Anthony Horowitz - Raven_s Gate

“All right.” Matt didn’t want to do this. His social worker, Jill Hughes, had always tried to make him talk about himself. “You have to take responsibility for who you are.” That was one of the things she had always said. But the more she had pressed him, the more reluctant he had become, until their relationship had dissolved into a hostile silence. And now this journalist was asking him to do the same. Had he finally found an adult he could really trust? Matt hoped so, but he wasn’t sure.

“I don’t remember very much about my parents,” Matt said. “I thought I would. They only died six years ago, but bit by bit they’ve just sort of… faded away. There’s not much of them left.

“I think we were happy. We lived in a pretty ordinary sort of street in Dulwich. Do you know it? It’s in south London. My dad was a doctor. I don’t think my mum worked. We had a nice house, so I suppose there was a bit of money around. But we weren’t that rich. The last time my parents took me on holiday we went camping in France. I must have been about seven then.”

“Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

“No. There were just the three of us. And there wasn’t much family. My dad was actually born in New Zealand and most of his family’s still over there. My mum had a half-sister called Gwenda who lived in Ipswich. She visited us a few times but they didn’t get on. Gwenda was nothing like her. When I was small, I used to think she was really boring. I never dreamt…”

Matt drew a breath.

“Anyway, my mum and dad were killed. They were driving to a wedding in Oxford, which was about two hours away. I was meant to go too, but at the last minute I didn’t feel well so I stayed behind with a neighbour.”

Matt stopped. Richard knew that he wasn’t telling the whole truth about the wedding. He could see it. But he didn’t interrupt.

“There was an accident,” Matt continued. “A tyre burst while they were crossing a bridge. My dad lost control of the car and they went over the side and into the river. They were drowned.” Matt paused. “The first thing I knew about it was when the police came to the house. I was only eight years old but I knew straight away.

“After that it’s all quite jumbled. I spent quite a bit of time – it must have been three or four weeks – living in a sort of hostel. Everyone was trying to help but there was nothing anyone could do. The real trouble was that there was nobody to look after me. They tried to get in touch with my dad’s family out in New Zealand but nobody wanted to know.

“And then my mum’s one relation turned up. Gwenda Davis, from Ipswich. She was sort of my aunt. We met and she took me out for lunch. We went to a McDonald’s. I remember that because my dad never let me eat fast food. He used to say it was the worst thing anyone could eat. Anyway, she bought me a burger and chips, and there we were, sitting in the middle of the noise and the plastic tables, with a big clown looking down at us, and she asked me if I wanted to move in with her. I said I didn’t. But in the end what I wanted didn’t make any difference because it had all been decided already. I moved in with her” – he paused – “and Brian.”

Matt looked Richard straight in the eyes. “Promise me you won’t write about this,” he said.

“I’ve already said. I won’t write about anything unless you let me.”

“I won’t let you. I don’t want people to know.”

“Go on, Matt…”

“Gwenda’s house was really gross. It was terraced and it was half falling down and it had a tiny garden that was full of bottles. Brian was a milkman. The whole place smelled. All the pipes leaked, so the walls were damp and half the lights never worked. Gwenda and Brian had no money. At least, they had no money until I came along. But that’s the point, you see. My mum and dad had left everything they owned to me, and Gwenda got control of the money. And of course she spent it. The whole lot.”

Matt stopped. Richard could see him looking back into his own past. The hurt was right there, in his eyes.

“The money ran out pretty fast,” he went on. “The two of them spent it on cars and holidays and that sort of thing. And when it was gone, that was when they turned nasty. Brian especially. He said it would have been better if I’d never come in the first place. He started finding fault with everything I did. He’d yell at me and I’d yell back. And then he started bashing me around a bit too. He was always careful not to leave bruises. Not ones that showed.

“And then I met Kelvin, who lived down the road from me, and he became my mate. Kelvin was always in trouble at school. He had a brother who was in prison and people were scared of him. But at least he was on my side – or that’s what I thought. It felt good having him around.

“But in the end he only made things worse. I started missing a lot of school and even the teachers who’d been trying to help gave up on me. We used to go shoplifting together and of course we got caught, and that was when I had to start seeing a social worker. We used to take things from supermarkets. It wasn’t even things we needed. We just got a buzz out of doing it. Kelvin used to like scratching new cars. He’d run his key ring up the paintwork… just for the hell of it. We did all sorts of stuff together. And then one day we broke into this warehouse to nick some DVDs and we were caught by a security guard. It was Kelvin who stabbed him, but it was my fault as much as his. I shouldn’t have gone there. I shouldn’t have been there. I just wish I’d tried to talk him out of it.”

Matt rubbed his eyes.

“Anyway, you know the rest. I got arrested and I thought I’d be sent to prison, but in the end I didn’t even have to go to court. They sent me to Lesser Malling as part of this thing called the LEAF Project. Liberty and Education… that was what it’s meant to stand for. But since I arrived it’s been more like Lunatics and Evil Freaks. I’ve already told you about Mrs Deverill and all the rest of it, and you didn’t believe me. I suppose that’s fair enough. I wouldn’t have believed any of it either. Except I’ve had to live it. And what I told you, at the paper – it’s all true.”

“Why do you think she wants you?” Richard asked.

“I don’t know. I haven’t got the faintest idea. But I think I know what she is. I think I know what they all are.”

“And what’s that?”

“You’ll laugh at me.”

“No, I won’t.”

“I think they’re witches.”

Richard laughed.

“You saw the dogs!” Matt protested. “You think they came out of Battersea Dogs’ Home? I saw how she made them. She sprinkled some sort of powder on the flames and they just appeared. It was like… magic!”

“It was an illusion,” Richard said.

“Richard, this wasn’t like something on TV. There wasn’t a girl there in spangly sequins. I saw the dogs. They came out of the fire. And what about this?”

Matt was still wearing the stone talisman. He tore it off and threw it on to the table. The golden key lay face up in the light.

Richard looked at it. “Yeah. All right,” he said. “Witches! Yorkshire used to be full of them, it’s true. But that was five hundred years ago.”

“I know. She’s got a picture in her house… some sort of ancestor. And Mrs Deverill said she got burned. Maybe she was burned as a witch!” Matt thought for a moment. “If there were witches five hundred years ago, why can’t there be witches now?”

“Because we’ve grown up. We don’t believe in witches any more.”

“I don’t believe in witches. But the cat was killed and it came back. Tom Burgess died but I heard his voice on the phone. And there was a detective from Ipswich…”