Midsummer's Night Murder

3

I leapt up and brushed myself down. Daisy and I grabbed our bags and shuffled down the narrow train corridor to the doors. I hefted my bag down the step, and looked around the train station, squinting in the blistering sun.

"Hazel! HAZEL!!" I heard a familiar voice call.

"Daisy's there too you know, Alex!" laughed another.

I recognised two boys of our age running through the crowds. One was average height, with dark hair and skin, who was following another boy as he dashed towards us. He was tall and fair, and my heart did a somersault when I saw him. I didn't even notice myself straightening my hat and smoothing down my dress until Daisy pointed it out.

"Honestly, Watson!" Daisy chided. "You look perfectly fine!"

I blushed, shrugged, and rolled my eyes all in one uncomfortable motion.

"Hazel!"

Alexander swept me up into a hug, and this time, I didn't resist. I put my arms around his neck, and my feet left the ground as he lifted me up slightly. I cannot say the hug was not awkward, for it was: my hat fell on the floor, and we brushed hands as we both reached to pick it up; not to mention that Alexander is at least half a foot taller than me. But it wasn't as awful as it was the Christmas before last. We stood up and just beamed at each other. George cleared his throat, and we both looked away, the colour rising in our cheeks. I hugged George, and Alexander and Daisy did the same.

The car trundled along the country roads to Fallingford, bumping us up and down and into one another. For one humiliating moment, the car gave a sharp turn and I fell right into Alexander's lap. George smirked and raised his eyebrows, and I scowled at him and shuffled ever so slightly closer to Daisy.

Eventually, we arrived. My only fond memory in this place was finding out that Daisy was alive. I had spent most of that Christmas holiday grieving, with not even enough motivation to write up the case. And the time before that, when I was 13, Lady Hastings was having an affair, and then there was the murder. I looked at Daisy, who was staring stony-faced at the house. I slipped my hand into hers, and we went inside.