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Authors: Simon Cheshire
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well stop and wait for you.”
He was wiry and upright, ex-military if his regimented body language was anything to go by. He was wrapped in a camel hair coat, with a striped scarf tucked neatly round his neck. His shoes were polished to a shine, and the walking stick seemed to be an affectation, since he clearly didn’t need to lean on it. His face was wrinkled and rough, but his eyes were bright and glittering. The sprightliest pensioner I’d ever seen. His white hair was slicked back, in a 1950s style. He certainly bore no resemblance to the macabre, cadaverous thing at the window.
“Pops, this is my new friend Sam Hunter. Sam, this is my grandfather.”
‘My new friend’ she called me! My heart raced.
Something in the man’s tone told me that he knew perfectly well who I was. “So you’re one of the new people at number three, are you?” His voice was snappy and commanding, the no-nonsense voice of someone used to hearing the word ‘yes’ a lot. “Pleasure to meet you, lad.”
“Thank you. I’ve now met most of my new neighbours.”
“Indeed,” he said.
“We can all walk home together,” said Emma.
“I think Sam has an appointment, don’t you, Sam?” said her grandad.
My mind did a kind of double take.
Emma looked at me. They were both looking at me, kindly but expectant. Insistent.
“I didn’t realize, Sam,” said Emma. “Sorry, you go ahead.”
She knew what appointment he meant. She didn’t have to ask. A twist of nerves tightened in my gut.
“I, er…” I stumbled. “I’ll have to give it a miss, I’m afraid. I’ve got lots of homework.”
The old man’s glittering eyes took me apart piece by piece, but his expression was carefully benevolent, a hard mask of sympathy and understanding that pulled the twist inside me even tighter.
“Oh. Now, that’s disappointing.” His words were heavy with disapproval, a passive-aggressive gentility that made me want to leap to attention, to apologize unreservedly, to rush to where I was supposed to be.
“Another time,” I said hurriedly.
“I’m sure you’ll feel better for a chat,” he said.“No?”
“Sorry,” I mumbled.
“Oh dear,” he said amiably, “my daughter-in-law will have gone to some trouble to clear her schedule, but not to worry, of course. Your choice.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Sam,” said Emma brightly, shining her smile on me.
“Yes,” I said.
I rushed away. It might be more accurate to say I fled.
The events of the previous night had given me cause to believe that the Greenhills weren’t quite as squeaky clean as their reputation suggested, that they were harbouring some sort of secret.
On top of that, I now had to add a second suspicion: that there was some kind of ulterior motive for my appointment with Emma’s mother. It wasn’t neighbourliness on the part of Dr Greenhill, it wasn’t the kindly attentions of a hard-working GP.
There was something more to it. Why else would both Emma and her grandfather even be aware of it? What this ulterior motive could possibly be, I hadn’t the faintest idea. All I knew was that by avoiding the appointment, I was clearly causing annoyance.
If I hadn’t left my room the previous night, then I might not even have noticed the Greenhills’ strangely unified front on the subject of the surgery. However, with seeds of suspicion already sown in my mind, this new development made those seeds sprout and flourish. I couldn’t for one minute imagine what connection there might be between my experience the previous night and Caroline Greenhill’s appointment book, but I was in no doubt whatsoever that a connection was there. I just had to find it.
I have to confess, in seeking answers I was at least partly motivated by selfishness, by a desire to write something that Jo’s dad would accept. I wanted to bring in a story, plain and simple. A good one. I wanted to get ahead, as my parents had never managed to do. I wanted to prove, to myself and to
He was wiry and upright, ex-military if his regimented body language was anything to go by. He was wrapped in a camel hair coat, with a striped scarf tucked neatly round his neck. His shoes were polished to a shine, and the walking stick seemed to be an affectation, since he clearly didn’t need to lean on it. His face was wrinkled and rough, but his eyes were bright and glittering. The sprightliest pensioner I’d ever seen. His white hair was slicked back, in a 1950s style. He certainly bore no resemblance to the macabre, cadaverous thing at the window.
“Pops, this is my new friend Sam Hunter. Sam, this is my grandfather.”
‘My new friend’ she called me! My heart raced.
Something in the man’s tone told me that he knew perfectly well who I was. “So you’re one of the new people at number three, are you?” His voice was snappy and commanding, the no-nonsense voice of someone used to hearing the word ‘yes’ a lot. “Pleasure to meet you, lad.”
“Thank you. I’ve now met most of my new neighbours.”
“Indeed,” he said.
“We can all walk home together,” said Emma.
“I think Sam has an appointment, don’t you, Sam?” said her grandad.
My mind did a kind of double take.
Emma looked at me. They were both looking at me, kindly but expectant. Insistent.
“I didn’t realize, Sam,” said Emma. “Sorry, you go ahead.”
She knew what appointment he meant. She didn’t have to ask. A twist of nerves tightened in my gut.
“I, er…” I stumbled. “I’ll have to give it a miss, I’m afraid. I’ve got lots of homework.”
The old man’s glittering eyes took me apart piece by piece, but his expression was carefully benevolent, a hard mask of sympathy and understanding that pulled the twist inside me even tighter.
“Oh. Now, that’s disappointing.” His words were heavy with disapproval, a passive-aggressive gentility that made me want to leap to attention, to apologize unreservedly, to rush to where I was supposed to be.
“Another time,” I said hurriedly.
“I’m sure you’ll feel better for a chat,” he said.“No?”
“Sorry,” I mumbled.
“Oh dear,” he said amiably, “my daughter-in-law will have gone to some trouble to clear her schedule, but not to worry, of course. Your choice.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Sam,” said Emma brightly, shining her smile on me.
“Yes,” I said.
I rushed away. It might be more accurate to say I fled.
The events of the previous night had given me cause to believe that the Greenhills weren’t quite as squeaky clean as their reputation suggested, that they were harbouring some sort of secret.
On top of that, I now had to add a second suspicion: that there was some kind of ulterior motive for my appointment with Emma’s mother. It wasn’t neighbourliness on the part of Dr Greenhill, it wasn’t the kindly attentions of a hard-working GP.
There was something more to it. Why else would both Emma and her grandfather even be aware of it? What this ulterior motive could possibly be, I hadn’t the faintest idea. All I knew was that by avoiding the appointment, I was clearly causing annoyance.
If I hadn’t left my room the previous night, then I might not even have noticed the Greenhills’ strangely unified front on the subject of the surgery. However, with seeds of suspicion already sown in my mind, this new development made those seeds sprout and flourish. I couldn’t for one minute imagine what connection there might be between my experience the previous night and Caroline Greenhill’s appointment book, but I was in no doubt whatsoever that a connection was there. I just had to find it.
I have to confess, in seeking answers I was at least partly motivated by selfishness, by a desire to write something that Jo’s dad would accept. I wanted to bring in a story, plain and simple. A good one. I wanted to get ahead, as my parents had never managed to do. I wanted to prove, to myself and to
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