He missed nothing. I expected he would soon be in confab with Benjie, rejoicing in my departure.

Our way to the garage took us by the side door.

It was there that I saw Maurice Lewis, hovering near his bicycle with its Picture This sign on the basket. He smiled broadly and came towards me. Knowing of his foot problems, I couldn’t help but glance at his feet, shod in old army boots. He carried a slim parcel, wrapped in brown paper and tied with string.

We exchanged a greeting. “I framed the picture of the lad reading his comic, because that was the best. I mounted the one of him by your car, and did a couple of postcards, as you asked. Do you want to look now?”

“I’m sure they’ll be fine. He’ll be delighted.”

He cleared his throat, before producing a small brown envelope. “My invoice, to settle entirely at your convenience.”

“Then I’ll call at the shop in the next day or so.” I glanced at the envelope. The handwriting was not Mr. Lewis’s careful copperplate but my dad’s scrawl. How annoying that he was sending me a note, as if I couldn’t look after myself. I would read the note when away from the watchful eye of Raynor.

Mr. Lewis presented the package.

I handed it to Alec. “Here you are—instant nostalgia. Something for your mantelpiece, to look back on when you reach ripe old age.”

Alec Taylor slid off the string without untying it and tore open the package. “Oh. Oh.” He looked at each photograph. “Thank you. Thank you, Mrs. Shackleton.”

“It’s a pleasure, Alec.”

I put on my motoring coat, hat and gloves and got into the car. “Consider it a thank you for looking after my car.”

“There’s petrol in it, and I’ve filled the can.”

“Good.”

Raynor gave a small bow. “Safe journey, Mrs. Shackleton.”

“Thank you, Raynor.”

I waved as I drove off. The gates stood open. I turned onto the lane and set off at a good speed, wanting to leave Thorpefield House well behind me. I had forgotten that the lane bends so sharply and tried to brake, but even when I braked, something was wrong. The car wasn’t responding. As I turned the steering wheel, nothing happened. By the time I braked again, it was too late. The wood was coming to meet me. I heard the crash, as if it was someone else’s car, and then everything went black.

Chapter 44

Chapter Forty-Four

For what seemed an age, I stayed still, my head against the windscreen, trying to work out what part of me hurt.

When I opened my eyes, I saw the sky, spinning, blue and white and grey, swirling down to my guts. Something was hurting. It was me.

“Are you all right?”

Hands on my shoulders. The voice again, nearer now. “Can you move?”