As much as Florence wanted to ignore the Outsiders, they’d somehow become a constant presence in the village, like an unscratched itch that only drew more attention as time passed. She saw the Outsider striding up the front path from the English classroom window on Wednesday, still in a crisp suit. The teachers at school had the forced-cheerfulness of adults masking their worries and Florence was convinced it was related to the Outsider.

She couldn’t escape Ada either. The girl seemed to have a radar installed because each time she and Elliot walked down the street, Ada would appear, running towards them as if they were friends. And each time she had a question.

“Dad said your school doesn’t have a science lab,” was her opening when she caught up with them on Friday walking home from school.

Low hanging grey clouds scudded over the greyer sky, blown by a harsh north-easterly wind that sent a newspaper dancing out of a passer-by's hand.

“Yeah,” Elliot said, stuffing his hands in his pockets and shrinking his neck like a turtle into his coat. He even humoured her by asking, “Why? Is it unusual?”

“Pretty much. Isn’t that what science’s about - experimenting? Not just taking people’s words for it, but actually proving stuff.”

“Why would you need to prove what’s in the textbook?” Florence took the opportunity when someone passed by and they squeezed together on the pavement to insert herself between the two. A faint trace of jasmine surrounded her. She eyed Ada, taking in her denim jacket covered in embroidered patches and her canvas shoes decorated with sharpie patterns.

“Yeah…” Elliot muttered, his brows twisted.

Florence smirked. No matter how much Ada chattered, he was still from Truthsend Village, and he still stood behind her in the end.

“That’s not the point. The point is to see for yourself that it’s true – that if you drop a cannonball and a feather they’ll fall at the same rate.”

“But what’s in the textbook is True, so why do I need to see it?” Florence persisted. “Besides, it’s not like we’re spending much time doing anything in science apart from self-studying.”

Ada frowned, tugging her jacket closed.

The conversation moved on, but Florence revelled in the victory.

With no school on the weekends, Florence strutted down the main street confident that she would not meet Ada. The previous times could all be explained by the accursed regularity of the school schedule; Ada could lie in wait, ready to ambush them on their way home. But not today.

And indeed, she arrived at the community centre under a sky threatening rain without any interruptions. See – the Outsiders weren’t really interested in her and Elliot. The dance teacher barked at her to hurry up. She hastily changed her shoes and limbered up. The girl just wanted to sow discord between them.

The dance teacher called them to order and the class began. Music blared from the CD player and the eight of them – five girls and three boys – went through the familiar but cardio-intensive warm-up. After they were sweating, the teacher asked them to perform the choreography they’d been working on for the last two weeks.

Everyone else performed well, but Florence, who’d been distracted by Outsiders and hadn’t practiced, was pulled to the front and corrected for a quarter of an hour before the teacher was happy. Furious, but maintaining her performance smile, Florence redoubled her efforts until the end of the class when the teacher grudgingly praised her.

Changing quickly, her former irritation soothed by the praise, Florence determined to practice hard before next week’s lesson. With a spring in her step, she walked down the main street. Small, intermittent drops fell from the sky like bullets and the smell of rain was in the air.

“Hey, Flo!”

Florence shivered at the yell and subconsciously sped up, but Ada, in her denim jacket and a pair of ridiculous yellow wellington boots, splashing towards her across the street, was impossible to pretend not to see.

“You waited,” She smiled happily.

“I didn’t.” Florence gripped the strap of her dance bag, stalking away, but Ada matched her pace (she had to jog – Florence at least won in the height department, being a whole head taller).

“What’s in the bag?”

“Dance kit.”

“You dance?”

Florence didn’t bother replying.

Ada fell silent. They were coming up on the pub now and Florence waited for Ada to decamp, but she jogged straight past the entrance.

“Are you good? At dancing.” Ada looked straight into Florence’s eyes, her head tilted up slightly.

Ahead, between the bank and the fish and chip shop, there was a side street that led directly to the housing estate.

“Yeah, I’ve won a few competitions.” Florence pushed her dance-tired legs harder, wanting to leave Ada behind, but she stuck to her like a dancer to the beat.

The bank was an eighteenth-century affair of columns and grandeur with a huge oak door that swung inwards as they approached. An umbrella emerged, followed by the terrible figure of Mr. Fanshawe, his coat flapping in the chill breeze.

Florence froze.

His too-pale, eyelash-less eyes swept over her, then flicked to Ada. The hairs on her arms stood up. It was a pity Elliot wasn’t there; she’d like to see how he’d defend him – those eyes were downright creepy.

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“What’s wrong?” Ada lowered her voice, closing the gap between them. A faint scent of jasmine enveloped Florence and she resisted the urge to sneeze.

Mr. Fanshawe continued methodically towards them, his steps beating out a regular rhythm. Florence backed up until against the wet limestone wall of the bank. Ada followed her. As he drifted past, Mr. Fanshawe nodded, his coat sweeping against Florence’s legs. She shivered.

When he was fifty metres away, Ada asked, “Why’d you avoid him?”

The jasmine scent filled Florence’s nostrils. She stepped away. “He’s an Outsider. Just like you.”

“Oh.” Her reaction was disappointing – Florence had imagined more anger, more hurt. “I thought it’d be some dramatic story about how he’s suspected of some horrendous crime but there’s no evidence, like Midsomer Murders.”

The crime rate in Truthsend was close to zero. Not being able to Lie really helped in that respect.

“Yeah. Anyway, I have a question.” Ada tilted her head, her hair blowing slightly in the breeze.

Not interested. Ask Elliot.

Was how Florence wanted to answer. But when she considered that Ada probably would ask Elliot, she paused. The other questions had done enough damage; she didn’t want an Outsider to plant any more dangerous ideas in his head.

“Fine.” She continued walking, aiming for the side street.

“It’s not a big question, really, I was just wondering why everyone here is so obsessed with night time?” Ada frowned and her mouth puckered as if unsure of the taste of the words, “Or should I say everyone’s obsessed with daylight?”

“That’s your question?” Florence squinted her eyes. The spitting had worsened to a drizzle.

Ada nodded, “Everyone – the owner of the pub, the woman in the post office, even my dad – keeps on reminding me to get back early.”

They turned into the side street. A moss-covered wall, taller than Florence, stood on one side, the grimy back of the chippy – all vents and pipes with the lingering smell of old oil and fried fish – on the other. She stopped five paces down, a malicious impulse flashing through her brain: she rearranged her expression to be sympathetic, “Yeah, nobody in the village goes out after it's dark.”

That was the Truth.

“Why?”

“Legend says it’s because of the Shadowless. I don't suppose you know about them? No? Well, Outsiders don't usually believe us. But,” She leaned closer, dropping her voice to a stage whisper, “Elliot’ll tell you I’ve seen one.”

“What do they look like?”

“Well, nobody really knows because they live in the fog in the forest beyond the Wall, but from what I know, they're tall – much taller than I am – and pale, as pale as the fog, and they move so fast you can’t see them until they've already dragged you away.” Florence stared hazily at the dustbin next to the chippy as if lost in memory, mixing together the bedtime stories her dad read her growing up with what she and Elliot had imagined.

“Really?”

“Yup.” Florence said, smothering her laughter. How typical of an Outsider to believe in the exotic – as if Truthsend was a different world.

Ada scrutinised her, her eyes flicking between both of Florence’s. “You’re lying.”

“Don't you know that in Truthsend we don't Lie?” It was true: she hadn’t Lied. Legend did say that the Shadowless would roam about at night, and Elliot would probably say that she'd seen one by the Wall that day. Kids in Truthsend had a million ways to get around Lying. The trouble was, adults were kids once, so tricks usually didn't get you very far.

Ada glanced up at the sky, then down at her watch. “But, what do they – the Shadowless – have to with not going out at night?”

Florence threw her a supercilious look, “Because they can only move around at night. During the day the Wall protects us, but at night...” She trailed off, letting the implication spiral in the silence, before grinning, “So don’t go out at night.”

“Ada!” Before Ada could reply, a call came from behind them. They turned to see the Outsider walking down the narrow alley, looking completely out of place among the dustbins and recycling boxes in his suit. Water dripped slowly from the ends of his rainbow umbrella. The colour contrasted starkly with the gloomy alley.

“Dad! What’re you doing here?”

“Just visiting some... old friends.” He frowned as he tripped over a protruding cobble. The wicker basket he was holding swung in a wide arc as he tried to balance himself, the potted laceleaf in it bending with the momentum (Florence recognised the plant because they were her mother’s favourite. There were several of the elegant plants around the house). Arriving beside Ada, the Outsider moved the umbrella to shelter her and peered at Florence. “Is this your friend?”

“Yes. This is Flo. Flo, this is my dad.”

“Flo? Florence?” Ada’s dad said, an odd expression flashing across his eyes. He stared at her intently, tracing the features of her face down to her pointed chin. “You’re Cassandra and Lynn’s daughter?”

“How do you know?” Florence took a step back.

He smiled at her. The kind of smile kidnappers used. “This is actually my second time coming to the village. I came here a few years ago to do some work on the community centre and I met you and your family back then. Speaking... of which... How’s your brother doing?” His hand twitched and a cascade of water fell from the umbrella.

“Dad!” Ada protested, “You soaked me.”

“I’m sorry.” He adjusted the umbrella, “So, how’s your brother?”

“...What?” Florence shook her head. There must be something wrong with her ears – maybe she’d got water in them.

“Your brother,” He repeated, enunciating every syllable, “How’s he doing?”

“No, I- Did you get the wrong person? I don’t have a brother.” Her words tumbled over themselves. Her voice sounded jittery – foreign.

Ada frowned and looked up at her father, “Did you remember right? Are you sure you’re thinking of Flo?”

He motioned with the wicker basket, “I’m positive. Don’t you remember me? We met five years ago at the community centre. You placed second in a dancing recital and I gave you a sweet.”

Florence looked at his stately face that was tinged with a touch of... was it desperation? Vague memories floated up, as hazy as the pine trees beyond the rooftops: going up to the stage to collect a certificate and medal; her parents clapping; a slightly younger version of Ada’s father bending over (this was before her second major growth spurt) to hand her a lolly wrapped in yellow paper. She nodded, “I remember.”

“Yes, and your brother was there, too, remember? He piggy-backed you home because you said you were tired.”

“No,” Florence shook her head. There was no brother in her memory who carried her home, or anything else. She was an only child. Everyone knew that. “No, I don’t have a brother. I think you're confused.”

“Dad...” Ada said in the half-whining, half-pleading tone of a kid who wants their parent to stop embarrassing them.

“No, Ada, this is important.” He took a deep breath. “Did your brother leave? Is that why you don’t want to talk about him? All I want to know is if he’s okay.”

“Nobody leaves the village.” Florence shook her head frantically, intoning the words like a prayer that could bring her back to reality.

Yes.

Nobody left the village.

She couldn’t trust the words of an Outsider.

“I don’t have a brother. I have no idea what you’re talking about... You’re crazy!” Florence spat before striding past the Outsiders and down the alley, her heart pounding.

They were crazy.

How could she have a brother she didn’t remember?

She was her parents’ only child.