The Shade of Hettie Daynes by Robert Swindells Read Free Book Online Page A

practically built this village, so you’d better get out of my way or I’ll call the police.’ He smiled twistedly. ‘You’ll be depressed
then
all right.’
    The vendor stepped aside and called after Hopwood as he strode away. ‘Everything changes, sir. Nothing stays the same, even for important men like you. Have a nice day.’

TWENTY-NINE
    CHRISTA SMILED AT the thin black cat. ‘You look really cool, sweetheart.’
    ‘Do I, Mum, honestly?’ Bethan looked at her mother through translucent green eyes.
    ‘Definitely. Original or not, if you don’t win that competition there’s no justice.’
    Bethan grinned behind the furry mask. ‘I’ll get done by Aly if I do, after I made her change her outfit.’
    Christa shook her head. ‘It would have been wrong of Alison to go as my poor aunt, Bethan.’
    ‘Great, great aunt,’ corrected Harry.
    ‘Doesn’t matter,’ snapped his mother, ‘she was my family.
Our
family. It’s better this way.’
    It was five to six. Christa picked up the car keys and moved to the door. Bethan picked up her tail and followed. Harry went up to his room.
    Norah Crabtree tore her eyes away from the screen for a second as Alison crossed the room. ‘D’you want a lift, lovey?’
    ‘No, Mum, it’s all right.’
    ‘You sure?’ Her mother had already returned to the six o’clock news. ‘Bit chilly out, dressed skimpy like that.’
    ‘It’s OK.’ Alison paused by the door. ‘Do I look all right?’
    ‘You look a picture, love,’ said her father, gazing at the newsreader. ‘Don’t talk to strangers, don’t get in anyone’s car. Shut the door on your way out. I’ll collect you at nine o’clock.’
    Alison threw a hoodie round her shoulders and set off along Trough Lane. The hem of the old black dress scraped the ground as she walked, and the wind blew cold round her white bony ankles.
    * * *
    Reginald paused in the hallway, called up the stairs. ‘Right, I’m off then.’
    ‘Yes, well.’ Felicity’s voice floated faintly from above. ‘Drive carefully, have a lovely time.’
    ‘Lovely time,’ snarled the councillor, not loudly enough to be heard upstairs. ‘Fat chance of that. Two hours perched on a hard, child-size chair, watching a mob of future asbos cavorting in tatty, home-made costumes to hideous garage music, whatever that is.’ He shrugged into a bulky sheepskin car coat, opened the door. ‘Being expected to eat ghastly toad-shaped cakes made by some sanitarily-challenged mother in God knows what sort of kitchen, washed down with some fizzy red stuff labelled blood.’
    The Chair of Governors drove off, still chuntering to himself.

THIRTY
    EIGHT O’CLOCK. AT Wilton Primary, the Hallowe’en Hop was in full swing. The children were having the terrific time they’d anticipated, and their Chair of Governors was every bit as miserable as he’d expected to be.
    The music was loud, the lighting and decorations awesome, the food gruesome and plentiful. Best of all, there were some truly stunning costumes. Witches and wizards cavorted under spotlights which struck flashes of metallic brilliance from their sequins. Bats, cats, spiders and toads capered among them, ugliness made beautiful by the multicoloured jewels of their eyes. Only one dancer was plain: a thin, white-faced figure all in black who swayed sinuously to a rhythm all her own: who caught Reginald Hopwood’s eye precisely because of her gaunt, haunting plainness.
    ‘Mr Hopwood?’ The headteacher bent close to Reginald’s ear. ‘I wonder if you’ve spotted the costume you feel is the most original?’ She smiled, watching the children. ‘They certainly haven’t made your task an easy one, have they?’
    Hopwood forced a grin, shook his head. ‘No, Miss Gadd, they haven’t.’ He’d just eaten something called a batburger, and its aftertaste was making him suspect it might have been made with an actual bat. ‘However, I
have now
made my choice.’
    ‘Splendid!’ smiled Miss Gadd.