No Place Like Home

summer for years – just doing what teenagers do, hanging out and getting drunk. Loud music and high spirits. Litter. Some damage to trees…’
‘Bloody Nora,’ said David. ‘And you didn’t think you were in any way bound, in common decency, to let Kirsty and Bram know about this when you sold them the plot?’
Sylvia made a face. ‘It was more of an issue when we first bought the place. Recently we’ve had hardly any trouble at all. So no, we didn’t think to mention it. Sorry.’
‘They’re harmless,’ said Andrew airily. ‘Just kids letting off steam.’
‘Do you know who they are?’
A shrug. ‘No, sorry.’
‘Finn? Cara?’ Bram called over to the kids. ‘Do you know who these kids with an airgun might be?’
Finn, who was standing with Max showing him something on his phone, shrugged. Cara ignored him. Bram waited for Andrew or Sylvia to tell them to answer when they were spoken to and stop being so rude, but nope.
Bram let it go. The teenage code of honour being such as it was, it was probably futile trying to get any information out of them. Maybe Max could go undercover and try to find out what, if anything, they knew.
Scott was leaning back against the worktop, tie now slightly loosened, cup of coffee in one tanned hand. ‘What I’d advise is putting up some notices in the wood. There are two paths through it, yes, that cross in the middle? Put the notices in prominent positions where each path enters and exits the wood itself, where they cross, and maybe where your track meets the public road.’
Kirsty nodded. ‘Notices saying what?’
‘Private property – please observe the Scottish Outdoor Access Code. Anyone caught lighting a fire, shooting or otherwise causing damage will be prosecuted. Something like that.’
‘Or,’ said David, ‘how about: “Enter at your own risk. The owner reserves the right to kick your arse”?’
‘Which reminds me to add,’ said Scott with a smile: ‘Avoid inflammatory language.’
David snorted. ‘They’ve got it coming. If I catch any of the wee toe-rags–’
‘You’ll what, Dad?’ said Kirsty sharply.
David simpered at her. ‘I’ll give them a right earful. That’s all I meant, princess. Read them the riot act.’
Kirsty got abruptly to her feet. ‘I have some work to finish off. Excuse me.’
As she passed Bram’s chair she shook her head at him, her expression saying I’m fine, don’t stress, and strode away to the corridor that led to her study.
Awkward silence.
‘What a thing to happen on your first day in your beautiful new home!’ said Sylvia brightly. ‘It’s gorgeous, Bram. This kitchen! Last time I saw it you were having the floor laid. I love the colour of the units.’
Bram leapt on this topic gratefully, describing his search for just the right shade of green. Sylvia enthused over everything in a rather gratifying way, and Bram found himself conducting a house tour for the Taylors plus Scott.
‘Wow,’ said Andrew in the Room with a View. ‘This has really come together.’
Bram nodded smugly. Damn, he wished he’d plumped those cushions.
‘The view’s the star of the show, of course,’ he said modestly, crossing to the doors to the terrace. He found himself pausing when he reached them, looking out across the paddock to the wood. He felt suddenly reluctant to open the doors.
And –
Bloody hell, yes, there was someone there!
Someone was coming out of the wood!
‘There!’ he said urgently, turning to Scott. ‘There’s someone–’
‘Yes, Bram, that’s one of the PCs.’
‘Oh.’ And now he saw that yes, it was a man in a police uniform, wading through the knee-high grass. Damn.
‘I’d better go and see what they have to report.’ Scott reached past Bram to open the sliding doors and strode away, over the terrace and along the path to the paddock, raising an imperious hand to summon the minions.
Sylvia was walking down the room to the reading area at the far end. ‘It’s so light and airy, but cosy at the same time.’ She beamed at him. ‘I love this bookcase, and the old leather chairs. Like a mini-library. You’ve got a designer’s eye, Bram, you really have.’
‘Oh well, I don’t know about that. But thanks. Unfortunately, my efforts in the garden have been rather less successful. The vegetables I planted have all died.’
‘Oh dear! What happened?’
‘I’ve no idea. I think maybe I didn’t water them enough.’
‘But they were reasonably well established, weren’t they? They shouldn’t have needed much watering.’
‘Or maybe they had some kind of blight.’
‘They can’t all have died?’
‘Yep.’
‘Hmm.’
Sylvia was a keen gardener. A few weeks ago she’d shown him and Kirsty round their garden with justifiable pride, and as they’d strolled down the gravel paths lined with clipped hedges and across well-tended lawns, Bram had picked her brains.
‘Actually, Sylvia, would you mind taking a quick squizz?’
‘Mind? Mind? I love a good problem area!’
Andrew groaned. ‘There’s no such thing as a quick squizz at a garden where Sylvia is concerned. We’ll send out a search party if you’re not back in an hour.’
As Bram and Sylvia headed out, he warned her: ‘It’s not so much a problem area as the scene of a natural disaster. Brace yourself. I don’t imagine you’ve ever experienced quite this level of incompetence.’
When they returned to the house a speedy ten minutes later, Kirsty still hadn’t reappeared, but Scott was standing on the rug with his back to the unlit stove in the Walton Room, like Poirot in the library smugly delivering his verdict.
‘Nothing to report in the Taylors’ wood either. As I say, if you put up some notices, that’ll hopefully discourage any more incursions.’ As if they were talking about marauding hordes, Genghis Khan and his Mongol horsemen, thundering through the wood, battleaxes poised ready for action, but when they saw the notices, reining in their mounts to peer at them and wonder in what way they might be contravening the Scottish Outdoor Access Code.
‘Right, thank you, Scott.’ Thank you and piss off.
‘Where have you been, Dad?’ Phoebe launched herself at him. ‘I was really worried.’
Damn. But he’d known