A Snowfall of Silver - Laura Wood Page 0,1

clutching it to my chest, and give in to the gentle rocking of the train and my own exhaustion. I let my eyes fall closed, just for a moment.

When I open them again, I realize that some time has passed. It is still dark outside, the lights in the carriages have been dimmed, and we must have stopped at another station – I know this because there is now a boy sitting across from me.

At first, he doesn’t notice that I’ve woken up, because his nose is buried in a book. The light in here isn’t very good so he’s holding the pages close to his face, like I do sometimes. (Any avid reader who’s had to share a room with a younger sibling probably does the same.) What I can make out is a mop of curly red-gold hair above the book, and a pair of long legs stretched out in front of him in dark tweedy trousers.

He shifts slightly, and I see his face. It’s a nice face, not exactly handsome but friendly-looking. His nose is crooked, as if it’s been broken before and healed a little off-centre, and against his skin, pale in the lamplight, freckles are scattered in light, golden constellations. I think he must be around twenty, twenty-one maybe, not that much older than me.

He looks up then, catches my eye, and flashes a wide smile that shows off two deep dimples, one in each cheek. It’s a very good smile.

“Hello!” he says. “You’re awake!”

I nod and realize my cap has fallen off. I grab it and tuck my long hair back inside. “Are we nearly in London?” I ask. My voice is croaky.

The boy shakes his head. “About four more hours,” he says. “Hope I didn’t give you a shock. I did say hello, but you were out to the world when I came in.”

“No,” I reply quickly, to cover the fact that my half-awake brain is still trying to catch up with where we are and how long I’ve been asleep. I look at him with interest. “Where did you get on?”

“At Taunton.”

“We’ve been through Taunton already?” I rub my eyes. “I’m missing the whole thing!”

“Not much to miss at the moment.” He gestures to the window. Outside I can only see the odd blur – dense, black shapes against a dark sky that skitter away from us before I can make any sense of them.

“I suppose,” I agree reluctantly. “Although I can’t help but feel it’s a bit of a letdown to sleep through one’s first proper adventure. It seems to demonstrate a lack of character somehow.”

The boy laughs. The laugh is good, like his smile, and it makes me want to hear it again.

I find myself grinning back at him. “I’m Freya Trevelyan,” I say.

“Christopher McKay. But please, call me Kit.” The boy leans forward and holds out his hand. We shake, solemnly.

“Tell me about your adventure so far, then,” Kit says, leaning back again, and arranging his long limbs more comfortably. He looks too tall to be folded into these slightly cramped quarters, and I can tell he’s trying not to crowd me.

“Well,” I pause for a second, allowing the silence to stretch and some tension to build, “I’m a runaway, of course.” The words fall starkly in the space between us with, I think, just the right amount of drama.

“Of course,” Kit agrees, as though it’s only natural, and I can’t help but feel a little deflated at that. I mean, for heaven’s sake, this is some high-stakes intrigue. I’ve just revealed that I am on the run. Who knows what dark forces are at play? At the very least he could have gasped.

I try again. “I am fleeing my home. Striking out … alone.”

Kit’s eyes gleam in appreciation. “I thought as much. Had an idea that was the case as soon as I saw you. The cap, the Victorian urchin costume – that gave me my first inkling.”

“Oh, thank you!” I exclaim. “I made it when I played Oliver Twist in a local production.” I hesitate for a second, deciding I might as well tell the truth. “Though, even calling it a ‘local production’ is a bit grand. It was just something I put on with some volunteers from the village, and they certainly didn’t take it seriously enough. I had begun to worry,” I continue, glancing down at my outfit, “that the pantaloons were a step too far.”

He shakes his head firmly. “Definitely not. You have to