The Various Read Free Page A

Rayburn stove (also cream) and by the massive and badly chipped porcelain sink. The walls, whitewashed scores of times – though not very recently – were largely unadorned. There were no tasteful prints, no artful displays of kitchen utensils or gadgetry, no pinboards and no curtains. The single window, iron-framed and thickly coated with (cream) paint, looked out on to the farmyard where the car was parked. On the windowsill stood a fruit-bottling jar with a dish-mop in it, and next to that a container of Fairy Liquid. And that was about it. Above all, it was quiet. She could hear the fast tick of a small travel alarm clock, an old wind-up one, that stood high up on the great Welsh dresser next to a couple of pewter mugs.
    A solitary black-and-white photograph, ancient and now yellowing in its heavy black frame, hung on the wall to one side of the Rayburn. It was of a child, a girl in a complicated looking dress and high lace-up boots, sitting very upright on a wickerwork box. Her feet dangled a few inches above the ground, and she held something in her lap – Midge couldn’t make out what it was, some sort of strap with bells on it – as she stared out of the picture. The girl had a round and beautiful face , with a curling mass of fair hair and dark faraway eyes. In the background, pale and blurred, a clock face was just visible. Twenty-five past ten. The girl was smiling, but she looked uncomfortable. And who wouldn’t be, thought Midge, dressed like that.
    ‘Uncle Brian,’ she said, ‘Why are you selling the house? Don’t you like it here? I do.’
    ‘Do you?’ Uncle Brian seemed pleased. ‘You haven’t really seen it yet. Anyway, I’m not selling the house, just some of the land.’ They had come straight into the kitchen from the car, and apart from a glimpse of the dim flagstone hallway where a black spaniel lay (barely acknowledging their arrival with the briefest twitch of her stumpy tail), the rest of the house remained unexplored.
    ‘I love it here,’ said Midge. ‘It’s really cool.’
    ‘Cool enough in the winter,’ said Uncle Brian a little grimly. But he hadn’t misunderstood her, and went on – ‘Yes, I love it too.’
    Midge looked around the kitchen and said, ‘It’s so . . .’ she searched for a word, ‘ . . . friendly. And unspoilt.’
    Uncle Brian chewed on a piece of crust thoughtfully and regarded her. She looked like a typical city kid, this twelve-year old niece, dumped on him (and his own children) for the summer by her high-flying mother. Her jeans, T-shirt and trainers, as he was sure Katie and George would recognize instantly, had not come from the local supermarket, nor had her blonde hair been cut at the shop on the corner. The total cost of her outward appearance would probably be more than he’d spend on himself in two years. She was neat, sharp, and, if not exactly pretty with her overabundance of freckles and rather square jaw, she was certainly enough of a city-slicker to turn the heads of any of the lads in
this
backwater. Yet the words she had chosen in order to describe Mill Farm could be equally applied to her – friendly and unspoilt. He had been worried that she might not get on with Katie and George but . . . well, it could work out. The three children hadn’t seen each other since they were what, five, six years old? Before he and Pat had separated in any case. And now he was to have charge of the lot of them, right in the middle of everything else that was going on. But there. It looked like he’d be able to muddle along without too much disruption to his routine. Speaking of which . . .
    ‘Had enough to eat? Come on then, I’ll show you your room and you can get settled in. Then I must take poor old Phoebe for her walk. I take her out every day for a couple of hours, straight after lunch.’
    ‘Oh, couldn’t I take her out sometimes? Mum won’t let me have a dog. Wish she would,’ said Midge sadly, following Uncle Brian out into