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They sat on the park bench watching the back of the
house in Pea Street. All was quiet. It was a plain,
rather ugly, two storey whitewashed house that looked
as if it had been extended once, or maybe twice, so
long ago that the extensions now appeared to be equally
as old and dilapidated as the original accommodation.
It was the sort of property that an estate agent would
describe as "exceptionally boring," for even
estate agents cannot lie forever, despite clear and
plentiful evidence to the contrary.
The one redeeming feature of the house was that it
had been constructed on ground as far as possible from
the neighbouring houses. Some parts of the village were
attractive but this was not one of them.
The flashing lights of the previous evening had come
from the extension. Now that he had the opportunity
to think clearly, Michael realised for the first time
that this was the area where they had seen the windows
blow out. They were now boarded.
The evening was cold, the air barely above freezing
point, but they were both wrapped in thick sweaters
and waterproof coats, and the warm meal inside them
did a lot to fend off the cold. Michael's father had
served them garlic bread followed by steak and kidney
pie, mashed potatoes and lightly steamed broccoli in
lemon juice. More and more he seemed to stay in the
kitchen, practising recipes while Michael's mother ran
the bar. Over the past year Michael had noticed that
the food improved steadily and the bar became more and
more crowded.
What little homework that they had accumulated during
the day was not urgent. Bicester certainly deserved
to wait so they were able to leave right after dinner.
For fifteen minutes they sat on the bench. There were
lights in the house, but they were steady and there
was no sign of movement inside.
"This isn't fun any more," Michael observed.
On television, detective work always seemed glamorous
and exciting but now he had a mystery of his own to
solve he was finding the going slow. Watching the wind
blow is a pastime that palls after a very short while.
"Want to creep into the garden?"
"Think we should?" Lea asked.
Michael had a plan ready. "There's a gap in the
hedge. If we can slip through we'll be pretty safe.
Those back windows are boarded up, remember, so we won't
be seen as long as we stay to the left. I only want
to take a quick look."
Lea took a couple of deep breaths, checked the other
houses, looked all around the park, and finally returned
her gaze to Michael. She nodded. "Let's give it
a try."
Slowly, with as much nonchalance as they could maintain,
they wandered to the hedge that separated the park from
the back garden of the house. The gap in the hedge was
not as wide as Michael had hoped, and it was partially
obstructed, but it was sufficient to let them through.
Inside the garden they stood completely still and listened.
"Hope they don't have a dog," Lea said. It
was a thought, Michael felt, that she could have kept
to herself. He swallowed.
Slowly they made their way towards the house, looking
alternately ahead to make sure no one was watching,
and down to make sure of their footing. From this distance
they could see the house rather better. The boarding
over the windows had been added hastily and some gaps
remained around the edges and where the boards failed
to butt together closely.
Through these gaps they noticed that the light inside
was pulsing very faintly.
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