Raven's Gate Read Online Free PDF Page B

reminded himself. He had been handed over to this woman who called herself his foster mother.
    “That’s our bus.” Mrs Deverill pointed to a coach with YORK written across the front.
    Matt handed his case to a man, who stowed it in the luggage compartment, then climbed on board. They had reserved seats at the very back. Mrs Deverill allowed Matt to slide in next to the window and then sat down next to him. Soon the coach was full. At one o’clock exactly, the doors hissed shut, the engine started up and they began to move. Matt sat with his forehead pressed against the glass and he watched as they emerged from the coach station and out into the streets of Victoria. It was still raining. The raindrops chased in front of his eyes. Next to him Mrs Deverill sat with her eyes half-closed, breathing heavily.
    He tried to concentrate, tried to work out what he was feeling. But then he realized: he felt nothing. He had been sucked into the system. Evaluated. Approved for the LEAF Project. And sent on his way. At least he wasn’t going back to Ipswich. That was something to be thankful for. It was the end of six years with Gwenda and Brian. Whatever lay ahead couldn’t possibly be worse.
    Meanwhile, about five miles away, an alleyway in Holborn was being sealed off by two police cars and an ambulance. A dead body had been found – a young man in a hooded anorak.
    The forensic team had only just arrived, but already the photographers and police scientists knew they had stumbled on to something completely bizarre. The man was well known to them. His name was Will Scott and he was a drug addict who had been involved in many muggings in central London. There was a kitchen knife clutched in his hand and it was this that had killed him. But nobody had attacked him. There were no fingerprints. No sign that anyone had come close.
    The dead man’s mouth was stretched in a hideous smile and there was a look of sheer terror in his eyes. He was holding the knife very tightly. He had taken it and pushed it, inch by inch, into his own heart. It was unclear how he had done it – or why – but the forensic people had no doubt at all.
    For some reason, Will Scott had killed himself.

LESSER MALLING
    There were two hundred miles of dreary motorway between London and York, and the journey took more than four hours. The coach stopped twice at service stations but neither Matt nor Mrs Deverill left their seats. She had brought sandwiches with her. They were in her handbag, wrapped in brown paper. She took them out and offered one to Matt.
    “Are you hungry, Matthew?”
    “No, thank you.”
    “In Yorkshire I’ll expect you to eat what you’re given. We don’t waste food in my house.”
    She unwrapped one of the bundles and Matt saw two slabs of white bread filled with cold liver. He was glad he hadn’t accepted her offer.
    “I expect you’re wondering about me,” Mrs Deverill said, as she began her lunch. She took small mouthfuls and chewed the food with care. When she swallowed, her throat twisted painfully, as if she had difficulty getting the food down. “I am now your legal guardian,” she went on. “You are a thief and a delinquent, and the government has given you to me. But I’m willing to forget your past, Matthew. I can assure you it is your future that is of much more concern to me. If you do as you’re told, we’ll get on. If you disobey me, if you try to defy me, let me assure you that you will be more miserable than you can imagine. Do you understand?”
    “Yes,” Matt said.
    Her eyes slid over him and he shivered. “You have to remember that nobody cares about you. You have no parents. No family. You have little education and no prospects. I don’t want to be cruel to you, my dear, but I’m really all you have left.”
    She turned away from him and continued eating her sandwiches. After that, she took out a farming magazine and began to read. It was as if she had completely forgotten him.
    The motorway stretched