Free The Cast-Off Kids by Trisha Merry

‘Welcome to Sonnington.’ I held out the dish. ‘I thought you might like a chicken casserole, to save you cooking
on your first night. You must be exhausted.’
    ‘Quite tired, yes.’ She nodded, with only a hint of a smile. ‘Very thoughtful of you, my dear.’ She took the casserole from me and put it down on the tiled floor of her
porch. ‘Which side are you from?’ she asked, looking at the houses on either side of hers.
    ‘That one,’ I said, pointing.
    ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘The one with the untidy orchard?’ It wasn’t the best start to a neighbourly relationship.
    ‘Yes, that’s right.’ I nodded. ‘We have a lot of children, and they love playing in the orchard.’
    ‘Oh, I hope they won’t be too noisy.’
    ‘I don’t expect so. They’re just normal children, and the orchard is a long way back from the houses.’
    ‘Well, thank you, Mrs . . .’
    ‘Merry, Trisha Merry, and my husband is called Mike.’
    ‘I hope you’ll excuse me if I get back to unpacking boxes, Mrs Merry?’
    ‘Yes, of course. Do you want any help?’
    ‘No, thank you,’ she replied, a little too abruptly, then picked up the casserole dish and held it out a little way in front of her, as if it were infectious. ‘Most kind of
you. Goodbye.’
    ‘I hope you’ll like living here,’ I said as I turned to go.
    ‘Well, that depends,’ was her parting shot.

8
Disturbing the Doves
    P aul was the stoic of the family, even at a very young age. Quite the little toughie. If he cut himself or grazed his knee, he never made a sound,
no matter how much it hurt. He would sit with his lips wavering but clamped together, without complaint.
    One morning, when all the children were playing outside, I called them into the kitchen for a drink and a piece of fruit. They came running in as usual, all except for Paul. Oh well, I thought,
perhaps he doesn’t want to stop what he’s doing; though I couldn’t remember him turning down a drink or a snack before.
    I looked out of the window, down the garden and I couldn’t see him, but I saw one of the giant tractor tyres swinging, so I assumed he’d just finished playing with that and had gone
off to one of the camps, beyond the large shed.
    The children ran off out again, and I thought no more about it. But when I called them in for lunch a couple of hours later, and Paul still didn’t appear, I started to get worried. Really
worried. He was only three and a half. The garden was surrounded and the gate at the side was bolted, so he couldn’t have escaped. What on earth had happened to him?
    ‘Has anyone seen Paul?’ I asked all the other kids.
    There were blank faces and shaking heads all around the table, so I walked over to the window again. It was an eerie sight to see that same tractor tyre swinging, turning and twisting all on its
own. None of the other tyres were moving. It wasn’t even windy. What could be causing it? And where was Paul?
    ‘I’m just popping down the garden to see if I can find him,’ I said to the children.
    ‘Can we come with you?’ asked Ronnie.
    ‘Yes, if you want to.’
    So all the boots went on again and off we all trooped, with me in the lead, hurrying towards the swinging tractor tyre.
    ‘Paul,’ I called as I approached it. ‘Where are you?’
    I heard a muffled sound, but couldn’t make out what it was.
    ‘Paul?’ I called again, just as I reached the tyre and tried to stop it moving. I held on to it and, as it slowed down, I was able to see something move inside.
    ‘I can’t get out,’ the muffled voice wailed. ‘Help! I stuck.’
    I reached in and tried to get my hands round him. He felt all hot and sticky, but he was stuck so deep under the heavy rubber lips of the tyre, which had closed in over him, that it was very
difficult to lift him; and the tyre kept moving away from me.
    ‘Ronnie, Chrissy, AJ – the tyre keeps slipping away from me. Can you all go round to the other side and push it towards me to stop it?’