Erhalten Sie Zugang zu diesem und mehr als 300000 Büchern ab EUR 5,99 monatlich.
- Herausgeber: The O'Brien Press
- Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
- Sprache: Englisch
Ireland, 1911 A secret signal flashes in the night … It's an SOS. Is someone being held prisoner? Friends Tim, Deirdre and Joe set out to investigate. What starts as a diversion while on holiday in Carlingford quickly spirals into a dangerous adventure. Can they solve the case before it's too late? And who can they trust?
Sie lesen das E-Book in den Legimi-Apps auf:
Seitenzahl: 251
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025
Das E-Book (TTS) können Sie hören im Abo „Legimi Premium” in Legimi-Apps auf:
Ähnliche
1
2
3
Dedication
In Memory of Mona Rogers, 1921 – 2024
Cast of Characters
Deirdre Kavanagh, twin sister of her brother Tim.
Tim Kavanagh, Deirdre’s twin.
Brendan Kavanagh, father of Deirdre and Tim.
Eileen Kavanagh, mother of Deirdre and Tim.
Joe Martin, Tim’s best friend.
Robert Martin, Joe’s widowed father.
Isobel Forsyth, schoolgirl.
Victor Forsyth, father of Isobel.
Amelia Forsyth, mother of Isobel.
Helen Gormley, aunt of Deirdre and Tim.
Sadie Nolan, Maura Breslin and Beth Breslin, local girls.
Ned McEvoy, criminal.
Ben O’Meara, farmer and criminal.
Constable Quigley, police constable in Carlingford.
Sergeant Cullen, police sergeant in Carlingford.
Chief Superintendent Leech, Dublin Metropolitan Police officer.
Contents
Part One
Gathering
8
Chapter One
CooleyPeninsula,CountyLouth
FRIDAY DECEMBER 8TH1911
Tim Kavanagh wondered if his eyes were playing tricks on him. He stood unmoving, staring out the window at the ink-dark slopes of Slieve Foye. He shivered, feeling a draught from the window frame of the upstairs toilet of his aunt’s rambling farmhouse. The winter sky was sprinkled with stars, but otherwise the darkness was absolute. Tim knew the hillside was sparsely populated, and at this hour of the night no houses were visible.
He had gone to use the toilet and been about to return to the bedroom that he was sharing with his friend Joe when he had seen a blinking light. Whywouldalightbrieflyflareupandthen vanish? he wondered.
There was a nightlight on the window ledge and Tim decided to blow out the flame to see better into the dark. He leaned sideways and extinguished the nightlight. Just as the room was plunged into darkness, he thought he saw a tiny speck of light 10at the edge of his vision. He swirled around and stared out the window again, but all he saw was darkness.
Shivering in the cold night air, he pulled his nightshirt tighter about him. Still there was no further sign of light. Then suddenly a flash flared on the hillside. Tim stared intently, his eyes fixed on the spot. It flashed again, and he felt a stir of excitement. What wasgoingon? Wassomeonesendingamessage?Signallingtoaboat outinthebay,ortosmugglersonshore?
There was a pause, then the light flashed yet again. Tim felt his excitement growing, but he told himself to be sensible. There was probably a reasonable explanation. Tim liked puzzles and had an active imagination, but much as he loved Sherlock Holmes mysteries, the chances of a crime being committed in the isolated countryside above his aunt’s farmhouse were surely slim.
And yet. There seemed to be a pattern to the flashing light. Or was there? It was distant, and faint; maybe someone was moving about, and the light was being blocked and then occasionally visible. The darkness of the hillside was unbroken now, but still Tim stood by the window. Then the light shone again. Three quick flashes in succession. Tim felt his pulses starting to race. There could be no further doubt. This was a signal. And not just any signal. Tim had learnt about Morse Code in a library book, and he knew what the pattern of flashes stood for. Three short sounds or flashes of light, followed by three longer ones, followed by 11three short ones meant one thing only. SOS. Someoneonthehillsidewassendingadistresssignal.
Nervous yet excited, he told himself that he wasn’t wishing an adventure into being. Somebody was in trouble – and he might be the only person who had seen their SOS. Tim stared out into the darkness for a moment, trying to decide what to do. But there was only one option. He had to act. Turning from the window, he crossed to the door, swung it open, and stepped out onto the landing.12
ThreeDaysEarlier
14
Chapter Two
Dublin
TUESDAY DECEMBER 5TH1911
Isobel Forsyth wondered, yet again, why some people had to be so annoying. She was walking home from school in Alexandra College, wrapped up in a scarf and warm woollen overcoat. Normally she enjoyed the journey home from Earslfort Terrace, especially in the weeks leading up to Christmas when the shops had colourful window displays and the air was crisp and cold. Today, though, she still felt irked by the attitude of some of the girls in her class. Miss Taylor, her English teacher, had allowed a discussion about how her pupils saw their futures.
As twelve-year-olds, some of the girls had no idea of what they wanted. Isobel, however, had revealed her wish to be a doctor. She knew that most doctors were men, but the world was changing. Women called suffragettes were fighting to get votes for women, and now some women were going to university.
16Miss Taylor had been encouraging, but after class several of the girls had mocked Isobel. ‘Professor Forsyth is entering the operating theatre!’ one of them had cried in a would-be funny voice. Her friends had laughed, but had no answer when Isobel had asked why she shouldn’tbe a professor. The girls involved were members of the school hockey team, and were used to being hero-worshipped, especially by the younger girls. Isobel wasn’t interested in hockey – another reason why they didn’t like her – and she felt that being good at sport didn’t give you the right to look down on others, or to make fun of their ambitions.
Forget them, Isobel told herself as she turned into Hatch Street. Breathedeeplyandalwaysappearcalm, was her mother’s golden rule. Isobel breathed out now, told herself that most of her schoolmates were fine, and dismissed the hockey girls from her thoughts. Up ahead she saw the imposing entrance to Hatch Hall, its windows already glowing warmly against the encroaching December dusk. Isobel paused on the pavement as a carriage passed, the horses’ hooves clip-clopping on the cobblestones.
Suddenly she experienced a strange sensation. Although the street was quiet at this hour she felt as though she was being watched. She looked behind her quickly but saw nobody. Sowhy didsomeinstinctmakeherfeelshewasbeingobserved?She looked about in all directions. Nothing. She was being foolish, she told herself, and she moved on, crossing the road and turning into Leeson Street. This was a busier thoroughfare, and Isobel felt 17more comfortable as a clanking tram went past and pedestrians walked briskly by, muffled against the winter air. Isobel walked on, but despite the December chill she lingered at Leeson Street Bridge where a barrel organ was playing ‘Oh! Oh! Antonio’. It was a cheerful tune that Isobel liked, and she stood on the pavement humming the tune to herself.
‘Spare a copper, Miss’, said a croaking voice.
Isobel turned to see an old man in a filthy coat and a battered hat. He looked painfully thin and ill-nourished, and she felt an immediate surge of pity. She had a penny in her hand that she had intended to give to the barrel-organ player. Instead she reached out and dropped it into the old man’s hand.
‘God bless you, Miss,’ he said, ‘I’ll say a prayer for you.’
‘You’re welcome,’ answered Isobel, smiling and nodding to him. She headed off again, the sound of ‘Oh! Oh! Antonio’ growing fainter as she walked her regular route towards home.
She crossed the busy Morehampton Road, avoiding a Guinness Brewery wagon laden with wooden casks and pulled by two huge drayhorses. Isobel loved the look of the drayhorses – big Clydesdales that could pull heavy loads – even though it was obvious that cars and lorries were becoming more common on the streets of Dublin, and that eventually horses might be replaced by motor vehicles.
She turned into the quieter environment of Wellington Place. The houses here were tall and imposing, although not as grand as 18the detached villas on Clyde Road where Isobel and her family lived. And suddenly it happened again. That weird feeling of being observed. Isobel couldn’t put her finger on what caused the sensation, but some primitive response made the skin tingle on the back of her neck. She swung around, anxious to see who might be watching her. Once more she saw nobody in the winter dusk. Still, she felt uneasy. She was only yards from her home and something told her not to linger.
Was she being ridiculous? Maybe. But her gut instinct told her that something wasn’t right. Hesitating no longer, she turned on her heel and ran towards home and safety.
* * *
Joe Martin couldn’t help but admire himself as he stood before the sitting-room mirror. He wasn’t normally vain, but tonight he was dressed in his best clothes, and he felt clean and refreshed after a long hot bath. With his hair well-groomed and his shoes shining he reckoned that this was as smart as he had ever looked.
Then again, he needed to look smart because he was going for the first time to one of Dublin’s leading hotels, The Shelbourne. Joe was excited, and although his father was trying to hide it, Joe knew that Dad was excited too. Joe’s eyes were drawn to the picture of his mother on the mantelpiece, and he wished that she was still alive – she would have loved the 19honour that was being bestowed on her son tonight.
Along with his friends Tim and Deirdre Kavanagh, Joe was being presented with a medal for solving what the newspapers called ‘The Case of the Vanishing Painting’. The valuable painting in question had gone missing on a train of the Great Western and Midlands Railway where Joe’s dad was a senior clerk, and where Tim and Deirdre’s father worked as a train guard.
Joe and his friends had solved the mystery that had baffled the police. Tonight directors of the railway company and Chief Superintendent Leech, the senior police officer on the case, were hosting a gathering in the upmarket hotel at which the three friends would be presented with their medals.
The door of the sitting room opened now, and Joe’s father came in.
‘Looking well, Dad!’ said Joe. His father had oiled his hair carefully and was dressed in a crisp white shirt with a wing collar and a well-cut suit; he had a gold watch on a chain tucked into his breast pocket.
‘Thank you, Joseph,’ he said.
Dad was the only person who called him Joseph, but tonight his father managed to sound animated when using the formal version of his name. Dad had initially been disapproving of Joe getting involved in crime-solving with the Kavanagh twins, but when the senior management of the railway company had decided to recognise publicly the efforts of the three children, he 20had changed his approach. Now he looked happy and expectant, and Joe was glad to see his normally staid father in such upbeat form.
‘Ready?’ asked Dad.
‘Ready, willing, and able!’
‘Good lad. All right then. Time to get your medal.’
* * *
‘This is posh,’ whispered Deirdre.
‘Act like it’s not, and like we come here all the time!’ said Tim.
Flanked by their parents, the twins had been ushered into the Shelbourne Hotel by a uniformed doorman. Deirdre took in the deep-pile carpet of the lobby, and the large, ornate chandelier that sparkled overhead, but she tried not to look overawed.
As they moved across the lobby, Deirdre reminded herself of how badly Da had been treated when the railway company had suspected him of being the thief. Any fuss that was made of the family tonight, she told herself, was no more than they deserved.
She glanced over at her father, clean-shaven and dressed in his Sunday suit. Although he looked smart, Deirdre sensed that he was a little uncomfortable in surroundings that were alien to him. By contrast, Ma looked like she was thoroughly enjoying the chance to experience how the other half lives, as she had light-heartedly described it earlier.
21Deirdre and her mother had had great fun choosing their outfits for tonight. Deirdre was wearing a new blue velvet dress, and fancy new shoes. Ma, too, had gone all out in dressing up for the occasion, and Deirdre couldn’t help but feel proud that her mother looked just as glamorous, and actually more handsome, than many of the other guests in the busy lobby.
Her brother Tim and his friend Joe were huge fans of detective stories. Deirdre didn’t share their enthusiasm, but then the three of them had had the real-life adventure that was being celebrated tonight. And Deirdre couldn’t deny how exciting it had been. It had also been dangerous at times, and genuinely frightening too, but part of Deirdre still wished that they could have another adventure.
‘This will be one in the eye for Sadie Nolan,’ said Tim softly as the family crossed the lobby towards the concierge’s desk.
‘I can’t wait to see her face,’ answered Deirdre with a grin.
Sadie Nolan was a snobbish girl who lived around the corner from the twins in the railway houses in Great Western Square, and who acted as though she was superior to the Kavanaghs because of their father’s job as a guard on the trains.
‘Well,’ said Tim. ‘Her da might be an engineer, but she’s never won a medal.’
‘And not that we’d ever boast – but we’ll have two!’
Just then they reached the desk of the concierge, a distinguished-looking man in a perfectly tailored uniform.
22‘May I help you, sir?’ he asked.
‘Yes, please,’ said Da, handing over the gilt-edged invitations that had come in the post. ‘The Kavanagh family. We’ve been invited to the medal ceremony.’
‘Excellent, sir. May I show you to the function room?’
‘You may indeed,’ said Ma with a smile.
‘This way, please,’ said the concierge, coming from behind his desk and politely pointing the way.
‘You know what?’ whispered Deirdre to Tim.
‘What?’
‘I could get used to this!’
* * *
Isobel watched her father from across the dinner table. He was wearing what she thought of as his ‘explaining face’, an expression of slightly laboured patience that he adopted when explaining something that he thought Isobel should already know.
A log fire blazed in the grate, and the soft light of gas lamps bathed the large dining room in a warm glow. With Isobel’s brother Percy away at boarding school, it was just Mama, Papa and Isobel for dinner, and they had finished their main course of pork steak and roast potatoes. It was one of Cook’s best dishes, and Isobel had waited until everyone was pleasantly full before politely challenging her father.23
The incident on her way home from school had been unsettling, but she had put it behind her and decided not to mention it to her parents. I got a funny feeling and a tingling up my spine, butwhenIlookedtherewasnoonethere?No, that would have just made her sound foolish. And she hadn’t wanted to appear foolish tonight. Instead she had wanted to be taken seriously when she questioned Papa about the arrest of suffragettes who were campaigning for votes for women.
‘The law is the law, Isobel,’ said her father now. ‘We can’t apply it when it suits us. It applies all of the time.’
‘But laws can be changed, Papa.’
‘Only by the government, dear, and with good reason. Not because a certain group kicks up a fuss.’
‘Isn’t that exactly what happened this summer?’ said Isobel. ‘Shop workers used to have to work every day but Sunday. And they kicked up a fuss. And now the law’s been changed, so they get an extra half day off each week.’
Isobel saw her mother suppressing a smile and she realised that she had scored a point in debating with her father. It was hard to win an argument with Papa. He was the Chief State Prosecutor in the Law Office in Dublin Castle, the seat of power in Ireland, and he was a skilled speaker who was used to making his case and winning most debates. But Isobel really admired the suffragettes, who had caused disruption by marching in their thousands on London.
24‘I grant you that the law was altered for the shop workers,’ conceded Papa. ‘But that was a change in their existingconditions, it wasn’t a radical newdemand.’
‘But asking for the vote isn’t a radical new demand, Papa. It’s just like you say, a change in the existing conditions. Instead of some men having the vote, why not change it so all men and allwomen have it.’
‘That would be a huge change, Isobel.’
‘But a good one.’ Isobel looked across the table at her mother. ‘Would you not like to be able to vote, Mama?’
Her mother hesitated, and Isobel sensed that perhaps she felt obliged to support her husband.
‘I can’t say it’s something I’ve lost sleep over,’ she answered diplomatically.
‘Suffragettes in England have rioted and caused serious damage,’ said Papa. ‘We’re not having that here in Dublin.’
‘It’s true, Isobel,’ said her mother. ‘There’s a right way and a wrong way to make your case. And they’re making it the wrong way.’
‘Precisely,’ agreed Papa. ‘And if law and order break down, everything breaks down. Society needs the rule of law.’
‘But…’
‘But what, Isobel?’ said her father with a hint of impatience.
Isobel was tempted to say that when the suffragettes had asked politely, they had been ignored. She knew, though, not to say this 25to her father. Instead, she thought a moment before answering. ‘I understand why you don’t like some of the ways they protest.’
‘That’s putting it mildly.’
‘But is that not missing the point, Papa? It’s not whether their tactics are good tactics or bad tactics. Surely, what matters is whether what they wantis right or wrong?’
Papa considered a moment, a wry smile playing on his lips. ‘It seems I’m raising a barrister-in-the making.’
Isobel was pleased that he was showing respect for her argument, but before she could respond, Papa raised his hand. ‘I think we’ve aired the topic enough, dear. If you must argue, argue at the school debating society. But be realistic about how the world works. And don’t waste energy and make yourself unpopular by needlessly going against the current. Now, I think I’m ready for some apple crumble.’
Isobel realised that there was no point saying anything further, so she didn’t respond. But her mind was in turmoil, and she thought that if no one ever went against the current how could things ever change for the better.
* * *
Tim swallowed the last morsel of his steak, savouring its succulent taste, then contentedly laid down his knife and fork. It was the finest steak he had ever eaten, and the gleaming cutlery and 26starched white table linen of the Shelbourne Hotel added to the sense of luxury. Tim knew that his parents had been pleased to be invited to the medal ceremony but were also daunted by the idea of eating in an expensive restaurant. The Midland and Great Western Railway were covering all the expenses, but he had realised that they were still nervous about how to conduct themselves in such an unfamiliar environment.
Tim believed that you could find out most things in the library, and he had taken out a book on restaurant etiquette. He had learnt about working from the outside in when choosing which item of cutlery to use, and Ma, Da and Deirdre had also read the book before tonight’s outing.
Tim glanced down the long table to where the directors of the railway company were seated. All of them were older men, impeccably dressed, and Tim was glad that he and his family had worn their best outfits for the occasion. The other thing he noticed was that most of the directors looked well-fed. Tim reckoned that tonight’s fine food, which was a novelty to him, was probably the regular fare for these people.
Despite his gratitude for being invited here, he couldn’t help but feel a slight undercurrent of irritation. These men, so accustomed to the good life, were the ones who had put his father under huge pressure, when Da had been treated as one of the main suspects after the art robbery from the Galway train. Before Tim could think about it any further, Chief Superintendent 27Leech, who was seated to his right, turned to him and spoke.
‘Baked Alaska for dessert, Tim. That should suit you?’
Tim didn’t know what Baked Alaska was, and he realised that his confusion must have shown, as the policeman explained.
‘It’s meringue on top, then a layer of cake, and in the middle what you like – ice cream!’
‘Sounds great,’ said Tim. He was impressed that the detective had remembered how almost six months previously Tim, Deirdre and Joe had been rewarded with ice-cream at the police station, the day they had retrieved the stolen painting.
‘You’ve a good memory, Superintendent,’ he said.
‘Detectives need that. Plus an enquiring mind – like you have. Maybe one day you can join our ranks.’
Tim wanted to be an actor when he grew up, but he grinned and answered the policeman. ‘Only if you promise I can be a superintendent.’ He knew that some people might think his playful answer was cheeky. Tim and Deirdre had agreed though, that they would try not to be intimidated tonight, either by the occasion or the fancy surroundings.
Because he was at the same table as the most senior people in the railway company, Da was clearly self-conscious, and even Ma, who was normally fun-loving, was being careful not to say or do anything to draw attention. Tim, however, had decided that while he would be polite, he wouldn’t be subservient. He and his friends had saved the railway company a fortune by retrieving the 28stolen painting. And the police and the company had treated Da as though he were a criminal. So it seemed to Tim only fitting that the railway company and the police were making it up to the family tonight. Even so, he hoped he hadn’t gone too far with his answer to the policeman.
Chief Superintendent Leech looked a little surprised, but then he grinned. ‘You’ve confidence, son, I’ll say that for you. But smart lad and all as you are, recruits have to work their way up. So I’m afraid we can’t start you on a superintendent’s salary.’
Tim had liked the policeman from their first meeting, and he warmed to him further now. It was rare to find someone in authority having a sense of humour when dealing with young people. Before the conversation went any further, one of the directors at the far end of the table stood and called for order.
‘Chairman of the board,’ whispered Leech. ‘They’re going to present the medals now. After that you can all relax and enjoy your desserts.’
‘Brilliant,’ said Tim. He caught Joe’s eye from across the table and winked at his friend. Then he sat forward in his chair unable to disguise his excitement.
* * *
Joe knew that he had to get his timing right. He was with his father in the cloakroom of the Shelbourne Hotel, and Dad was in unusually high spirits after the fine food and wine of the evening. Normally Dad drank very little, but he had had several glasses of 29wine, and a brandy, and had obviously been pleased by the praise heaped upon Joe and the Kavanagh twins by the Chairman of the railway company. Although his father was a senior clerk, Joe knew that he didn’t normally have contact with people like the company directors, so this was a special occasion for him too.
Strike while the iron is hot, thought Joe as they collected their coats and headed for the cloakroom door.
‘Dad, I…I…wanted to ask you something,’ he said.
‘What’s that?’
‘I’ve got an invitation.’
‘Oh, yes?’
‘To go to Carlingford. Tim and Deirdre have an aunty with a farm there, and we’ve all been asked down.’
‘I see.’
‘We’ve no school on Friday because it’s a holy day. So they’re going down on the train on Thursday night and coming back on Sunday.’
‘Why would they want to visit a farm in the depths of winter?’
‘Because it ties in with the Feast of the Immaculate Conception. Tim says that as well as being a holy day, it’s when the country people do their Christmas shopping. So Dundalk, the nearest town, will be really lively.’
‘Right.’
‘Please, Dad. It’s only for a few days, and I’d love to go.’
They had reached the cloakroom door, and now his father 30paused and turned to him. Joe found it hard to read his expression and he hoped the answer wouldn’t be ‘no’. Dad was kind, and encouraging about most things that Joe wanted to do. But he could also be a little snobbish. Joe knew that although his father liked the Kavanaghs, he saw himself as having a different status due to his white-collar job.
‘Please, Dad, it would put the cap on what’s been a brilliant night.’
Joe looked appealingly to his father but said no more, sensing that to press his case further wouldn’t be a good idea.
Suddenly Dad nodded. ‘All right then, seeing as you put it like that.’
‘Thanks, Dad!’
‘All homework to be done before you go. Understood?’
‘Understood.’
‘Very well. We’ll work out the details with Mrs Kavanagh tomorrow. Happy now?’
Joe smiled. ‘Never happier, Dad. Between this and getting the medal – best night ever!’
Chapter Three
WEDNESDAY DECEMBER 6TH1911
Aweak December sun shone on the noisy schoolyard, but the air was cold, and last night’s frost still sparkled on the ground. Normally Deirdre didn’t like the cold, but today she was oblivious to it as she chatted during break-time with Beth and Maura Breslin. The Breslin sisters were both neighbours and school friends, and Deirdre was happily re-living last night’s experience in the Shelbourne Hotel and answering the girls’ many questions.
‘It must have been dead exciting,’ said Beth.
‘It was,’ agreed Deirdre. ‘Tim and I said we weren’t going to be like beggars at the feast, but it wasstill a feast!’
‘What did you have?’ asked Maura.
‘Mock Turtle soup to start. And a choice of about six different kinds of bread to go with it. Then the juiciest steak you ever tasted.’
‘Yum,’ said Beth. ‘We only have steak on special occasions.’
32‘Well, this was a special occasion for us. And the steak was gorgeous, with sautéed potatoes, and fried onions, and loads of other vegetables.’
‘My mouth is watering!’ said Beth.
‘What came next?’ asked Maura.
‘Next there was a sorbet – to cleanse your palate, if you don’t mind!’ said Deirdre. ‘And then the deserts…’
‘What were they?’ asked Beth.
‘Baked Alaska,’ answered Deirdre. ‘It’s ice cream, surrounded by cake, and with a hot marshmallow meringue on the outside. Brilliant! And they also had sherry trifle with loads of fruit and cream.’
Maura looked fascinated. ‘Which one did you have?’
‘Which one? I had both!’ laughed Deirdre. ‘And then to finish off we had chocolates, as many as we wanted!’ Deirdre reached into her pocket and took out a bag of sweets. ‘We couldn’t eat them all, so they let us bring some home. Here,’ Deirdre said, extending the bag to her friends. ‘Help yourselves.’
‘Thanks, Deirdre,’ said Maura.
‘Yes, thanks, Deirdre, you’re a star,’ said Beth.
The two girls popped the chocolates into their mouths, and Deirdre grinned. ‘Just to keep you company,’ she said, taking a sweet herself.
The chocolate tasted rich and creamy, and they all munched away happily. Then Deirdre saw Sadie Nolan approaching. Sadie 33was a neighbour in Great Western Square too, but Deirdre had never liked her. Sadie’s father was an engineer with the railway, and unlike Joe, Sadie felt that this made her superior to the Kavanaghs. Their relationship had improved when Mr Nolan had gone into hospital some months previously, and Deirdre had been sympathetic. Then Mr Nolan made a full recovery, and Sadie had gone back to being her snooty self.
‘I hear you got your medals last night,’ she said now.
‘Yes, we did,’ answered Deirdre.
‘Deirdre had a brilliant meal in the Shelbourne Hotel,’ said Maura.
‘Really? I suppose you think that makes you great,’ said Sadie.
Deirdre didn’t want her good mood spoiled, and she resisted the temptation to put Sadie in her place. ‘I don’t think I’m great, but the meal was great,’ she answered.
‘But it was charity really, wasn’t it?’ said Sadie.
Deirdre realised that the other girl wasn’t going to let it go and she looked her in the eye. ‘Maybe it was,’ replied Deirdre. ‘But they say charity begins at home. So here’s a sweet for you, Sadie,’ she said, suddenly thrusting a chocolate into the other girl’s hand. ‘Suck on that, it might sweeten you up!’
