volley of barks hits the phone. I hold it away from my ear, then when Sadie calms down I say, “It’s all right, Sadie girl, I’m here. I’m back. I’m coming to fetch you.”
She understands, I know she does. She whines, deep in her throat, with a mixture of pleading and relief in her voice.
“Conor? Conor, listen, I’m coming down now. I’ll ride your old bike. I’ve got to talk to you.”
“It’d better be good, Saph,” says Conor grimly, “and for God’s sake don’t forget the bike lights.”
I nearly make the mistake of leaving a note for Mum to tell her where I’ve gone. But just in time, I remember that I’m supposed to have been there all the time. But my clothes are in the washing machine! Mum is bound to notice that. She’ll know I was here in the cottage, and not in St Pirans all the time…
I’ve got to think. Mum’s at work, Roger’s off somewhere – I’ve got to make it look as if I never came back to the cottage at all. I check the bathroom, then drink the cold mug of tea, finish the banana sandwich, wash up the evidence carefully and put away the mug and plate. By this time, the washing machine’s programme is almost finished. I wait impatiently while it chunters through an endless slow spin. At last the red light switches off and I can open the door. I stuff the clothes into a plastic bag and hide them in the garden, under a gooseberry bush, in case Mum checks my room. I’ll put them out on the line tomorrow.
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