Free The Skeleton Garden by Marty Wingate Page A

say she had a few stories to tell,” Stan said.
    Pru ransacked the storage shelves in her mind, looking for a wartime tidbit she could share—not with Stan, but with Simon. “A shelter! They had one of those”—Pru waved her hand over her head—“those small metal shelters in the garden. They’d have to go out to it during air raids.”
    “An Anderson shelter?” Simon asked. “Birdie and George had one—I played in it when I was a lad. Got rid of it in the ’60s and planted apple trees on the spot.” He stared down at his hands. “Those’ll need pruning this winter.”
    “We’d go down into the cellars at the Duke,” Stan said, “the Blackbird as it turned into. Might be twenty of us: Jimmy Chatters, Kitty, her mum and dad—if he was able—and my mum. Have a cuppa, play a game of draughts. My mum always knitting. Listen to the engines overhead and wait for the whistling sound of the bombs.”
    “Ah, so here you all are,” Kitty Bassett said, walking through the hedge opening. She had on a shapeless black coat buttoned up to her chin and a maroon scarf pulled tight over her head, the ends tucked inside. Close on her heels was Sonia, and behind the duck, a young woman.
    She was tall and wore a leotard and layers of leggings—thin, black fabric stretched tightly over her willowy figure. The layers were topped by a sheer, pink A-line pinafore made of stiff fabric; black, midcalf boots with chunky heels and laces finished her ensemble. A thick, gray woolly cap pulled over her ears set off her round face and round eyes. In lieu of a coat to keep her warm, she had wrapped her arms around herself and stood with a solemn expression and head at a tilt, watching the activity.
    “Morning, Kitty,” Pru said, then turned to the girl. “And you must be Jemima—hello.”
    “Hello, yes, pleased to meet you, Ms. Parke,” Jemima said in a voice far too serious for the circumstances.
    “Kitty, Jemima, this is Orlando Barnes, our nephew who is staying with us.” Pru glanced at Orlando who stood frozen, unblinking, eyes on Jemima.
    The girl’s gaze landed briefly on Orlando, then fluttered to earth like a butterfly. She murmured, “Hello.”
    Orlando’s head bobbed up and down, and his mouth opened, but nothing came out.
    “I spied those three in the lane,” Kitty said, nodding to Simon, Stan, and Orlando. “You looked as if you were on a mission. We thought we’d come along and see what was afoot. And look here”—she pointed to the tail of the plane—“Germans.”
    “So now, Kitty, were you ready to set your ducks on them?” Simon asked.
    “I’d say the Germans wouldn’t want to meet my runners in a dark lane.”
    Pru and Simon returned to digging. Orlando stayed where he was and kept glancing at Jemima, who seemed not to notice.
    As they worked, Pru saw Evelyn standing just inside the opening of the hedge. She held a kitchen chair and beckoned to Orlando, who carried the chair to Kitty.
    Simon leaned over to pick up a dial, only a few inches across. Broken wires stuck out the back, and the shattered glass obscured the face. “Here you are now.” He climbed out and handed it to Stan, who turned it over and over in his hands.
    “
Galaxy Raiders
had a story line about a buried ship. The
Copernicus
once plunged into the sand on the planet Drooz,” Orlando said, gingerly inspecting a ragged slice of metal before laying it on the ground. “It was buried for a century. They found their way out again by reversing time so that they could get back to fight in the Tucana wars.”
    All heads turned to the boy, but no one spoke, until Jemima, wide eyes widening even further, said, “May the galactic winds be at your back.”
    Orlando straightened up and thrust his chin in the air. “May the suns of Sequentia light your path,” he replied, then glanced round at their audience and turned red.
    Christopher’s car pulled into the drive and caught everyone’s attention. When he walked into the garden, Pru