The Mysteries of Brambly Hollow

in turns to press between the two front seats and drop kisses on her cheek, before exploding from the car with rucksacks and lunchboxes. “Have a nice birthday,” George called over his shoulder. Buckling up again, she waited until they had disappeared through the main entrance before pulling away.
    Cassie ’s school, The Willows, was a mile further along the same stretch of road. Winding the car up the hill, Meli cast her daughter a sideways glance. She really was the limit. Meli understood that Cassie hadn’t wanted to move to Farfield, but they had been here a month now. She had thought that cracks might have begun to show, but looking at the surly face that resembled a bulldog chewing on a sour gooseberry, quickly dispelled any hopes. The boys were totally the opposite. From the moment they had set eyes on Brambly Lodge, the adjoining farm and the rural area, they had fallen in love with it, thinking the whole thing was an exciting adventure, moving to the Back of Beyond, as they called it. Just as she had. They didn’t seem to mind the problems with the plumbing, which meant that there was barely any hot water (hence no nagging them to go and take a bath), and they were lucky if the radiators became hand hot. It didn’t bother them that they couldn’t pop to the shops every five minutes, the only shop in the village being the post office cum store, which only sold necessities; and the Post Mistress had never heard of a Play Station 2, let alone a computer game. They seemed to find plenty to amuse themselves, often vanishing for hours at a time.
    The towering, wrought iron gates of the secondary school loomed into sight on the right. Pulling in behind another car, Meli turned to her daughter, deciding that being the more adult of the two, she should do the adult thing, and try to breach that monstrous wall. “Here we are then Cass.” Plunging her hand into her jacket pocket, she pulled out the two pound coins she had shoved in there earlier. “Here’s your lunch money. Have a nice day.”
    With a great display of effort, Cassie cracked the mould that had kept her neck and face fixed in the forward position. Swiveling her head, she flicked a pair of pastel blue eyes at her mother, eyes that she had taken from her father, but there was none of his warmth; the look was somehow cold and shallow as she plucked the coins from her mother’s palm. “You too,” she returned, as with a flick of her mother’s auburn hair she turned away, giving Meli a parting flash of her plump, black skirted backside as she heaved herself from the car. She hadn’t even wished her a happy birthday.
    Watching her daughter mambo her way across the playground, leaping and weaving over and around the rain splattered puddles with the grace of a pot-bellied pig, Meli wondered, and not for the first time, if there was even one drop of adventure in her daughter ’s entire bloodstream? Somehow she doubted that there was; how could there be, when her veins ran entirely with liquid nitrogen? Mentally, she chastised herself for her uncharacteristically cruel thoughts about her daughter (who she loved really), but it was so hard, near on impossible to be charitable, when every time she looked into her daughters pig-miserable countenance it was a constant reminder of her own doubts, doubts that tortured her daily. Doubts that she had been right to make them all move here, pursuing her own dreams; right to take them away from their friends, from the places they knew so well. Releasing the clutch the car lurched and stalled. She closed her eyes briefly, steadying her rampant thoughts, before she tried again.

Chapter 2

    By the time Meli parked outside Brambly Lodge the storm was giving its final death rattle; soughing through the dripping foliage, puffing tiredly at the bruised and shredded clouds, wringing every last defiant drop of moisture from them, sending spasmodic flurries of rain pattering onto the already sodden earth. Staring at the damp, desolate stone walls of the lodge, Meli was suddenly struck by a reluctance to be in her own poor company, with only her own bleak thoughts. She glanced at the clock in the dashboard. It was 9.30 a.m. The plumber wasn’t due for at least another hour; plenty of time to stroll down to the post office for a paper, and maybe something naughty and sugary, which might go some way to sweeten her mood.
    Zipping up her jacket she slid her long legs from the car and straightening, she stood for a