fibrous chunk of raw chicken. The raven thrust its beak forward and snatched the lump, its head like a flint spear, glinting, tilting. One jerk and the gobbet fell down the black trap door. Ria smiled.

‘Go on then, Bertie.’ She held her arm out and felt the bird’s weight push off as it flew out of the gap where a windowpane used to be. The sun was still up, throwing its last rays over the mill. This was Ria’s place. From where she stood, at the window of the first floor, she could see all of Talvern Pitts. Even in the sunlight, she could still feel the grey. A grey village in grey hills under a grey sky. Today at least, the sun cast an orange bleed over the horizon, warming it all just enough. Here at the top of the hill, there was even a hint of gold in the long grass, shimmering through the net of leaves cast above the trees, just to the left of the mill. She stood in the stone ruin and decided to walk around the outside of it, to the millpond behind. It would be beautiful now – all bronze ripples and reeds making their lilting sound in the wind.

She scuffed her feet over the floorboards, sending clouds of dust up either side of her trainers. She knelt in the gritty powder and drew with her finger in the dirt: RIA & THE RAVENS.

Suddenly, something scuttled across the floor between two wooden barrels at the far end of the room.

‘Shit!’ she cried, jumping to her feet.

It’s just a mouse, she told herself, the place is full of them. She edged over to the barrels and peered over the top. Everything was still there – the multipack of crisps, the box of crackers and the cans of cider. The only casualty was the paper bag of cookies. It had a neat hole in the corner. Her eyes followed the trail of crumbs in the base of the barrel to the edge. She tilted it and discovered a small gap between the base and side.

‘Bollocks.’

She lifted out the packet and shook the remaining bits of broken biscuit onto the floor.

‘Might as well have it now,’ she said, screwing up the bag and tossing it into the empty fireplace.

She heard cawing outside and turned to the window. Someone’s walking up the hillside towards us. She ducked down and peered over the edge, breathing in the damp cold of the stone wall.

The boy was her age, maybe a bit older. He had dark hair in tight curls, bursting out into the air like a firework. He was frowning, kicking the grass now and then. Is he crying? She couldn’t tell.

He picked up a stone and hurled it at a tree nearby. He picked up another and looked at the mill. Ria ducked down.

A loud smash made her jump up.

‘Oi!’ she shouted, leaning out of the window.

‘Jesus!’ the boy cried, quickly stepping backwards.

‘That was the only window left with glass in it, you dick!’

The boy frowned. ‘What do you care? It’s not your bloody house,’ he said. ‘Some fucking dump that’s been here a hundred years, should’ve been knocked down ages ago.’

‘It is my house, actually. And you’ve just damaged it. I could call the police.’

‘Bullshit. Nobody lives here. And definitely not you.’

‘Why am I here then, shouting at you for breaking my bloody window?’ she said, smirking. ‘And anyway,’ she frowned, ‘what do you mean definitely not me?’

‘Okay.’ He folded his arms and planted his feet. ‘Number one – you don’t get tramps and squatters in the countryside. Number two – even if you did, you’re too posh to be a squatter.’

‘What?! I’m not posh! How do—’

‘Oh no, I’m not posh, dahling,’ he mimicked.

‘Fuck off, I don’t sound like that. You don’t know anything about me. You don’t even know my name.’

‘I bet it’s something well fancy like one of those Made in Chelsea types – Henrietta… Jemima!’ he laughed.

‘It’s Ria. My name is Ria and I’m not posh. I’m just not from round here. Do posh girls drink Frosty Jack’s?’

‘Definitely not.’ He shook his head.

‘Want one?’

‘All right.’

She went over to the barrel, her feet crunching the cookie crumbs, and lifted out two cans.

Am I going to do this? she asked herself, climbing down the wooden ladder to the ground floor, one hand on the ladder, the other clutching the cans.

A flipbook of her life breezed through her vision. Not her real life. Not the black of her past or the grey of her present – but the life she would make real. The life she wanted to have lived and to be living now, to live until she died. The life that she would tell this boy all about. He would believe her. And if he believed her, maybe that was the start of living it, for real?

Yes. I’m going to do this.

***

‘Come on,’ she said, walking round the side of the mill. ‘We need to chill it first.’

She heard his footsteps follow. He was taller than she’d expected. She took a deep breath in through her nose and out through her mouth, pressing the pads of her fingers hard against the can rims.

‘Here we are.’

She stopped and turned, watching him look around. They were on a small wooden jetty, reaching out over the pond. The wheel was still there, grey and flaking. It was still, but the gentle ripple of the dark water against the slats at the surface made it shimmer, as though it were half a wheel hovering over the water, without the rest submerged in the black depths.

‘Pass me that bag,’ she said, pointing at a plastic carrier bag tied round a wooden post that marked the join between the jetty and the bank.

He untied it and handed it over, looking at her with a half-smile. She laughed, taking it off him.

‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to suffocate you.’

‘That’s good to know,’ he said, nodding his head.

She put the cider cans in the bag, kicked off her shoes and rolled up her jeans to the knee. The sun was just in her eyes as she sat on the edge of the wooden boards. She squinted as she turned to look at him, tying the handles of the bag round her ankle.

‘Come sit,’ she said, swinging her legs over the edge and plunging the bag into the water with them. He smiled, bending down, perching next to her. He sat on his haunches, his feet on the floor and his knees bent, leaning his elbows on top of them.

‘You’re too tall for that, you can’t be comfy. Just put your legs over the edge.’

‘I’m not getting these wet!’ he pointed to his trainers.

‘Take them off, obviously…’

‘Yeah I know, but then I’ll have wet feet going back inside them and they were £200—’

‘What?! £200 for trainers? Jesus Christ. You’re wearing £200 trainers in Talvern Pitts… you do realise the average age round here is seventy, right? Unless you count the cows, who would bring it down a fair bit. But cows aren’t impressed by trainers. Especially if they’re leather.’

‘You’re weird,’ he said, taking the trainers off.

‘I’m not the one dressed for the MTV Awards afterparty in a field in Talvern Pitts.’

‘I think I’d rather look like this than you do right now, with an Aldi bag of Frosty Jack’s tied round your ankle in a lake.’

She shrugged. ‘At least I’m practical.’

Ria looked down into the water as he slowly lowered his feet in. ‘Fuck, that’s freezing!’ he shouted.

She wasn’t listening. Her reflection was staring back at her, between her feet. You’re not Ariadne any more. You’re Ria.

She realised he was talking. ‘What?’ she asked.

‘I said, how do you still have your legs in there? They’ll drop off!’

He had shifted right back so his legs were safely lying flat on the boards, with his feet drying over the edge.

‘I like being numb,’ she said quietly, then leaned forwards and reached into the pond for the bag.

‘Cold enough,’ she handed him the dripping can.

‘Thanks.’

They cracked open the cans and sipped in silence, listening to the wind through the branches above them. He’s right. She pressed the flesh on her calf and it didn’t feel like hers. It felt like she’d lifted a dead body out of the water. She saw herself under the water, tangled in reeds, staring up. She rolled her jeans down and crossed her legs. Stop thinking like that. Ask him a question.

‘You never said what your name was.’

‘It’s Tye.’

‘As in tie-a-knot or Thailand?’

‘T-Y-E.’

‘Oh. Why were you throwing stones at my house, anyway?’

‘Come on, it’s not your house.’

‘I don’t own it, but that’s where I live… most of the time.’

‘Most of the time?’

‘My great-aunt lives in the village. She’s half lost her marbles but she remembers who I am still. I stay there when the weather’s bad, charge my phone there, shower. That kind of thing. She gives me money now and then.’

It just came out – before she even really knew if any of it made sense, it was out there.

‘Where does she live?’ he asked. ‘My nan is on Brindle Lane.’

‘Other side to that. Up the hill going out towards Silverton.’ Shit. What am I doing? Why am I saying this?

‘Where are your parents?’

‘They died. In a car crash.’ Fuck.

‘Jesus Christ, I’m sorry – that’s awful. When did it happen?’

Think.

‘Last year…’

‘Shit. How did you… I mean… don’t you have any other family?’

‘None.’

She thought of her sister and felt a pang of guilt. ‘Didn’t social services—’ he started.

‘Well, I do have a sister,’ Ria interrupted. ‘She’s a lot older than me. So they let her adopt me, then they left us alone. But I don’t see her. She emigrated.’

‘She just left you here alone?! How old are you?’

‘Seventeen.’

‘Still, that’s…’ he trailed off, taking a swig.

‘It’s not her fault, I made her. She had a job offer in America… I told her I’d got a job with boarding… at a stable. I didn’t want to hold her back.’

She heard her mother’s voice. You just start talking, Ariadne, and the lies spin themselves into a web that you’ll be caught in forever. Ria suddenly felt a desperate need to cut herself. She wanted him to go so she could do it. But he was still there, asking questions. And it was her fault.

‘So she has no idea you’re sleeping rough?’

‘I’m not sleeping rough, I just… spend a lot of time outdoors.’

‘And you don’t go to school or college, or have a job?’

‘Like I said, my great-aunt gives me money now and then. I might go to college next year. Or I might just stay here. I like the moorland. Feels like home.’

‘So all your stuff is in there?’ he said, pointing back to the mill. She nodded.

This was an opportunity. She knew that if he left now, she’d add a new scar to her collection, but she’d probably never see him again. He was a total stranger, who only knew whatever she told him about herself. She needed to tell him more, to make him believe her, to have someone complicit in her new reality.

‘D’you want to see? We need another drink, anyway,’ she said, shaking the last drops of her can out onto the grass.

‘Okay.’

He smiled. She felt sick. There was no going back now.

‘How did you find out about this place?’ Tye asked, as they stepped over the threshold. Inside, an empty stone-walled space stared back at them. The only features were a pile of rubble in one corner, a chimney breast surrounding a hearth and a wooden ladder at the far end. The ladder leaned up against a hatch in the ceiling.

‘I live up here,’ she said, walking over to the ladder. She beckoned him to follow her up. He hesitated.

‘I’m not a serial killer, I promise,’ she said, suddenly feeling the weight of the web she had spun. A chain-link web on her shoulders, making it impossible to carry on climbing.

‘Never mind,’ she said, lowering herself back down.

‘No,’ he stepped towards the ladder. ‘I want to see.’

She took a deep breath and headed up. She could feel him behind her, the ladder bowing under the weight of them both.

‘It’s not much,’ she said, clambering to her feet on the floorboards and turning round to watch his reaction as he did the same.

‘Wow…’ he looked round. She smiled.

‘It’s just bits I’ve collected. Nobody comes here. Not that it’s worth stealing. It’s all junk, really.’

She followed Tye’s gaze. She saw him take in the bookshelf she’d made from loose floorboards, the half-burned candles in old glass bottles, the stack of hay in the corner and her sleeping bag.

‘Jesus. You really do live here… where are your clothes and stuff, though? How do you cook or wash or like… do anything except sleep and read?’

‘I don’t really have much stuff,’ she stalled, ‘and I don’t need to cook. I have food in here.’ She opened the barrel and lifted out the multipack of crisps. She put it back and got two more cans out.

‘I’m all right, thanks,’ he said.

Shit. He’s suspicious. He thinks you’re weird. He thinks you’re lying. You are weird and you are lying.

‘The rest of my stuff is at Marjory’s house. That’s my great-aunt’s name. I stay there when the weather is shit, if I’m ill, that kind of thing. Get showers, charge my phone. Like I said. I do things for her round the house, keep her company. She doesn’t have anyone else.’

Tye didn’t say anything. She couldn’t read his face. He turned round, looking out of the window.

‘I can see my nan’s house from here,’ he said, pointing at the houses backing onto the farm on the hillside opposite.

‘Which one?’

‘The one with the red fence at the back. There.’

She made a noise of recognition, but was distracted by something she’d just spotted on the floor. He turned to see before she had chance to cover it over. ‘“Ria and the ravens”,’ he read.

Oh, God.

‘Is that like the name of your band or something?’ he asked.

She wished it were. Why not lie about that too? You’ve made everything else up. No. She couldn’t pull it off. Even though the lies she’d told him so far amounted to a parallel universe, all she had to do to maintain them was pretty much do what she always did anyway. Hang out there. But a band implied friends, rehearsals, gigs, instruments, talent. She thought of how ridiculous the situation was – it was easier for her to pretend to be an orphan than to be in a band. She laughed.

‘What?’ Tye asked.

‘Oh, nothing – just the thought of me in a band. I can’t play a thing.’

‘Oh. So what is it then?’

She cringed. Just be honest.

‘The ravens live here too. Well, they don’t live here, they just visit…’ she trailed off, seeing his expression change.

‘Okay…’ he said, moving towards the hatch.

‘No don’t – I promise, I’m not insane. Look—’

She unzipped her pocket and pulled out the bag of raw chicken.

‘Fucking hell,’ he said, watching the bag. ‘I’m sorry, I’m going—’ he started to step down the ladder.

‘Wait! It’s for the ravens! Just wait one minute, I’m not crazy – you’ll see!’ He stood still, halfway down the ladder, visible to her only from the shoulders up. She rifled in the bag and drew out a slimy gobbet. She saw Tye wince as she held it out of the window, balanced in the nook her thumb and forefinger made when she rolled her hand into a fist, as though she were about to flip it like a coin. She looked at Tye and whistled.

He watched her hand. Nothing happened. They waited. Still nothing. He started down the steps. She held up her other hand in a “stop” sign. He watched again, from one step further down this time.

‘Shit!’ he shouted, nearly falling backwards, catching himself on either side of the hatch. The raven clattered in, like a half-open black umbrella thrown through the window.

‘Don’t be scared – he’s no harm,’ she said.

‘Are you sure?’ Tye asked, clinging to the floorboards on either side of the hatch.

‘I was talking to Bertie…’ Ria looked at Tye, stifling a smirk.

‘Oh… right.’

She stroked the bird’s neck with the back of her finger. ‘Now do you believe me?’