Winter Wood by Steve Augarde

Author:Steve Augarde [Steve Augarde]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Publisher: RHCP
Published: 2012-10-19T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nineteen

‘YES, IT’S A bit disturbing,’ said Uncle Brian. ‘All that business with the tree house and George’s rope ladder.’

‘Mm.’ Midge rubbed her elbow against the misted car window, and looked out at the sleet that came billowing across the moors. ‘He often does pull the ladder up, though. Maybe he climbed down the tree, last time he was up there, or jumped or something instead of using the rope ladder. And then just forgot.’

‘Well, yes. But that doesn’t explain all the mess, or the ruined sleeping bag. I’m a bit concerned, frankly. It looks to me as though we’ve had intruders.’ Uncle Brian glanced across at her. ‘Not that I’d want you lying awake worrying about that, mind. It’ll be just lads, probably. Half-term . . . kids with too much time on their hands . . .’

Lads. Midge smiled to herself. She knew better. Yes, it was pretty clear to her who’d been camping out in the tree house. She was sure she’d caught a glimpse of the culprits, scurrying away into the hedge. But where would they go now? she wondered. The passing countryside looked desperately bleak, a miserable prospect for anyone caught out in this weather. She hoped they’d managed to find somewhere – or better still come to their senses and gone back to the forest.

‘Can you smell something sort of . . . pongy?’ Uncle Brian was making a face and sniffing.

‘I think it might be me.’ Midge had her reply ready. ‘Sorry. I stepped in some compost. I needed it for a school project thingy.’

‘Ah. That’s OK, then. Thought something had crawled into the heater and died.’

Midge pushed her carrier bag a little further into the footwell.

It had only been a few days since she’d last seen Aunt Celandine, but her appearance had definitely worsened, Midge thought. She looked thinner and more frail than ever. And sadder too, somehow. Usually there was a big smile for her whenever she turned up, but today Aunt Celandine just seemed exhausted.

‘I haven’t been sleeping very well,’ she said. ‘And the truth is I don’t want to be sleeping all the time. The doctor comes round and tries to give me pills, but I don’t want them. I want to think, I tell him, not sleep.’

Midge took up her usual perch on the wing-backed chair opposite her great-great-aunt. ‘But you need to rest,’ she said.

‘No.’ Aunt Celandine’s voice was tetchy. ‘There’ll be time enough for that. I can’t be . . . peaceful . . . not in my mind, until I’ve untangled everything. I keep getting close, you know. I remember little bits and pieces of things that happened to me . . . faces and voices . . . sounds. But then they fade away again. Do you know what I wish now? I wish I’d spoken at the time. I wish I’d told people, whilst I still remembered, where I’d been and what I’d done. But I didn’t. I never even told Nina. And now it’s too late.

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