Chapter One
Tick
.
Tick
. The big hand on the clock clicks round to three. At last! Luke pushes back his chair and lets out a big sigh. He doesnât mean it to make a noise, but it does. His teacher frowns.
âThanks for the reminder, Luke. OK, everyone. Time to go home. Put everything away in your drawers, please. And donât forget tonightâs homework. I want each of you to prepare a short talk about something that interests you, for tomorrow. Off you go.â
The playground is full of people: mums and dads and carers and big sisters and brothers, all waiting to collect children from St Gilesâ Primary School.
Luke pushes past them. He goes home by himself.
Well, not home, exactly. Luke goes to Grandadâs house, which is twelve minutes fifty secondsâ walk away from the school.
Itâs his favourite place ever. For a start, Grandad is there. Grandad lets Luke make pancakes for tea (and supper and breakfast).
He doesnât ask questions like
what did you learn at school today
? or
what homework have you got tonight
? He doesnât moan about Lukeâs muddy shoes, or tell him to turn the TV off. There are interesting things to look at on the shelves: fossils, and a small brass telescope, and a compass.
And then thereâs the garden. Itâs long and thin, with trees you can climb and grass you can run on.
At the bottom of the garden are the sheds. One is empty apart from a few tools. Itâs the perfect place for sitting in when you want to be quiet and think. It smells of hay. The other shed is the pigeon loft.
Luke pushes the door open. Itâs like stepping into another world.
The air is full of the sound of soft bird calls:
crrroo
,
crooo
. It makes Luke think of cats purring. Feathers float in the warm air. The birds peck at the seed in their boxes and preen their feathers. Their eyes are beady bright. They watch Luke. They know him. Theyâre not scared.
Luke talks to them. He tells them secrets, sometimes â how he doesnât like school. Today, he tells them about football.
âIâm useless at it. I donât even like it, really, but everybody else does. So that makes me different.â
The pigeons coo back. One tries to peck his finger when he holds his hand against the wire mesh. It tickles. He laughs.
Close up, you can see all different colours in their feathers. Green, and purple, and pink and silver.
Luke hears Grandad coming slowly down the garden. These days, he walks with a stick.
âShall we let them out for a fly around?â Grandad asks.
Luke nods. Together, they watch the birds hop onto the edge of the cage as each door is opened. Suddenly they all take flight, off and up into the blue, summer sky. Their wings flash like silver in the sunlight as they wheel round, a silver arc above the houses and gardens and streets.
âLetâs have our tea outside today,â Grandad says.
They are still there when the pigeons come back to roost. They hear the swish of wings as the birds circle over the plum tree.
Mum tuts at Grandad when she comes to collect Luke on her way home from work. âYouâll catch cold,â she says. âThe gardenâs all in shadow, now.â
In the car, she tells Luke he ought to help Grandad in the house more.
âDidnât you see the piles of dirty dishes in the sink?â she asks.âAnd dust everywhere. Heâs getting old. He shouldnât really be living by himself.â
Luke knows Grandad wouldnât dream of living anywhere else.
âFinished your homework, I hope,â Mum says, like itâs a question.
Luke nods. He hasnât, of course. Heâs forgotten all about it, on purpose. He doesnât want to give a talk. He hates talking in front of the whole class.
He thinks about it again at bedtime. He stays awake, worrying. He listens to the owls outside his window.
Even in a town there are owls. Perhaps he could do his talk about
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