one.’
‘That would be good,’ said Tess. ‘That would make everything easier.’
‘It’s a date, then,’ said Kevin, then blushed. ‘I don’t mean that kind of a date. I mean …’
Tess laughed, but she could feel herself colouring as well. For a moment each of them struggled separately, trying to think of something normal to say. Tess got there first.
‘What do the rats think of the woods?’ she asked.
Kevin burst out laughing. ‘They were very funny,’ he said. ‘They were like a coach-load of middle-aged tourists who have been brought to the wrong hotel.’ He lapsed into fluent Rat as he continued. ‘Feed-shed, huh, huh? Soap? Cupboards?’
Tess laughed.
‘Usguys wet and cold,’ Kevin went on. ‘Usguys breaking our teeth on hazelnuts!’
If anyone had been watching through the trees they would have thought the two friends were quite mad, sitting in silence and laughing at nothing at all. But they understood each other perfectly.
‘Blackberries sour! Yeuch! Hard work hunting, hard work making new nests!’
Tess could visualise them; fat pampered house rats, amazed at the lives their forerunners led, returning with the utmost reluctance to their wild roots.
‘Will they stay, do you think?’ she asked, returning to human speech.
Kevin nodded confidently. ‘For a few generations at least. I painted a ferocious picture of Pestokill. They’ll be telling their children and grandchildren about it. Like the bogeyman.’
Tess finished her tea but declined the breakfast that Kevin offered, not because the bread was squashed and the butter was full of grit but because she felt it would be better politics to make an appearance at the house.
‘See you later,’ she said.
Kevin was trying to cut the bread with a blunt knife, but he looked up when, a minute later, Tess was still standing there, as if undecided.
‘You OK?’ he asked.
Tess nodded. ‘I was just wondering,’ she said.
‘Wondering what?’
‘Did you see anything in the woods? Anything strange?’
‘Not exactly. But there was a funny feeling about the place. I didn’t really want to go in. Just left the rats at the edge like you suggested. Why?’
Tess shook her head. ‘Just wondered.’
‘Did you?’ Kevin asked.
‘I’m not sure,’ she said. ‘It was probably just my imagination. Maybe we could go there together some time?’
‘All right by me,’ said Kevin.
‘It’s a date, then,’ said Tess.
Then, before Kevin could question her more closely, she Switched into a hawk again and sprang away into the sky.
CHAPTER NINE
U NCLE MAURICE WAS IN much better humour that morning. He was so cheerful, in fact, that Tess was suspicious. Something had to be wrong.
She helped him, all the same, as he finished the milking.
‘You’re up early,’ he said. ‘Do you always get up so early? At home, I mean?’
‘Not usually,’ said Tess, pulling open the sliding door of the milking parlour to let the last of the cows go out. ‘Specially not at weekends. It’s different here, somehow.’
‘It is,’ said Uncle Maurice. ‘The light is different. It comes earlier in the country than it does in the town.’
It didn’t, but Tess knew what he meant. There was a clarity about the dawn and an urgency in it. Maybe it was the racket that the birds made, or the fact that no buildings or exhaust fumes obscured the sun. Maybe it was none of those things, but Tess’s own urgency; her knowledge that time was running out.
Her uncle’s voice disturbed her thoughts. ‘What do you make of that boy, then?’
‘Which boy?’
‘The lad that took the rats away. Did you see that?’
‘I did. It was amazing, wasn’t it?’
‘Amazing is right,’ said Uncle Maurice. ‘Would you say he could do it again? In another place, like?’
‘I don’t see why not,’ said Tess.
‘No. I don’t either.’ He took the pipe out of the creamery tank and connected the milking system up to the tap to be cleaned out. He was whistling
‘That would be good,’ said Tess. ‘That would make everything easier.’
‘It’s a date, then,’ said Kevin, then blushed. ‘I don’t mean that kind of a date. I mean …’
Tess laughed, but she could feel herself colouring as well. For a moment each of them struggled separately, trying to think of something normal to say. Tess got there first.
‘What do the rats think of the woods?’ she asked.
Kevin burst out laughing. ‘They were very funny,’ he said. ‘They were like a coach-load of middle-aged tourists who have been brought to the wrong hotel.’ He lapsed into fluent Rat as he continued. ‘Feed-shed, huh, huh? Soap? Cupboards?’
Tess laughed.
‘Usguys wet and cold,’ Kevin went on. ‘Usguys breaking our teeth on hazelnuts!’
If anyone had been watching through the trees they would have thought the two friends were quite mad, sitting in silence and laughing at nothing at all. But they understood each other perfectly.
‘Blackberries sour! Yeuch! Hard work hunting, hard work making new nests!’
Tess could visualise them; fat pampered house rats, amazed at the lives their forerunners led, returning with the utmost reluctance to their wild roots.
‘Will they stay, do you think?’ she asked, returning to human speech.
Kevin nodded confidently. ‘For a few generations at least. I painted a ferocious picture of Pestokill. They’ll be telling their children and grandchildren about it. Like the bogeyman.’
Tess finished her tea but declined the breakfast that Kevin offered, not because the bread was squashed and the butter was full of grit but because she felt it would be better politics to make an appearance at the house.
‘See you later,’ she said.
Kevin was trying to cut the bread with a blunt knife, but he looked up when, a minute later, Tess was still standing there, as if undecided.
‘You OK?’ he asked.
Tess nodded. ‘I was just wondering,’ she said.
‘Wondering what?’
‘Did you see anything in the woods? Anything strange?’
‘Not exactly. But there was a funny feeling about the place. I didn’t really want to go in. Just left the rats at the edge like you suggested. Why?’
Tess shook her head. ‘Just wondered.’
‘Did you?’ Kevin asked.
‘I’m not sure,’ she said. ‘It was probably just my imagination. Maybe we could go there together some time?’
‘All right by me,’ said Kevin.
‘It’s a date, then,’ said Tess.
Then, before Kevin could question her more closely, she Switched into a hawk again and sprang away into the sky.
CHAPTER NINE
U NCLE MAURICE WAS IN much better humour that morning. He was so cheerful, in fact, that Tess was suspicious. Something had to be wrong.
She helped him, all the same, as he finished the milking.
‘You’re up early,’ he said. ‘Do you always get up so early? At home, I mean?’
‘Not usually,’ said Tess, pulling open the sliding door of the milking parlour to let the last of the cows go out. ‘Specially not at weekends. It’s different here, somehow.’
‘It is,’ said Uncle Maurice. ‘The light is different. It comes earlier in the country than it does in the town.’
It didn’t, but Tess knew what he meant. There was a clarity about the dawn and an urgency in it. Maybe it was the racket that the birds made, or the fact that no buildings or exhaust fumes obscured the sun. Maybe it was none of those things, but Tess’s own urgency; her knowledge that time was running out.
Her uncle’s voice disturbed her thoughts. ‘What do you make of that boy, then?’
‘Which boy?’
‘The lad that took the rats away. Did you see that?’
‘I did. It was amazing, wasn’t it?’
‘Amazing is right,’ said Uncle Maurice. ‘Would you say he could do it again? In another place, like?’
‘I don’t see why not,’ said Tess.
‘No. I don’t either.’ He took the pipe out of the creamery tank and connected the milking system up to the tap to be cleaned out. He was whistling
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