shoulder. ‘It’s good to see you, you know.’
I grinned at them. At one time I had thought that I might live here, if things hadn’t worked out with Neil. It would be fun, I’d thought, sharing their happiness and squalor. Black Stump had a comradeship that was almost Forest-like.
I looked around the kitchen, at the shelves of sticky jam (no one had ever got round to putting doors on them to turn them into cupboards), Hippolyta’s cracked purple toenails, the lines of laughter and fifty years of arguments on Yorik’s face, the cat, Spot, investigating yesterday’s saucepans on the sink.
It wouldn’t have been fun, of course. It would have been sheer hell.
Chapter 8
G loucester arrived back with the children, most of a rusty engine and my floater, with oil on its seat and a skull and crossbones chalked on its door. I wondered whether to explain that unlike my last floater, this one had been hired in my name and I was responsible for any damages.
But why bother? I could afford them.
‘We were a pirate ship,’ explained Portia, elbowing me in the breast as she scrambled onto my lap.
‘In the floater?’
‘Yeah!’ Portia looked at me scornfully, as though to say, ‘of course!’. She had good eyes for looking scornful, bright blue and slightly slanted.
‘Did you find any treasure?’
‘Some,’ Portia looked uninterested. ‘No gold or jewels though. Do you have any gold and jewels at home?’
‘Me? No.’ I was going to ask why I’d have gold and jewels, then realised that as I had chocolate and floaters, it might make sense to a child if I had jewels too.
Would the Black Stump kids like a real pirate ship, I wondered? One that seemed to sail…
‘We made the prisoners walk the plank!’ declared Portia, reaching over for a pumpkin fritter. ‘Then the sharks came and ate them and all the waves were red with blood.’ She bit into her fritter happily.
‘Sharks?’ I asked.
‘Gloucester said sharks always ate people whowalked the plank. They tear their arms off then they eat their legs then…’
‘Don’t talk with your mouth full,’ said Romeo quickly.
‘Why?’
‘Because the food goes all over the table.’
I glanced at Gloucester. He shrugged, expressionless. He’d lost weight since I’d seen him last. His eyes were shadowed, as though they still saw last year’s events.
‘Lunch,’ said Yorik, dumping a platter of boiled corn cobs next to the pumpkin fritters on the table.
Coriolanus, Viola and Horatio scrambled up beside the adults. Portia stayed on my lap and Malvolio sat on Juliet’s and spat leftovers into his beard while Romeo fed him spoonfuls of cornmeal mush.
‘Do you want to hear me recite?’ demanded Portia, her mouth full again. ‘“The quality of mercy is not strained”—did you know we’re going to strain the honey later? You can help if you like,’ she added generously. ‘“It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven…”’
‘Recite it for her after lunch, honey,’ suggested Yorik. ‘Did anyone pick any salad?’
No one answered, so it seemed no one had.
‘Do the people at the Tree know I’m coming?’ I asked, shifting Portia to another knee. My right one had pins and needles.
‘I called them this morning,’ said Ophelia, putting another fritter on Gloucester’s plate. He picked it up absently. ‘They’re expecting you to stay with them. I explained you’d need a base to find out who really did the killings.’
I blinked. I’d expected to stay at Black Stump, not in the heart of werewolf territory. ‘I hope you didn’t lead them to expect too much.’
‘You could have stayed here, of course,’ added Juliet, wiping cornmeal mush from his beard. ‘But when people see you’re staying up at the Tree, they’ll know that you think they’re innocent.’
‘I don’t know anything of the sort yet!’ I protested.
‘Of course they’re innocent,’ said Yorik. ‘You should see Uncle Dusty with the kids. He pretends to be a
I grinned at them. At one time I had thought that I might live here, if things hadn’t worked out with Neil. It would be fun, I’d thought, sharing their happiness and squalor. Black Stump had a comradeship that was almost Forest-like.
I looked around the kitchen, at the shelves of sticky jam (no one had ever got round to putting doors on them to turn them into cupboards), Hippolyta’s cracked purple toenails, the lines of laughter and fifty years of arguments on Yorik’s face, the cat, Spot, investigating yesterday’s saucepans on the sink.
It wouldn’t have been fun, of course. It would have been sheer hell.
Chapter 8
G loucester arrived back with the children, most of a rusty engine and my floater, with oil on its seat and a skull and crossbones chalked on its door. I wondered whether to explain that unlike my last floater, this one had been hired in my name and I was responsible for any damages.
But why bother? I could afford them.
‘We were a pirate ship,’ explained Portia, elbowing me in the breast as she scrambled onto my lap.
‘In the floater?’
‘Yeah!’ Portia looked at me scornfully, as though to say, ‘of course!’. She had good eyes for looking scornful, bright blue and slightly slanted.
‘Did you find any treasure?’
‘Some,’ Portia looked uninterested. ‘No gold or jewels though. Do you have any gold and jewels at home?’
‘Me? No.’ I was going to ask why I’d have gold and jewels, then realised that as I had chocolate and floaters, it might make sense to a child if I had jewels too.
Would the Black Stump kids like a real pirate ship, I wondered? One that seemed to sail…
‘We made the prisoners walk the plank!’ declared Portia, reaching over for a pumpkin fritter. ‘Then the sharks came and ate them and all the waves were red with blood.’ She bit into her fritter happily.
‘Sharks?’ I asked.
‘Gloucester said sharks always ate people whowalked the plank. They tear their arms off then they eat their legs then…’
‘Don’t talk with your mouth full,’ said Romeo quickly.
‘Why?’
‘Because the food goes all over the table.’
I glanced at Gloucester. He shrugged, expressionless. He’d lost weight since I’d seen him last. His eyes were shadowed, as though they still saw last year’s events.
‘Lunch,’ said Yorik, dumping a platter of boiled corn cobs next to the pumpkin fritters on the table.
Coriolanus, Viola and Horatio scrambled up beside the adults. Portia stayed on my lap and Malvolio sat on Juliet’s and spat leftovers into his beard while Romeo fed him spoonfuls of cornmeal mush.
‘Do you want to hear me recite?’ demanded Portia, her mouth full again. ‘“The quality of mercy is not strained”—did you know we’re going to strain the honey later? You can help if you like,’ she added generously. ‘“It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven…”’
‘Recite it for her after lunch, honey,’ suggested Yorik. ‘Did anyone pick any salad?’
No one answered, so it seemed no one had.
‘Do the people at the Tree know I’m coming?’ I asked, shifting Portia to another knee. My right one had pins and needles.
‘I called them this morning,’ said Ophelia, putting another fritter on Gloucester’s plate. He picked it up absently. ‘They’re expecting you to stay with them. I explained you’d need a base to find out who really did the killings.’
I blinked. I’d expected to stay at Black Stump, not in the heart of werewolf territory. ‘I hope you didn’t lead them to expect too much.’
‘You could have stayed here, of course,’ added Juliet, wiping cornmeal mush from his beard. ‘But when people see you’re staying up at the Tree, they’ll know that you think they’re innocent.’
‘I don’t know anything of the sort yet!’ I protested.
‘Of course they’re innocent,’ said Yorik. ‘You should see Uncle Dusty with the kids. He pretends to be a
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