Forrest - The True Colours of Coral Glen

FOR MUM, DAD AND ROBERT

Scholastic Childrens Books

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First published in the UK by Scholastic Ltd, 2019

This electronic edition published by Scholastic Ltd, 2019

Text copyright Juliette Forrest, 2019

The right of Juliette Forrest to be identified as the
author of this work has been asserted.

eISBN 978 1407 19339 7

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, incidents and dialogues are products of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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CHAPTER

Every night, when the moon showed up and the Tinfoil clouds parted like curtains to reveal the stars, I slept in a rainbow. You wouldnt find any flowery wallpaper, world maps or posters of fluffy kittens in my room: it was floor-to-ceiling covered in paint charts. Small, every-colour-under-the-sun rectangles were the first thing I glimpsed in the morning and the last thing I saw in the evening.

Mum said my walls were so busy she was amazed I didnt suffer from double vision. And Dad would get distracted by all the different shades and sometimes forget what hed come into my room to tell me. Gran always pointed to the same tiny patch of silver, next to the wardrobe, and said Stardust Highway was her favourite name of a colour ever. I loved what the paints were called because yellow was never plain old boring yellow: it was Sunshiny Days or Tropical Smoothie or Downy Duckling or Luscious Lemon Drops or Treasure Island Gold. When Id get home from school, Gran would ask me how my day had been and Id always answer her with a colour. If Id had double art, Id say something along the lines of Sunbeam Glow, but if Id sat a maths test, I would mutter Stormy Canyon. And if I just wanted to make Gran snort, Id tell her Sailors Kiss.

But we wont be able to do this any more.

Gran died on Saturday and there isnt a colour on the planet that could sum up how heartbroken I am, because it was my fault.

CHAPTER

God was missing. He was Midnight Oasis Black and lopsided because of all the fights hed been in. Gran had taken him in off the streets and swore he was part ragamuffin and part panther. She took us in off the streets too after Dad lost his job. And even though he got a new one ages ago, we never left. Dad told me Gran loved having us there because the house had felt big and empty since Grandpa died. He went to heaven when I was a baby, but I announced to everyone at the breakfast table that Id seen Grandpa, once, standing in the hallway, and I knew it was him from their wedding photo on the mantelpiece. Grandpa glowed Celestial Spark and had smiled at me, but I stopped going to the bathroom in the middle of the night, just in case he appeared again.

A whoosh of air had escaped from Dads mouth and hed ruffled my hair. He said I had an overactive imagination and Id grinned because it made me sound really clever. Mum spilled her tea and Gran had given me a hug a bear would be jealous of.

Before God disappeared, if he wasnt roaming the streets, hed be stretched out on Grans lap. His purr sounded more like a rattle, as if something inside him had come loose and knocked against his ribcage. Gran had named him Godfrey after the lead actor in the film The Blood on Satans Claw. I think that was because, until we put the bell on Gods collar, hed leave us a gift of a small dead furry creature on the back doorstep, every night.

I checked the chestnut tree in the garden for God first, because he loved sitting in high up places too. Under the broad Chic Lime leaves, I could only spot a pigeon preening itself. When the rest of the kids in art drew pigeons, they always coloured them in Elephant Breath, as though they couldnt see the shiny Amethyst Reflections or Green Genie in their feathers or their Orange Squash feet. The pigeon flapped its wings and I didnt hang about because its not wise to stand underneath one for long. Grown-ups believe its good luck to get hit by bird poop, except I think they just say that to make themselves feel better because they were unfortunate enough to get splatted in the first place.

Sticking my head into all the shrubs, I scoured the flower beds for signs of Gods footprints. I knew exactly what to look for because if Gran ever made a trifle and forgot to put it in the fridge, hed walk over the top of it, leaving paw marks in the cream.

I even went into the shed, which was full of stuff nobody wanted but couldnt bring themselves to throw away. Once Id managed to squeeze myself inside, I called Gods name and stood still in the hope Id detect a scratch or a yowl or a hiss. All I could hear was my breathing and seagulls on the chimney tops making the same noises as rusty swings.

I spied a box in the corner. It wasnt unknown for God to snooze in places you would think were impossible to fall asleep in; Id once found him in the oven, which fortunately hadnt been switched on.

Easing my way through a narrow gap between a dusty table and a leaning lampstand, I peered into the gloom, but God was nowhere to be seen. The box was stuffed with candleholders, old packs of cards, cutlery, a vase and a photo in a cracked glass frame. The picture was of me on holiday at Loch Tay, standing with my belly out, wearing my old swimming costume with Bashful Pink flamingos on it. I had my goggles on over my curly Golden Spice hair and was squinting at the camera. I remembered how the wood had been warm and rough under my bare feet, and the air had smelled of hot skin, suntan lotion and sweet water.

You didnt smile, Coral! You gurned! Gran had said after shed taken the photo.

Id been too busy peering at a thick tangle of seaweed, wondering what could be lurking in amongst it, to answer her. Id once watched a wildlife documentary on great white sharks. They have three hundred teeth in seven rows and can smell their prey from over two miles away. After discovering this, Id walked around the puddles in the park for weeks afterwards. And if a duck disappeared from the surface of the pond, Id made Gran stay until it had safely bobbed back up again.

Your dad used to love this place when he was your age. Your grandfather and I were convinced he was half boy and half seal because he was never out of the water. Grans eyes had sparkled mischievously; they shone brighter than the summer sun playing on the loch. Mind you, she added, some people are of the opinion boys are braver than girls.

I had glared at her through my goggles. Girls can be just as brave as boys, if not even braver. Id filled my lungs, pinched my nose and leapt forward into the unknown.