The Crowmaster by Barry Hutchison

woods belongs to the house. Too much for me to look after, so I marked out something a bit less... overwhelming.’
    â€˜You grow your own vegetables?’
    â€˜Of course! I’m quite self-sufficient up here,’ she said proudly. ‘Really not much but leeks and sprouts ready at the minute, though. Fancy either of those?’
    I shook my head. ‘No, thanks.’
    â€˜Don’t know what you’re missing,’ Marion scolded, and for a moment she reminded me of Mum. ‘Anyway,’ she continued, as we reached the back door, ‘in you go. Watch out for Toto. He’ll probably come leaping out at you.’
    â€˜Toto?’
    â€˜My dog,’ she explained, opening the door. ‘He’s... Oh.’ She looked around the kitchen. ‘He’s not here. Must be off roaming. He’ll come back at dinner time, no doubt.’
    I stood just inside the back door, taking in the large kitchen. It had wood on the walls and tiles on the floor. An old, complicated-looking cooker seemed to take up half of one wall, boxed in by a mismatched assortment of storage units on either side.
    A rack of pots and pans hung from the ceiling, too high for anyone to reach. A thin rope led from the rack, across the yellowing ceiling, and down to a hook on the wall. I guessed that was how Marion lowered the pots enough to get to them. Either that or she kept a pair of stilts handy.
    There were two windows – one large, the other much smaller. There were no curtains, but each window had its own set of wooden shutters that could be closed across it. I didn’t imagine Marion shut them often. I couldn’t see how she could have any privacy problems way out here.
    A folding table was pushed against one wall, with a single wooden chair tucked in underneath. I could imagine Marion sitting there, eating her meals alone, with only Toto for company. Suddenly – despite her huge house with its sprawling plot of land – I found myself feeling sorry for her.
    â€˜Well, this is it,’ she said, almost bashfully. ‘It’s not much, but it does me well enough.’
    â€˜It’s really nice,’ I assured her. ‘Much bigger than our kitchen at home.’
    â€˜Too big, probably,’ Marion said. ‘Now come on. I’ll give you the grand tour.’
    *  *  *
    I lowered myself carefully on to the bed, trying it out. Marion hadn’t been kidding about the scratchy blankets. They were made of a coarse, grey material that may well have been a cross between camel hair and barbed wire. Fortunately, she had swapped them for different ones within two minutes of us stepping through the bedroom door.
    The blankets I sat on now were made of a soft fleecy material. They felt so comfortable I could almost forgive the hideous pattern of ruby-red flowers that covered them like a rash. Almost.
    After a quick tour of the place, and an attempted phone call home, Marion had left me ‘to get settled in’. There had been no answer from home, and I found it strange that neither Mum nor Ameena were in. No doubt I was being paranoid and there was a simple explanation for it – shopping, or something. I made a mental note to call again later.
    The room Marion had picked for me looked out on to the wooded hillside that led up from one side of the house. At the top of the hill, a towering metal structure rose above the treetops. It looked almost alien against its surroundings, and I guessed it must be a television or radio mast.
    I could hear Marion bustling about in the kitchen making dinner. I’d never tasted her cooking, but statistically it was very unlikely to be as bad as Mum’s. I hadn’t eaten anything since leaving home, and I realised I was actually quite hungry.
    Marion had already made it clear dinner would be a good hour or so away. I sprung up from the bed. Even out here there had to be somewhere to buy snacks. Right?
    â€˜A shop? Yes, of