by Rhys Jones
She turned to Ellie and Ruff. “And I think I owe the two of you an apology for banning you. I had no right to do that. Mind you, I think it was as effective as a chocolate teapot, thank goodness.”
Oz threw on a coat and watched from the front door as Ellie and Ruff piled into Mrs. Chambers’ old banger. The storm had passed over, and above them stars looked down through gaps in the scudding clouds.
“Hey, Oz, no school tomorrow. Fancy a kick about on People’s Park after Ballista’s?” Ellie called from the back seat.
“It’ll be polecat-free,” Ruff yelled.
“I’ll be there,” Oz said, grinning.
As the car pulled out into Magnus Street, Mr. Fanshaw, dressed in an overcoat, slippers and a woolly hat, was putting out the bins. He waved at Mrs. Chambers.
“Sorry to hear about the fire,” he yelled above the wind. “Make it a bit more difficult to get rid of the old place, I should think.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Mrs. Chambers shouted back. “We’re not going anywhere in a hurry.”
“Really?” said Mr. Fanshaw. “But I thought…”
“Byeee,” said Mrs. Chambers, and zoomed off, but not before she sent Oz a defiant grin and stuck her right hand out of the driver’s side window with her thumb up.
Oz watched them go and then turned back inside. But before he shut the door, he turned once more to face the street, lifted his head, sniffed the air and smiled. In the kitchen, the calendar was back in its place on the fridge door, the black dog well and truly hidden. He pressed the maker’s mark on the pebble and Soph appeared in front of him, regarding him with her intelligent grey eyes. He walked to the kitchen window and looked out into the deep blackness of the December night.
“Okay, Dad,” he said quietly. “Ready when you are.”
Acknowledgements
BRJ for his designs and photographs, CTJ for his interpretation, GMJ for his constructive criticism.
About the Author
Rhys A Jones was born in 1955 and grew up in a mining village in South Wales with his nose in a book and his head in the clouds. He managed to subdue his imagination long enough to carve out a career in medicine, writing whenever the chance arose.
In 1994, writing as Dylan Jones, he published his first thriller for adults, Thicker Than Water, which was subsequently made into a film by the BBC.
A growing desire to move away from adult thrillers and write for children is what currently preoccupies him. The Obsidian Pebble is the first book featuring Oscar Chambers and the ‘haunted house’ he and his mother have inherited. Rhys A Jones has three grown up children and lives in darkest West Wales with his understanding (very) wife.
