Both his grandparents chuckled, making Nat cringe. Gary had always been there for him when he was small. Trouble was, Gary had been an imaginary friend. And he had been a unicorn.

“And I worry about Jude, too,” said Apple. “She’s making herself ill over That Man.”

Nat pursed his lips in annoyance. Lately, Apple always referred to Dad as “That Man.”

“Ar, well, that’s a different matter,” said Mick, his voice taking on a sterner tone. “Do we know when he’ll be back to face the music?”

Nat heard a plop as Apple’s ample rear hit a chair.

“I’m not sure he will be,” she answered quietly. “He’s joined his father’s circus.”

“Oh?” said Mick. “He’s a bit old to run away and join the bloomin’ circus, isn’t he?”

“John Carver’s Twilight Circus of Illusion,” said Apple scornfully.

“Eh?” Mick was a man of few words when eating.

“I mean, really!” said Apple. “I don’t expect much from Evan, but I would have thought John was old enough to know better. The two of them are daft enough to think they’re going to make their fortune!”

Nat sneaked back into the living room; he’d heard enough. His father’s plans for fortune-making didn’t interest him anymore.

Still, later that same evening, Nat had been overjoyed (but played it very cool) when at last his dad called. He didn’t mention what he had overheard, in case it got him into trouble. Instead he told his dad about Mick’s plan to get him a dog as a special welcome present.

“A dog?” Evan had exclaimed. “Brilliant idea. Get a proper one, though, not one of those small yappy types, like those high-flying dachshunds or Pomerwhatsits!”

Now, in his bedroom, Nat couldn’t help smiling as he remembered their conversation. He missed his dad like crazy, and knew he was an accidental criminal, a victim of circumstance, his mum had explained earnestly. He wondered what his dad would say when he saw Woody. Since leaving the horrible Farmer Tate, Woody seemed less like an untidy, smelly mutt. In fact, Nat thought proudly, his new pet looked very much like a wolf.

CHAPTER 3
CAMELLIA LANE

Temple Gurney, like the rest of England and Wales that summer, sizzled with record-breaking temperatures. It was so hot that Apple swore she could feel the tiny hairs on her arms crisping in the heat, and could rarely be coaxed out of the shade.