The Mysteries of Brambly Hollow

fleshy, un-cellulite thighs. Taking a deep breath, Meli restrained herself, and only shook her head.
    Twenty minutes later, Meli manoeuvred her car into its usual spot on the drive. Opening the door, she paused, her eyes flicking around her. There it was again, that skin crawling sensation that she was being watched. There was no one there. From where she was sitting, she could see that the door was closed, and the only sounds were the distant courr courr of a cuckoo and the closer warbling notes of a flock of lapwings. Sternly, she told herself that it was just her imagination and she trampled underfoot the seeds of unease before they could sprout.
    Emerging from the car she played hopscotch between the poopy tyre tracks, then reaching the door she removed her shoes, just in case, and left them beside Cal’s disgusting slipper. If Cal thought she was going to clean it, he had another thing coming. Turning, her lips compressed as she surveyed the unsanitary drive. Shit Hole, sprang to mind. Why should she have to hose it down? Everyone assumed that just because she was at home every day that she should do everything. Well it wasn’t fair. Cal would have to do it. Now she had her commission, she was going to be working just as hard, if not harder than anyone else. Cal couldn’t expect her to do everything, and if he did she would soon put him straight. Sleepless nights seemed to suit her, she harboured the notion proudly, made her much more feisty.
    The morning flashed by. It was great to be working. At lunchtime she headed indoors to make herself a well earned and much needed sandwich. Quassi stirred this time, blinking at her momentarily before almost dislocating his jaw with a cavernous, toothy yawn. Stepping over him, she turned on the T.V.- the C.D. remote was still missing - just a voice to keep her company and dispel the quiet that she sometimes found disquieting of late.
    As soon as she settled at the table, with a neatly made round of cheddar sandwiches, topped by a crunchy layer of pickle, Quassi dragged himself to his feet, and came and perched by her side. Without looking down, Meli could feel his sorrowful eyes begrudgingly following every mouthful. Meli wouldn’t share food at the table with him, she was firm about that (probably the only thing she shared with Cassie), and her reward was that he didn’t turn on the dribble tap when she was eating, as he did with the weak males in the house.
    While she still had one whole half sandwich to go, Quassi suddenly leaped to his feet and scampered away to stand in front of the TV, his ears pricked attentively on his head. Intrigued, Meli followed, and stood observing him. Flicking her eyes at the TV she saw that there was an old black and white war movie on. At that moment an SS man, who was speaking in German, was interrogating a man and a woman, and the sub titles were written underneath. Quassi sat down, then suddenly flattened himself to the floor. Meli began taking note of the English words. Was it purely her imagination? But no, if she wasn’t mistaken, Quassi seemed to be picking up on some of the words.
    “Sit down.” The SS man ordered the young French woman in German. The woman and Quassi both sat. After a couple of minutes he said. “Tell your friends to lay down their arms.” Quassi lay down. When he said, “Come here.” Quassi rose to all fours, moved closer to the TV and flicked his tongue lovingly across the scarred, embittered face.
    Meli had done some German at school, a long time ago. Delving deep, she managed to dig up a few dusty skeletons. “Kommen Sie hier,” she tried tentatively. Quassi’s head snapped round, and with a never before witnessed display of obedience he trotted over to her side, his tail thrashing in the air with such force that it could have brought in the entire wheat harvest in Devon. She looked at him in amazement. “So you speak German?” She was stunned. That would explain so much. Fumbling in her mind she translated it into German. “Sprechen Deutsch?”
    His tongue lashed her fingers as though they were smothered in beef dripping, his large chocolate drops eyes as bright as buttons. He gave a tiny yap of approval, as if the whole world had suddenly stopped speaking gibberish and started speaking his native language. This was cause for celebration. Big time. Galloping across to his bowl he snatched up a biscuit, and clutching it between his smiling teeth he trotted back to her and dropped it at her