Chapter 3
Bobby was relieved to find that the wooden hut wasn’t too dilapidated. It had been given a fresh coat of distemper, and the walls and roof were in good repair. It was a fair size for a shepherd’s hut too: not large, but big enough for a couple of desks.
Still, it was hardly what one would picture as the headquarters of a magazine. It was going to be cold in these winter months, and there’d be damp from condensation – Bobby wouldn’t dare leave her typewriter or books overnight. That would mean a lot of lugging things about.
She could see Tony curling his lip and had to sympathise. Reg had gone to some effort to get the place shipshape, but it still felt like a step down. They could call it an office all they liked but at the end of the day, a shed was a shed.
‘Nice place if you’re a sheep,’ he observed, under his breath so the children wouldn’t hear.
‘All right, I know,’ Bobby whispered back. ‘We’ll just have to make the best of it.’
But while the adults might be unimpressed, Jessie was fairly skipping at the thought of the magazine office at the bottom of her garden. This, it seemed, was a far more exciting prospect than the usual fairies.
‘That means you’ll be here nearly every day, Bobby,’ she said breathlessly. ‘And at dinner time we can have games, and me and Florrie can help with the magazine, and—’
Bobby laughed. ‘I think you’re forgetting a little thing called school, aren’t you?’
‘No, but in the holidays though,’ Jessie said, not to be discouraged. ‘Can we look inside? I want to see if there’s stillrats. I’d like to make a pet from a rat. Jimmy in my class says you can train them to do tricks.’
Bobby suppressed a wave of nausea. She wasn’t a fan of rats, and judging by the way her body was reacting, nor was Marmaduke.
She didn’t need to worry, however. When she climbed the wooden steps and unlocked the door, she found the hut had been spruced up smartly by whoever Reg had paid to do it – Pete Dixon, she imagined. Pete was Silverdale’s resident poacher, spiv, scrap metal merchant, lifter, mover, painter, decorator and general maid of all work.
It almost did look like a real office. The walls had been painted, the floor carpeted, and a couple of pictures hung on the walls. Bobby recognised the style as Mary Atherton’s, who was a talented painter. There was even a stove, and a gas burner and kettle next to a tea caddy. There were certainly no rats, much to Jessie’s disappointment.
Tony strode to the gas burner and picked up a note.
‘“Take it easy with the gas. I’m not made of money. Reg”,’ he read. ‘Huh. Might’ve guessed.’
‘He’s gone to a lot of effort.’ Bobby glanced at the paintings. ‘Mary too. I suppose she feels bad for throwing us out.’
Florrie blinked. ‘Is Mary throwing you out?’
‘Oh, I was only making a silly joke,’ Bobby said, annoyed with herself. She’d forgotten the children were listening. ‘Mary wants her parlour to sit in, that’s all, so Reg said he’d find a new place for us to work.’
‘So you don’t want to come and work here?’
Florrie’s lip was wobbling all of a sudden. Bobby blinked. The girl had been all smiles a moment earlier, yet now she was emotional over something quite trivial. Even Bobby’s Marmaduke-related moods couldn’t compete.
‘Of course we do,’ she said, resting a hand on Florrie’s shoulder. ‘It was a surprise, but not a bad one. It’ll be lovely to see you every day.’
Florrie stared at her for a moment, then without warning she ran out of the hut and started sprinting back to the house. Ace ran after her, clearly thinking this was a great old game.
‘Well!’ Bobby turned to Jessie. ‘What on earth was behind that?’
Jessie scuffed her shoe. ‘Not s’posed to tell.’
Bobby cast Tony a helpless look, but he was no use. He had retreated back into awkwardness.
‘I’d better get home to our Lil,’ he muttered. ‘You coming, Bob?’
‘No.’ Bobby glanced at Jessie, who was frowning at the carpet. ‘Not just yet.’
‘Right.’ Tony wasted no time in hurrying off.
When he’d gone, Bobby turned to Jessie.
‘What is it you’re not supposed to tell, my love?’ she asked gently.
