CHAPTER EIGHT
Few people knew the footpath to Hidden Cove. It cut steeply through waist-high bracken and cheek-scraping gorse sprigs and involved trespassing on the edge of someone’s land. Leah had never found out whose, but her dad had followed an old map and had led them there when she and Emma were children.
Heart thudding with excitement, she passed an old engine house, skirted round a heap of animal droppings – sheep? rabbits? – and came to the difficult bit where you had to pass through a cleft between two large rocks that resembled a shark’s jaws, the alternative being to get yourself scratched and shredded by prickly gorse. She passed her backpack through first, then turned sideways and squeezed through, remembering that when she was eight, she could simply step through without e
