they’re being.
Or, “I don’t want to alarm you,” means that they’re just about to scare you to death.
Or, “With all due respect,” means they have no respect for you at all, and they’re just about to be very rude.
So when Mrs Skelton goes around saying, “If you ask me,” it’s usually because she knows that no one is going to ask her, so she’s going to tell you anyway.
I was thinking about this after lunch that same day when Mrs Skelton sent me to look for Mr Chilvers because he hadn’t done something she’d asked him to do, and now his life wasn’t worth living,
if you asked her
.
“And tell him Mrs Kramer is very unhappy,” she added as I left.
Why don’t you tell him yourself? I thought. But I just nodded and slammed the door behind me. I hoped I wouldn’t come across Luke. Just the thought of the stupid wet sheets and my tantrum made the breath catch in my throat.
Outside, the air tasted like a crisp Granny Smith apple, all tart and juicy. I could hear the
thunk-thunking
of an axe at work. Mr Chilvers was obviously down at the woodshed, which is why I took the path that led to the front of the house. Mr Chilvers could wait; I had a sudden urge to visit the tree house.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d climbed up to the tree house. My feet reached for familiar footholds, but I felt awkward and out of practice. By the time I reached the platform I was puffing like an old goat. If I looked behind me, I could see Vinegar House all dark and brooding, smoke trailing from the kitchen chimney. Ahead of me lay the sea. Several large gulls coasted about on the air currents above the bluff.
A few plastic figures – like the ones you find in a fast-food kid’s meal – were all that remained from our elaborate tree house days when we’d drag cushions and blankets and toys up to the platform.
“Hello?” came a voice from below.
I stayed still and peered through the branches, barely daring to breathe. It was Luke. I wondered if he’d go away if I ignored him.
“Freya?”
“Oh. Hi!” I moved slightly so he could see my face.
“How’s the view?” He was pretending that nothing had happened. Pretending that he wasn’t embarrassed by my recent lunatic rantings.
“Good. Great. You should try it sometime,” I babbled.
The next thing I knew, the tree was shaking as Luke clambered up.
“I didn’t mean … oh, there you are,” I continued.
Luke’s face appeared first, then he hitched himself up to sit beside me.
“You’re right,” he said, settling in. “It is a good view. So give me the guided tour.”
Luke Hart was sitting next to me, and he smelled like burning leaves and hand soap and chewing gum. It was the most heavenly thing I had ever smelled in my life. And that included the smell of vanilla and baking bread.
I had never thought of a tree house scenario before, and mentally added it to my list of Luke Hart daydreams.
“Okay,” I said, pointing towards the coastline. “To the right is Homsea. You can’t see it from here, but if you followed the coastline all the way around you’d eventually bump into the Homsea Jetty.”
“Check.”
“To the left of us is the bluff. It gets in the way of us seeing any further, but if you swam along the coastline on the left, you’d come to Craddock’s farm.”
“Check. Look, sorry about that, er …” he said. “I don’t know what I said–”
I wondered what he was apologising for, then I realised he didn’t know either. I interrupted him. “And straight ahead is Seal Rock. And just past that … I think that’s a boat.”
“What?”
“I think there’s a boat.” I pointed out to where I was looking. “A speedboat.”
Luke leaned in closer to follow the direction of my finger. “I can’t see anything,” he grumbled.
His voice was so close to my ear that the words sent a shock wave through me. I wanted him to speak again.
“I’m pretty sure there’s a boat,” I insisted.
“Are you
Or, “I don’t want to alarm you,” means that they’re just about to scare you to death.
Or, “With all due respect,” means they have no respect for you at all, and they’re just about to be very rude.
So when Mrs Skelton goes around saying, “If you ask me,” it’s usually because she knows that no one is going to ask her, so she’s going to tell you anyway.
I was thinking about this after lunch that same day when Mrs Skelton sent me to look for Mr Chilvers because he hadn’t done something she’d asked him to do, and now his life wasn’t worth living,
if you asked her
.
“And tell him Mrs Kramer is very unhappy,” she added as I left.
Why don’t you tell him yourself? I thought. But I just nodded and slammed the door behind me. I hoped I wouldn’t come across Luke. Just the thought of the stupid wet sheets and my tantrum made the breath catch in my throat.
Outside, the air tasted like a crisp Granny Smith apple, all tart and juicy. I could hear the
thunk-thunking
of an axe at work. Mr Chilvers was obviously down at the woodshed, which is why I took the path that led to the front of the house. Mr Chilvers could wait; I had a sudden urge to visit the tree house.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d climbed up to the tree house. My feet reached for familiar footholds, but I felt awkward and out of practice. By the time I reached the platform I was puffing like an old goat. If I looked behind me, I could see Vinegar House all dark and brooding, smoke trailing from the kitchen chimney. Ahead of me lay the sea. Several large gulls coasted about on the air currents above the bluff.
A few plastic figures – like the ones you find in a fast-food kid’s meal – were all that remained from our elaborate tree house days when we’d drag cushions and blankets and toys up to the platform.
“Hello?” came a voice from below.
I stayed still and peered through the branches, barely daring to breathe. It was Luke. I wondered if he’d go away if I ignored him.
“Freya?”
“Oh. Hi!” I moved slightly so he could see my face.
“How’s the view?” He was pretending that nothing had happened. Pretending that he wasn’t embarrassed by my recent lunatic rantings.
“Good. Great. You should try it sometime,” I babbled.
The next thing I knew, the tree was shaking as Luke clambered up.
“I didn’t mean … oh, there you are,” I continued.
Luke’s face appeared first, then he hitched himself up to sit beside me.
“You’re right,” he said, settling in. “It is a good view. So give me the guided tour.”
Luke Hart was sitting next to me, and he smelled like burning leaves and hand soap and chewing gum. It was the most heavenly thing I had ever smelled in my life. And that included the smell of vanilla and baking bread.
I had never thought of a tree house scenario before, and mentally added it to my list of Luke Hart daydreams.
“Okay,” I said, pointing towards the coastline. “To the right is Homsea. You can’t see it from here, but if you followed the coastline all the way around you’d eventually bump into the Homsea Jetty.”
“Check.”
“To the left of us is the bluff. It gets in the way of us seeing any further, but if you swam along the coastline on the left, you’d come to Craddock’s farm.”
“Check. Look, sorry about that, er …” he said. “I don’t know what I said–”
I wondered what he was apologising for, then I realised he didn’t know either. I interrupted him. “And straight ahead is Seal Rock. And just past that … I think that’s a boat.”
“What?”
“I think there’s a boat.” I pointed out to where I was looking. “A speedboat.”
Luke leaned in closer to follow the direction of my finger. “I can’t see anything,” he grumbled.
His voice was so close to my ear that the words sent a shock wave through me. I wanted him to speak again.
“I’m pretty sure there’s a boat,” I insisted.
“Are you
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