The Complete Greyminster Chronicles by Brian Hughes

Author:Brian Hughes
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Harris & Hughes Independent Publishers
Published: 2015-03-11T00:00:00+00:00

Dennis Lowry rubbed two circles from the condensation on the shed window and peered gloomily out into the night. The bob of his chin had flattened itself against the pane.

“No point in wastin’ your time, Dennis.” There was a clatter as the old woman behind him worked a rusted bolt free with the flat of her screwdriver. She rubbed a smear of oil up one side of her nose.

Grandma Josephine resembled the sort of toad that school children dissect. Presumably somebody had reached inside her and removed all the bones at some in her history, because now only a handful of muscles were left.

“You’ve got a face on y’ like a scolded ’amster. You’re gonna give me an ’and with this an’ that’s the end of the matter! It’s either that or slop out the pig!”

The machine that was taking up most of the hut’s interior groaned beneath its own weight. Heath Robinson pulleys wheezed asthmatically. Spark plugs fizzled. Exactly what it had been designed for was anybody’s guess.

“It’s not fair!” Dennis snorted. Across the allotments he could make out the colourful lights of Devils Copse performing their own aurora borealis against the autumn sky. “I’m old enough t’ take care of myself!” He thrust his bottom lip out. “Grandma Jo? Don’t you ever get sick of this shed?”

“Not really Dennis. I’m old, y’ see? This place is where adventures begin.” She cast a glance towards the bolt on the rickety door. “Besides which, it’s not s’ much a prison as a protection. Nick Ross might be out there wanderin’ the streets with an axe.”

“Well I ’ate it!” Dennis stuffed his hands in his pockets. “In another four weeks I’ll be old enough t’ do whatever I want. An’ the first thing I’m gonna do is get out o’ this dump!”

He stomped dejectedly across the floor. The machine coughed a rivet into the sink.

“There’ll be no more, ‘Dennis do this, Dennis do that’, ‘Dennis muck out the pig. Dennis sort out the dog’s ringworm. Dennis wipe your sister’s…’” The truth was that Dennis was unhappy. He came from a large and difficult-to-handle catholic family. His grandmother’s ‘Invention Shed’ was his only refuge. “Whatever ’appened to the ’appiest days of my life, Grandma?”

“I’m afraid you’ve ’ad ’em, Dennis.” Grandma Jo probed a gasket with one wizened talon. “You’re workin’ class, so you’d better get used t’ the idea.”

A twine of smoke coiled listlessly round her chin. “Summet you ought t’ be proud of that! Bein’ workin’ class.”

She gave her invention a kick and it sputtered back into life. “Remember when you ’ad that game of football with y’ Granddad?” She prodded her spectacles back up her nose. “Well that was your childhood! Now stop mopin’ about and wash your ’ands. Your dinner’ll look like porridge by the time you’ve done.”

Not that it mattered. The meal already had a coating of grime. Reluctantly Dennis rolled up his sleeves, stooped over the china bowl and smashed his hands about the water.

“Tell you what Dennis.

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