A.N: Next chapter. Same rules apply as before.

Annabelle hated black – she always had done. It was the colour of nothing and made everything look dull and drab. Mummy had had to drag her mentally kicking and screaming all around town just to get her the horrible outfit she’d been forced into for today. Black dress, black tights, black patent shoes that pinched, and a loose black cardigan – she hated them all, and couldn’t wait to rip them off and throw them as far away from her as possible. Just what was so dreadful about wearing a green t-shirt to church anyway?

When she’d run off, weaving through the long grass and headstones, she’d expected mummy to come after her quickly, and give her that talk about how you weren’t supposed to run away like that in public, even if you were mad enough to scream. So when no footfalls pounded after her, and no big, grown-up hand caught her arm to yank her still, she let herself dwindle to a stop. She couldn’t see mummy anymore, which made her think mummy probably couldn’t see her either. Her long sleeved cardigan was itching at her skin, as was the horrible plait mummy had painfully scraped all her hair into that morning. Every tilt and turn of her head irritated her neck to the point of distraction.

To try and distract herself, she began to read the fading names on the higgledy stones around her.

In Loving Memory...

There was such a lot of names. Families grouped together onto one stone – sometimes the age they die printed neatly beneath, sometimes only their dates of birth and death, so Annabelle has to stand and practice her mental maths.

If Harrison Candy was born April 12th eighteen ninety five and died August 9th nineteen sixty nine, he would have been..seventy-five?...four?...six?

More often than not, she works out an estimate, and then classifies them as old or young before moving on. She gets through twenty six graves without finding one person to die as young as sixteen, apart from a baby called Terrence who only lived for two days in nineteen eighty nine.

As she realises that, she knows she really doesn’t want to be here anymore.

From where she was stood as this realisation came, the stone archway of the church-yards second entrance – the little one people slipped through if they were late or didn’t particularly want to be seen – was plainly in her sight, and Annabelle wondered just how easy it would be to go through that arch without being spotted by anyone who would feel the need to interfere. Although logic was telling her that going home by herself without telling mummy was definitely not a good idea, especially as mummy was already going to be angry about Annabelle hitting her, the overwhelming urge to be anywhere not dominated by black and misery, was just too great.

She started to walk towards it without really thinking about it. Her feet were moving, and the archway was getting closer, that was all. Her quickening pace still lacked purpose. For all anyone else knew, she could be preparing to veer away at the last moment, continuing around the back of the church to complete a full circle of the grave-yard, coming out to stand once again by what was probably a rather angry mummy. When the ground under her feet changed from springy grass to worn tarmac, she quickened her pace, glancing over her shoulder to see exactly who was watching. Mr Russell from across the street stood there with his wife, talking to another pair of old looking people in smart, black clothes. All were deeply interested in what Mr Russell had to say. None gave her even a passing glance. Beyond them were people she did not recognise at all, and as she did not know them, it was a certainty that they definitely did not know her. Why would they bother to notice her escape?

She broke into a trot, knowing the stone sides of the arch were about to pass her at any second, and after that, no one could stop her.

This isn’t quite what happened, however, as where she should have moved swiftly through open air, instead she hit something rather big, and rather solid. The force of the impact knocked her backwards onto her bum, and she found herself looking up at a woman draped in the most alarming jumble of colour, all topped off with a bright, shiny length of deep red hair, bound back by a vivid pink scarf.

The woman crouched down in front of her, face scrunching up with concern.

‘Good grief.’ she said, ‘Are you alright?’

Annabelle realised she must have run straight into the lady, and knew that this was something that had to be apologised for.

‘I’m sorry.’ she said, as politely as she could to a stranger. The lady, who Annabelle noticed, had eyebrows a different colour to her hair, offered her her hand. The back of it was painted with a dark brown swirly pattern that Annabelle couldn’t stop staring at. It started as a neat spiral, from which long tendrils twined down around her fingers, framing long, shapely fingernails, painted a bright, blistering blue.

‘That’s quite alright.’ the lady said, helping Annabelle back up to her feet with her swirly hand. ‘I’m used to being knocked into. It happens quite a lot.’

Annabelle thought this was a rather strange thing to say.

‘I take it you’re leaving?’ the lady said, pointing through the archway behind her with her free hand. Annabelle nodded, hoping the lady wasn’t going to start asking questions she didn’t want to answer.

‘Are you looking for your parents?’ the lady asked, a little crease forming between her eyebrows. Annabelle sighed – her hopes had been for nothing.

‘No.’ she said. ‘I know where mummy is.’

The lady pursed her lips.

‘Does she know where you are?’ she said, in a voice that made Annabelle squirm a little on the spot.

‘Yes.’ she lied, not very convincingly.

The lady didn’t look like she believed Annabelle at all, and while the crease on her forehead got bigger, she didn’t say anything straight away, and when she did, it wasn’t what she had expected.

‘Well, before you leave, could you do me a favour?’ she asked, the frown being replaced by a smile.

‘I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.’ Annabelle said, in a surly fashion. The woman bit her lip, and held out her hand – the swirly one.

‘I’m very sorry, how rude of me not to introduce myself. I’m Deidre.’ She said. Annabelle stared at the hand, and then gingerly took it in a quick, clumsy shake.

‘I’m Annabelle.’ She mumbled into her cardigan collar.

Deidre’s smile grew wider.

‘Pretty name.’ She said. ‘All I need you to do, Annabelle, is go round to the front of the church and find someone for me. Can you do that?’

Annabelle frowned hard as she considered this. It seemed a slightly strange favour to ask.

‘My friend is one of Susie’s relatives.’ Deidre said. ‘And I’m not exactly dressed for a funeral. I don’t want to upset anyone by going in to look for her myself. If you could go and get my friend, I’d be really grateful, and then you could be on your way.’

Annabelle thought for a moment, summing up the risk of going back around the church and being caught by mummy while looking for this stranger’s friend. Even though she was a stranger, the lady, Deidre, seemed so very pretty and nice, and so very desperate to speak to her friend. Annabelle reckoned if she went very quietly, and very sneakily, she could probably just get away with it. She relaxed her frown, and nodded. Deidre’s smile grew particularly wide again.

‘Good girl.’ she beamed. ‘Now, I’ll tell you how to recognise my friend, just tell her that Deidre’s waiting for her by the back gate, and that it’s very important...’