Free The Moors: Some secrets are better left buried by Jody Medland Page B

attention.
    Christian pulled himself out into view and looked up at her.
    ‘Don’t worry. It happens to us all!’ he jested.
    He was never too busy to fire a flirtatious smile her way, something she had played up to since their first encounter.
    ‘Seemed like she was on the warpath about something,’ prodded Amanda in an initial attempt to goad information from him.
    ‘She’ll be okay,’ he replied.
    Amanda nodded.
    H-m… maybe a change of tactic .
    ‘Your jeep’s in quite a state. You do some damage to it?’ she asked.
    ‘Yeah. The dirt tracks around here are crazy,’ he replied, grabbing hold of a spanner before disappearing under the vehicle again.
    ‘Did I hear you go out last night?’ she ventured.
    She noticed his body become still for a moment.
    ‘Yeah. I tried to leave quietly,’ he assured her.
    Didn’t you just? She wanted to say, in relation to the fact he’d let his car coast down most of the hill in darkness. It was, however, feasible that his actions were simply an act of courtesy.
    ‘Oh! It’s okay. It was late, though,’ she remarked.
    ‘I have trouble sleeping. Sometimes a drive helps.’
    Oh really? In your hunting gear?
    ‘Like insomnia?’ asked Amanda.
    ‘Exactly!’ said Christian, who slid back out from under the jeep to grab hold of his jack. He placed the device on the ground next to the back wheel and, for the first time, he seemed to be avoiding eye contact.
    ‘Did it start when your wife died?’
    ‘You ask a lot of questions,’ he said, in a way that insinuated he wanted no more.
    ‘I know. Forgive me, it’s just… I’d like to know more about you. Not that I have a right to or anything. I mean, you can tell me to get lost or whatev—’
    ‘Without my wife, my dreams are over,’ he blurted, in a moment of honesty that took them both by surprise.
    Amanda fell silent as Christian used a cloth to wipe smudges of oil from his arms and hands. His face was a picture of distant regret.
    ‘And without dreams, I guess there’s no need to sleep, right?’ he continued, his eyes beginning to water. 
    She stepped towards him. Ever so subtly, he recoiled. It was enough to let her know he didn’t wish to be held, yet he still seemed receptive to her sympathies.
    ‘Hey! It’s okay,’ said Amanda, softly. ‘I know how it feels to lose someone.’
    *
 
    Back across the yard, Georgina and Gordon had angled a large plank of wood from the bench to the ground and were playing fondly under Karen’s supervision, whose face seemed likely to cave at the sight of the children’s joy.
    ‘Roll the boss, Gord,’ prompted Georgina.
    ‘Yah!’
    His arm shot out and he rolled an iron ball down the plank, which soon thudded onto the ground.
    ‘Where is it?’ asked Georgina.
    ‘Down the bottom. To the left,’ he informed her.
    ‘The left?’
    ‘Yah. On the left. Down the bottom. You go first. Sunday 13 th February, 1972. Georgina’s go. Knuckle-down.’
    Georgina, armed with a dusty white ball, prepared to roll it down the plank – the object of the game being to get the most number of balls closest to the “boss” ball after each player had rolled three times.
    Karen’s scowl worsened as she nudged Walter. He looked up from his paper and she nodded towards the car park, where Amanda and Christian were locked in a tender embrace. It was an image that made Karen’s blood boil. Whatever Amanda’s reasons for getting close to Christian, she was enraging the most ruthless of enemies.
     
     

CHAPTER NINE
The Boy from Room Four
Sunday 13 th February, 1972
     
    Amanda was undoubtedly making progress with her investigation, but as she helped Margaret prepare dinner her eyes continued to wander back to the kitchen clock that ticked away relentlessly on the wall. She could not escape the fact she was running out of time and if she was going to be satisfied she’d done all she could, she would have to be more aggressive in her approach.
    ‘Maggie, where’s David?’ she