We present an extract from Fairy Hill, the new children's book (for readers 9+) by Marita Conlon-McKenna, acclaimed author of Under the Hawthorn Tree, In Deep Dark Wood, and A Girl Called Blue.
Thirteen-year-old Anna is upset when she's sent to stay with her dad and his new family at Fairy Hill in the west of Ireland. But as she grows to love this magical place – with its woods, the sea, the birds and all the animals – Anna starts to notice strange happenings. Hearing whispers in the wind, she senses she’s being watched. Nobody believes her except the mysterious boy she meets down by the lake. When her little half-brother, Jack, gets lost, Anna suspects that someone is trying to steal him away. She wonders if the stories about the old house and the fairies are true. Could Jack be in real danger?
Tik, Tik, Tik … The silence of the morning was broken by the sound of a blackbird right outside her window, staring in at her, as if trying to get her attention. The sun streamed onto her bed as Anna stretched lazily.
There was a low mumble of noise from the kitchen and pulling on her sweatshirt Anna went out to get something to eat. Dad and Maggie were sitting at the table with two big bowls and some coffee.
'Good morning! How did you sleep?' ‘Not great,’ she yawned. ‘A horrible big bat banged into the window.’
‘There are bats, but they’re harmless,’ Dad explained. ‘They don’t usually bang into things. Maybe it was a young one. They help keep the insect population down.’
‘There’s toast or cereal or I can do an egg for you,’ offered Maggie, jumping up from the table.
‘This homemade granola with fruit and yogurt is good,’ beamed her dad, ‘if you want to give it a try.’
Usually, back home, breakfast was just white toast and chocolate spread eaten in a rush but this did look enticing.
‘Help yourself,’ said Maggie, passing Anna a blue pottery bowl from the dresser.
‘How about a walk around the farm and the fields after breakfast?’ suggested Dad. ‘We could go down by the lake. Do you remember it from when you were younger?’
‘Only a little bit,’ admitted Anna.
‘I suppose you were only six or seven when we used to come to stay here with your granny. She was so happy to have time with you, Anna. She really was.’
‘We got eggs from the hens.’ The memory came flooding back to Anna of carrying a small bucket with eggs. She could picture her granny, her hair in a bun walking beside her, showing her the hens and the cows and the sheep.
Anna wished that she could remember better that last time the three of them had been together staying here, Mum and Dad still happy, before the fighting and arguing began.
‘Go and get dressed,’ urged her dad, ‘and I’ll give you the tour.’
Anna liked walking around the farm with her dad.
‘You used to play there,’ he reminded her, pointing out the old barn, ‘but I’ve converted it into a studio for Maggie’s pottery.’
The barn was now painted white, with a big new window that overlooked the courtyard. Inside, it was neat and tidy with two large dressers displaying Maggie’s pottery and ceramic work.
‘We’ve enlarged your granny’s vegetable garden and planted a much bigger herb garden. We’ve all kinds of plans to grow more vegetables and to produce our own solar power.’
Anna could see a few sheep grazing in the distance and beside them was a field of bright yellow flowers. ‘That’s rapeseed,’ explained Dad. ‘I sell it to a local factory where they use it to make oil.’
‘Dad, are you a farmer now?’ asked Anna.
‘No, I’m still an engineer,’ he said. ‘The sheep are my neighbour’s, but I let him use the field. Living in Fairy Hill gives me the best of both worlds.’
‘Why is the house called Fairy Hill?’ Anna asked curiously.
‘Legend has it that this was once a fairy place. Your granny said there used to be a really big fairy ring where the fairies gathered somewhere here on the farm, and the local people tell tales of a secret fairy fort, deep in the woods, where the fairies would hide away. That is, if you believe in those things!’
‘Dad, do you?’
‘No,’ he laughed. ‘Science and fact are more my terrain, but your granny definitely did. She used to talk about the fairies sometimes, warn us to be good and not upset them.’
‘Where is the fairy ring?’ Anna asked, excited for the first time since arriving at the farmhouse. ‘Can I see it?’
‘I’m afraid it’s long gone,’ explained her dad. ‘When we were kids I searched and searched with Liam and Grace for signs of a circle of stones or grassy ring or mound, but we never found a trace of it.’
‘Have you any idea what happened to it?’
‘My grandfather John apparently got rid of it and ploughed it up. He wanted to clear the field and sow barley. It caused huge upset at the time, especially with my grandmother. She wouldn’t speak to him for a week or two for she believed that it would bring bad luck upon them.’
‘And did it?’
‘I don’t know, but there were stories of the new crops in the field failing.’ Her dad shrugged. ‘This part of the country is full of old stories and superstitions about the fairies. They are part of the landscape. One of our teachers used to tell us that there was a door for the fairies hidden in Ben Bulben – the mountain we could see from our classroom window.’
‘I can’t imagine that ever happening in London,’ giggled Anna.
‘I’ve lived all over,’ Dad said, ‘but there is no better place in the world than here. That’s why after your granny died, Liam, Grace and I just couldn’t sell the house. We rented it out for a while and then I decided last year to buy the place and move back.’
‘Did Mum like it here?’ ventured Anna.
‘Your mum was very fond of your granny. They got on well. She liked coming to visit for a few days, but Roz could never settle to living somewhere like this. It’s far too quiet and remote for her.’
As they left the farm, Dad took them up by Starling Lake, a small lake almost hidden by rushes and reeds, with a swan floating in the distance.
‘It’s a real beauty spot but you can’t swim there,’ he warned. ‘It’s more dangerous than it appears. A young boy drowned there years ago. If you want to swim, the beach is only about ten minutes’ walk away.’
‘I can remember going to the beach.’ Anna smiled. ‘You were teaching me to swim.’
‘Come on then,’ he said as they fell into step together.
Usually when Dad was in London they went to the cinema, galleries, and museums, and he’d taken her for weekends to Brighton, Bath, Edinburgh, Cornwall and Paris, but walking with him on the small beach with its mixture of grey stones and sand was so much better.
Fairy Hill is published by the O'Brien Press
