Page 31 - WaitingForMurder

a bloke with very long hair who might be called Shane or Shame, I can’t work it out. Apparently he once worked on an archaeological dig in Egypt. Whatever, he needs to wash his armpits or change his T-shirt or both. Tony has brought a guitar and plays it well and he knows loads of songs. The tunes circle over the lake and bounce back from the trees. It’s kind of magical, even in the heat, and I lean back on the grass and try not to scratch my bites.
“When I was a nipper we used to sit out here and tell stories,” says Uncle Tony. “Dad had lots, mostly about sleeping knights under Old Westerthwaithe.” He gestures towards the distant hills.
“Most places have that story,” says Mum. “My grandmother used to talk about knights sleeping in the Welsh borders. They were going to come and save us from disaster.”
“Bedknobs and Broomsticks,” says Cat. “Isn’t that about knights saving everyone from disaster?”
They laugh and I try to remember the film. I must have seen it, surely?
Cat’s talking again. “My mum brought us here for holidays and always told us stories of
Waiting for Murder by Fleur Hitchcock Uncorrected Sample
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