The Pieces of Ourselves by Maggie Harcourt

Author:Maggie Harcourt
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Usborne Publishing Ltd

The west lawn is already scattered with picnic blankets as people settle in for the evening. The closest cinema is a half-hour away by car (even longer by bus) so even if the film isn’t that great, Barney’s summer screenings are always busy, with guests, staff and people from the village covering the grass. Another hot-dog stand across the grass is manned by Libby from the kitchens, who gives me a wave. There’s a little pop-up bar too, where the barman seems to be making cocktails for a crowd three people deep. Threading their way through the blankets and rugs are a couple of the other restaurant and bar staff, handing out red-and-white striped paper bags full of popcorn.

“Do you want a hot dog?” Hal looks longingly back at the stand behind us. Lunch was a long time ago, thinking about it. In fact, I should let Charlie know I won’t be back for dinner – I should have already, but my brother hasn’t exactly been taking up much space in my head. I tap out a quick message on my phone and hit send – and immediately get a bland Okay back, which probably means he’ll want to Talk About This later.

As long as he doesn’t want to talk about it now, that’s okay with me. I turn my phone off and stuff it back in my pocket.

Hal is still gazing at the hot dogs.

“I’ll get them.” I grab two hot dogs, smiling hello at the waiter who’s got lumbered with this shift, and hand one to Hal. He takes it – tucking the bag of popcorn he’s managed to get hold of under one arm. “So, we just sit, or…?”

I gulp down a bite of sausage. “Mmmph. No, not here – I know the best spot. Come with me.”

Still eating, we follow the line of the drive then veer left into the woods, stepping through dappled patches of shade and buttery late sunlight all the way to the black lattice fence that cuts between the trees.

Hal scrunches up the napkin from his hot dog, stuffing it into the pocket of his jeans. “Are you sure this is the right way?”

“There’s a gate up ahead – it’s fine. It’s just to keep guests from wandering too far into the woods this way and ending up in the sheds.”

“The sheds? What do you keep there?”

“My brother, mostly.” I wave away a passing cloud of midges. The narrow gate is padlocked, half-hidden by sprawls of collapsed cow parsley and beech branches, but it’s there. And thanks to Charlie, I have a key. “If we go through here, round the back of the lawn, there’s a great view of the screen from the edge of the woods.” The gate creaks as I push it open. Hal steps through, waiting for me to close it behind us.

“I’m guessing not all the guests get this kind of treatment?”

I step into the shadow of the trees, feeling the air cool around me. “Only the good ones.

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