Letting out the Worms: Guilty or not? If not then the alternative is terrifying (Kitty Thomas Book 1

Paul arrived.
‘What’s all this?’ He glared at the boxes. ‘Charity shop? What are you throwing away?’
Cerys gave him a hug. ‘Hello to you too,’ she smiled.
Paul embraced her briefly, but his eyes remained on the boxes. ‘I don’t remember saying you could go through my stuff.’
‘I did tell you.’
‘I don’t think you did.’ His eyes flicked to hers, and he sighed. ‘What have you thrown away?’
‘Nothing you could possibly want. Pictures, ancient bedding and loads of old bills.’ Cerys nodded at the ice cream tubs. ‘Anything I thought you might want is there, but if you wish to check the bins, you’re welcome.’
Paul grunted and stomped into the kitchen. When he saw the glasses, dried and arranged on the window ledge, he crowed, ‘My Guinness tankard! I wondered where that had gone. I nicked it from a pub on my twenty first.’
‘Shush,’ Cerys hissed. ‘I don’t need Anwen to hear about your misspent youth thank you very much.’
Paul frowned and muttered, ‘A bloke can’t call his house his own. She’ll have to get used to it - I’m not a saint, you know.’
Cerys gave him a hug. ‘You are to me. Not every man would take in an unexpected sister. I do appreciate it.’
‘Yeah. Well…’ Paul lapsed into silence and Cerys relaxed.
Later, she poked her head into Anwen’s room. The girl sat at her desk, in reality a table, purchased in haste from IKEA to serve as a surface for homework. ‘Hello Lovely.’ Cerys whispered. ‘Mind if I come in a minute?’ She sat on the duvet and patted the space beside her, and Anwen snuggled up. Cerys put an arm round her sister. ‘You know Paul is a good man?’ She felt Anwen’s nod against her neck.
‘He gets agitated sometimes.’ She gave a slight smile. ‘You might say grumpy. Things haven’t gone the way he expected lately, you know, with you arriving.’ She squeezed the bony shoulders and kissed her sister on top of her head. ‘He’s pleased you’re here, and he wants us to be happy, but we need to be careful not to upset him. It’s important for our future to keep on the right side of him.’ She let go of Anwen and cupped her palms around the girl’s face. ‘Do you understand what I’m saying, Lovely? I must marry Paul to secure a future for us both.’
Anwen gave an apprehensive look and nodded.
‘Good. Just remember that this is his house. Keep it tidy, keep your noise down and clean up when you notice a mess. OK?’
‘OK. I didn’t realise I was being noisy.’
‘You’re not, but I hope that you’ll want to when you’ve settled in.’ She chuckled at Anwen’s baffled expression. ‘Come on. EastEnders is starting.’
24 ANWEN
The rays of a low winter sun bounced from the wet pavement, silhouetting the figures of other school children ahead of Anwen. She looked down at her shoes, hoping their shiny tops and the tailored look of her new uniform, would not make her novice status too obvious.
Cerys had offered to accompany her on this first day at Rockingham Comprehensive, but instinct told Anwen that a big sister fussing at the school gate would not serve her well.
Near the main entrance, cars eased to the curb releasing long-legged, short-skirted girls, and boys with rolled up blazer sleeves and ties knotted low, to expose their top buttons and open necks. Conspicuous in her stiff blazer, and conscious of the hem of her skirt brushing her knees, Anwen battled an urge to turn and run from the bag-flinging crowd.
She slowed down, her courage waning, and a voice said, ‘You new, then?’ A skinny Goth-boy fell into step with her. He swept his dead-black fringe from black-lined eyes and scanned Anwen’s new uniform with curiosity but not disdain.
‘Yeah. Yes.’
‘What yer gotta do first?’ Once again, the fringe flicked sideways and fell back.
‘Report to the office.’
They passed through glass doors into the foyer and the boy said, ‘That’s easy then. Go to the front desk - just there. What year yer in?’
‘Eleven, I think.’
‘Me too. Might see yer later. Depends how clever yer are.’
‘Oh?’
The crowd jostled round them, and the boy was swept away, shouting, ‘I’m in the bottom set. Thick.’ His grin disappeared around a corner, and Anwen turned to a harassed lady behind the desk.
Soon she was following the rather masculine frame of the woman along a confusion of corridors, stairs and heavy doors. When they reached the classroom, Anwen opened the door and met the stare of thirty pairs of eyes. The lady gave her a push, saying, ‘This is Anwen Jones, Mr Crocket,’
‘Thank you, Miss Pilkington,’ the teacher called after the woman’s disappearing figure.
A snigger piped from somewhere, but Mr Crocket ignored it and unwound his lanky frame from his chair. ‘Anwen. Welcome. I’ve put you beside Daisy, there.’ He pointed to a gloss-lipped, kohl-eyed blond whose analytical stare did not fill Anwen with confidence. At another giggle, Mr Crocket fixed a deep frown on a girl in the back row. ‘Sit down, Anwen,’ he said. ‘I’m just finishing the register, then Daisy will show you where to go next.
‘Daisy,’ he fixed a firm look on the girl, ‘I hope I can rely on you to get Anwen sorted out with a locker and a timetable and show her where the canteen is.’
Daisy let out a small sigh but answered politely enough, ‘Yes, Mr C.’
A powerful smell of perfume rose from Daisy, and as Anwen took her place, she sneaked a sideways glance at her neighbour’s claret pout. Cerys would never countenance that much make-up.
Over the morning, Daisy made the burden of her responsibility very plain. After flouncing ahead of Anwen to the office for a locker key and pointing out the toilets and refectory, she ran off with her cronies to