Read Online Kisses for Lula by Samantha Mackintosh - Free Book Online
Authors: Samantha Mackintosh
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now!
’ I shrieked. Dammit. Now we’d have to go through the woods and cutback into the town through the crematorium yard. Thank goodness it was morning. What could be scary about a crematorium yard in the morning?
If there is smoke, I can just tell myself it’s mist
, I thought, admiring my courage.
Wrapping the dogless lead into a circle round my shoulder, I rode as fast as I dared through the trees, whistling sharply for Boodle. At last she galloped over, then ran alongside the bike happily.
I followed a small rough path cut deep into dry earth, trying not to waggle the wheel off course. I was no mountain biker. Kids from school loved coming up here to try out the trails and there was a bunch of homemade ramps and jumps in a dell nearby that was a crush of flying bikes on a Saturday afternoon.
I could see the enormous stone chairs of Coven’s Quarter up ahead, looming out of the morning mist like something out of
The Lord of the Rings
. Massive slabs of rock just higher than the ground that could seat about three adults side by side, with great boulders on either side for armrests. The backrests were the standing stones, reaching up four or five metres. There were seven chairs in all, placed in a rough circle at the bottom of a vast hollow that the pines and beech trees kept a respectful distance from. I always felt that my chair was the narrowest one with the highest backrest. ‘Thronelike,’ Tam had commented when I’d declared my spot at a picnic we’d had here last summer.
My stomach twisted at the thought of the development that might take its place. Grandma Bird would never have let it happen. Never. She always said it was one of the few places left where real magic was still possible.
No time to absorb its energy today. I lurched through the undergrowth, Boodle right at my side now, her tongue at last lolling out the side of her mouth, and whisked my hand across the back of my chair as we sailed by.
‘Give us luck,’ I said softly, and then we were off at a diagonal downhill. I could just make out the tips of the tall peaked rooves of the Setting Sun Retirement Home below, then nothing until the immense chimneys of Cluny’s Crematorium. No smoke wisped from the top of them this morning, but Boodle slowed with a whimper anyway. I didn’t waste a moment. Throwing down the bike, I clipped the lead back on, rolling it up till it was bunched in my left fist, and took stock of the best way down.
‘Ready, Boodle?’ I asked. She turned her head and blinked her big brown eyes, tongue still lolling. I grinned and got back on the bike. This could work.
‘Let’s go!’ I whooped, and we were off.
We sped downhill at a million miles an hour till at last the tarmac of North Road appeared through the trees. Skidding to a halt, I checked my watch.
7.13.
Frik, frik. Seven minutes! But the hardest part was over.Slipping and sliding in haste down the bank, I caught my forearms and shins on a thousand nettles and Boodle had a trail of some green creeper round her neck, like I’d garlanded her specially. No time to address her accessories. We threw ourselves out on to the road and pelted down the hill, wheels a-blur, Boodle’s breath starting to gasp faintly. Then left into Stanton. I could see Arns just ahead: he was early, brilliant boy, jogging slowly now on the approach to the corner.
I curved my mouth into a piercing whistle and blasted twice. Arns didn’t even look back. From what I could see the fake sweat patches had widened, though he eased effortlessly into one-hundred-metre-sprint pace before I’d even started the second whistle. I slowed the bike and pulled Boodle in hard. The timing had to be perfect. By the time we’d got to the corner, Arns was halfway up the hill and far closer to the dining halls than I’d thought.
Fffff! I gave it everything, which took some doing, because I couldn’t adjust the gears while trying to keep Boodle on a tight leash, and balance and steer at the same
’ I shrieked. Dammit. Now we’d have to go through the woods and cutback into the town through the crematorium yard. Thank goodness it was morning. What could be scary about a crematorium yard in the morning?
If there is smoke, I can just tell myself it’s mist
, I thought, admiring my courage.
Wrapping the dogless lead into a circle round my shoulder, I rode as fast as I dared through the trees, whistling sharply for Boodle. At last she galloped over, then ran alongside the bike happily.
I followed a small rough path cut deep into dry earth, trying not to waggle the wheel off course. I was no mountain biker. Kids from school loved coming up here to try out the trails and there was a bunch of homemade ramps and jumps in a dell nearby that was a crush of flying bikes on a Saturday afternoon.
I could see the enormous stone chairs of Coven’s Quarter up ahead, looming out of the morning mist like something out of
The Lord of the Rings
. Massive slabs of rock just higher than the ground that could seat about three adults side by side, with great boulders on either side for armrests. The backrests were the standing stones, reaching up four or five metres. There were seven chairs in all, placed in a rough circle at the bottom of a vast hollow that the pines and beech trees kept a respectful distance from. I always felt that my chair was the narrowest one with the highest backrest. ‘Thronelike,’ Tam had commented when I’d declared my spot at a picnic we’d had here last summer.
My stomach twisted at the thought of the development that might take its place. Grandma Bird would never have let it happen. Never. She always said it was one of the few places left where real magic was still possible.
No time to absorb its energy today. I lurched through the undergrowth, Boodle right at my side now, her tongue at last lolling out the side of her mouth, and whisked my hand across the back of my chair as we sailed by.
‘Give us luck,’ I said softly, and then we were off at a diagonal downhill. I could just make out the tips of the tall peaked rooves of the Setting Sun Retirement Home below, then nothing until the immense chimneys of Cluny’s Crematorium. No smoke wisped from the top of them this morning, but Boodle slowed with a whimper anyway. I didn’t waste a moment. Throwing down the bike, I clipped the lead back on, rolling it up till it was bunched in my left fist, and took stock of the best way down.
‘Ready, Boodle?’ I asked. She turned her head and blinked her big brown eyes, tongue still lolling. I grinned and got back on the bike. This could work.
‘Let’s go!’ I whooped, and we were off.
We sped downhill at a million miles an hour till at last the tarmac of North Road appeared through the trees. Skidding to a halt, I checked my watch.
7.13.
Frik, frik. Seven minutes! But the hardest part was over.Slipping and sliding in haste down the bank, I caught my forearms and shins on a thousand nettles and Boodle had a trail of some green creeper round her neck, like I’d garlanded her specially. No time to address her accessories. We threw ourselves out on to the road and pelted down the hill, wheels a-blur, Boodle’s breath starting to gasp faintly. Then left into Stanton. I could see Arns just ahead: he was early, brilliant boy, jogging slowly now on the approach to the corner.
I curved my mouth into a piercing whistle and blasted twice. Arns didn’t even look back. From what I could see the fake sweat patches had widened, though he eased effortlessly into one-hundred-metre-sprint pace before I’d even started the second whistle. I slowed the bike and pulled Boodle in hard. The timing had to be perfect. By the time we’d got to the corner, Arns was halfway up the hill and far closer to the dining halls than I’d thought.
Fffff! I gave it everything, which took some doing, because I couldn’t adjust the gears while trying to keep Boodle on a tight leash, and balance and steer at the same
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