.

Chapter 23

Kirsty watched the sunrise with bleary eyes. For a moment, its bright rays glancing in through a gap in her curtains seemed cheerful. It was nearly spring. But then she remembered there was a row coming, like dark clouds in the distance. She got up, shivering as she pulled on her dressing gown. Downstairs, she made herself a bowl of cereal and sat down on the kitchen step to eat it.

The house was quiet, except for the crunch of the cereal in her mouth. She could hear early traffic pass by in front of the house and, after a while, the gurgling in the pipes that meant the heating was switching itself on. She shovelled another spoonful into her mouth, splashing milk down her chin. It seemed easier to think when the house was so still . . . like a monastery in a kung-fu film. She was a monk in a mountain fortress. Eagles soared above and the whole misty valley opened before her. She was seeking wisdom, and deadly fighting skills. She put down the bowl and pulled her legs into the lotus position, each ankle tucked under the opposite knee. She took a breath of cold, fresh air and focused her mind.

There were two problems, both part of a bigger picture. First, Dad. Last night, in his room, Kirsty had realised that he was moving further and further away. Time and space just weren’t helping, whatever Mum said. The second problem seemed easier, but still impossible: how to stop the row that was bound to happen when Mum called the council.

The bigger picture was how everything had changed since Grandad died. The two problems were like the yin-yang painting on Grandad’s shed – different, but fitting together somehow. Both had happened because Grandad died. Could they be solved together?

If there was a huge, colossal row it might get Dad out of bed. He’d have to get involved in things again.

But that was no good. She had to stop the row so that she could keep her promise to Grandad.

If she took Dad to the allotment she might be able to persuade him to take her side and stop Mum calling Mr Thomas.

But there was no way she could get him out of bed. It would take the strength of an elephant to drag him down there.

And then, suddenly, a vivid ray of sunshine pierced through the clouds, and the valley was illuminated in gold light. The eagles cried in triumph. The strength of an elephant. Kirsty had had a brilliant idea.