“What the hell is that?”
She looked out of the front window, expecting to see a motorcycle gunning away. Nothing.
Rosalie went back to her vacuuming. She had the whole house to clean by four. She had no time to worry about odd sounds.
This time she ran out of the front door and looked at her windows. It sounded exactly like someone throwing stones at the glass. Again.
“If that’s you, Charlie Harris, you won’t be able to sit down for weeks, when I get hold of you.” No one.
Shaking her head, Rosalie went back indoors. Maybe it had been the radio. She turned it off and went into the kitchen. In the silence, the scrape of her peeler on the carrots seemed extraordinarily loud. The rest of the family would be around in a couple of hours and they would expect a feast. “Do I ever get a thank you? Not one.”
Rosalie attacked the last carrot with such force, the end came off and spun up and away before finally landing on the floor behind her. She picked it up and threw it in the compost bin. Crick crack!
“Who on earth is doing that? Wait till I catch you!”
This time Rosalie marched out into the back garden, her pride and joy. Norman mowed the front lawn and kept that tidy, but this was Rosalie’s paradise. No one helped. She grew her vegetables in the raised beds. The compost heap, where she dumped the peelings, was under an old black ash tree. She reached up and patted the trunk.
“You never let me down.”
She looked around for the culprit. She peered over the fence. No one.
Rosalie looked up in time to gasp as a huge limb dropped.