Hollow Earth by John Barrowman, Carole E. Barrowman

reasons. The front hinted at the medieval fortress it once was, but the rear suggested a very modern mansion. Expansive windows replaced sections of the stone walls in the main part of the building, the cloisters on the western side had been renovated to create studios for students and artists in residence at the Abbey. At the far edge of the studios, a grove of birch trees stretched back to the beach. About twenty steps into the first line of birches, a large mirror of coloured glass hung between two of the trees in a sort of hammock of silver chains. Identical pieces hung from the next four birch rows, creating an overlapping line of glass all the way to the water.
    Tearing her eyes away, Em looked back at the Abbey. There was something strange about the windows that she couldn’t quite work out. They walked across the lawn to the former stables and peeked inside. Two had been converted into garages, but it was the cloisters on this side that made Em smile the widest as they housed a full-on gym and a pool. Their grandfather was clearly loaded.
    ‘Do either of you like to swim?’ asked Simon, sliding open a heavy glass door to reveal the pool and gym equipment.
    ‘I love it!’ said Em excitedly.
    ‘So so,’ said Matt, not wanting to look overly impressed.
    Simon smiled to himself at the difference between the twins’ levels of enthusiasm. ‘That’s it,’ he said. ‘Tour’s over.’
    He led them up to a flagstone terrace, furnished with two umbrella tables and groupings of chairs and loungers. French doors were open on to the terrace from a kitchen. Em stopped and stared. That’s what was niggling her about this place. All of the glass – on the windows, the doors, even the cloisters – was smoky and dark. From the outside, no one could see into any part of the Abbey.
    Pretty sure the monks didn’t put that in , she thought.
    ‘Ready to meet your grandfather?’ asked Simon, welcoming them into the biggest kitchen they’d ever seen.

THIRTEEN
    B efore Matt and Em had the opportunity to enjoy any of their favourite foods – and there were lots of them spread across a massive oak table – a cheery-faced, grey-haired woman in an old-fashioned apron came dashing across the room, scooped Matt and Em into her arms and pressed them against her ample bosom.
    ‘Will ye look at the two of you. Oh, my. Not bairns any more.’
    Eventually she released them from her squishy embrace, although to Matt it had felt like more of a stranglehold. Keeping them at arm’s length, she exclaimed, ‘Och, yer your dad’s doubles all right.’ She sighed, pulled a hanky from her apron pocket and dabbed her nose and eyes. ‘You must be starving – and parched too, I’ve nae doubt.’ Heading across to a refrigerator that looked bigger than their entire kitchen in London, she gave Simon a flick with a tea towel. ‘I ken Simon didn’t offer you anything to drink ’fore he gave you the grand tour, eh?’
    ‘Matt and Em, this is Jeannie,’ laughed Simon, ducking a second swipe from her tea towel. ‘They should meet their grandfather before they eat.’
    ‘Nonsense!’ Jeannie poured three glasses of juice and set them at places already arranged on the table. ‘Zach’s ready for his lunch, and these weans have been on a train all night. If Mr R. wants to meet them, they’ll be in here when he’s ready.’
    Jeannie shifted out in front of the table and gestured in sign language to someone behind Matt and Em. Em turned to see a boy, maybe a year older than her and Matt. He was about Matt’s height, with cropped blond hair, dressed in a T-shirt, baggy cargo shorts, scuffed trainers and no socks, gesturing back at Jeannie. Zach. Simon’s son.
    ‘Is he deaf?’ Matt asked Jeannie curiously.
    Before Jeannie could reply, Zach grabbed the back of Matt’s stool and turned it so Matt was facing him. Em tensed. She wanted these people to like them both. She wanted to live here. She felt safe here. She didn’t need Matt picking