86

Tidge. Oh Tidge. Not again. Late from another expedition. ‘Me first, can I?’ he’d begged his siblings.

Soli had ruffled his hair and laughed — ‘Go on, off you go’ — shooing out his jogging dance of impatience complete with forehead glued to the door, and snatching the key back.

But now. He knew the timekeeping rule. You all trusted him to keep to it. You’re furious with him. Soli’s bitten down every one of her nails. Two are bleeding. Mouse says he’s got a funny feeling. His eyes are afraid. Soli draws in a trembling breath. Pulls her ponytail tight. Says she’s going out and hauling her brother back, by the earlobe if she must. She’ll have to go over the entire building — the lobby, basement, roof — because you all know Tidge is a lookaholic and his curiosity is careless and vast; she crouches in front of Mouse and tells him to lock the door and not to mention Mum and Dad to a soul, no matter what.

‘We can’t trust anyone, all right?’

‘I’m the cynic of the family, remember. The survivor. It’s the other one we have to worry about.’

His sister doesn’t laugh.

The Lord is with thee, though mighty man of valour.