Lots of Love Read Online Free Page A

didn’t even get a beep in return. On the rear of the lorry was emblazoned ‘Horses’.
    ‘Welcome to the Cotswolds,’ Ellen told Snorkel and Fins, as she pulled on the fresh T-shirt, ‘where legovers happen from mounting blocks, going out on the pull means clay pigeon shooting, and sharking is what American tourists call the prices in the antique shops.’
    Orchard Close was a tidy, modern council estate built of Cotswold stone. The residents took a great deal of pride in it, and most of the immaculate little front gardens were a triumph of psychedelic geometry as rectangular flower-beds overflowed with primary-coloured blossoms, like ballpits in a children’s playground. Which was why the few unkempt gardens stood out. And of those, the Wycks’ was by far the most disorderly. Nettles and sedge swayed at waist height to either side of Ellen as she let herself through the broken gate and made her way gingerly up the uneven path, anxious not to get stung on her bare legs.
    Loud drum ’n’ bass was thumping out of a top window, which was, she saw, not open as she’d first thought but simply missing an entire pane of glass. When she knocked on the door, a thunderous bark made her step back. A moment later something that appeared to be the size of a small rhino started throwing itself bodily against the other side of the door, snarling madly.
    Ellen decided to wait a safe distance away, noticing as she retreated that one of the downstairs windows was broken too, the smashed pane patched up with cardboard and gaffer-tape. Several ancient bicycle wheels and half a lawnmower were propped up against the wall.
    The drum ’n’ bass kept thumping, but nobody came to the door. Bracing herself, she knocked again, but there was no reply. The barking rhino let out a demented howl and tried to eat her through the letterbox, foiling Ellen’s plan to take a peek through it.
    She looked up at the glassless window and shouted, ‘Hello,’ a few times. Nothing.
    A group of kids who’d been practising BMX tricks on the road when she arrived had cycled up and were now studying her thoughtfully as she hung around the Wycks’ front door wondering what to do.
    ‘You Wycky’s new girlfriend?’ asked one.
    Ellen gave him an ‘uh?’ look over her shoulder. She hardly thought she looked like the type who would go for Reg Wyck who, from what little she remembered, was about sixty, wore the same stained overalls everywhere, looked like Lester Piggott and had the easy conversational patter to match. ‘Is he in, do you know?’ she asked, picking her way back towards the gate. ‘Or Dot, maybe?’
    ‘Dot ain’t there – saw her leave a while back, din’ we?’ said one of the bikers, who was checking out the jeep. ‘Nice motor – what are those things?’
    ‘Surfboards.’ Ellen grinned.
    ‘Cool!’ The boy dropped his bike so that he could climb up to take a better look, driving Snorkel mad as she jumped between the seats inside trying to scrabble her way out and make introductions.
    ‘Oi – look all you like but don’t touch, okay?’ Ellen warned cheerfully, glancing back at the house. ‘Is anyone in there?’
    Another of the boys, who was staring at Ellen’s long, tanned legs in the same awe-inspired way as his mate was staring at the surfboards, nodded mutely. Then, to prove a point, he put both little fingers in his mouth and let out a shrieking whistle. The rhino dog took this as a cue to throw itself at the door even more violently, growling and snarling so much it sounded as though it was ripping apart a mud hut. A moment later, the drum ’n’ bass was cut and a head appeared through the missing window.
    Ellen’s memories of Dot and Reg might have been vague but she knew that neither had a buzz-cut, a pierced eyebrow and a home-made blue-ink tattoo on their neck.
    ‘Whatdyawant, Kyle?’ He glared at the boy.
    ‘Lady here to see you, Wycky,’ Kyle shouted. From the fear in his voice, Ellen thought, ‘Wycky’