The Mysteries of Brambly Hollow

perfectly logical explanations for everything that happened today.” (Here it comes, thought Meli, tapping her foot silently on the floor, venting her frustration as she watched Cal sit back in his seat and fold his arms pompously across his chest). “Why are you making such a mystery out of all this? You couldn’t have shut the door properly and it swung open. And you’ve said yourself that Elsa can hardly see over the steering wheel, she probably didn’t see you, that’s all. As for the brolly, well I can get you a new one tomorrow.” (And if you do, she thought, I’ll probably use it to beat you senseless with).
    They both turned and stared as Cassie flew into the room from the stairs, like a witch on her broomstick with her long auburn hair trailing behind her and her eyes sparkling like furious red flames.
    “I’m totally sick of this hovel. It’s driving me mad.” She stamped a size six trainer on the carpet. “I refuse to go into that bathroom until you come and remove that monster that’s lying in the bath, staring up at me with those cold dark eyes.”
    Was there a shark in the bath, Meli wondered? Now, how would Cal explain that away? He seemed to think that there was a perfectly logical explanation for everything else. Resentment was bitter in her mouth. He’d been on the verge of saying that the footprints in the hall were her own; almost on the verge of saying that she was acting like a paranoid, delusional loony.
    “What are you on about?” Cal glanced between his wife and his daughter as though they were both as mad as each other.
    “There’s a spider in the bath,” George translated with a snigger from a point mid way up the staircase.
    “You knew. You put it there, you rotter.” Daughter and son vanished in a blaze of very unladylike language.
    “You’ll have to speak to her about that later,” Cal told Meli disapprovingly.
    Meli rose to her feet, a gauzy smile masking the gases that were amassing somewhere in her middle, gasses which would probably ignite at any second.
    “That’s more like it,” Cal commented, dimpling at her. He was obviously under some insane delusion that he had talked some sense into her. “Now what is that noise?” From outside came the growling of a tractor. Puzzled, they both walked up the hall and out the door. “What the blazes?” Cal was clearly upset by the sight that met them. In the lane a tractor was manoeuvring an old milk float into position behind the trailer. With a lurch, he catapulted himself across the drive and closed on the driver. Punching his fist on the side of the vehicle he drew the drivers attention.
    “What are you doing?” he shouted, trying to be heard above the thunderous rumble of the engine. His voice was further drowned out by Quassi, who came racing from the lodge, barking like a rabid mastiff at the snarling intruder. Staring down at Cal from his lofty position, the driver only cupped his hand to his ear and shook his head.
    “Turn off the engine,” Cal yelled, the last two words obscenely deafening as the engine and Quassi, both shut down together.
    “What are you doing with that?” Cal repeated in a more appropriately levelled voice, stabbing with a rigid finger at the monstrosity behind them.
    The burly driver removed a pair of ear defenders and dropped them by his feet. “Delivery,” came the brusque reply, as he leaped down from the cab and moved to the rear of the vehicle, his stout hairy legs visible from the knees down in a pair of stained denim shorts, his tree trunk ankles disappearing into a pair of white sports socks and unbelievably, a pair of open toe sandals. He looked a prat, but there was probably few men brave enough to tell him that, because he was gigantic, standing at least a full six inches above Cal’s head. Stooping down he began separating the two vehicles.
    “But you can’t leave that here, it’s going to be in our way. Who ordered it?” Cal flayed his palms in the air, as though only a moron would want to buy such a thing.
    Without turning round the driver revealed the name of the moron. “Elsa Vitty.”
    “But why are you leaving it here? Surely it’s a mistake? Shouldn’t you dump it nearer the farm?” His suggestion was filled with vain hope.
    “Ms Vitty’s orders.”
    “But it’s in our way,” Cal repeated. The driver only shrugged and carried on. He was obviously a man of limited vocabulary, and he wasn’t going out of his way to stretch this deficient