The Owl Service by Alan Garner Page A

She said some hateful things. I didn’t know she could be like that.”
    â€œLike what?”
    â€œI can’t tell you, Gwyn.”
    â€œThank you very much, Miss Alison. I’m sorry I spoke.”
    â€œDon’t, Gwyn. It’s not me.”
    â€œWho is it, then?”
    â€œI – Well—”
    â€œI only want to talk to you, girl.”
    â€œMe too. You’re the only one who’s ever called me ‘Alison’.”
    â€œThat’s your name.”
    â€œBut I’m always called ‘Ali’. It’s horrid. Ali Alleycat.”
    â€œI just want to talk to you,” said Gwyn. “With you it all goes how I mean it. Have you had your breakfast?”
    â€œNo, I couldn’t.”
    â€œNeither could I. It was like sawdust. I couldn’t swallow.”
    Gwyn went back to the tree stump.
    â€œWe must talk about these plates.”
    â€œWhy?” said Alison. “They’re broken. I don’t care two hoots – oh! Two hoots!” Alison laughed, covering her face with her hands. “Two hoots!”
    â€œSteady,” said Gwyn. “Come on, Alison, that’s enough now. Come on, girl. I’m sorry. I should have thought.”
    â€œHello,” said Roger. He was leaning against a tree. “I wondered where you were. I’ve been shouting after you. I’ve some prints I want you to see.”
    â€œIn a minute,” said Gwyn.
    â€œCome and see, Ali,” said Roger.
    â€œI told you in a minute,” said Gwyn.
    â€œAli,” said Roger. “Your mother’s knocking around. Don’t you think—? Remember?”
    â€œWhat’s he on about?” said Gwyn.
    Alison looked at him. “Gwyn – don’t come to the house with us. Gwyn, I tried: but Mummy said I wasn’t to talk to you.”
    â€œIt’s quite in order, Miss Alison,” said Gwyn. “And I’ll use the tradesman’s entrance in future.” He walked briskly along the path and then up through the wood towards the back drive.
    â€œGwyn, I daren’t!”
    â€œThat fellow’s got a chip on his shoulder a mile high,” said Roger.

C HAPTER 14
    â€œO f course if I’d had the proper stuff: I could have blown it up as big as the wall,” said Roger. “As it is, I’ve been sweating in that cellar all morning trying to balance out, but it’s murder to use that film and paper for really detailed work. Still, there’s enough to give you some idea, and perhaps you’ll be able to tell what it is: a fresh eye, and all that.”
    â€œNot now, Roger,” said Alison.
    â€œThe prints are on the dining-room table. They’ll be a bit damp, so mind you don’t flap them about.”
    â€œNo. Later. Not now.”
    â€œDidn’t half give me a shock at first, I’ll tell you,” said Roger. “It’s the last two, when that great hairy Welsh freak was watching. Gwyn was there when I took most of the others. You can see his hand. He was sitting on the stone before he went off to find his mate. But the point is, Ali, the pictures were all taken within five minutes, once I’d set the camera up, and I was looking at the Bryn pretty well all the time. Anyway, see for yourself. They’re in here.”
    But as soon as Roger opened the door Alison ran past him and up the stairs.
    â€œOy! Ali!”
    Her door banged and he heard a muffled chime of bed springs.
    â€œWomen!” said Roger, and went into the dining-room. His photographs were piled on the windowsill in full sunlight. The top prints had rolled themselves into tubes. Nancy was laying the table.
    â€œWho’s moved my prints?” said Roger.
    â€œThey was on the table,” said Nancy.
    â€œI know they were on the table. I put them there to finish drying. “I’ve spent all morning on those prints!”
    â€œThey was in the way,” said Nancy. “I got work to do,