How to Fall Read Online Free PDF Page B

was happier than usual before it happened. And she looked so beautiful. Like she was lit up from inside.’
    ‘If you say so.’ Hugo sounded dubious. ‘The haircut wasn’t a good idea.’
    ‘Oh, but that wasn’t—’ Petra stopped herself, then smiled at me. This time, the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. ‘We shouldn’t be going on about Freya. We should be asking about
you
.’
    ‘I’m not interesting.’
    ‘You are to us,’ she said simply. ‘Tell us about London. Where do you live?’
    There was no way to avoid talking about myself for a while; I owed it to them, really, as they’d been so open with me. Right up to the point where the barriers had come clanging down. Petra had very definitely not wanted to talk about Freya any more – there was something she didn’t want to think about, or discuss with me, at any rate. I chattered on, paying attention with about ten per cent of my brain to what I was saying as Petra hung on my every word. The rest of my mind was concentrating on what I’d heard that morning about my cousin and her tragic, mysterious death. Words came into my head, unbidden.
Secrets. Rumours. Lies
.
    Words that should have warned me to stay out of it. Leave the dead in peace. Let sleeping dangers lie.
    I just didn’t have enough sense to walk away.

3
    I WAS ACTUALLY quite glad of the rain on the short walk back to the cottage. It gave me an excuse to pull my hood forward and duck my head so no one noticed me. Although they probably did and I didn’t notice them. That somehow made it easier.
    Mum was in the kitchen when I got back. I hung up my anorak to let it drip in the hall, smelling toast on the wind. Breakfast for her, lunch for me.
    ‘Well, what did you find?’ she called.
    ‘Hugo and Petra.’
    A clatter of plates answered me. Mum poked her head out of the kitchen door. ‘Seriously?’
    ‘Oh yes.’
    ‘How was that?’
    ‘Fine. They were really nice.’ Which didn’t go very far towards conveying Hugo’s fairly astringent personality, or Petra’s mixture of friendliness and sudden reserve.
    ‘What did you talk about?’
    ‘This and that.’ I relented. ‘Everything, really. Things to do in Port Sentinel when it isn’t raining. What it’s like to live in London. The fact that we’re invited for tea tomorrow.’
    Mum put her hand to her mouth. ‘I completely forgot to tell you. Sorry, Jess.’
    ‘Are you looking forward to it?’
    ‘Of course.’ She looked surprised. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’
    ‘Because you’re nervous about seeing your sister and meeting her family, maybe?’
    She flapped a hand at me and disappeared back into the kitchen, saying, ‘Don’t be silly.’
    I followed. ‘So why did you spend the morning hiding under the covers?’
    ‘I didn’t.’ She blushed scarlet. It was easy to see where that particular tendency of mine came from. ‘I was just having a lie-in. It’s not exactly picture-taking weather.’
    I raised my eyebrows. The weather didn’t usually stop Mum from taking pictures, if she was in the mood to do it. She was a born photographer.
    ‘I bet there are really moody pictures you could take of the seaside in bad weather. Black-and-white shots.’
    ‘No doubt there are. But I prefer colour.’
    ‘Excuses, excuses.’ I nicked a piece of toast off her plate. ‘You
are
going to take your camera out while we’re down here, aren’t you?’
    ‘Try and stop me,’ she said lightly, as if she wasn’t so lacking in confidence that more often than not it stayed in her bag.
    ‘And you
are
going to leave the house?’
    ‘Jess, I had one morning to myself. One. Why is that such a big deal?’
    ‘Because after eighteen years, I would have thought you would be desperate to look around your old haunts.’ I frowned at her. ‘What haven’t you told me? Why are you in hiding?’
    ‘I am not in hiding. We’re here for weeks and weeks, remember? There will be plenty of time to explore in better weather. Now eat your