Woodlington

Chapter 6 - The Attic

Next morning Alex woke to a sound she'd almost forgotten - rain.

She headed for the window and watched as the droplets splashed against the glass, blurring the world outside.

She could hardly make out the gardens at all. They were simply a green mass, fading into the dull grey of a cloudy sky.

Scowling, she returned to her bed.

There was no way Jessie would come in this.

She lay there brooding, till footsteps in the hall told her her mother was up. Welcoming the distraction, Alex hurried to investigate.

"Morning Banana-Woman."

"Oi cheeky!"

Mrs Dowling, wrapped in a vivid yellow dressing gown, frowned but then broke into a smile.

"I was just going downstairs for a cuppa. Want anything?"

"Yeah, coffee please."

"Coffee," sighed her mother, shepherding Alex along the landing. "I wasn't allowed coffee till I was seventeen."

They went down together.

With steaming mugs, the two of them sat in the kitchen.

"Any plans today Mum?"

"Yes," nodded Mrs Dowling. "I think I'll head into town. We could do with registering you at the school and the doctors."

"Sounds fun. Remind me never to have kids."

Grinning her cheekiest grin, Alex decided to try her luck.

"Don't suppose I can stop here, can I?"

To her surprise, Mrs Dowling actually considered it.

"Well, there's no way I'd have let you back in Brenich, but I suppose it might be different now."

"If it's any help, I won't answer the door."

"Doubt anyone ever comes," snorted Mrs Dowling. "Don't want their precious cars ruined on the potholes."

Alex, unable to believe her luck, laughed.

"So, can I?"

"All right then, but if anyone does come, run out the back and hide in the gardens."

"Gotcha. What if they knock on the back door though?"

"Then run out the front, obviously."

At just after ten, Gary, who must be thanking his lucky stars they'd moved here, called for them with an umbrella.

"To keep the rain off," he said, as Mrs Dowling raised her eyebrows.

A minute later they'd gone.

Alex shut the door, then, heart speeding up, turned and made for the kitchen. From one of its pantries she grabbed a torch, checked it was working, and hurried back to the hall.

Her mother had told her not to laze around all morning, to try and do something constructive.

Shoving the torch into a pocket, Alex started up the stairs, smiling. For once she was going to do as she was told.

She stopped outside the bathroom and gazed up at a wooden trapdoor, which, according to Gordon, was the entrance to the attic.

And here (Alex swung around to face a built-in cupboard) was where the opener lived.

After much rootling around, she finally produced a long metal pole with a hook on the end.

Raising it into the air, she threaded the hook through the trapdoor's latch, and tugged.