Free The Shade of Hettie Daynes by Robert Swindells

thing over and over.’
    Harry shook his head. ‘I’m
nothing
like Dad – it does my head in when you say that.’
    ‘I’m sorry, love. Of
course
you’re not like him. It’s just that I’ve asked you not to take Bethan near the reservoir, especially in the dark, and you did so regardless.’
    ‘It’s not
all
Harry’s fault,’ put in Bethan. ‘I’m interested in the old mill too, and—’ She nearly mentioned the ghost, but stopped herself in time. ‘And I nag him to take me.’
    ‘Yes well,’ said Christa, ‘we’ll say no more about it, at least not tonight.’ She smiled. ‘Decide who’s having the first shower, and I’ll put the kettle on for hot chocolate.’
    Brother and sister slept like logs that night, but their mother did not. She lay thinking about Wilton Water, Hettie Daynes and the strange behaviour of Councillor Hopwood. On the face of it, the three topics were unconnected.
    But
were
they?

FORTY-FOUR
    CARL WAS SITTING on the bed, hands clamped between his knees, staring at the rug. He looked up as his mother came into the room. She saw that he’d been crying, sat down and put an arm round him. ‘Where was the woman you saw? What makes you think she was a ghost?’
    Carl shook off the arm, turned his face away. ‘On the reservoir, standing in the air.’
    ‘What d’you mean,
in the air
? Was she
flying
?’
    He shook his head. ‘No, of
course
she wasn’t flying, you daft beggar. She was
standing
. Six feet above the mud.’
    He was shivering. She reached for him but he batted her hand away. ‘Why were you at the reservoir, Carl? You were meant to be at the fire.’
    ‘Dad sent me to see if any kids were there.’
    ‘
Why?
’ Felicity sighed in exasperation. ‘I don’t understand. Do
you
know why he’s the way he is about Wilton Water?’
    Carl shrugged. ‘Safety, he reckons. Barmy if you ask me.’
    ‘No.’ His mother shook her head. ‘Your father isn’t barmy, Carl, but something’s worrying him.’ She touched the boy’s cheek with her fingertips. ‘So you told him what you’d seen, and then he hit you?’
    Carl jerked his head back. ‘Yes. Some of his friends were there. He called me a blithering idiot, showing him up. Then he knocked me down.’
    ‘And none of these friends protested. About his hitting you, I mean?’
    ‘I don’t know, do I? I was stunned. Maybe they didn’t see, everybody was watching the rockets. And anyway you’ve no room to talk.
You
never protest.’
    ‘I do the best I can,’ murmured Felicity. ‘It isn’t easy for me either, you know.’ She touched her son’s hair. ‘As for what you saw at the reservoir, try to put it out of your mind. It was dark, there were lights in the sky. Smoke. You certainly saw
something
, but perhaps it wasn’t quite what it appeared to be.’ She stood up, pecked his swollen cheek. ‘Sleep well, darling.’

FORTY-FIVE
    THE
RAWTON ECHO came out every Thursday. The day after Bonfire Night, certain people could hardly wait to see a copy of the paper. Most impatient was Councillor Hopwood. He bought an early edition on his way to The Feathers and paged through it as he walked along the street. He found Bill’s photo of Alison Crabtree in her wet costume and scanned the caption underneath.
    Ten-year-old Alison Crabtree, winner of Wilton Primary School’s most original Hallowe’en costume competition. Alison came as the ghost which some local people claim to have seen at Wilton Water . The competition was judged by Councillor Reginald Hopwood, the school’s Chair of Governors
.
    Reginald smiled, folded the paper and thrust it into his jacket pocket. The photographer had heeded his threat. The ghost was just a ghost. No name, which was good. His own name appeared though, and that was even better. He was so pleased, he forgot to swear at the
Big Issue
vendor who occupied his usual pitch.
    The Crabtrees wanted to see the
Echo
too, but they had to wait till tea time. It was on the table, along with a stack