“The idea of our cellar...” I said slowly. Part of me
understood, while at the same time there was a part of me that just
found the idea so challenging. There was the cellar, right in front
of us. Surely it was what it was. But then, how did it get to be so
tidy, when just a few hours earlier it had been in such chaos? “I
do get it,” I told Oak, “But...”
“Maybe it would be for the best,” he replied, “If you didn't
think about it too much.”
For once, I found myself agreeing with him, resolving there and then
to put it out of my mind until I had time to think properly.
Preferably, I thought, with the aid of a large scotch.
“You're right,” I said, pulling at my belt to straighten my
trousers. “Where do we begin?”
Before he could reply we heard Fiona shout from the living room
above. “Be on your guard,” she warned, “They may have changed
their appearance.”
“Marvellous,” Oak sighed, not quite under his breath, “We could
have saved ourselves a lot of trouble if we'd just followed the usual
protocols.”
I couldn't help glaring at him, lost for words. “Sorry,” he
said, lifting a box from the top of the pile in front of us, “Force
of habit. We've got a lot to get through,” he continued, looking
reluctantly at the scale of the task before us, “We'd better just
start here and work our way through.”
