The Various by Steve Augarde

Author:Steve Augarde
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
ISBN: 9781407077819
Publisher: RHCP

Chapter Fourteen

IT SOUNDED AS though someone was dragging a coffin along the landing – a heavy scrape of wood on wood – and Midge, who had been lying half-awake, gingerly exploring the scratches on the back of her neck, opened her eyes at last and gave up all hopes of a long and peaceful lie-in. The sun was already streaming through the gap in her curtains, and she narrowed her eyes against the glare in order to look at her wristwatch. Five past nine. Thump scrape thump. What was all that racket? She heard George’s voice – ‘Give us a hand, Kate,’ and Katie’s muffled reply – ‘Can’t. I’m doing my hair.’ More puffing and heavy scraping.

Midge sat up with a sigh and pulled back the duvet, swinging her legs out over the side of the bed – but quickly realized that she was going to have to stay where she was for a moment or two. She didn’t feel good. Her whole body ached and her skin prickled in a hundred places from the cuts and scratches of yesterday’s thorn bushes. It all came back to her in a rush – the fear, the pain and the shock of it – and she just wanted to lie back down on the bed, curled up in a ball, to sleep forever. She missed her mum.

‘Ow!’ She could hear George, cursing now beneath his breath, as he walked quickly up and down on the landing outside. Her curiosity and natural resilience overcame her desire to sink back down into the pillows, and she pushed herself up from the bed. She moved stiffly over to the door, turned the loose brass handle and peered out into the corridor. George was walking in a tight circle, red-faced, both hands tucked beneath his armpits

‘Sugar!’ he hissed under his breath. ‘Sugarsugarsugar . . .’ He caught sight of Midge, still in her pyjamas, and realized that she must have heard him. ‘Oh. Hullo. Er . . . sorry. Dropped it on my fingers.’ He pulled his hands from beneath his armpits and blew vigorously on his fingertips. Midge rubbed her eyes and looked at the long wooden box that blocked the landing. It wasn’t much smaller than a coffin after all.

‘What is it?’ she said.

‘Ammo box,’ said George. ‘Found it last Easter.’ His face was returning to something like its normal colour, and he had stopped walking in circles. ‘Weighs a ton.’ He sucked his fingers and blew on them again, his thick curtain of hair falling forward over his knuckles.

‘What’s in it?’ said Midge. The box was made of rough planking, and painted army green. There was a broken bit of rope attached to one end – the remains of a carrying handle.

‘Oh, everything,’ said George, with a flick of his head. ‘All my tree house stuff.’

‘Well, can’t you unpack some of it?’

‘S’pose I’ll have to,’ said George gloomily. ‘I thought that if I got it to the top of the stairs, it could make its own way down, more or less.

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