Letting out the Worms: Guilty or not? If not then the alternative is terrifying (Kitty Thomas Book 1 by Sue Nicholls (primary phonics .txt) 📕

She wondered what he had done. Some entries had dates against them, but there were gaps. Excited, Anwen made a mental note of the missing details. Then she checked her watch. Half an hour had passed, and she had not even picking up a cloth. She scurried back to the kitchen.

After two further hours, Anwen surveyed her work from the threshold of the front door. In the kitchen, taps and kettle reflected the late sun flooding the rear of the flat, and the lemon scent of furniture polish drifted from the sitting room. Kitty would be happy to come home to such order.

35 SAM

‘Hi Dad.’ Sam strode along the pavement with his phone against his ear. Against every expectation his father had found an amenable woman on the dating site, and yesterday afternoon they met in a tea shop.

‘Hello, Son’

Sam shifted his phone to the other ear. ‘How was your date?’

‘I’m fine thank you; how are you?’ Maurice retorted.

‘Sorry.’ Sam’s hope subsided a little, ‘I’m well. How was it?’

‘OK.’ Maurice’s voice was flat.

Not so good, then. ‘Was she not nice?’

‘I thought she was nice, yes, but I don’t think she thought much of me.’

Sam halted outside the corner shop and leaned against the wall by the door. ‘Why do you say that? What happened?’ then ‘Hang on a tick, Dad.’ A woman in wrinkled leggings was marching towards him with a boy, about fifteen, sulking behind. The lad’s face was lumpy with acne and as they closed in on Sam, the woman bellowed, ‘I’ve told you Mervin; chocolate gives you spots.’ Shoving past Sam, the distracted female almost stepped on Sam’s toes and he moved away from the doorway. ‘OK. Carry on,’ he said to his dad.

‘It was fine in the cafe. We chatted about all sorts. She’s a widow. We talked about her grandchildren and her house and garden. She’s keen on gardening. She was interested in you and Josh, too.’

A gardener? Even after Sam’s ministrations, Maurice’s lawn resembled a pasture. ‘Did you invite her back to yours?’

‘Well. I didn’t have much choice - she invited herself. I suppose she wanted to check me out.’

‘And?’

‘She wasn’t impressed. When I looked round, I wasn’t impressed either. I saw the house through fresh eyes.’

‘I did say…’

‘You were right. I’ve already started on the garden.’

The last time Sam was at Kitty’s, it was so clean he jokingly asked if she was expecting an estate agent. His reward was the usual thump on his tricep along with the secret of the flat’s new charm. He said to Maurice, ‘Cerys’s sister, the young one, Anwen. She does cleaning. I think she’d be pleased to come in.’

‘She would?’

36 ANWEN

The little gate that led into Maurice’s front garden was stiff to open. Anwen gave it a shove and stepped through studying the garden. The lawn was smooth and green, and there were signs of weeding and digging in the flower border that ran along next door’s fence. Its mate opposite was a different matter. A tangle of green nettles and bind weed punctured by the stiff brown skeletons of tall weeds from years past.

When she pressed the bell in Maurice’s flaking porch, no corresponding ring sounded inside, so she clacked the brown knocker and waited, staring at the faded blue door in its yellowing frame. One day soon, that knocker would shine to a gleaming bronze, but she did not feel qualified to tackle painting.

Maurice opened the door with a welcoming smile, and she took in a dingey hallway and an unpleasant smell of grease. Inside, he offered her a coffee, but she plumped for water. He picked up a grey tea towel and wiped his muddy hands, then still dangling it at his side, showed her around. She sipped her drink as she followed him, noting the grimy window ledges and the dusty tables with finger-pattern fringes. The margins of the beige carpets, where they met the scuffed skirtings, were thick with fluff. Cobwebs clung to walls and curtains and wafted from ceiling lights.

‘I charge ten pounds an hour,’ Anwen said, appraising the room and contemplating the mammoth task ahead. She groped for words that would not offend this well-meaning man. ‘How many hours do you think you’ll need me?’

Maurice chortled. ‘It’s a mess, isn’t it?’

She gave him a bent grin, and he said, ‘I was thinking, if you could spare one of your valuable weekends, you could come for a whole day or even two, to get it straight.’ He pointed out of the window at his progress in the border. ‘I’d like to get the garden finished, so I’d be pleased to leave you in here doing whatever you think. My son has a high opinion of your skills, and that’s good enough for me. What do you say?’ He stuck out a dirty hand, and she took it.

‘I can start this weekend if you like.’

‘That would be great, Anwen.’

‘Once it’s done, I’m available to come once a week, same as I do for Kitty.’

‘That would be perfect. Thank you.’

It was ten past four by the time Anwen stepped back onto the pavement outside Maurice’s gate. The spring sunshine sent her long shadow humping over hedges and up walls as she trotted past a small block of flats under construction on the opposite side of the road. The building’s unfinished walls had gaping holes where windows were yet to be fitted and the whole structure was clad in a crisscross of scaffolding. Anwen slid by, avoiding the eyes of builders in jeans and scuffed orange hats. A piercing wolf whistle made her regret lopping so much off her school skirt, and she increased her pace, longing to be out of sight. When a man’s voice shouted, ‘Hey,’ and steps clumped towards her from behind, she broke into a run.

The footsteps