Dear Mum, waiting is the hardest thing. Digby went home for a little while after school, but then he came back here. We’re not doing anything much, just sitting around trying not to look at my phone.
Trying not to wait for a message from Clara.
Dad’s still at work. He’s been there all day, except for an hour at dinnertime. We quizzed him about the Simpsons and he admitted that he’s been looking at them more closely. And he found out something about the roster of people who’ve been keeping an eye on the roads.
‘The night your sheep were taken,’ he said to Digby, through a mouthful of sausage, ‘Jake Bester was supposed to be watching Wattle Hut Road. But round about one AM he got a text to say there’d been a mix-up and he was meant to be on Yabby Creek Road. He didn’t know who the text was from, but the whole roster thing has been a bit chaotic from the sound of it, so he just assumed it was someone who knew what they were doing. He went off to the other road and didn’t think any more of it.’
Dad speared another sausage. I wanted to tell him to eat more slowly because he’d get hiccups, but I was afraid he’d stop talking, so I didn’t.
‘And because no one knows that was the night the thieves struck,’ he said, ‘no one asked any questions.’
‘Did you tell him?’ asked Digby.
Dad grinned. Not a nice grin. A fierce grin. ‘Nope. Not a word.’
He swallowed the last bit of sausage, looked at his watch and stood up. ‘I’d better get back to work.’
And then he was gone, leaving Digby and me to wait and worry. Digby’s staying over again tonight, which is just as well, because I couldn’t bear it here by myself.
I just hope Clara’s okay. What if we don’t hear from her? What will we do then?
Love, Olive