2
If Only Mice Could Talk
Edwin sat in the parked car, chewing on a squashed ham sandwich and plotting revenge.
He had always hated girls, but until he’d met Bryony Platt (or Browny Splat, as he preferred to call her) Edwin hadn’t realised how much he could hate them. She had to be the most horrible, unbearable, and downright evil member of the female species ever to blight the face of the earth.
You might not have thought it to look at her, though. Some (but Edwin definitely wasn’t one of them) might even have called her pretty. But her heart shaped face, large dark eyes, and long black hair belied the monster that lurked beneath.
And she was a monster. Edwin had sensed this from the moment they’d met six months ago.
“This is Bryony,” Mum had announced. “She’s going to be your sister.”
Sister? Edwin didn’t want a sister, anymore than he wanted a new dad or a new home. He wanted things to be just like they were, in the old days. Before…
Edwin felt a sob coming on. He took a deep breath and almost choked on a lump of soggy sandwich. He coughed the offending morsel into his hand, and was about to throw it out of the window when he remembered Stubby.
The poor mite must be starving by now. Edwin dipped a hand into his jacket pocket and scooped up the bundle of brown fluff and whiskers that was his only true friend in the entire world.
He’d found the mouse in a dustbin three weeks ago. It looked like the poor creature had been attacked by a cat, because half his tail was missing (hence Edwin’s choice of name). Edwin had nursed the mouse back to health, and grown so attached that he couldn’t bear to let him go. Now Stubby lived in Edwin’s pocket, and he went everywhere Edwin went. When Edwin felt down he talked to Stubby; which meant he talked to Stubby quite a lot these days.
“Here you are,” he crooned, offering Stubby a lump of half chewed bread. Stubby sniffed, but seemed reluctant to sample the offering.
Edwin couldn’t blame him. “She sat on them,” he hissed. “On purpose. All the way here. But I’ll get her back, don’t you worry.”
Stubby stared at him with those shiny black button eyes. If only mice could talk, thought Edwin. Lately he’d been working on a method of communication based on squeaks and nose twitches (mice seemed to do this a lot), but so far his experiments with Stubby had yielded little in the way of results, except a few odd looks from people on the bus.
Edwin gazed out of the window, and sighed. The car was parked in a layby next to an open field, allowing an uninterrupted view of the landscape. On a fine day it probably would have been quite scenic; Edwin imagined the rolling hills draped in a patchwork of green fields shimmering in the sunshine. But today the sky was a sullen grey, and mist clung to the horizon like a drab, suffocating shroud.
He’d always liked the idea of living in the country, but right now Edwin would give anything to be back in their flat in the middle of town. It wasn’t very big (at least not as big as Bryony’s house), but it was home.
Or rather, it had been home. Because, as Mum kept telling him, they had a new home now. All of them.
Edwin’s thoughts turned once again to Bryony, and he pondered on ways to get even with her. He’d tried slugs and snails, and then there had been the Italian restaurant incident, which still made him chuckle (even though they’d all been banned from the restaurant for life, and had to pay to have the ceiling cleaned).
But Bryony was made of stern stuff. Creepy crawlies didn’t seem to freak her (not like they did Mum, anyhow), and Edwin knew he had to change tactics.
It might be time to play his trump card.
Grinning at the thought, Edwin stuffed another sliver of compressed sandwich into his mouth, only to cough it up again as a loud rapping noise sounded in his ear. He turned to see his mother banging on the car window.
“Edwin, what are you doing in there? Don’t you want to see our new home?”
Edwin told her he didn’t.
Jane tried to open the door, but luckily Edwin had locked it.
“But you must come,” she pleaded. “Unless you’d prefer to spend the rest of your life in the car?”
As it happened, the thought of spending the rest of his life in the car had already occurred to Edwin. It might be a bit cramped, and there were some basic sanitation issues to work around, but at least Bryony wouldn’t be there.
“What are you holding?” Jane’s frowning face came closer to the glass. “Have you still got that mouse? I told you to let him go. He’s recovered now and should be released back to the wild. He’ll be much better off in his natural environment.”
“So would I,” said Edwin, stuffing Stubby back into his pocket. “And that’s back in our flat, not living out here in some horrible new house with them.”
“You don’t know if the house is horrible,” said Jane. “You haven’t seen it yet.”
“Neither have you,” pointed out Edwin.
Jane pursed her lips, and Edwin saw an uneasy look in her eyes.
Edwin was right. Bill had arranged the purchase all by himself, and he wouldn’t let anyone see the house until today, the very day they moved in together. He said he wanted it to be ‘a surprise’.
But Edwin knew his mother didn’t like surprises; surprises made her jump and make screechy noises. Today she seemed quite nervous (even more than usual) and he wondered whether Bill might regret keeping their new home a secret.
That thought gave Edwin hope. Perhaps Mum might not like the house after all. Perhaps she might not want to move in with Bryony and Bill...
“Please darling.” Jane pressed her palms on the car window. “Come see the house with me.”
“All right,” sighed Edwin, licking the last remnants of sandwich from his fingers before prising the door open. “But I’m not talking to her.”
Jane took Edwin’s arm and helped him out of the car. “Bryony is a very nice girl,” she whispered, leading Edwin up the lane. “You’ll find out once you get to know her.”
“She hates you,” said Edwin.
“No she doesn’t.”
“Then how do you explain the fact that she wrote ‘I hate Jane’ in permanent red felt-tip all over your brand new handbag?”
Jane smiled a forced looking smile. “It was just a joke. Her way of bonding with me. You really should try and get to know Bill, too.”
“He’s a berk,” muttered Edwin, but when he saw Jane glaring at him he added, “You deserve a lot better.”
“You say that about every man who even looks at me.”
“I didn’t say Alan was a berk.”
“No. If I remember correctly you said he was a criminal.”
“No I didn’t. Tony was the criminal. Alan was an enemy spy.”
“Of course he wasn’t a spy.”
“Anyone could see it. Who wears dark glasses indoors, and carries a black suitcase wherever they go?”
“Alan had sensitive retina. And he used his briefcase for work. He was an accountant.”
“Aha! That’s even worse than a spy.”
“Edwin.” Jane drew her son close. “All I’m asking is that you give Bill a chance. I love him very much. He’s a decent, honest man. Not a criminal, a spy or an alien.”
“I never said he was,” insisted Edwin. “Jeremy was the alien. What with those slanty eyes, and that odd shaped bald head. And how he ate boiled eggs had to be seen to be believed…”
“Forget about Jeremy,” said Jane. “I’m married to Bill now. And I’d really appreciate if you made an effort to get on with him. Then you might realise what a wonderful person he is.”
Edwin grunted in response. There was, as far as he was concerned, no chance of that.
Bryony’s dad annoyed Edwin immensely; he reckoned he knew everything about everything, wore gaudy lumberjack shirts, and kept a pen in his breast pocket (Edwin had never met anyone else who did that, especially a pen that never had any ink in it).
Worse still, Bill treated Edwin like a child. A classic example was that very morning, when Edwin had tried to lift a box onto the removal lorry. Bill had waved him away, saying he wasn’t strong enough to do ‘man’s work’.
That infuriated Edwin; at ten years old he was more than capable of doing man’s work. He had been the man of the house ever since his real dad had gone, doing all the manly jobs like putting out the rubbish, and disposing of creepy crawlies. But now, because Bill had turned up, Edwin had been deprived of his manly status and made to feel like a useless girl.
All of which was irritating enough, but Edwin would be prepared to overlook such character flaws if it wasn’t for the fact that Bill Platt was responsible (at least partly) for the awful creature that Edwin saw standing in the lane ahead.
Bryony’s dark eyes narrowed as they focussed on Edwin.
Bill smiled and waved. “We were wondering where you’d got to.”
“He was sitting in the car,” explained Jane, keeping a firm hold on Edwin as they reached Bill and Bryony. “Finishing off the sandwiches.”
“Hungry eh?” Bill grinned and slapped Edwin hard on the back (which was another annoying habit he had). “Good lad. Need to build up those muscles.”
“I’ve got muscles,” said Edwin, scowling at his step-father.
“Of course you have.” Bill planted another patronising slap on Edwin’s shoulders. “Just need building up a bit, that’s all.”
“Enjoy the sandwiches?” asked Bryony, with her usual self-satisfied smirk.
Edwin tried to remain calm, telling himself that revenge was a dish best served cold. In any case, he had other things to worry about right now.
He peered past Bryony at the overgrown garden, then aimed a pleading stare at his stepfather.
“You can’t be serious.”
“It’s a little on the wild side,” admitted Bill.
Edwin thought that was a bit of an understatement. “There are probably uncharted regions of Amazonian rainforest better maintained than this.”
“Nonsense,” said Bill. “A quick going over with a lawnmower should do the trick. I’ll sort it first thing tomorrow. Now come on, everyone. Don’t you want to see the cottage?”
“We do,” said Jane, leading an unwilling Edwin into the garden.
His right foot struck something, and he looked down to see a chunk of demolished gate. There was writing on it, but he couldn’t quite make out the letters. Intrigued, Edwin reached down and wiped the grime from the wood to reveal the name of their new home.
“Why-ketts?” It was Bryony who spoke, her dark eyebrows puckering as she peered over Edwin’s shoulder.
“It’s pronounced ‘Witchitts’,” said Bill, taking the piece of gate from Edwin and pointing to each letter in turn. “W-Y-C-H-E-T-T-S. Witch-itts.”
“As in witch?” Bryony’s frown turned into a scowl.
Bill shrugged. “Probably just some silly nickname given by the previous owner.”
“I think it’s charming,” said Jane.
“I think it’s weird,” muttered Bryony. “Who would call a house a dumb name like that?”
“I don’t care about the name,” said Edwin. “It’s how weird the house is that worries me.”
Bill set off into the garden, but only managed a couple of strides before his path was blocked by a wall of weeds and briars. Unperturbed, he used a chunk of broken gate to hack at the rampant vegetation. It seemed to take ages, but eventually he managed to beat his way through.
Jane followed, taking an uneasy looking Edwin with her. Bryony hung back, pondering her options.
It was tempting to make a run for it, but she was in the middle of the country, and it wasn’t like she could jump on a passing bus. She could try walking, but had no idea how far it might be to the nearest town or village.
A chill breeze wafted through the garden. The dead tree creaked, its gnarled branches seeming to reach for her.
Bryony had that feeling of being watched again. Preferring not to be alone, she hurried through the gap in the weeds and found herself in a clearing alongside Bill, Jane and Edwin.
And there, right in front of them, was their new home.
Although, Bryony noted with horror, there was nothing particularly new about it…