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remember, the land can be pretty boggy around here, especially when it’s been raining. Anyway, it’s the bit of marshy ground at the back of the old stables – you can’t really miss it. I just don’t want you finding yourself up to your ears in you-know-what, that’s all.’
    ‘Could I take a picnic?’
    ‘To the
lagoon
?’
    ‘No, to the pig-barn.’
    ‘A picnic? In a pig-barn? Well, I don’t see why not. Do you mind organizing it yourself though? I think I may be here for some time yet.’
    Midge made herself a cheese and pickle sandwich and filled a plastic Coke bottle with orange squash, while her uncle tackled the adaptor again. She remembered that she had an empty carrier bag upstairs and ran up to get it, clearing Phoebe with a leap on the way. The old dog didn’t stir.
    Now, when she entered her room (My Lady’s Chamber) it took a conscious effort to remind herself that she’d been born here. The mystery had been solved, or rather the explanation that Uncle Brian had given suggested that there had been no mystery about it in the first place. Her mum and dad were here on a flying visit, he’d said. Simple as that. They were passing through on their way back from Exeter to London and her mum had gone into labour a few days early. The worst of it had been that there had been no phone, Uncle Brian having omitted to pay the bill. He’d had to rush off for the doctor who, luckily, was playing darts at the Crown. He in turn had contacted the community midwife and that was it. Job done. Midge’s mum and dad had stayed a few days until both mother and baby were fit to travel, and away they went. It was all very straightforward. What wasn’t so straightforward, from Midge’s point of view, was why, after three days at Mill Farm, she felt more as though she belonged here than in London. Now
that
was a mystery.
    When she returned to the kitchen, she found Uncle Brian sweeping the parts of the adaptor from the table and into the palm of his hand. ‘It’s had its chance,’ he said, ‘and now it has to pay the price.’ He tossed the bits into the pedal bin beside the porcelain sink. ‘I’m a hard man, when crossed,’ he continued, ‘and I won’t be trifled with. Especially by a plug. Phoebe! Walkies!’
    Midge took an apple from the fruit bowl and put it in her carrier bag. ‘Back around the usual time?’ she said.
    Uncle Brian paused as he reached into the kitchen drawer where he kept Phoebe’s lead. ‘Midge,’ he said, ‘believe me when I tell you this; you’re going to make someone a wonderful wife someday. If only I’d married a girl like you then . . . well, I might still
be
married, that’s all.’
    Midge wasn’t sure how she should take this. She supposed it was a compliment, but it was rather an odd one. Still, that was Uncle Brian, being Uncle Brian. She grunted and put her sandwich and drink into the bag.
    It was further to the Summer Palace than Midge had anticipated. By the time she had reached the end of the Field of Thistles, itself on a steeper incline than it had at first appeared, her fringe was sticking to her forehead. There was a sheep-gate in the drystone wall that bordered the field, and here she rested for a moment, wiping the perspiration from her face and looking up at the Royal Forest that crested Howard’s Hill. It looked denser than ever, and she was glad that she’d decided not to hunt the hart after all. She set off again, her carrier bag of provisions banging against the side of her leg as she climbed. Once the Summer Palace came into view, a welcome breeze also greeted her, gently blowing onto her face and cooling her brow. She opened her mouth and let it play across her tongue and teeth.
    The Summer Palace, now that she drew close to it, looked as though it might benefit from a little care and attention, like every other building about the place. What had appeared to be white from a distance turned out to be a dirty grey close up – a concrete building