Triskellion Read Online Free Page A

you?”
    Gratefully, Rachel seized the chance to laugh and they walked even faster, their sombre mood beginning to lift.
    “We’d be having breakfast if we were at home,” Adam said.
    “Uh-huh…”
    “Waffles and syrup.” Adam said it slowly, groaning withpleasure at the thought of the food. “Oh, God, blueberry muffins.”
    “Pancakes and sausage,” Rachel said.
    “Scrambled eggs.”
    “French toast and crispy bacon…”
    “Look,” Adam said, pointing. “Siesta must be over.”
    Rachel looked, seeing what her brother meant as they walked on down the High Street into a different village.
    At least, it
appeared
to be a different village from the deserted one they had left just twenty minutes before. People carrying shopping bustled back and forth in front of them and a rusty delivery van pulled up outside the greengrocer’s opposite, which now displayed a stall overflowing with abundant fresh fruit and vegetables. A cheery, suntanned man, carrying an enormous cauliflower, crossed the road walking towards the twins. He saw Rachel standing on the kerb with her mouth open and winked at her.
    “Lovely day, miss…”
    Rachel closed her mouth and smiled back feebly, and they watched the man stride vigorously away down the busy street, whistling and nodding at his fellow villagers.
    Adam was every bit as shellshocked as Rachel. “Let’s get to Gran’s place.” He stepped out into the road, looking left after the whistling man, only vaguely aware of a bell ringing near by.
    “Adam!” Rachel shrieked. She all but pulled her brother off his feet, as a vicar in a fluorescent tabard and cyclinghelmet sailed past on a black bicycle, missing Adam by a whisper. The bell jangled again. The vicar looked back and, seeing that nobody had been hurt, cycled on, waving a vague blessing in the twins’ direction.
    “Remember, they drive on the other side,” Rachel said. “Let’s stick to the path.”
    They collected their bikes and rucksacks and walked away from the shops to where the village thinned out a little, and the houses started either side of the main road. Set back behind a mesh fence and beyond a small playground marked with yellow, red and blue tramlines, sat a squat, stone school-house.
    They walked on round the other side of the green, where children, clearly enjoying every moment of their summer holidays, kicked footballs and chased one another noisily. On the far side of the green was a cricket pitch, and opposite, just before the line of buildings gave way to one of trees and thick hedges, stood the village pub.
    “The Star” looked to be one of the oldest buildings in the village, with timber beams visible on the outside, whitewashed walls and a thatched roof. A trickle of smoke rose from a chimney that leaned so far to one side it almost defied gravity, and a painted sign of a shooting star hung from an ornate iron bracket above the door. The building, shadowed by a massive oak tree hundreds of years old, appeared so at one with its surroundings that it could have grown out of the soil itself.
    Rachel and Adam had never seen a building so ancient. They had once stayed in an old whaler’s cottage in Cape Cod that was over a hundred years old, but this place was prehistoric. A blackboard outside advertised the food on offer that day and also claimed that “Children Are Welcome”.
    “Yeah, right,” Adam snorted, wondering what on earth a “Lancashire hotpot” was and whether or not you could eat it.
    Rachel suddenly looked at him. “Can you feel it?”
    Adam paused, cocking his head to one side. Yes he could. Once again, Rachel and Adam had the overpowering feeling that they were being watched.
    They wasted no time heading back towards Root Cottage, pausing only to let a large vintage car pass them in the narrow lane. The car was the colour of red wine and highly polished, and it honked its thanks with a deep, rasping horn. The reflection of the trees on the windscreen made it impossible to make