Hollow Earth by John Barrowman, Carole E. Barrowman Page A

a fight the first hour of their stay.
    Zach pointed to his lips.
    ‘You read lips,’ said Matt, obviously impressed. ‘Cool. I’m Matt.’ He shoved his hand into Zach’s and looked the boy directly in the eyes. ‘And this is my twin sister Em.’
    Zach smiled and then signed something, keeping his eyes on the twins as he did. Jeannie translated.
    ‘So who’s the eldest?’
    ‘I am,’ answered Matt, carefully watching Zach’s gestures.
    ‘But only by six minutes,’ interrupted Em. ‘We lived with our mum in London, but … some things happened there, and now we have to live here.’ She looked over at Jeannie. ‘At least, I think we do.’
    Jeannie smiled and nodded.
    ‘Well, I live here with my dad,’ signed Zach. ‘My mum died when I was born. I don’t remember her.’
    He stopped moving his hands, gulped down his juice, filled his plate with sandwiches, and before darting out the French doors with his lunch, turned and signed again to the twins.
    A voice with a deep, melodious, Scottish accent spoke from the other side of the kitchen. ‘Zach says he’ll catch up with you two later.’
    The twins swivelled on their stools as a tall man with thick, white hair stood before them.
    If asked, the twins would’ve said they’d expected their grandfather to look like an older version of their dad. Admittedly, they only had a vague idea of what their dad looked like, based on a few holiday pictures and a couple of snapshots taken days after they were born. But from those, he’d been tall but fairly scruffy, with shaggy, dark hair and a stud earring.
    The man standing before them in the kitchen was anything but scruffy. He wore lightly pressed jeans, a blue dress shirt rolled at the cuffs and a pair of polished tan hiking boots. There was a puckered scar on his right forearm that looked like some kind of bite mark.
    Renard smiled at the twins. Em thought he looked handsome and kind. Matt thought he looked intimidating.
    He doesn’t look anything like Dad.
    ‘So … I see you’re enjoying your lunch,’ Renard said. ‘You don’t remember me, do you?’
    The twins shook their heads, their mouths full.
    ‘Well, you were very young when you left. When you’re finished, meet me out in the garden. I want to see what you can do.’
    ‘I’m still not sure that’s such a good idea,’ said Sandie, coming over to Em and taking a few crisps from her plate.
    ‘If these children are going to be under my protection,’ said Renard, ‘and under my tutelage, then I want to see first-hand what they are capable of.’
    Matt and Em glanced at each other.
    ‘You heard what happened at the National Gallery,’ continued Sandie. ‘You know how this will change things with the Council. In fact, you knew all about the incident before I even called you. How was that possible?’
    ‘That would have been because of me,’ said a woman about the same age as their mum, stepping inside from the garden. ‘I was in Glasgow yesterday picking up supplies for next term. I had lunch with a friend of a Council member. It’s all he could talk about.’
    Dressed in a short, navy sundress and high, wedge sandals with rows of chunky silver bracelets lining her arms, the woman looked regal. Despite her silky, black hair held off her face with rubber safety goggles, her thin nose and wide hazel eyes reminded Em of a painting she’d seen once of a Native American princess. The woman was the opposite of softly freckled, fair-haired Sandie who, in paint-spattered jeans, scuffed cowboy boots and a shirt she’d slept in, looked as if she’d been mucking around on a horse ranch.
    ‘Mara! I didn’t know you were back at the Abbey,’ said Sandie in surprise. She hesitated for a beat before awkwardly embracing the newcomer.
    ‘Yes, I came back.’ Mara stepped away from Sandie’s cursory hug. ‘When Renard opened the Abbey as an art school a few years ago, I decided to join him and teach.’
    I don’t think Mum is glad she’s here ,