A Trick of the Light by Ali Carter (books for 5 year olds to read themselves TXT) 📗

looking up my weather – fancy that. They really are living through me these days. I’m no longer a daughter out of sight, out of mind. What a happy thought, even if it is in a spoilt-only-child kind of way.

I took in a deep breath, hoping Mum’s finally forgiven me for what I made her do. But I must not dwell on family issues; I’ve come to Scotland for a change of scene. To get away from life down south and take my mind off heartache. Thank goodness my mobile doesn’t have reception, I won’t be wasting time permanently checking if Dr Toby Cropper has been in touch.

Toby’s a mortuary clerk I hooked up with in Dorset last year. He’s so darn difficult to get off my mind. I honestly thought we were lifetime partners. But then, I found out he had a son. I wouldn’t have minded if he’d been straight with me from the start. But he wasn’t. We don’t communicate any more, one non-committal scribbled postcard in answer to my loving letter put an end to that. He’s frozen me out and I can’t help thinking he’s probably now breaking some other girl’s heart.

I clenched my fist and punched the duvet…Why do I always fall for the wrong men?

The dinner gong boomed through the house and I headed downstairs. Pinned up on the music room door was a new notice.

Daily Timetable

Breakfast 8.30am to 9.30am

Morning Tutorial 10am to 12.30pm

Lunch 1pm (buffet at the house or a picnic on location)

Afternoon tutorial 2.30pm to 5pm

Dinner* will be served at 8pm

Wednesday night ceilidh

* Paint-stained clothes are not permitted in the dining room, please wear appropriate dinner dress.

‘No rest for the wicked,’ came a self-amused voice behind me. Rupert was here. ‘I heard the gong, a fine way to rally the troops.’

‘Yes,’ I smiled.

‘Let’s go through, shall we?’ He led the way, pinning the doors open so I could walk through first.

The dining room smelt of gas, the culprit being the non-flued 1970s heater glowing orange in the corner. Mhàiri Bannoch was settling a final bowl of peas on the hotplate, nestling her way between Jane Atkinson, first in the queue, and Giles Chesterton – second.

Zoe doled out instructions. ‘Susie, Rupert, do join the food line, shepherd’s pie tonight. Fergus and I will take the heads of the table and the rest of you can sit where you like.’

No one other than me had changed out of their travelling clothes, something I like to do if I’ve driven a long way. The others are clean and tidy and, as for Zoe and Fergus, let’s just say warmth comes before flair. I’m in a dress, no longer feeling the cold. I’ve had a lovely hot peaty-brown bath and with a bit of snooping I came across a blow heater in the broom cupboard; it’s a bit naughty but I’ve smuggled it back to my room.

My tummy rumbled as I carried my full plate to the table and sat down next to Minty. I waited for the seat on my left to fill before starting, but no one came.

‘Felicity’s turned in for an early night,’ said Jane across the table. ‘She’ll be better tomorrow, just needs some time to herself.’

This could have been a stab at having to share a bedroom but her sympathetic tone suggested Felicity was getting over the likes of a cold.

Fergus was last in line and with a plate full of food he took the long way around the table, whispering something in his wife’s ear as he passed.

‘Oh yes,’ she said. ‘So’s we can save on washing up please remember the colour of your napkin ring; that way you can use the same one every day.’ Anything to save a penny or two.

The turned-wooden rings were painted and the linen napkins dark enough to hide a week’s worth of muck. I laid one across my lap and just as I was about to shove a forkful of food into my mouth a great scream came from the kitchen.

‘Aagh. Aagh. Aagh,’ hurtled through the wall.

Zoe and Fergus took off and as they burst open the swing door Mhàiri Bannoch’s wail came to a grinding halt.

Shane and Lianne began to giggle and across the table a discussion began: ‘Was it a burn?’ ‘Was it a dropped pot?’ ‘Was it an intruder?’ ‘Was it a ghost?’

‘No,’ said Zoe, re-entering the room. ‘I’m sorry about that, Mhàiri just got a fright.’

‘Yes,’ confirmed Fergus, coming in behind her. ‘Nothing to worry about.’

‘What was it then?’ said Lianne.

Fergus looked at Zoe and without a moment of doubt she told us, ‘There was something in the kitchen but we’ve got it out now.’

‘Like what?’ said Shane but Zoe ignored him.

‘Come on,’ she said, ‘eat up, the food will be getting cold.’

‘You not hungry?’ said Lianne, looking at Minty’s spot of shepherd’s pie and tiny portion of veg.

‘I don’t like to eat much before bed.’

Looking at her I don’t think Minty likes to eat much most of the time. Although I do remember that age when things grew outwards, no longer upwards; puppy fat was hard to shed and Mum coined the phrase ‘Rubensian beauty’.

Lianne, in contrast to her neighbour, had embraced the hormonal flux. Her curves, full cheeks and soft, fleshy figure had sex-pot written all over them – à la Titian’s Venus Anadyomene. And as Rupert filled a glass with red wine I hoped Lianne could hold her drink.

Giles took it upon himself to take the bottle round the table.

‘None for me,’ said Minty.

‘Fill it up,’ said Shane, and so it went on, most people tucking into the free alcohol on offer. Getting their money’s worth, this week costing an arm and a leg.

‘Berry Bros. and Rudd,’ lorded Rupert while tapping the label. ‘They provide a good bottle of plonk.’

Louis’ eyes rose to the ceiling.

‘Yes,’ said Fergus. ‘We’re drinking the remainders from the shooting season.’

‘Marvellous to have some left over.’

‘Well, with drink-driving laws so strict nowadays,