Page 9 of Oz
“I get the feeling I’m going to hear that sentence a lot,” I say, and he grins.
We pass a high honey-coloured stone wall and the car slows.
“Is this it?” I ask, nerves suddenly fluttering in my stomach.
He nods. “We’ll go in through the side entrance which is the way the visitors will enter. It’ll give you an idea of what you’re up against.”
“Shit!” I say, and he smiles.
He pulls into a large grassy area. Ahead are some long stone buildings.
“This is the visitor’s car park,” he says, switching the engine off.
“I’m not a driver,” I say cautiously, looking around at the overgrown area. “But isn’t this more of a field than a car park?”
He shoots me a look. “Now you’re getting it.”
“Shit!” I say again.
We get out of the car and I stand for a second and breathe in. “It’s so fresh,” I say softly. “I swear the air tastes salty.”
“It does. The sea is just over there on the other side of the house. You can hear it in all the rooms.”
“How lovely.”
He shoots me a funny look. “It’s just background noise.”
“Yes. Well, so are car alarms, fire engines, and police sirens. This is better, believe me.”
He smiles. “We’ll leave your case in the boot and come back for it later. You can have a look around first.”
I shake my head and fall in next to him. “You think that I’ll take one look at all the work needing to be done and run away as far and as fast as I can.”
He shoots me a look. “Actually, I don’t,” he says slowly. “I’d have said it last week, but I don’t think you actually run away from anything.”
“It’s better to face up to everything,” I say staunchly. We approach a small, low, honey-coloured building, and step inside. I look around slowly. “Apart from this,” I say faintly. “Holy fucking shitballs!”
He laughs in a startled fashion. “Welcome to the visitor’s centre.”
I shake my head. The room is stripped back to the bare brick and the floor is open, revealing wires and pipes underneath. There’s no glass in the windows and no workmen in sight. “Is it a visitor’s centre for visiting sheep?” He snorts, and we pick our way delicately over the floor to a door at the side. “And this has got to be ready in six months?”
He nods. “This is nothing. Wait until you see–” He stops abruptly, colour staining his high cheekbones.
I stop. “Milo, for your sins I’m going to be your mentor.” I pause and shake my head. “You must have been incredibly evil in a former life. Miss Trunchbull level.” His lips quirk in a bewildered fashion as I turn to face him. “First mentoring lesson. When you’re dealing with me, I like the truth. I hate being blindsided by something. Remember, face on.”
“Face on,” he echoes dutifully. He makes a gesture as if he’s thinking of going for his notepad so I divert him.
“Where are the workmen? Dare I presume that they’re doing something dreadfully important somewhere else?”
“That would be a nice thought,” he says solemnly. “But I think they’re in the pub.”
“In thepub? Have they had a long lunch?”
“Not so much a lunch as a whole day.” He slumps slightly. “They haven’t been here for three days.”
“And no one’s queried it?” I ask sharply.
He flinches and I make a shushing noise. “Not you. I wouldn’t expect you to be doing this. What about that Niall?”
