be here in the morning, I promise,’ and left.
She could hear the sound of a woodpecker, echoing from high up in the Royal Forest, as she walked quickly back down the hill towards Mill Farm
Outside the farmhouse, Midge paused and listened. The noise of the television came through the open window of the downstairs sitting room. With a bit of luck she might be able to sneak in, and dash upstairs to the shower without Uncle Brian seeing her. She crept in through the front door and walked a little way along the corridor. The sitting room door was slightly ajar.
‘Hi, Uncle Brian!’ she called, in as cheerful and normal a voice as she could manage.
‘Midge! I was just beginning to wonder about you – I’m in the sitting room. Come and look at this.’
‘I’m just going to have a shower. Back in a bit!’
‘What?’
But Midge had fled upstairs.
She scrubbed and scrubbed, but ordinary shower gel made hard work of the oil and grease on her hands. They still looked pretty black, and the cuts and scratches stung like anything. Washing-up liquid might do the trick she thought, but that would have to wait until she was back downstairs again. She gave her hair a quick blow with the hairdryer, changed straight into her pyjamas, and screwed her dirty clothes into a bundle. So far, so good. Now she had to get her clothes into the washing machine. She crept down the stairs and padded barefoot across the flagstone hall, through the kitchen and into the little washroom. She’d just managed to get the dirty bundle into the machine as Uncle Brian walked into the kitchen.
‘You there, Midge?’
‘Yes, I’m just washing some clothes.’ Midge had used the washing machine before, and now she quickly rotated the programme switch and pulled it towards her. The machine came on with a click and a hum. Uncle Brian stuck his head round the washroom door and looked at her guilty face.
‘Aha,’ he said. ‘I
think
I can guess what’s going on here.’
Midge looked horrified.
‘Yeeess,’ continued Uncle Brian. ‘This looks like a girl who has fallen into a ditch, rolled in umpteen cow-pats, sat in a pond, and then thought she could get away with it undetected. I
do
have children of my own you know,’ he added. He wasn’t really angry, she could tell. ‘Anyway, as long as you’re not hur . . . Good God, girl! Look at your hands! Let me see them. What
have
you been doing?’
Midge held out her hands in embarrassment. ‘I was . . .’ – she hesitated – ‘ . . . playing on the tractor. And I fell off.’ It sounded bad enough to account for her dirty clothes, and a few scratches, without being
so
bad as to merit a real storm. She had judged her reply nicely, for Uncle Brian said, quite sternly, ‘Midge, that could have been dangerous. Now
I
know that there’s no way that you could have started the thing, or come to any real grief, but for all
you
knew you could have pressed a button and been roaring across West Sedge Moor by now. Please don’t touch machinery that you don’t understand, OK? Come and have some supper then and we’ll say no more. I’ve saved you a bit of salad.’ He brightened up. ‘Bring it in the sitting room. There’s this amazing nature programme on. You’d like it, I think. David Attenborough.’
So Midge, after a final and futile attempt to get her hands really clean, sat with her salad on her lap and tried to be interested in what was on the television. It was something about life under the sea, but she couldn’t concentrate. So much was going round her head, that she felt dizzy, and a bit sick. The day had been crammed with such impossible events and such astonishing achievements, that she just wanted to be alone in her room to think. She was sure that she would never sleep, although her whole body ached with fatigue. She tried to focus on the television. What was the winged horse doing now? She thought of it lying alone in the little barn on the hillside, with the sun going
She could hear the sound of a woodpecker, echoing from high up in the Royal Forest, as she walked quickly back down the hill towards Mill Farm
Outside the farmhouse, Midge paused and listened. The noise of the television came through the open window of the downstairs sitting room. With a bit of luck she might be able to sneak in, and dash upstairs to the shower without Uncle Brian seeing her. She crept in through the front door and walked a little way along the corridor. The sitting room door was slightly ajar.
‘Hi, Uncle Brian!’ she called, in as cheerful and normal a voice as she could manage.
‘Midge! I was just beginning to wonder about you – I’m in the sitting room. Come and look at this.’
‘I’m just going to have a shower. Back in a bit!’
‘What?’
But Midge had fled upstairs.
She scrubbed and scrubbed, but ordinary shower gel made hard work of the oil and grease on her hands. They still looked pretty black, and the cuts and scratches stung like anything. Washing-up liquid might do the trick she thought, but that would have to wait until she was back downstairs again. She gave her hair a quick blow with the hairdryer, changed straight into her pyjamas, and screwed her dirty clothes into a bundle. So far, so good. Now she had to get her clothes into the washing machine. She crept down the stairs and padded barefoot across the flagstone hall, through the kitchen and into the little washroom. She’d just managed to get the dirty bundle into the machine as Uncle Brian walked into the kitchen.
‘You there, Midge?’
‘Yes, I’m just washing some clothes.’ Midge had used the washing machine before, and now she quickly rotated the programme switch and pulled it towards her. The machine came on with a click and a hum. Uncle Brian stuck his head round the washroom door and looked at her guilty face.
‘Aha,’ he said. ‘I
think
I can guess what’s going on here.’
Midge looked horrified.
‘Yeeess,’ continued Uncle Brian. ‘This looks like a girl who has fallen into a ditch, rolled in umpteen cow-pats, sat in a pond, and then thought she could get away with it undetected. I
do
have children of my own you know,’ he added. He wasn’t really angry, she could tell. ‘Anyway, as long as you’re not hur . . . Good God, girl! Look at your hands! Let me see them. What
have
you been doing?’
Midge held out her hands in embarrassment. ‘I was . . .’ – she hesitated – ‘ . . . playing on the tractor. And I fell off.’ It sounded bad enough to account for her dirty clothes, and a few scratches, without being
so
bad as to merit a real storm. She had judged her reply nicely, for Uncle Brian said, quite sternly, ‘Midge, that could have been dangerous. Now
I
know that there’s no way that you could have started the thing, or come to any real grief, but for all
you
knew you could have pressed a button and been roaring across West Sedge Moor by now. Please don’t touch machinery that you don’t understand, OK? Come and have some supper then and we’ll say no more. I’ve saved you a bit of salad.’ He brightened up. ‘Bring it in the sitting room. There’s this amazing nature programme on. You’d like it, I think. David Attenborough.’
So Midge, after a final and futile attempt to get her hands really clean, sat with her salad on her lap and tried to be interested in what was on the television. It was something about life under the sea, but she couldn’t concentrate. So much was going round her head, that she felt dizzy, and a bit sick. The day had been crammed with such impossible events and such astonishing achievements, that she just wanted to be alone in her room to think. She was sure that she would never sleep, although her whole body ached with fatigue. She tried to focus on the television. What was the winged horse doing now? She thought of it lying alone in the little barn on the hillside, with the sun going
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