The best laid plans of lice and men go oft astray

Milo was so deep in thought when he arrived home he failed to see someone hiding in the bushes.

‘Psssst!’

‘Wah!’ he yelped, jumping back and falling on his behind.

His eyes widened as Ginger appeared. ‘Quiet. Do you want the whole neighbourhood to know I’m here?’

Milo picked himself up. ‘What are you doing in there? I’m supposed to have done horrible things to you.’

‘Get a grip on yourself, Toby,’ Ginger said crossly.

‘But, what were you doing in there?’

‘Waiting for you.’

‘Oh.’

Ginger closed her eyes briefly. ‘We agreed that I should do something really, really bad. So bad that my dad would come home. Or did I imagine all that?’

Milo looked up and down Sidham Drive. No one was about. ‘I thought we’d make plans today. Fluke says “the best laid plans of lice and men go oft astray”.’

‘Mice and men,’ Ginger corrected. She stepped out from behind the Banksia. She had two backpacks with her. ‘Do you know what it means?’

Milo took one of the bags. It looked like she was staying for some time. ‘It means no matter how well you plan things, they stuff up.’

‘Well, we’ll see about that,’ Ginger said. ‘Now instead of talking outside, where we can be seen, show me this cellar of yours.’

Milo collected the mail and the local newspaper. The phone rang the moment he opened the door. He quickly picked it up. ‘Sorry, Mum,’ he whispered. ‘Gotta go. Miss you.’ He hung up.

‘Who was that?’ Ginger asked.

‘Wrong number,’ Milo said.

‘But you said . . . Milo, what’s wrong?’

Milo gulped, his eyes blurring, as he held up the front page of the newspaper.

The headline read: