said Louie.
“But are we Goldilocks or the bears?” Daniel replied, putting the back of his hand against the spout of the teapot and withdrawing it sharply from the heat.
They moved through the rest of the house, looking for other signs of occupancy, but the rooms, though furnished and free of cobwebs, had an abandoned air. From the garden came the sound of barking. There goes a squirrel, thought Daniel.
“Well, I don’t want to sit drinking tea until we’ve got everything in,” Mum decided, heading back outside and almost tripping over a basket of vegetables – runner beans, tomatoes and courgettes – which had materialised on the doorstep, like an offering left at a shrine.
“Coo-ee,” said a voice, and a short, very fat woman in a pair of drawstring shorts, trainers and a man’s check shirt appeared around the corner of the house, with an excited Chet capering at her heels. She was carrying a string bag of apples. “Windfalls,” she panted, indicating the bag. “Hope you don’t mind. They only rot if you leave them.” The effort of this act of trespass had left her sweating and short of breath. “I’m Winnie-next-door,” she went on. “Been keeping an eye on the place since Mr Ericsson left. I pop in and give it a clean every now and then.”
“Thank you,” said Mum. “It’s certainly very tidy inside. I wasn’t expecting that.”
“Oh, we all look out for each other here,” said Winnie-next-door. “They phoned from Port Julian when the ferry got in. Said you were on your way, so I left you some tea indoors. And there’s some veg. I’ll send my son, Kenny, round tomorrow with eggs.”
“That’s very kind of you,” said Mum.
Daniel didn’t think it was kind. He thought it was creepy having their movements tracked and privacy invaded. This woman wandering in and out and having her own key to the place, like some kind of jailer.
“I suppose you two will be starting at the high school,” Winnie said, smiling at Daniel and Louie, who shrugged and refused to be drawn into conversation.
“I’m planning to home educate them, actually,” said their mum, coming to the rescue. “We’ve had bad experiences with schools in the past.” Winnie’s eyes widened. “Bullying and stuff.”
“Well, there’s no bullying at Stape High,” Winnie insisted. “The head won’t allow it. She’s turned the place around in the last five years. Got a wonderful atmosphere now. You can tell all the pupils are happy the moment you walk in the place. Oh yes,” she gave a satisfied smile, “we’re very lucky on Wragge. Our young people never give us any trouble at all.”
She set off across the grass, clearly her own short cut that didn’t involve using the path or gate.
Fifteen minutes later the luggage was indoors, a small mountain of cases, holdalls and cardboard boxes at the bottom of the stairs. “You can only bring what we can fit in the car,” Daniel and Louie had been told back in London. “Which isn’t much, so pack wisely.” There’d been some disagreement about what items counted as personal belongings and what could be considered ‘house stuff ’ – saucepans, crockery, Chet’s basket, Chet himself. Somehow or other – chiefly by overloading the roof rack with larger items and stuffing every cranny of the car with smaller squashable things – life’s essentials had been accommodated. Now, they looked at the heap blocking the hallway without enthusiasm. “I suppose I’d better go and get some food before the shops shut,” Mum said wearily. “Are you coming?” she asked Louie.
“What’s the alternative?”
“Staying here. Putting away.” She gave a cardboard box marked KITCHEN STUFF a gentle kick.
“Coming,” said Louie.
“What about you?” Daniel’s mum asked him.
He grunted, non-committal. He didn’t have the slightest intention of doing any more ‘putting away’. From the tiny bathroom window upstairs he had caught a glimpse of sandy beach, and as soon as the others were out of the way he was going to check it out.
“Can we get pizza?” he said to his mum as she shouldered her handbag and made for the car. “Pepperoni.”
She hooted with laughter. “You’ll be lucky. I’ll be amazed if I can get a loaf of bread.”
He watched the car disappear up the track in its own dust-ball, then whistled to Chet. The two of them set off across the garden and through a gap where the wall had collapsed, in the direction of the sea. He didn’t bother to lock the door – it had been open when they arrived, and the neighbours clearly had a key, anyway. The clouds had broken up and widening gashes of blue appeared. In the sun it was hot after the cool dead air of the house. A narrow path about the width of Chet led through a field of long tussocky grass and thistles to a stile, where it met a wider path following the outline of the coast. Daniel headed in the direction of the beach, picking a broad flat stem of grass and stretching it between his thumbs to make a reed. It gave a piercing whistle when he blew on it.
From the opposite direction, a woman appeared dressed in jogging gear, but striding rather than jogging. She had short dark hair and was about Daniel’s mum’s age, which meant she was of no interest and could be ignored. Except the footpath wasn’t wide enough for them to pass without some acknowledgement. Daniel prepared to plunge into the long grass to avoid conversation, but the woman’s friendly smile faded as she approached and she stopped in front of him, puzzled. “I don’t know you,” she said, which struck Daniel as an odd thing to say. In his experience, knowing random people who passed you in the street was the exception not the rule.
“I thought I knew all the young people,” she went on, bending down to make a fuss of Chet, who responded by jumping up and planting his dusty paws on the front of her pale blue jogging pants.
“Oh,” Daniel mumbled, tugging Chet away. “We only just arrived.” He gestured vaguely in the direction of The Brow, which was out of sight.
“Ah. New boy. That explains it,” the woman replied. The puzzled look returned. “I wasn’t expecting anyone new. My mistake, no doubt. I’ll look into it. What’s your name?”
“Daniel Milman,” said Daniel, uncertain what she meant, but unwilling to ask.
“Daniel. I’m Mrs Ivory, Emma.” She held out her hand. Daniel passed his grubby palm surreptitiously across the back of his jeans before shaking. “See you in September, if not before,” she said, giving him a last quick smile and what was either a wink or just a twitch, before jogging off. Daniel smiled and nodded politely; it was easier than admitting ignorance. He wasn’t comfortable with spontaneous conversations with strangers, but it looked as though he was going to have to get used to it. Everyone on the island was so damn friendly. Or freaky, depending on your point of view. At least she hadn’t cringed away from Chet and his dirty paw prints.
A steep flight of wooden steps with a rope handrail led from the cliff top down to the beach. The tide was a long way out, leaving a broad expanse of fine wet sand combed into ripples by the waves, which came rolling in with the full force of the Atlantic behind them.
At the bottom of the steps Daniel produced a whiskery grey tennis ball from his pocket and waved it teasingly above Chet’s nose until the dog was nearly frantic with excitement, then hurled it as hard as he could across the sand. Chet took off after it like a hairy rocket. His technique for chasing down a tennis ball involved overtaking it to come at it from the far side as if rounding it
