Mystery for Megan (2 page)

Megan was used to a house with a living room and a kitchen with a table to eat at. She was used to a house with a bathroom, a bedroom for her mum and dad and a small bedroom
for herself. She was used to a room that was five steps wide and six steps long; this was how Megan always measured things.

There wasn’t a single room in Buttercup House that was five steps wide and six steps long. Even the hall with the tumbledown staircase was bigger than that. Then there was the kitchen, a
separate dining room and a living room. Upstairs, was a bathroom, two big bedrooms and a smaller bedroom.

‘Is this one mine?’ Megan asked when she saw the small bedroom.

Her mum and dad looked at each other and smiled.

‘That’s going to be my office,’ said her dad.

Megan wasn’t quite sure what her dad did, but she knew it was to do with advertising and she knew it involved lots of paper and that he needed lots of places to put it.

‘This will be your room,’ her dad said, leading her down the landing. Tucked away between the two larger bedrooms was a narrow set of stairs that Megan hadn’t noticed
before.

‘Up you go then,’ her mum said.

Megan followed the stairs upwards until she reached a small square landing with a door.

When she opened the door, she saw an enormous attic bedroom. Megan had always wanted an attic room. It was the most amazing room she had ever seen, and it was yellow, Megan’s favourite
colour.

‘We painted it last week while you were at school,’ her dad said. ‘We wanted you to like it straight away.’

‘Do you like it?’ her mum asked, uncertainly.

‘I love it!’ Megan said, and she really did.

Later, when her bed was all made up, and her chest of drawers and wardrobe were exactly where she wanted them, Megan counted the steps across her room. Then she thought she
must be wrong and counted again, but it was still the same. Thirty steps across and thirty steps long. A perfect square.

I must write and tell Emily and Beth,
Megan thought. She missed Emily and Beth. It was hard leaving her friends behind, but she had promised herself that she would be brave and try not to
think about it too much.

Megan gazed through the window at the garden rolling down towards the stream and the treehouse held up high in the enormous tree.
It is wonderful here, though,
Megan thought.
Even more
wonderful than the house in the game I play in my head. If only there was a dog called Boots, then everything would be perfect.

It wasn’t until the next day when Megan met Freya and when Freya told her about Dorothy, the black cat, that Megan realised that Buttercup House was anything but an ordinary house.

On the right-hand side of the back garden of Buttercup House was a wall made of big old stones. Megan stretched up her arm and tried to be as tall as she could, but she still
couldn’t reach the top – it was much too high. Then, she noticed a small head at the top of the wall. It made her jump.

‘Hello,’ said the head, which was a very pretty head with dark shiny hair and a tiny nose.

‘Hello,’ said Megan.

‘You won’t be able to reach the top, you know, it’s too high,’ said the girl with the shiny hair and the tiny nose.

‘How did you get up there then?’ Megan asked, curiously.

‘I have a special walkway,’ said the girl. ‘Are you the new girl?’

Megan nodded.

‘My name’s Freya,’ she said.

‘I’m Megan.’

‘I know,’ Freya said. ‘I heard your mum call you earlier. Shall I come down and meet you at the other end of the wall?’

Megan hadn’t thought about the other end of the wall. She had only just discovered
this
end. ‘OK,’ she said.

Freya’s head disappeared, and Megan followed the wall until it ended. Freya was already there, peering over the wooden slatted fence which replaced the wall and ran down to the trees and
the stream.

Freya was quite a lot smaller than Megan. She wore long stripy socks that stretched above her knees and a pair of long purple shorts that looked as if they were too big for her. She wore a
yellow T-shirt covered in silver stars and she had hair that reached down to her elbows. Megan thought she looked like a little elf.

‘Have you seen her?’ Freya whispered.

‘Have I seen who?’ Megan asked, whispering too, although she had no idea why she was whispering.

‘Dorothy.’

‘Who’s Dorothy?’

‘The cat,’ Freya answered. ‘She’s back! Haven’t you seen her?’

‘No,’ Megan answered, feeling a little puzzled. ‘Is she your cat?’

Freya laughed. ‘No, not my cat. She’s . . . well, she’s our cat.’

‘Our cat?’ said Megan.

Freya nodded. ‘Yours and mine. She lives here. Granny told me all about her. She used to live here years ago, then she went, but now she’s back.’

Megan had no idea what Freya meant and was beginning to think she was a bit bonkers. Then all of a sudden, Freya exclaimed, ‘There, look!’

Megan looked to where Freya pointed, to the trees that bordered the stream, and there was a black cat, dashing through the long grass.

‘I told you,’ said Freya. ‘Granny was so pleased when I told her I’d seen her. I wish we could play in your treehouse.’

‘It needs fixing,’ said Megan. ‘Everything here needs fixing. But we could play in it tomorrow, when Dad’s fixed it.’

So that was how Megan and Freya got to be friends – just like that!

Megan’s dad took planks of wood up to the treehouse and hammered and banged, and hammered and banged some more. Every now and then Megan saw a dark head appear above the
wall, and she would wave to Freya, and Freya would wave back. Then Megan saw the black cat, Dorothy, again. This time she was sitting at the end of the wall and seemed to be watching her.
Why is
she doing that?
thought Megan.

Megan followed her mum into the workshop at the side of the house, where she was going to be making her interesting things out of clay. At the moment, though, it was full of boxes packed full of
all their things.

‘Mum, did you know that a black cat lives here?’ Megan asked.

‘Where?’ asked her mum. ‘Here?’

‘Yes, here,’ said Megan. ‘Freya told me, and I saw her yesterday and again just now. She’s called Dorothy.’

‘Oh, she’s probably wild,’ said her mum.

That’ll be it then,
thought Megan.
I bet she just visits now and again. But what did Freya mean when she said that Dorothy used to live here years ago? It’s all very
puzzling.

‘I’ve finished,’ Megan’s dad called.

Megan raced towards the treehouse.

‘Careful as you go,’ he said, holding on to the ladder to steady it.

Megan’s heart was racing. She stepped carefully up the rope ladder, which was more difficult to climb than she had thought. Eight steps up and she was there.

It was the best treehouse she had ever seen! It looked around the same size as her old bedroom, about five steps by six, Megan thought. Megan leaned back against one of the walls. She could see
Freya’s garden and if she looked out of the window she could see the stream at the bottom of the garden. Then she saw Dorothy again, dashing in and out of the trees.

‘I’ve got an old rug you can have,’ Megan’s mum called from below. ‘And a couple of cushions.’

Megan’s dad appeared moments later, with the rug and cushions under his arm. ‘Here,’ he said, pushing the things through the doorway.

Megan laid the rug out and put the cushions next to each other, one for her and one for Freya.

She peered through the opening, waving to Freya.

‘I’m coming down,’ she called. ‘Meet me at the end of the wall.’

Megan carefully climbed down the ladder. It swung a bit, but she was already getting used to it.

The treehouse was fantastic!

Freya was at the end of the wall when Megan arrived.

‘Is it finished? Can we play in it?’ Freya asked excitedly.

‘Yes, come on, quick,’ said Megan, hopping from one foot to the other.

The girls ran across the garden to the treehouse. Megan was first up, then her dad steadied the ladder while Freya climbed up.

‘It’s OK,’ Freya told him. ‘The ladder’s not as tricky as my special walkway.’ She reached the top and gasped. ‘Wow! It’s amazing!’

‘Do you like the rug?’ Megan asked. ‘Do you like the cushions?’

‘Oh yes!’ said Freya, her face alight with wonder. ‘It’s awesome, all of it’s awesome.’

Then she remembered something. ‘Biscuits,’ Freya said, reaching into the pocket of her dungarees and pulling out four biscuits and some paper napkins. Freya shared the biscuits out
as if she was dealing cards, and the girls munched away at them.

‘You are so lucky having this treehouse,’ said Freya. ‘But then again, I’ve got Granny’s stories, so I’m lucky too, aren’t I?’

‘Does your granny read you stories, then?’ Megan asked, thinking Freya meant stories from a book.

‘Oh no, she doesn’t read them,’ Freya said, shaking her head from side to side. ‘They’re in her head. Granny tells me stories about all sorts of things. Granny used
to live at Buttercup House when she was little. That’s how she first saw the mice.’

‘What mice?’ Megan asked, wondering how many other animals were going to suddenly appear.

Freya looked around to make sure no one else was listening, although there was no need to as there was no one else around.

‘The mice who live here,’ said Freya.

‘What mice who live here?’ Megan asked.

‘Oh! You haven’t seen them yet, have you?’ Freya said, understanding Megan’s confusion. ‘I only got to see one for the first time this morning. Are you sure you
haven’t seen them yet?’

‘No, I haven’t,’ said Megan. ‘I’m not sure I like mice. Are there a lot of them?’

Freya laughed. ‘Just a few.’

Megan was beginning to feel a bit worried and Freya must have noticed.

‘Oh, it’s OK,’ she said. ‘Granny has always said they are well behaved and really helpful, and the one I saw this morning was very friendly.’

Megan really was beginning to think Freya might be a bit bonkers.

‘How can mice be helpful?’ she asked, looking bemused.

‘You mustn’t tell anybody,’ said Freya, in a whisper, ‘but they help you to remember things, or let you know when something’s happened, all sorts of things really.
I would have forgotten the biscuits if it wasn’t for the mouse reminding me earlier.’