pair of them headed back down the hill she glanced over her shoulder frequently, watching the figures on the horizon until the slope of the ground hid them from view.
***
“Well, what do you think?” David tore off a piece of bread and threw it into the water for the ducks to fight over.
It was the day after their extraordinary visit to Mr Flowerdew. When Kate had phoned David to suggest a walk to Blackford Pond he had accepted at once.
There was an eruption of quacking as three mallard laid claim to the same piece of bread.
Kate shook her head. “I don’t know what to think. He’s probably just a crazy old man, but …”
“But everything fits, doesn’t it?”
“It’s still impossible. It must just be a whole lot of coincidences and him trying to entertain us with a story or something. He’s probably having a good laugh at us right now.”
David looked at her, but she wouldn’t meet his eyes. Instead she reached into the bag for another piece of bread to give to the geese milling about their feet.
“You don’t believe what you’re saying,” David said.
She threw down the handful of bread she’d been holding. “It can’t be true. This sort of thing only happens in TV programmes.”
“Okay. What about the dreams we’ve been having?”
“Coincidence.”
“And what happened in the room with the stones?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Kate pushed her hair behind her ears and reached for another slice of bread.
“I’m scared too, you know,” said David. “The dream scares me. I don’t want to go to sleep, even though I haven’t had it again since the museum.”
They moved away from the geese and began to walk slowly round the pond.
“Just say it
is
true,” mused Kate, “then why us? There’s nothing special about either of us, and Mr Flowerdew must know that.”
David didn’t reply.
“We have to go back and see him again, don’t we?” she went on. “We have to find out more: hear what he has to say and then make up our own minds. I bet if we go back there ready for what he might tell us we’ll realise he’s just a silly old fool.”
Still, David said nothing.
“You believe him already, don’t you?”
“Sort of. I don’t know why; it’s just a feeling. Maybe you’re right: it’s all a story and the dreams are just dreams. I hope you are.”
They had reached the far end of the pond.
“Do you want to go up the hill?”
“Okay.”
There were rough steps up the side of the hill, their cut earth stabilised by old wooden railway sleepers. When they got to the top they turned to look over the roofs and trees spread below them. It was windy up here, though it had been calm enough down by the pond. There were a few brambles still clinging to their thorny stems, missed somehow by those who descended with bags and bowls as soon as they were ripe. Kate pulled a few to eat, but they were half dried out and had lost their sweetness, and she threw them down the hill instead.
“Okay. We need to see Mr Flowerdew to sort all this out,” said Kate. “Can we just tell our parents we want to go and see him again? They might think that’s odd – after all, we’ve known him for years without wanting to go and see him all the time.”
“Yes, but we’d never been to his house before and it
was
really interesting even if nothing had happened, and your mum knows him really well; it’s not as if he’s some stranger we want to see.”
“I suppose so.” Kate shivered. “It’s getting cold. Let’s go back.”
By the time they reached David’s house they’d come up with a way of asking to visit Mr Flowerdew without seeming desperate, but their inventiveness was wasted. The first thing David’s dad said when he opened the door was, “Mr Flowerdew’s just been on the phone. You forgot to take that set of oil pastels away with you,David. I said you’d go round on Wednesday after school to get them. He seemed to think you’d be going as well Kate, but you’d better check
***
“Well, what do you think?” David tore off a piece of bread and threw it into the water for the ducks to fight over.
It was the day after their extraordinary visit to Mr Flowerdew. When Kate had phoned David to suggest a walk to Blackford Pond he had accepted at once.
There was an eruption of quacking as three mallard laid claim to the same piece of bread.
Kate shook her head. “I don’t know what to think. He’s probably just a crazy old man, but …”
“But everything fits, doesn’t it?”
“It’s still impossible. It must just be a whole lot of coincidences and him trying to entertain us with a story or something. He’s probably having a good laugh at us right now.”
David looked at her, but she wouldn’t meet his eyes. Instead she reached into the bag for another piece of bread to give to the geese milling about their feet.
“You don’t believe what you’re saying,” David said.
She threw down the handful of bread she’d been holding. “It can’t be true. This sort of thing only happens in TV programmes.”
“Okay. What about the dreams we’ve been having?”
“Coincidence.”
“And what happened in the room with the stones?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Kate pushed her hair behind her ears and reached for another slice of bread.
“I’m scared too, you know,” said David. “The dream scares me. I don’t want to go to sleep, even though I haven’t had it again since the museum.”
They moved away from the geese and began to walk slowly round the pond.
“Just say it
is
true,” mused Kate, “then why us? There’s nothing special about either of us, and Mr Flowerdew must know that.”
David didn’t reply.
“We have to go back and see him again, don’t we?” she went on. “We have to find out more: hear what he has to say and then make up our own minds. I bet if we go back there ready for what he might tell us we’ll realise he’s just a silly old fool.”
Still, David said nothing.
“You believe him already, don’t you?”
“Sort of. I don’t know why; it’s just a feeling. Maybe you’re right: it’s all a story and the dreams are just dreams. I hope you are.”
They had reached the far end of the pond.
“Do you want to go up the hill?”
“Okay.”
There were rough steps up the side of the hill, their cut earth stabilised by old wooden railway sleepers. When they got to the top they turned to look over the roofs and trees spread below them. It was windy up here, though it had been calm enough down by the pond. There were a few brambles still clinging to their thorny stems, missed somehow by those who descended with bags and bowls as soon as they were ripe. Kate pulled a few to eat, but they were half dried out and had lost their sweetness, and she threw them down the hill instead.
“Okay. We need to see Mr Flowerdew to sort all this out,” said Kate. “Can we just tell our parents we want to go and see him again? They might think that’s odd – after all, we’ve known him for years without wanting to go and see him all the time.”
“Yes, but we’d never been to his house before and it
was
really interesting even if nothing had happened, and your mum knows him really well; it’s not as if he’s some stranger we want to see.”
“I suppose so.” Kate shivered. “It’s getting cold. Let’s go back.”
By the time they reached David’s house they’d come up with a way of asking to visit Mr Flowerdew without seeming desperate, but their inventiveness was wasted. The first thing David’s dad said when he opened the door was, “Mr Flowerdew’s just been on the phone. You forgot to take that set of oil pastels away with you,David. I said you’d go round on Wednesday after school to get them. He seemed to think you’d be going as well Kate, but you’d better check
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