The Castle by Sophia Bennett Read Free Book Online Page B

was a ramp leading up to it and the shutter was open, which meant it was being used. I didn’t want to be spotted by anyone coming in or out of the house, so I quickly crossed the road and crouched behind a jeep parked next to the gardens. I still had a pretty good view.
    A burly man in a yellow T-shirt and sand-coloured shorts emerged from the van and disappeared into the basement. I ducked further behind the jeep, but he didn’t even glance in my direction. The place went quiet again. I got my phoneand turned it to silent. Now was not the time for Roxanne Wills to go off in my bag.
    I stared up at the gleaming windows, willing someone to look out – some face to give me a clue as to who was inside. But the house was dark behind the shining glass.
    After another five minutes, a different man came up the basement stairs, struggling with an old-fashioned upright trunk. He put it on a trolley and wheeled it up the ramp into the van. He was straining under the weight of it. Were the Wahools moving out? Or just going on holiday? Either way, these were clearly not people who stuffed their clothes into the nearest rucksack and hoped for the best.
    However, one other thing seemed certain: for the moment, at least, the family was here. Of all the places they could have been, I was right – this was this one.
    Was there a cell in the basement, I wondered, near the underground swimming pool? After one simple coach ride, could I really be so close? Dad? Are you a prisoner behind those walls?
    I shivered. The air seemed to shimmer. The house, so close, seemed impossibly distant and impregnable. It was eerily quiet. Apart from the removal guys, there didn’t seem to be anyone about. The only sounds were birdsong and passing traffic, and a pneumatic drill going off somewhere in the distance. A black cat jumped on to a nearby wall, curled its tail neatly around its paws and watched me.
    I couldn’t stop thinking that Max Wahool could be inside right now, which meant Dad was there too. I couldn’t imagine how, or why. Or rather, I could imagine a million scenarios, but none of them made sense.
    My muscles were cramping from all that crouching by the jeep. There’s only so long a girl can pretend to tie hernon-existent shoelaces. Even the removal guys seemed to have given up for a while. I straightened up and checked my watch: 12.15. Perhaps they’d gone for lunch. It seemed amazing that they should leave the van open like that, shutter up, with the ramp leading into it, but they had.
    Rather like an invitation.
    I got a prickle down the back of my neck.
    The house looked impregnable, but the van was wide open. This was the school coach story all over again, but scarier. I could hear Luke in my head, screaming at me not to, but the thing was . . . maths.
    The statistical probability of me making it into the van, finding out something useful about the Wahools and getting out safely was, oh, about ten per cent. Or maybe five. Or – the more I thought about it – one. But the family was moving, it seemed, and the chance of me ever seeing Dad again if I didn’t do something , now, was zero. Absolute zero. That’s how it felt to me. And I was the only one who cared enough to try.
    This was my chance. The only one I’d get. So I ran.

NINE
    I was panting by the time I got inside, and I instantly knew I’d made a mistake. The van was half empty. There was a clothes rail to one side, next to the trunk, and some antique chairs and tables held in place with ropes and blankets near the back. What could I possibly learn from trunks and clothes rails? But beyond them I could just make out one other thing: an ornate writing desk with lots of drawers. Drawers could be full of papers. I ran over to it as fast as I could.
    Only one drawer opened and it was empty. I tried the others. Maybe I’d find a letter mentioning Dad, or a photo, or something connecting them,