‘No,’ he laughed. There was a general rush of movement, and I felt a sheaf of paper fall into my hands.
‘Is it a copy of theBeano?’ I said.
‘No,’ giggled Lawrence, who had evidently joined his brother. ‘’Nother guess Aunty Hattie.’
‘Is it… a list of everything Uncle Joe has eaten today?’
‘No!’ The two boys were both laughing in that borderline hysterical way.
‘Good thing too, that would have taken ages to write down,’ I said. ‘Can I take a look?’
‘Yes!!!’ they both screamed in excitement.
I opened my eyes and looked down. In my hands was a booklet of ruled paper sandwiched between two pieces of blue card with ‘The story of the cat who lived in a haunted castle and was a ghost. Written by Hugo Sinclair and illustrations by Lawrence Sinclair (and Hugo Sinclair also)’ emblazoned across the front, along with a picture of a bright orange cat with an inordinate number of very long whiskers, who seemed to be the same size as the grey turreted castle he stood beside.
‘It’s a story,’ said Hugo.
‘Just for you!’ said Lawrence. ‘I did pictures.’
‘The cat is called Clarence,’ said Hugo.
‘And a man doesdie!’ said Lawrence.
‘Yes,’ said Hugo. ‘A terrible death. But he’s a really bad man anyway so it’s okay, and then he’s a ghost and he’s good.’
‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Great character arc.’ I flicked through the pages and stopped at the first picture, which was of a stick figure in a scribble of red crayon.
‘Dis is blood,’ said Lawrence, pointing to the scribble.
‘It’s quite scary,’ I said.
‘But it’s funny too,’ said Hugo, worried. ‘I put jokes in. Mostly knock-knock ones. They’re my favourite. And there aredinosaurs. Some have cheeky names and wear underpants on their heads.’
‘And do farts,’ giggled Lawrence.
‘Wow, it really does have something for everyone,’ I said.
‘But it’s not for everyone,’ said Hugo, serious again. ‘It’s for you. See?’ He pointed to the back page where it said:
For Aunty Hattie Only! Keep Out!!! everyone else who might want to read this book!!! (but Layla can read it if she wants to).
‘Boys,’ I said, placing the book on the floor and scooping them both up into a big hug. ‘This is one of my absolute favourite presents of all time. For ever and ever.’
‘Amen,’ said Lawrence, like an evangelical preacher.
January
Chapter Twenty-Nine
‘Are you okay Hattie?’ Malia gave me a concerned look, as well she might. I’d been staring vacantly at an unopened box of new books for the past ten minutes whereas usually I’d be burrowing my way through the security tape like a rat up a drainpipe within minutes of its arrival.
‘Yeah,’ I said, jolting into action, scissors at the ready. ‘All fine.’ I slumped over again. ‘Actually, no. Not fine.’
‘Do you want a cuppa,’ she said gently. ‘Ren’s on the desk, and I’ve just finished helping Mrs Oliver with her online search for dress patterns from the Forties. She’s going to one of those wartime re-enactment things where they all pretend they’re Vera Lynn and… Anyway, nobody’ll miss us for a few moments, and we can see what’s in the delivery while we wait for the kettle to boil.’
I nodded glumly and followed her to the table nearest the office, hefting the box of books onto my hip as I walked.
‘It’s a late delivery,’ she said, inclining her head towards the box. ‘Usually you lot have already opened them up and got the books on the shelves by the time I arrive for my shift.’
