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

Anne of Green Gables, poetry books by Ted Hughes and Tony Harrison. She pulled one out with interest.
I search for Buzzards as the air grows clear,
and see them ride fresh thermals overhead.
It reminded her of the mountains, and she put the book back, promising herself she would familiarise herself with Mr Harrison when she could. In the reference section on the upper floor, books were arranged by category. Anwen chose a volume entitled GCSE Physics and became engrossed in its pages. When the bell rang for the end of the lunch hour, she had not eaten her sandwiches. She did however understand about acceleration due to gravity and how light waves behaved when shone through a prism.
Over the following days, Anwen bolted her sandwiches and slid into the sanctuary of the library. She saw little of Charlie who, as he had already explained, was in a remedial class. Anwen liked Charlie but found little to connect them. She promised herself she would help him with his homework if he needed it - when the right time came.
Later, in her English class, Anwen was struggling to understand the complex language of Shakespeare’s Macbeth. Her teacher, Mr Finlay, was a gentle man with a deep love of poetry. However, when faced with a class of rowdy teenagers, his weak, ‘Be quiet, now,’ had scant impact. Today, his task and Anwen’s, was rendered especially challenging by two girls behind Anwen who elicited great amusement from chanting, ‘Macbeth, Macbeth, Macbeth, beware McDuff, McDuff,’ to the tune of the National Anthem. Anwen put her elbows on her desk and cupped her hands behind her ears to hear the struggling teacher, and someone behind kicked her chair.
‘Think you’re better than us do you, Blodswot.’
Anwen face turned puce. ‘Blodswot’ is that what they called her? With gritted teeth, she determined to move up from this class by the end of term.
~~~
‘What’s Snapchat?’ Anwen asked.
Cerys help herself to a chocolate. ‘No idea. Why?’
‘I think it’s a computer thing, where you can share pictures.’
Cerys popped an Orange Cream into her mouth and offered the box to her sister. Anwen shook her head, and Cerys took Hazelnut Whirl and put the chocolates down.
‘Who do you want to share pictures with?’
‘No idea, but I have to learn about the stuff everyone else at school has known forever.’
‘Can’t you ask them?’
Anwen raised a hand from her lap to twist her hair. ‘I don’t want to - they’ll think I’m stupid.’
Cerys focussed on the girl. ‘Is everything OK at school, Anwen?’
‘Fine.’ Anwen looked away.
‘It’s no use asking me about social media. It’s all a waste of time, I think.’ Cerys paused. ‘Perhaps Kitty would help you. Why don’t you ask her at the party?’
‘OK… And do you think I might have a computer? Everyone seems to have one… And could you make my skirt shorter?’
‘I’ll have a word with Paul about a computer. You’re right, you need one for school.’ Cerys puffed out her cheeks. ‘I’ll find the right time - you know what I said about keeping him happy. As for the skirt, I’m sure you can do it yourself. I’ll try not to disapprove of its length.’ She winked.
Anwen gave a wide smile and leaned over for a chocolate. ‘Thanks Sis.’
25 LUCAS
The restaurant in Chelterton, formerly known as Feast, once belonged to Lucas’s deceased mother, Millie. Nowadays it went by the name of Churchills. Not that Lucas or his father, Mick had any special feelings for the wartime Prime Minister, but the building stood at the top of a rising High Street and near the beautiful church of St Peter the Apostle. A church on a hill -Churchills. To Lucas, the name suggested quality and elegance.
Beside his flashing knife blade, transparent onion slivers grew like a deck of cards. Nearby, Mick, was forming rolls of garlic butter. ‘What’s she like then?’ he said.
‘Oh... nice, I suppose. She’s just a friend.’
‘Nice? Is that all?’ Mick winked at his son. ‘Hair? Body? Interests?’
Lucas put down the knife. ‘Dad. Give me a break. If there’s anything to tell, I’ll tell you.’ He shrugged. ‘It’s only a game of tennis and a drink, not a proposal of marriage.’
Mick rolled a sausage of butter in tinfoil and put it on a tray with several others. ‘OK, OK. I’ll mind my own business.’ He picked up the tray. ‘Have you thought any more about the offer from Masons?’
Lucas rinsed his hands and wiped them on a cloth, saying, ‘It is a lot of money…’
Mick continued his son’s sentence. ‘But?’
‘But is it what I want?’ Lucas swallowed. ‘This place has always been in my life.’
‘True. Good memories - and bad.’ Mick closed the fridge and turned to regard his son, who went on, ‘And I feel like I’d be letting Mum down if I sold.’
‘Your mother would want you to be happy.’
‘I am happy.’ Lucas threw the cloth onto the draining board. ‘I love it here. It’s the one thing I’m sure of.’
Mick flashed Lucas a hurt look. ‘The one thing?’
‘Well, apart from you.’
26 KITTY
The stink from an artificial pine car freshener mingled with Liz’s heavy perfume and hairspray, and Kitty swallowed down her nausea. ‘Thanks for picking me up, Liz.’
The former kitchen assistant flicked her indicator to the left. ‘No problem. It was good of you to offer your sidecar, but as I said, my creaky hips aren’t up to that and I’m certainly not riding pillion wearing this.’ She bobbed her chin at her navy spangled dress.
Around them, the metal shoulders and haunches of queuing vehicles hustled them forwards, while the sweep of the windscreen wipers brought the street in and out of focus.
Kitty, self-conscious in her one skirt, longed for comfy jeans. She wiggled her ankles in their unaccustomed tights, already spattered