The Mysteries of Brambly Hollow

mum would find out,” George snarled at his brother, as he snatched his trousers from the carpet and rummaging in a pocket produced the small key. With trembling fingers he handed it over.
    Bracing herself, Meli unlocked the door and swung it open. A hundred smelly mice didn’t suddenly leap for her throat; although maybe that was rats she was confusing them with. She stooped down for closer inspection. A layer of sawdust carpeted the floor, and in the far corner a ball of straw began to quiver, and then a little nose appeared, the whiskers quivering as it inspected her with as much trepidation as she was inspecting it. Pushing the door closed, she turned on her sons.
    “How many?”
    “Only two,” David gushed, as though the small number involved made it okay.
    Reaching in she rummaged around in the straw, her face contorted with impending terror as though she expected something to sink its teeth into her arm and tear it off. Finding a furry body, she ran her fingers down to the end where she hoped the tail would be, and not the end with teeth. With a grunt of success, she pincered the tail between her finger and thumb, and lifted it out. At that moment Cassie strolled past. Seeing the wriggling rodent she let out a scream.
    “Mum, why have you got a mouse?” She ran back to her room and slammed the door closed.
    Ignoring her daughter, she glared at David. “And what sexes are these two mice?”
    “They’re both girls.”
    Shrewdly, Meli inspected the squirming figure dangling upside down by its thread like tail like a falling skydiver, with the unmistakably swollen belly. She strongly suspected that the other mouse would be male. Lowering it back down onto the shelf, she watched as it scrabbled away indignantly, and buried itself in the straw.
    “You can’t keep them,” she told the boys, piercing them with hard eyes. “Did you really think you could keep them hidden?”
    “We would have if George kept them cleaned out so they didn’t smell.” Both boys were sitting on their respective beds, scowling at each other. “Please, please let us keep them,” David beseeched her.
    “No way. We’re not having mice in this house. By the way, where did you get them from?” The thought suddenly struck her. Two pairs of lips pursed closed, and their eyes shifted cagily. George’s fingers were plucking at a loose thread dangling from his pillow. “Where did they come from?” This time she aimed the question directly at George, who would usually be the one to crack first. Uncharacteristically, he remained silent, staring down at the carpet between one socked and one un-socked foot. “They’ve got to go back to wherever they came from, so you’d best tell me.” Still no reply. She chewed on the inside of her lip, tapping her toes on the carpet with mounting irritation.
    “Then you can both stay up here until one of you is prepared to come down and tell me,” she shot at them. Still no reply. Turning, she swung the door closed as she left. Why were they so reluctant? It was almost as if they feared her reaction, or the reaction of the person who gave them the dratted mice in the first place. She was stopped in her tracks. Surely they haven’t been visiting Elsa? Going into her home? She forced herself to move on and not jump to any conclusions. It might have been Tim, and they didn’t want to get him into trouble. Reaching the kitchen, she scrubbed her hands.
    When Cal came home they still hadn’t cracked, despite being incarcerated in their room all day, apart from brief breaks, to go to the loo, or when she called them down for lunch. They hadn’t even pleaded for a reprieve, preferring to accept their fate rather than squeal, and that was almost scary. Cal listened as an infuriated Meli told him what had happened, before being charged with interrogating them; but even their father couldn’t get them to break. It was Cassie who came close to providing any answers.
    “I bet it was that guy I’ve heard you talking about,” Cassie gloated over dinner.
    “What guy?” Meli’s hazel-green eyes were on her sons in a flash.
    “Don’t tell her about Finn. Oops,” George clamped his hand over his mouth, as his brother kicked him under the table.
    “Finn? Who is this Finn?” Cal demanded, laying down his knife and fork and fixing them with burning, blue eyes. “You’re going to tell us sooner or later, so it might as well be now, or there will be severe trouble.” The threat only caused the