The Mysteries of Brambly Hollow

predicted.
    “I haven’t decided yet whether or not he stays,” Meli reminded her daughter.
    “Yes you have,” Cass retorted, rolling her eyes and flicking her hair dramatically. “I just don’t want it anywhere near me.”
    Meli pulled a face at her before smiling affectionately. Overhead the floorboards began squawking like a dozen terrified chickens being chased by a packet of Sage and Onion stuffing, under the pounding of feet. With a groan, Meli set off to quieten them down.
    Today they were really late. By the time Meli had gained control of her sons and the dog and decided that the only place she could leave it was shut in the bathroom, it was four minutes to nine. Bundling the boys out the door Meli slipped in besides Cass, who was already in the car.
    “Can we keep him?” the boys began to take it in turns to chant, hoping to break her.
    “I don’t know yet,” she replied, certain in her own mind that she hadn’t reached any decision. “Well I haven’t,” she commented, giving her daughter a sideways glance. Cassie didn’t even bother to reply.

Chapter 6

    “And don’t forget to eat your sandwiches,” she reminded her sons in her most authoritative tone as she twisted in her seat to kiss them goodbye outside St. Sebastians. “You can’t live on snack foods.” Once again she’d relented on this point, and alongside their cheese and tomato sandwiches were packed crisps and a chocolate mini roll each. Maybe she was giving them mixed messages? The thought struck her, as well as the sugar heavy diet. It would have been so easy to replace the confectionary with those little boxes of Californian Raisins and a big fat banana, but the image of their disappointed little faces when they opened their lunches was just too much to bear, alongside the worry that they wouldn’t eat anything at all. She was such a softy. Pathetic was another word that sprang to mind. She wanted to be a good mother: but what constituted a good mother? Someone who forced their children to eat healthily? Or someone who fed them whatever they liked? Or someone who resisted the urge to throttle their teenage daughter? Which was very tempting right at that moment as she was struck by the icy bucket of water look that her daughter was hurling at her because they were going to be late? Her brain started to ache. It was like trying to answer the real biggy. What was the meaning of life?
    Checking the road was clear first, Meli pulled away, softening to Cass’ frustration at being late. Cass was, and always had been, a stickler for her routine. Even as a small child she had hurled tantrums at the smallest change. The move to Farfield had certainly broken every routine in the book. In fact, if Meli was honest the word just didn’t exist anymore. The closest thing to a routine was the fact that they all woke up in the mornings and went to sleep at night. Practically everything in between was a matter of sheer coincidence rather than by design.
    “You’re only a little late,” Meli tried to placate her daughter when they parked outside The Willows, trying not to allow her gaze to wander into the already empty school yard. From the chiselled expression and frost bitten eyes, she would have had more luck placating a starving polar bear with an ice pop.
    “I’ll make sure we’re early tomorrow,” she promised the lumpy rear end of her daughter as it departed from the car. “Kids,” Meli blasphemed out loud as the door slammed on the last word. She sat for a moment, undecided whether to go home and check on the dog, or to go straight into town as planned. In the end she decided to go home; not to check on the dog, but to return him. She knew Cal and Cassie were right, they really couldn’t keep him, and it would be better to get shot of him now, before the boys got too attached. Or herself she allowed the thought to register.
    Being greeted by an excited bundle of black fur when she opened the door, did nothing to make her feel any better about her decision to return him. Why couldn’t he have chewed the mat or something? Then it would have been so easy to grab him by the scruff of the neck and throw him out. “You know this is for the best,” she told him in an unconvincing tone, tying the string onto his collar while a long pink tongue flicked frantically in every direction, trying to lick her hand, or her nose, or whatever part of her body was in closest proximity. As she led him through the house, he bounced by