Finding Home by Kate Field (books for 6 year olds to read themselves .TXT) 📕

It was unfortunate timing that Lia walked back into the room as Mim uttered this last sentence. Corin was standing only a metre away from Mim, reaching out his hand in a tentative gesture of apology. Lia took one look between them and her eyes widened.

‘What are you doing?’ she asked, crossing the room and punching her brother on the arm. ‘Are you trying to take advantage of Mim?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ Corin stepped back with what Mim thought, perversely, was an unflattering degree of speed. ‘Blame our mother. She can do her own dirty work next time. Dirty-minded work,’ he added, as he looked at Mim. He offered her a hesitant smile. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘I think you boys should go away now and let us carry on with our film,’ Lia said. ‘We were having a perfectly lovely evening until you came in and ruined it.’

‘Fine. We’re going.’ Corin whistled at Dickens, who immediately ran to his side. He walked towards the door and then looked back at Mim. ‘For what it’s worth, I’ve never thought badly of you. And yes, I believe in the relationships you mean. I hope we’re friends, aren’t we?’

Karen peered round the door to the shop, spotted Mim on her own behind the counter, and came in. Heather was close behind.

‘What’s going on?’ Mim asked. They both had wet hair, so could only recently have finished their Friday swim. ‘Have you forgotten the cakes? That’s an expensive mistake if you have to buy some from here.’

‘Look what we’ve found,’ Karen said. ‘It was pinned to the notice board on the car park.’

She put a crumpled A4 sheet of paper on the counter. The corners had been torn off, presumably where it had been stuck down. The centre of the poster was filled with a few words in lurid orange capitals.

‘No scum in our bay!’ Mim read out loud. And then she gasped, because this wasn’t a protest about sea pollution, as she had initially thought. It was clear from the rest of the poster that this was a protest against the caravans – about the Vennhallow caravans, and the whole idea of the As You Like It charity.

‘It’s not the only one,’ Heather said, when Mim looked up in dismay. ‘They’re spread through the village. This one was stuck to the post box. I’m not even sure that’s legal.’

She held up another poster, this one bearing the central message, ‘No louts in Littlemead!’

‘This is awful,’ Mim said. ‘Who would do this? Have you read what it says? I can’t believe the words they’ve used. Scum … delinquents … hooligans. They are misrepresenting what the charity’s about. All we’re trying to do is help people who need a holiday. What’s so bad about that?’

‘Nothing,’ Karen said. ‘Whoever wrote these posters is scum as far as I’m concerned.’

‘I can’t see who in the village would do it, though,’ Heather said. ‘Even the traditionalists who don’t like tourists wouldn’t be malicious like this. Do you think this is personal? Something to do with the Howards rather than the charity?’

‘But who could hold a grudge against them?’ Mim asked. She pushed aside the fact that she’d been feeling resentful towards them for a couple of days, after Bea’s interference and Corin’s intrusive questions. Their intentions were always kind, even if they didn’t think before they acted. It had touched her more than she cared to admit that Corin had called her a friend. Gordon had been the only friend she’d known before she came to Devon. She’d thought that having normal friendships, with people more her own age, of both sexes, was a path in life that was closed to her. Now she knew better.

She suddenly had an awful thought. What if it wasn’t a grudge against the Howards but against her? What if Yvonne really had heard about the idea of her challenging Gordon’s will and had tracked her down to Littlemead? She could easily imagine Yvonne calling her scum; it wasn’t far off some of the insults she’d used in the past. Might she be trying to scupper Mim’s new life by causing trouble for the charity? Surely it was too far-fetched an idea?

‘What are we going to do?’ Mim asked, gesturing at the posters.

‘We’ll walk up and down the village and take down any posters we see,’ Heather replied.

‘We carry on,’ Karen said. ‘Working on these caravans has revitalised Susie. I’m not having her brought down again by a narrow-minded so-and-so. Just wait until I get my hands on whoever is behind this. I’ll tell them exactly where they can shove their posters…’

Bea and Bill’s flight was due to land in the early hours of Monday morning so Mim was spared the job of collecting them from the airport. She’d assumed they would sleep in and was surprised to find Bea in the kitchen when she came down for breakfast before her swim. Bea was sitting on the sofa beside the floor-to-ceiling windows, drinking tea and looking out at the view.

‘Good morning, dear Mim,’ Bea said, turning to smile as Mim approached. ‘It’s trite to say there’s no place like home, but on a morning such as this I can’t wish to be anywhere else.’

‘It’s stunning.’ Mim stood in front of the window, gazing out. It was a beautiful day, one of the best since she had arrived in Devon. The early spring sunshine made the dew sparkle across the lawn and, in the distance, a strip of calm sea glistened like a mirror. She didn’t wish to be anywhere else either. This place had crept into her heart, maybe into her soul. And that was exactly why she had to move on.

Mim had spent a lot of time thinking since the conversation with Corin about Gordon’s will. Her initial anger hadn’t lasted long. Yes, Bea had gone too far and interfered where she shouldn’t have, but she’d been motivated by kindness. She was looking out for Mim, in the