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

head in frustration at his failure to remember. ‘You know I struggle these days, but I think...’ his expression brightened. ‘Didn’t we use it that day on Little Callun Hill?’

Sam nodded. ‘That’s right. Well done. Do you remember what happened to it after that?’

Maurice puffed out his cheeks and blew a breath. ‘Now you’re asking… I think one of the others loaded it into a car. I don’t remember who, it could have been Paul or Mick.’

Sam’s patience deserted him again. He leaned forward and yelled, ‘You must remember. Think. Was Mick there that day?’

His father cowered. ‘Leave me alone. I don’t know. Why are you shouting at me?’

He looked so frail and pathetic that the flames of Sam’s anger died in a moment. This was pointless. He touched Maurice’s pilled sleeve. ‘It’s OK, Dad. I’m sorry. I’ve been to visit Kitty in hospital and then to the site of her accident, and I think someone was waiting in their car for her. Someone wanted to do her harm.’

Maurice shook his head. ‘That’s terrible, Boy. Why would anyone want to do that?’

Sam rose. ‘That’s what I’m trying to find out.’ He smiled at Maurice, ‘Shall we have that drink.’ He held the spout of the kettle under the cold tap and the clean water splashed its polished surface. A thought occurred to him. ‘Did you know before I came here that Kitty was in hospital?’

Maurice nodded. ‘Yes. I should have asked. How is she?’

‘Who told you?’

‘It was Mick. He called in yesterday.’

‘He came to tell you?’

‘Not just for that. He came for a catch-up and he mentioned it.’

Sam poured water onto their tea bags. ‘That was nice. Does he often drop in?’

It’s the first time in ages…’

Sam glanced at his dad’s drooping face and Maurice caught his eye. ‘He rings me, but he’s busy, isn’t he?’

‘I suppose he is.’

~~~

Mythical creatures glared down at Sam from his ceiling, and he dropped into a chair, his thoughts racing and colliding like dodgems. Outside, the sky was black with the threat of storm, but sunlight shone from the left of the window in dramatic contrast. A flurry of doves from a neighbouring house swept and circled in the air like silver dancers. They were beautiful, and Sam allowed himself the distraction of wondering whether to add doves to his painting. He picked up a paintbrush, then threw it down again.

~~~

Next morning, rain hurled itself like sand against Sam’s window. Sleep had done him good. His head was clear and his bladder full. He pulled back the duvet to rectify the latter.

Later, holding a bowl of porridge, he padded barefoot to his painting. It was OK. The colours were exactly right for Golden Hour, that time of elongated shadows and exaggerated contrast that occurred in the moments before sunset. In the foreground, his brush had described the gardens of the building for which the piece was destined. Beyond the lawns and flowers, the soft yellow bricks and grey roof of the house were backed by trees, and far behind the trees, the hills of Lymeshire lumbered across the horizon. Sam resisted a powerful urge to pick up a brush and add the doves. Instead, he turned away to search online for the latest edition of the Chelterton Echo. The update on Kitty’s crash was now inside, replaced on the front page by stories of more immediate interest: the ram raid of a local corner shop and a stolen dog, whose pricked ears and lolling tongue grinned from the screen. Ignoring these articles, he scrolled down and read the short update on Kitty’s so-called accident. It seemed that the man who found Kitty was one Connor Blackmoore. Sam dragged an old phone book from under his bed and ran his index finger down its columns.

At first Mr Blackmoore was reluctant to talk, mistaking Sam for a journalist, but when Sam explained his purpose, his voice breaking as he described Kitty’s injuries, Connor was more forthcoming.

‘I was on my way home from a work do.’ His voice was candid, and Sam warmed to him. ‘I’m an aerospace engineer. Our senior manager was retiring, and I’d been to his leaving party. My wife is pregnant. Overdue, in fact, so I wasn’t drinking. We’ve been on tenterhooks, waiting. Thank God I wasn’t rushing home to take her to hospital, or I might have run…’ he paused, ‘Is it Kitty?’

‘Yes.’

‘I could have run right over Kitty.’

Sam paced the floor, frowning in concentration.

‘I was driving slowly. It was raining, and the road had that oily look.’

‘I know what you mean.’ Sam nodded.

‘I came round the bend, and Kitty and her bike were suddenly in the headlights. At first, I panicked, thinking she might be dead. I put on my hazards and moved the car as close as I could. I wanted to see what I’d be facing before getting out.’

Sam pictured the scene and put himself in the same situation, scared but knowing he had to do something. ‘You probably saved her life,’ he said.

‘Maybe I did. She was a mess. Her legs were twisted at weird angles, and her face was gashed and bloody. I put out my hand to touch her neck, and her heart was beating terribly fast. I was so relieved. I suddenly realised I should be phoning for an ambulance, and the police. My phone was in the car, so I threw my jacket over her and called 999.’

‘Where was the bike?’

‘Not far away. It was beside her, the handlebars facing the white line and the back end skewed towards the hedge. There was a gouge in the tarmac. I think the footrest made it. Beautiful old bike. Matchless, wasn’t it?’

‘Yeah.’ Sam thought of Kitty’s pride and joy and hoped it was repairable.

‘Will she be all right?’ Connor asked.

‘I