Lisa Heathfield - Flight of a Starling

First published in Great Britain in 2017

by Electric Monkey, an imprint of Egmont UK Limited

The Yellow Building, 1 Nicholas Road, London W11 4AN

Text copyright © 2017 Lisa Heathfield

The moral rights of the author have been asserted

First e-book edition 2017

ISBN 978 1 4052 8590 2

Ebook ISBN 978 1 7803 1779 3

www.egmont.co.uk

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

Stay safe online. Any website addresses listed in this book are correct at the time of going to print. However, Egmont is not responsible for content hosted by third parties. Please be aware that online content can be subject to change and websites can contain content that is unsuitable for children. We advise that all children are supervised when using the internet.

To Frank, Arthur and Albert – for being my extraordinary.

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright First published in Great Britain in 2017 by Electric Monkey, an imprint of Egmont UK Limited The Yellow Building, 1 Nicholas Road, London W11 4AN Text copyright © 2017 Lisa Heathfield The moral rights of the author have been asserted First e-book edition 2017 ISBN 978 1 4052 8590 2 Ebook ISBN 978 1 7803 1779 3 www.egmont.co.uk A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher. Stay safe online. Any website addresses listed in this book are correct at the time of going to print. However, Egmont is not responsible for content hosted by third parties. Please be aware that online content can be subject to change and websites can contain content that is unsuitable for children. We advise that all children are supervised when using the internet.

Dedication To Frank, Arthur and Albert – for being my extraordinary.

RITA

CHAPTER ONE: LO

RITA

LO

RITA

CHAPTER TWO: LO

RITA

CHAPTER THREE: LO

CHAPTER FOUR: LO

RITA

LO

RITA

CHAPTER FIVE: LO

RITA

CHAPTER SIX: LO

RITA

LO

CHAPTER SEVEN: LO

CHAPTER EIGHT: LO

RITA

CHAPTER NINE: LO

RITA

CHAPTER TEN: LO

RITA

LO

RITA

LO

CHAPTER ELEVEN: LO

CHAPTER TWELVE: LO

RITA

LO

RITA

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: RITA

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: RITA

CHAPTER FIFTEEN: RITA

Acknowledgements

Back series promotional page

Praise for Lisa Heathfield’s SEED

Praise for Lisa Heathfield’s PAPER BUTTERFLIES

RITA

The air in the alleyway sticks to my skin. The bricks sit too close, pushing grief deeper into me. I stop to touch the walls.

Were you here, Lo?

I listen for a reply. Listen hard for her laughter, but it’s not here. The silence grips so hard at my heart that I don’t know how I breathe.

Dean stands waiting at the end of the alley, framed by daylight. It’s only a few weeks since I’ve seen him, a few weeks since he was my sister’s whispered secret, but he looks so different. Lo loved his eyes, but they’re raw with a sadness I never knew could exist.

‘Are you ok?’ he asks, but he knows I’m not. Neither of us are.

‘She really liked you,’ I say, my words stumbling in the bricked-in air. But he just stares at me, this boy from a world I don’t know, a world that never moves on, unlike our circus.

‘It’s this way,’ is all he says.

A building stands in front of us and I know it’s the abandoned factory that he came to with Lo. But she said it was beautiful and it’s not. It’s grey and broken and I feel cheated.

‘Is this your ma’s old factory?’ I ask.

Dean looks surprised. ‘Lo told you?’

‘She wanted me to see it.’

I’m here now, Lo. But where are you?

The pain of missing her weighs on me, so heavy that I have to crouch down. I put my head into my hands, press so hard that my eyes hurt, dig my fingers deep into my skull until I can feel my hair pulling hard from my scalp.

I know Dean sits next to me. He moves my hands and puts them on the floor where Lo once walked. Then he stands up, this boy who burned so strong for her.

‘This way,’ he says.

He leads me down the side of the factory and we climb on to a rusting container and scramble through a hollow window. We’re in the room that Lo described, with its low ceiling and empty squares where glass should be. I remember her eyes lighting up when she told me about it, and I thought I’d find a place sprinkled with rainbow ends.

I follow Dean up some stairs. Through a door and there’s another with a lock on that he opens. It’s a small room and there’s a painting on the wall in front of us, two people sitting on a cliff, a blur of birds above them.

‘Did Lo come here?’ I ask. Did you leave your footprint?

‘She did this.’ He points to the wall next to us. There’s a long blue line and standing on the end of it is a stick girl with a too-pink face and a big red mouth. ‘She’s meant to be you.’

‘I’m smiling,’ I say.

A stick man has his arm round me. I know it’s my da. Lo must have stood here, concentrating, but still she painted a leg too long. I imagine her laughing, looking away at the wrong time.

‘Who’s that?’ I ask, pointing to a figure lying down on the line.

‘Your granddad. That’s him too.’ The next figure is sitting up and has wide, round eyes. ‘And that one, that’s your mum.’ The stick woman has been drawn in the same raggedy way, clumsy lines making her fall slightly from the wire. But her face is clear as daylight.

‘You painted her face?’

‘I just helped.’ Dean looks away.

‘Why?’

‘No reason.’ But there is. Lo has secrets hidden in this boy.

On the end, there’s a girl balancing tiptoe on the line.

‘Lo,’ I say quietly, but Dean doesn’t answer.

He’s painted her with open arms and she’s smiling. Leaves are weaved into her hair and birds are scattered around her hands. Feathered wings curve from her back and rise in an arc above her head.

‘She’s beautiful,’ I say.

Dean stands with his hands in his pockets. He has hurt and grief all folding in on themselves. Tears are on his cheeks, but I’m useless.

What should I do, Lo? How did you know him, when he’s a stranger to me?

Without asking, I go to the row of cans underneath the painting. I look through the colours until I find the one that I want. The lid is difficult to get off, but I pull until it’s free.