Anthony Kessel - The Five Clues (Dont Doubt the Rainbow 1)

Shall we start in Marie Curie, Cancer Research or just go straight to Shelter? asked Mum, as we walked down Gladwell Road towards the centre of Crouch End.

Straight to Shelter! I exclaimed, grinning. They always have the best stuff.

With Dad and Eli watching football on the telly, Mum and I had developed a weekend habit of sauntering into Crouch End and, best of all, browsing around the charity shops for hidden treasure. I also loved our coffee shop chats after the shopping, when Mum would share with me her latest human rights investigations. She was so passionate about standing up for people and making the world a better place, and some of her stories were incredible: corruption in government, workers being taken advantage of, the dumping of toxic waste. Mum said that Dad and Eli werent interested, but I couldnt get enough and I even helped her out sometimes. She once joked that if she wasnt careful Id take over her job!

I knew the walk by heart: cross over Landrock to Drylands Road, left on Weston Park, right down Elder Avenue and left onto Tottenham Lane. From there, we marched down the busy high street, past the Post Office and made a sharp right through the red door into affordable shopping heaven. Inside, our pattern was well established: we split up, perused what was on offer separately, then shared our findings. According to Dad, I rifled through the clothing iv racks in a manner identical to Mum. I told him he watched football just like Eli.

Id gathered a pretty blue cotton blouse and silver earrings by the time Mum beckoned me over. Shed found a book of puzzles for a daughter who loved problem-solving plus an old paperback.

This is one of my all-time favourites, Mum pronounced. I read it when I was she sized me up with a smile, maybe a year or two older than you.

I looked down at the cover: The Midwich Cuckoos, I probed.

Mum took a moment, which she often did, before replying: People think that John Wyndham was just a science fiction author because of Day of the Triffids, but he was much more than that. He wrote about how people behave when put in unusual circumstances and what lengths theyll go to in order to survive.

I thought that through and then asked: So whats this one about?

I could sense Mums mind ticking over. Its been a while but as I remember in a quiet English village the minds of children are taken over by an alien force, which then exerts telepathic control over objects and humans.

Sounds horrible! I reacted.

You should read the book, Mum continued. They made it into a creepy black-and-white movie in the sixties called Village of the Damned.

Im not sure I fancy it right now, Mum. Ive only just finished Lord of the Flies which was pretty disturbing.

v But Mum paid no attention and leant in: You should read it.

Mum, I dont really want to I started to explain.

Read it! Mum pressed in a louder voice, completely out of character. Other customers looked over in concern.

I started feeling anxious and became aware of a pounding in my chest. Something wasnt right.

Read it!! Mum repeated insistently, her eyes now glazed and intense.

No, something really wasnt right. Id had this dream a few times before and Mum had never behaved like this. In fact, this was the only dream that brought back good memories, at least until I returned to reality.

Read it!! Mum urged again, but her words were entangled, confused, a combination of forcefulness and plea. I looked down, on the verge of tears, and the book seemed to have disappeared, replaced by something else on her palm.

Read me!! Mum demanded oddly, but Id had enough. I needed to wake up and get out of the dream. Right now. And I did eventually.

What I didnt know then, however, was that this dream would be the moment the very moment, a year after Mums death when my world would transform yet again. When, over the next few weeks, I would change from regular schoolgirl to national celebrity and star detective.

Along the way Ive become stronger, tougher and more self-aware. But Ive seen things that nobody, let alone someone my age, should ever see.

My name is Edie Marble, and this is my story. vi

Unable to sleep, Edie lay in bed and tried not to think about the day shed been dreading for weeks. Staring at the ceiling, she wondered about what determined the different things that happened to different people: whether you had a brother or a sister, whether you were born into a slum in the suburbs of New Delhi or a privileged home in north London, whether you were popular at school or not, whether your mum lived or died.

Eventually, Edies dad came into the room.

How are you feeling? he asked, perching on the edge of Edies bed.

Okay, Edie replied, although numb would have been a truer answer.

I know this will be a hard day, Dad continued, gently touching her hand. But well get through it together and move on.

The evidence around Edie suggested that nobody had moved on yet. Her brother Eli, who was now ten, had withdrawn into his shell since Mums death. He refused to talk about her or even join in looking at old photographs. Although he had friends, Eli seemed increasingly to prefer playing alone. And he wetted his bed not every night, but two or three times a week since the tragedy. Dad had done his utmost to keep everything together, but he was still suffering badly himself. In the evenings, Edie sometimes heard her dad sobbing quietly in the lounge, turning up the volume on the TV to mask the noise. Hed immersed himself in work and was drinking more whisky than ever.

As for herself, Edie knew that she hadnt moved on yet and still couldnt understand truly understand why her world had been turned upside down. Edie woke up every day thinking about Mum and fell asleep comforted by the image of her mother her beautiful, dark-haired, dark-eyed mother stroking her hair. Edies schoolwork had suffered and her friends didnt seem to know what to say to her. Worst, perhaps, were the nightmares that just wouldnt go away.

Edie eventually managed to drag herself out of bed, put on her slippers and a fleece, and made her way downstairs. On the last step, still half asleep, Edie slipped and lost her footing. She gasped and looked down at the Buffy slippers with their poor grip. Mum had bought them the week before she died and seemed to find them cute. It was just like Mum, so busy with her own work that she didnt realise the vampire slayer was old news.

Crunchy Nut cornflakes? asked Dad, too perkily for this day.

Im not hungry, Edie replied.

Youve got to eat something, luv, he continued. Its going to be a long day. What about your favourite, one of those Mller yoghurts?

Im not hungry, Edie repeated more firmly. She glanced over at Eli sitting quietly at the table, munching on some peanut-buttery toast. He seemed oblivious to it all, concentrating on the football pages of the newspaper. Inside, though, she knew he was anxious.