cold?” he asked.
I hadn’t realised I was trembling, but it wasn’t the cold weather making my body shake.
“A little,” I said.
“Do you want my coat?” he asked.
“No!” I didn’t want him to move away.
He grabbed my pointing hand and sandwiched it between his own two hands.
“Is that better?” he asked.
I could barely nod. I’d stopped breathing and everything about that moment was like stumbling into a 3-D movie after living a 2-D life. The rough planks of the tree house were hard against my back. I could hear the screech of the gulls as they squabbled on Bluff Beach and, further out, the faint drone of the speedboat, which was nearly out of sight. The skin on Luke’s hands was rough but his touch was gentle, and he held my hand carefully as if it might break.
“Freya!” Mrs Skelton’s voice rose into the thin winter air and life returned to 2-D.
I took a breath and giggled nervously.
“I need to go. Got an errand,” I explained.
“I’ll go first,” Luke offered, letting go of my hand. “I’ll make a nice soft landing for you if you fall.”
As I waited for Luke to climb down out of my way, I spied a folded piece of paper poking out from between two overlapping wood planks. It was shoved in so tightly that I tore it a little as I pulled it out. Inside only one word was scrawled in untidy writing.
Murderer
.
A left over note, probably, from one of our many games of Murder in the Dark.
“Are you right?” called out Luke.
I shoved the note into my pocket. Then I scrambled down the tree, conscious that Luke was watching my every move.
I walked down the garden path to the stump behind the woodshed where Mr Chilvers was splitting logs. I stood for a moment, unsure what to do, and noticed the way his shirtsleeves were rolled back and the sweat patches that had formed at his armpits. I’d never spent much time thinking about Mr Chilvers, but when I had it was to think of him as an old man. Perhaps it was the grey at his temples or the work overalls he wore that had encouraged this idea, but I realised that he was probably younger than my father. Definitely older than Luke Hart. Not that I was thinking about him …
Mr Chilvers paused in his chopping and started when he looked up to find me watching him.
“Mrs Skelton told me to ask you–”
He waved his hand, cutting me off. “I know what she wants,” he said. “And I’ll get to it. But there’s more bad weather coming, and Mrs Kramer will want that fire in the dining room running full pelt. And I don’t fancy chopping wood in the rain.”
I looked to the woodshed that was stacked to the roof with logs, but if he noticed my gaze he ignored it.
“Mrs Skelton is unhappy, I mean–”
“Mrs Skelton isn’t happy unless she’s unhappy with someone,” he noted as he grabbed an armful of logs and stacked them neatly against the outside wall of the shed.
“She said to tell you that Mrs … Grandma is very unhappy,” I repeated dutifully. “Sorry,” I added, just so he would realise I was only the messenger.
“So Mrs Kramer is very unhappy that I haven’t fixed a loose shelf in the pantry? More like Mrs Skelton is unhappy.” He cocked an eyebrow at me and gave me a wry smile.
“Anyway,” I shuffled about scuffing at the ground, “that was the message.”
Mr Chilvers picked up the axe to inspect its edge.
I wondered why a man like Mr Chilvers would hide himself away in the middle of the end of nowhere looking after a property that was clearly falling down around his ears for an old lady who didn’t appreciate it.
“Why do you work here?” I asked suddenly. I hadn’t meant to ask the question aloud and I felt embarrassed.
“It suits me.” He continued inspecting the axe head for nicks.
“What did you do before you worked here?”
He sighed. “You can tell Mrs Skelton if she wants information, she can ask me herself.”
“No, no, I–”
“So, not Mrs Skelton?”
I shook my head.
He pulled out
I hadn’t realised I was trembling, but it wasn’t the cold weather making my body shake.
“A little,” I said.
“Do you want my coat?” he asked.
“No!” I didn’t want him to move away.
He grabbed my pointing hand and sandwiched it between his own two hands.
“Is that better?” he asked.
I could barely nod. I’d stopped breathing and everything about that moment was like stumbling into a 3-D movie after living a 2-D life. The rough planks of the tree house were hard against my back. I could hear the screech of the gulls as they squabbled on Bluff Beach and, further out, the faint drone of the speedboat, which was nearly out of sight. The skin on Luke’s hands was rough but his touch was gentle, and he held my hand carefully as if it might break.
“Freya!” Mrs Skelton’s voice rose into the thin winter air and life returned to 2-D.
I took a breath and giggled nervously.
“I need to go. Got an errand,” I explained.
“I’ll go first,” Luke offered, letting go of my hand. “I’ll make a nice soft landing for you if you fall.”
As I waited for Luke to climb down out of my way, I spied a folded piece of paper poking out from between two overlapping wood planks. It was shoved in so tightly that I tore it a little as I pulled it out. Inside only one word was scrawled in untidy writing.
Murderer
.
A left over note, probably, from one of our many games of Murder in the Dark.
“Are you right?” called out Luke.
I shoved the note into my pocket. Then I scrambled down the tree, conscious that Luke was watching my every move.
I walked down the garden path to the stump behind the woodshed where Mr Chilvers was splitting logs. I stood for a moment, unsure what to do, and noticed the way his shirtsleeves were rolled back and the sweat patches that had formed at his armpits. I’d never spent much time thinking about Mr Chilvers, but when I had it was to think of him as an old man. Perhaps it was the grey at his temples or the work overalls he wore that had encouraged this idea, but I realised that he was probably younger than my father. Definitely older than Luke Hart. Not that I was thinking about him …
Mr Chilvers paused in his chopping and started when he looked up to find me watching him.
“Mrs Skelton told me to ask you–”
He waved his hand, cutting me off. “I know what she wants,” he said. “And I’ll get to it. But there’s more bad weather coming, and Mrs Kramer will want that fire in the dining room running full pelt. And I don’t fancy chopping wood in the rain.”
I looked to the woodshed that was stacked to the roof with logs, but if he noticed my gaze he ignored it.
“Mrs Skelton is unhappy, I mean–”
“Mrs Skelton isn’t happy unless she’s unhappy with someone,” he noted as he grabbed an armful of logs and stacked them neatly against the outside wall of the shed.
“She said to tell you that Mrs … Grandma is very unhappy,” I repeated dutifully. “Sorry,” I added, just so he would realise I was only the messenger.
“So Mrs Kramer is very unhappy that I haven’t fixed a loose shelf in the pantry? More like Mrs Skelton is unhappy.” He cocked an eyebrow at me and gave me a wry smile.
“Anyway,” I shuffled about scuffing at the ground, “that was the message.”
Mr Chilvers picked up the axe to inspect its edge.
I wondered why a man like Mr Chilvers would hide himself away in the middle of the end of nowhere looking after a property that was clearly falling down around his ears for an old lady who didn’t appreciate it.
“Why do you work here?” I asked suddenly. I hadn’t meant to ask the question aloud and I felt embarrassed.
“It suits me.” He continued inspecting the axe head for nicks.
“What did you do before you worked here?”
He sighed. “You can tell Mrs Skelton if she wants information, she can ask me herself.”
“No, no, I–”
“So, not Mrs Skelton?”
I shook my head.
He pulled out
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