"Why
don't you cut Mister Oak loose,” Mary said, pointing towards our
captive.
“Right
oh,” I replied, transferring the knife to my right hand as I leant
forward to attack Oak's restraints. It was only when I got close
that I realised the washing line was lying in a pile on the floor by
the chair legs. Oak had obviously managed to free himself, yet had
sat passively for the duration of Mary's outburst.
“Hang
on,” I said, when Oak caught my eye, slowly shaking his head to
silence me. I frowned at him in response, questions bubbling in my
mind. His gaze was steady and unflinching. His eyes flicked to
Mary, then back to me, before he cocked his head slightly to one
side.
“What?”
Mary asked, still a little dazed.
“Nothing
dear,” I replied, gathering the washing line in my hands. “What
do we do now?”
