Here are the first three chapters of Wrights & Wrongs. If you'd like to read the whole book, send me an email and I'll email it to you in PDF format (file is 680kb). There is no charge.

© copyright Derek Gillard 2000
Wrights & Wrongs is my copyright. You are welcome to download these sample chapters and print them for your own personal use, provided my name as the author is attached. But you may not publish them, upload them onto any other website, or sell them, without my permission.

The characters and events portrayed in Wrights & Wrongs are entirely fictitious. Any similarity to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

Chapter 1

It was mid-afternoon on Wednesday 22 December 1999 and Martin Ostler wasn't happy.

'Can't you go any faster?'

Tom looked at his son in the driving mirror. 'I don't see any point in hurrying. There'll be little to do until the removal lorry arrives.'

The green Peugeot reached the turning off the M1 and joined the short queue of traffic waiting on the slip road.

'Why wasn't I allowed to come with you when you visited the place last September?'

'You were at school. Besides, if I remember rightly, Martin, you made it very clear you didn't want to come.'

'That's not what I meant. You know what I meant. I didn't want us to move here at all. All my friends are ...'

'Yes, Martin, we know. You've told us a hundred times.'

They arrived at traffic lights and turned left on to the Kingsborough Ring Road.

Sheila was studying the road atlas. 'Now ... we have to look for the Markham roundabout.' She looked at Tom, a worried expression on her face. 'Are you sure it was left at those traffic lights?'

'Yes, Dear.' He cast a quick glance down at the book on her lap. 'I think you've got it upside down.'

Typical! thought Martin. He looked at the back of his mother's head, with its untidy mop of brown hair. She was always in a flap! He fidgetted in the back.

'Could you stop pushing my seat forward with your knees?' said Tom.

'If you weren't so tall I'd have more room in the back. I should've sat behind mum.' He gave her another look. She was certainly shorter than her husband, though, unlike him, she was becoming - well, a bit tubby, to be honest. 'Sam's got lots of room.'

'Oh yeah! And what about Ben?' said Sam.

Martin looked down at the golden labrador sitting patiently - well, nearly patiently - between his sister's knees, its tongue hanging out, the usual cheeky sort of grin on its face. He patted its head.

Then he sat back and looked at his sister. 'If you'd been two years younger than me instead of two years older there'd've been room ...'

Sheila looked round. 'Martin, give it a rest!'

There was quiet for a minute or two.

'Don't suppose there'll be a swimming pool anywhere near. It was great in Leicester ...'

'Anybody'd think you were the only one who'd had to give up anything to move here,' said Sam. 'What about mum? She's had to give up her job.' She turned and looked out of the window. 'And I shan't see Craig.'

'Huh! That long-haired wimp!'

'That's enough, Martin,' said Tom. 'We've all had to make sacrifices. But this was too good an opportunity to miss. A once-in-a-lifetime chance to set up an organic farm. It's what we've always wanted to do.'

'It's what you've always wanted to do. Anyway, why couldn't you have set one up in Leicester?'

Sheila looked round at her son again. 'Martin, for goodness' sake - you've done nothing but moan ever since we left home.'

'It's a big step for all of us,' said Tom. 'I know that.'

Sheila pointed ahead. 'This must be the Markham turning,' she said. 'And that must be your new school, Martin. On the right.'

Martin looked. Playing fields, then a large concrete and glass building and a sign saying 'Markham Vale Secondary School'.

'Huh! Looks a right dump.'

'Martin ...' began Tom.

'Yes, I know. Give it a rest!'

They turned left into the village.

'Oh look,' said Sheila, 'the village pond.'

'Looks more like the village rubbish dump to me.'

'And there's the village shop.'

'Huh!'

'Oh, and look, Tom, the village pub - the Markham Arms.'

Martin mimicked his mum. 'And there's the village slag heap. And there's the village toxic waste dump ...'

'Martin!' shouted Tom and Sheila in unison.

'This is it,' said Tom, 'Parnell Avenue.'

They turned right and drove past a dozen or so older-style houses. Then a farm entrance on the right.

'Is that it? Looks a bit of a tip.'

'No, there are two farms next door to each other in Parnell Avenue. This one's ours.'

They passed through a wide gateway and bumped noisily over a cattle grid.

'What the devil ...?' Tom leaned forward over the steering wheel and looked up.

A gang of youths was on the roof of one of the outbuildings to their right. They were throwing stones into the yard of the neighbouring farm and shouting at a farmhand who was doing something to a tractor.

The car skidded to a halt and Tom jumped out.

'Oi you three. What on earth do you think you're doing? This is private property. Clear off.'

A lump of concrete landed at his feet.

'Right!'

He marched towards the shed. Ben barked. The rest of the family got out of the car.

'Tom, be careful,' said Sheila.

The youths jumped down behind the shed. Tom ran round after them, but by the time he arrived at the back of the buildings, they'd crawled through a gap in the fence and run off.

Sheila slammed the car door. 'That's the sort of greeting we could have done without.'

Tom shrugged his shoulders and walked back to the car. 'Well, the house has been empty for the best part of a month. Now they know there's someone living here they'll keep away.'

'You hope!' said Martin, gloomily.

Tom found the key and opened the front door of the nineteenth century farmhouse. 'Welcome to Wood Farm, Markham. Our new life.'

He stood aside to let Sheila in first. Sam followed. Martin waited for Ben, who was busy christening a hedge.

'I'll unload the boot,' said Tom. 'Then we'll have some tea. The removal lorry shouldn't be long.'

'What shall I do with Ben?' said Martin.

'Let him wander round for a bit. Get used to the place.' He opened the door to the front room. 'Then we'll keep him in here while the removal men are going in and out. Bring his blanket in, will you?'

Martin organised Ben's things in the front room while Sheila filled the kettle in the kitchen at the back of the house and Tom and Sam emptied the contents of the boot.

Ten minutes later they were all standing in the kitchen drinking tea.

'Bit of a dump, isn't it?' said Martin.

'Don't start again, Martin, please,' begged Sheila.

'Well, look at it!'

The kitchen was certainly very different from the one in the smart three-bed semi they'd left in Leicester a couple of hours ago. There was an old-fashioned china sink and a wooden dresser. Nothing else. Unless you counted the rather peculiar and faintly unpleasant stale smell.

Martin opened the larder door. The smell was stronger in here. 'Didn't do much modernisation, did they?'

'They were in their seventies,' said Tom, fiddling with a bunch of keys and trying one of them in the back door. 'I expect the place got a bit much for them towards the end.'

'Towards the end?' said Sam. 'They didn't die here, did they?' She shuddered at the thought of ghosts walking the bedrooms upstairs.

'No, they didn't.' He found the right key and the back door swung open. 'They've gone to live in an old folks' home. Somewhere in Norfolk, I think they said.'

Martin followed his father out of the door. The area behind the house was surrounded by a high wall. Some of the bricks at the top were crumbling. There was a tall wooden gate, some rather uneven paving and some grass.

'Not exactly a garden, is it?'

Tom didn't reply.

'Well it isn't, is it?'

'Look, Martin. I know this isn't easy for you. You've had to leave your friends, school, your swimming club. But we've all had to make sacrifices. Your mum's given up her deputy headship. It's not going to be easy for her, being an ordinary class teacher again, is it?'

'S'ppose not.'

'Sam's had to leave her school and her boyfriend. Yes, I know what you think of him, but she liked him.'

'Huh!'

'And then there's me. I've had to resign from my job with C.A.R. I'll still be working for them occasionally, but it'll be voluntary work from now on. I shan't get paid anything. Well, only expenses.'

'So how are we going to manage?'

'Well, with your mum's teaching and what's left of the money we got from the sale of grandad's house in London, we should be all right for a year or so. But after that, the farm's got to start making money.'

Martin kicked a stone. It hit the brick wall and the sound echoed round the enclosed space.

'On top of all that, we've left a city we knew and liked for a very different life. A rural one, in a village where we know nothing and nobody. It's a big challenge. All I ask is, just give it a try, will you?'

Martin looked down at the ground. 'What would grandad have made of it all?'

'I hope he'd have approved. After all, it was his money that enabled us to buy the place. So we've got to make it work. For his sake.'

Martin looked up at his dad. 'S'ppose so.'

They wandered back inside. Sheila was pouring boiling water into the sink ready to wash the cups.

Martin went through into the hall and peered into the lounge. There was a large window looking out onto the garden, a huge old fireplace and a long radiator. At least the old couple had had central heating installed. Thank God!

He made a fuss of Ben in the front room, then he went upstairs. He found Sam looking out of the window in the back bedroom.

'That's Markham Woods,' she said, 'according to dad's map.'

Martin looked. Beyond the high brick wall, tall trees swayed in the breeze, their bare winter branches silhouetted against the sun, which was going down over to their left.

'I'm having this room,' he said. 'I can use my new binoculars to watch the wild life.'

'You haven't got them yet - they're supposed to be a surprise!'

She wandered off into a bedroom at the front. Martin followed her, and they stood looking out of the window towards the neighbouring farmhouse. Sam seemed a bit distant. She was watching the young man who'd been fixing the tractor. Now, he was leading a horse across the yard.

'That's the Wrights' Farm,' said Tom, coming into the room. 'We met Mr Wright when we visited the place. And that must be their son. Nathan, I think his name was.'

Martin pointed out a huge pile of timber in the Wrights' yard. 'Think they're planning a bonfire?'

'Dunno. No doubt we'll see.'

As they watched, a removal lorry pulled into the yard beneath them. They went back downstairs.

'Here we are, then,' said the chief removal man.

'Well done, Gordon,' said Tom.

Sheila came out of the kitchen. 'Will you have a cup of tea before you start?'

'Ah, that'd be grand, wouldn't it Darren?'

The younger removal man nodded his agreement.

It was beginning to get dark when Gordon and Darren started to unload the furniture.

Half an hour or so later, Sheila came into the hall. 'Has anyone seen Ben?'

'He was in the front room a few minutes ago,' said Sam, coming down the stairs.

Sheila opened the door of the front room. 'Well, he's not here now.'

She turned to the removal men who were starting to manhandle the double bed up the stairs. 'You haven't seen Ben lately, have you?'

'No missis,' said Gordon. He nodded in the direction of the front room. 'He was in there last time I saw him.'

Darren nodded his agreement.

They all looked at the open front door.

'He must've got out,' said Martin. 'I'll go and look for him.'

'I'll come too,' said Sam.

'Here,' said Sheila, handing Martin the torch, 'you'll need this. And keep together, mind!'

The pair set off across the yard towards the outbuildings. 'Ben? Ben!'

It was now pitch black outside.

'What was that?' said Sam.

'I didn't hear anything.'

'Over there, behind the outbuildings.' She ran across the yard.

'Wait for me, Sam! Sam? Where are you?'

He found his way between two of the outbuildings. 'Sam?'

'Over here, in something wet.'

He found her in the torchbeam. She'd gone through the hole in the fence and fallen into some water.

'Err! I'm all ...'

'Muddy,' said Martin. He swung the torch around. 'It's a stream.'

'Martin. My glasses!'

For the next few minutes, they were so busy scrabbling around trying to find Sam's glasses that they didn't hear a door opening at the neighbouring farmhouse. And they didn't see the large, round-faced woman in an apron and green gumboots striding towards them, a torch in one hand and a shotgun in the other.

'Found them!' said Martin, picking up the pair of gold-framed glasses, now covered in mud.

They froze as they heard an angry voice. 'If I catch you three on our land again, I'll ... oh!'

Torchlight dazzled the two intruders. The woman pointed the beam first at one, then at the other. A boy of about fourteen - slim, average height, dark hair with a parting down the middle, a few freckles on his nose, his trainers and the legs of his jeans soaking wet. The girl - a bit older, perhaps sixteen, also slim, attractive, longish dark hair in a ponytail, her jeans and sweater spattered in mud.

'Who are you and what the heck are you doing here?'

Chapter 2

'Sorry Mrs ...' began Sam.

'Wright.'

'Right. We were just looking for Ben.'

'Ben? There's three of you?'

'No, Ben's our labrador. The removal men left the front door open and he escaped.'

'Ah. You're our new neighbours then, are you?' Her tone changed. 'Oh dear, you are in a mess. Come on, let's get you cleaned up. I'm Emmy, by the way. Emmy Wright.'

They followed her across the yard. At the back door, she took off her gumboots and put the shotgun in the umbrella stand. 'You better take them off, too' she said, looking down at their trainers. 'Come on, this way. Bring 'em with you.'

The kitchen was an old-fashioned place. There was a huge wooden table in the middle and a dresser covered in plates and dishes. She found an old copy of Farming Times and put it on the table.

'There you are, put 'em on there.'

She ran some warm water in the big old china sink and Sam and Martin washed their hands. Then she got a damp cloth and wiped the worst of the mud off the two pairs of trainers.

'Take your socks off and dry your feet.'

She handed them a towel and then wiped Sam's glasses on a tissue. She held them up to the light. 'There you are. You can just about see through them, now.' She handed them back to Sam.

'Thanks Mrs Wright.'

'That's all right, Dear. Now then ...'

At that moment, the back door burst open.

'Hey, mum, I just found this ...'

A boy of Martin's age appeared, dragged along by a large, wet, panting, tail-wagging golden labrador which barked as soon as it saw Martin and Sam.

'Ah, Tim. These are our new neighbours. And that's their dog!'

'Oh. Hi.' He looked puzzled. Perhaps he thought it odd that new visitors should be standing in his kitchen in their bare feet, their socks and trainers steaming on the kitchen range.

'They fell in the brook.'

'Ah.'

Emmy picked up a kettle. 'You'll stay and have some tea?'

'Thanks, but we'd better get back,' said Sam, retrieving her warm but still damp socks.

'Ring your mum and dad and tell them we've found the dog.'

'Thanks, but we don't know the number yet.' She turned to Martin. 'Tell you what. You stay, I'll take Ben home.'

Emmy filled the kettle. 'We're having a bonfire party for New Year's Eve. You know, Millennium Night. Nothin' special. But tell your mum and dad they're welcome to join us. And you two, of course.'

'Is that what the pile of timber's for?' asked Martin.

'That's right.'

Sam got hold of Ben's collar. 'It's very kind of you Mrs Wright. Thank you.'

'Emmy. Please call me Emmy. Everyone else does.'

Sam smiled. 'Thank you Emmy. I'll tell them.' She squelched her way to the back door with Ben in tow.

The kettle boiled and Emmy made a pot of tea. 'You two all right there for a bit? I'm just going to sort out some laundry upstairs.'

'Course.' Tim sat at the kitchen table opposite Martin. 'So, when did you move in?'

''bout an hour ago.'

'Oh yeah? You found the brook quick enough, then!'

'Yeah, well, that was Ben's fault. He ran off and we were trying to find him. Then Sam lost her glasses in the stream and your mum found us.'

Tim brushed aside the fringe of fair hair which half covered his eyes. 'What year are you?

'Nine.'

'Brilliant. Same as me. S'ppose you'll be going to the Vale?'

'Markham Vale Secondary School?'

'That's the one. Don't s'ppose you know whose class you're gonna be in?'

'Yeah, the letter said Miss Bransby's?'

'Even more brilliant! I'll be able to show you round.'

Martin was beginning to think Markham might not be so awful after all. He took a swig of tea. 'You any good at games?'

'Not bad. I like football. I'm in the school team. And I go swimming.'

'Great! So do I. Where's the nearest pool?'

'You have to go into town. It's not bad though. You any good?'

'Well, I ...'

'Go on.'

'Well, I'm not trying to show off or anything, but I was Under 14 Champion last year in Leicester.'

'Wow! I can't compete with that. Are you into motorbikes?'

'No. Well, I've never thought about it really. I like watching wildlife. You know, birds and things. I'm getting a pair of binoculars for Christmas.'

'I've got a trail bike. Ride it round the field at the back. You'll have to come over and have a go.'

'Yeah. That'd be great.' He took another swig of tea. 'Who was that working on the tractor?'

'That'll be Nathan. My brother.'

'There were some kids throwing stones at him when we arrived.'

'Huh! That'll be Stevie and his friends. Karl and Chris. Karl's the black one. They're always at it.'

'What have they got against your brother?'

'It's nothing. Forget it. Stevie's always like that.'

The back door opened and there were voices in the porch.

'Can you get that finished tomorrow, then?'

'Spec so.'

Emmy reappeared from upstairs. 'Take those damn wellingtons off, you two,' she called. 'I've washed this floor once today already.' She dumped a pile of clothes on the washing machine and disappeared upstairs again.

'Yeah, all right,' came back one of the voices. 'And what about this shotgun?'

She dumped a pile of clothes on the washing machine. 'What about the shotgun?'

'You've left it in the umbrella stand again.'

'It's not loaded.'

'That's not the point. It has to be shut away.'

'Well shut it away then,' said Emmy, and she went back upstairs.

There was the sound of a cupboard door being locked. Then two men appeared.

The older one was short, fat and completely bald. At least, his head was completely bald. But he made up for the lack of hair on top with a big white beard and a slightly-less-white moustache which wiggled up and down when he spoke. He was wearing a brown jumper that had lost its shape years ago and a baggy pair of brown corduroy trousers. 'Who's this, then?' he said.

'Martin,' said Tim. 'Our new neighbours.'

He held out a hard rough hand which had clearly done years of heavy farm work. 'Hello Martin. I'm Eddy. And this is Nathan.'

Nathan was pouring a cup of tea at the range. He turned and smiled. 'Hi.' He was exactly the opposite of his father - tall and thin with short dark hair and a hint of stubble round his chin.

Martin smiled back at him. 'You were the one those boys were throwing stones at.'

'Spec so.'

Eddy collapsed on to a stool at the table with his tea. 'So what's your dad got planned for Wood Farm, then, eh?'

'He wants to go organic.'

'Oh he does, does he? Why's that then?'

'He's concerned about the environment.'

'Oh he is, is he?'

'Yeah. He was going to buy a farm near Nottingham, but the farmer next door was growing a genetically-modified crop and dad said it wouldn't be any good trying to have an organic farm next to that.'

'Oh he did, did he?'

'Yes. And he works for the Campaign for Animal Rights. He doesn't approve of animals being kept in cages.'

Eddy said nothing this time, but glanced at Nathan, who was leaning against the range.

Martin finished his tea. 'How many horses have you got?'

'Just the two,' said Nathan.

'Sam loves horses.'

Nathan came over to the table and sat down. 'Bring him over. He can help in the stable if he wants to. How old is he?'

'It's not he, it's she. My rotten sister. She's sixteen.'

Emmy appeared again with a pile of bed linen which she dropped on the floor in front of the washing machine. She picked up an envelope from the dresser and put it on the table in front of her husband. 'Came this morning. It's got an official-looking government stamp on it, look. Be about the crop trial, won't it?'

She went back to the washing machine and started piling the linen in. She looked back at Eddy. The letter was still on the table.

'Well, aren't you going to open it?'

Eddy grabbed the envelope from the table in front of him and stuffed it in a trouser pocket. He glanced at Martin. 'I'll deal with that later,' he said, and took a noisy swig of his tea.

Chapter 3

Christmas came and went. Martin got his new binoculars and a mobile phone. He didn't see anything of Tim over the holiday because the Wrights spent Christmas with their daughter Ruth, who lived in Bournemouth with Rory, her accountant husband, and their baby Rosanna. Nathan was in charge of the farm while they were away. They arrived home on the afternoon of New Year's Eve.

'Are you ready?' called Tom. 'It's gone eight.'

'Just coming,' said Sam. She switched off her bedroom light and joined the rest of the family in the hall.

'Come on, then.'

He locked the front door and they set off across the yard. As they turned the corner, they were greeted by the coloured lights on the Christmas tree in the Wrights' front room.

They found Emmy taking a tray of sausage rolls out of the oven of the huge old kitchen range. 'Come on in. Come in. Nathan, get these folks a drink, will you?'

'Course. Mark, look after that for a moment?' He handed his own glass to a ginger-haired lad of about eighteen. 'Oh, this is Mark, by the way.'

'Hi. Mark Rose. I'm the farmhand. Welcome to Markham.' He shook hands with Tom and Sheila and smiled at Martin and Sam.

Nathan pointed at the bottles on the dresser. 'Sherry, wine, beer? Or would you prefer a soft drink?' He opened the fridge door. 'There's fruit juice ...'

Sheila opted for a sherry. Tom settled for beer. Sam chose Coke. Martin asked for a beer and was pleasantly surprised that his mum didn't embarrass him by making a fuss about it.

Eddy appeared. 'Welcome, all of you! Had a good Christmas?'

'Fine, thanks,' said Tom. 'And you? How was Bournemouth?'

Eddy took a swig of beer and wiped the froth from his moustache with the back of his hand. 'Oh, you know. All right I s'ppose. Glad to get back, though. Never 'ad much time for accountants. Or babies called Rosanna!'

'Take no notice of him,' said Emmy. 'He loves her really. Our first grandchild.'

'Congratulations,' said Sheila.

Martin noticed that Sam was making a point of getting into conversation with Nathan and Mark. He nudged Tim. 'She doesn't waste much time, does she, my sister?

'Don't know about that,' said Tim.

'Which one of them do you think she fancies?'

Sam was obviously taken with Nathan. He was a bit older than her, probably about nineteen or twenty. He was tall, with short dark hair, brown eyes and a stubbly chin. He was wearing a black sleeveless vest revealing a small tattoo of a red rose on his left shoulder and he had a silver crucifix on a chain round his neck.

'Looks like it's Nathan!' said Martin.

Tim wasn't impressed. 'Huh!'

'Glad you didn't see me last time I was here!' said Sam.

'Why's that?' asked Nathan.

'I'd just fallen in the stream. My legs were covered in mud.'

He grinned at Mark. 'Wouldn't be the first time someone's fallen in the brook, would it Mark?'

'Yeah. All right. No need to remind me.'

'Can I see the horses some time?'

'Yeah, course you can. See 'em now if you like.'

'Please.'

He put his drink down. 'Come on then.'

She followed him out into the yard and across to the stable. Mark came too.

Nathan opened the stable door and they went in. The two horses shook their heads and whinnied. Nathan patted one of them. 'This is Cobbles. He's fifteen years old.'

'He's beautiful!'

'Yeah. He's a good-looking horse. Intelligent, too. Very self-willed, though. He can be bad tempered when he chooses to be, can't you Cob?'

'What do you mean?'

'Well, for example, if he doesn't feel like working, he'll fling his head up high so I can't get his collar on. And if he isn't fed when he thinks he ought to be he scrapes the concrete floor with his hoof, like he knows that iron horseshoes cost fifteen quid a time!'

'That's right,' said Mark.

Sam moved on to the other horse. 'And who's this one?'

'Ah, this is Shine. Twelve years old.'

'Do they get on well together?'

'Mostly. But Cobbles doesn't like Shine sharing his hay, so when they're outside, I usually put out a separate pile for him. But then Cobbles piddles on Shine's hay. If he's really bad-tempered, I threaten him with the pet food man! Don't I Cobbles?' He patted the horse.

'You still use them on the farm, then?'

'Not much now. Fact we can't really afford 'em.'

'Well if you ever decide to sell them, let me know!'

Nathan looked at his watch. 'Better get the bonfire going.'

'Can I do anything to help?'

'No, it's all right, thanks. You go in and get something to eat. Mark and I've got it all organised.'

'Oh. Yes. Of course.'

So Sam went back to the farmhouse, while Nathan and Mark attended to the bonfire.

Tom and Eddy were talking farms.

'Your farm's quite big, then, Eddy?'

'Not really. Two hundred acres or so.'

'Bigger than ours.'

'Ah, well.'

'So what have you got?'

Eddy took a swig of beer. 'Well, there's the birds. Ten thousand of 'em in the broiler shed.'

'In cages?'

'No, no. Deep litter.'

'You never considered going free range?'

'Not a practical proposition. Too expensive on manpower.'

'What else?'

'The dairy herd. About a hundred of 'em. Mark's in charge of that. Then there's a bit of arable - barley, maize, usual sort of thing. Oh, and I'm gonna grow some linseed this year. Only 'cos Emmy loves the blue flowers, mind.'

'You've got horses.'

'Yeah, two Shires. Don't know how much longer we'll be able to keep 'em, though. They ain't exactly cheap!'

'They earn their living, though, don't they? I mean, they're working horses?'

'Well, we still use 'em a bit, but mostly it's the tractor these days. What about you? Your son tells me you want to go organic.'

'Yes. I've always wanted an organic farm. And some free-range hens.'

'Ah, well, the best of luck. You ain't going to find it easy.'

'No, I'm sure you're right. I've got a lot to learn. The important thing is to get the approval of the Soil Association. That guarantees that the food's been grown on land that hasn't been treated with chemical fertilisers, weedkillers and so on.'

'Takes a long time, though, doesn't it?'

'Three years, usually. Problem is, we need to start making money before that.'

'Ah. Well, you want any help with anything, you ask.'

'That's generous of you. Thanks.'

'Come on,' said Tim. 'I'll show you.'

He led Martin across the yard at the back of the house to the old barn, opened the door and switched on a light. Just inside were two motorbikes.

'This one's mine,' he said, sitting on a 125cc Suzuki trail bike - blue and white with knobbly tyres. 'Cost two thousand quid new. Course this one was second hand. Goes well, though.' The bike was caked with mud.

'Who's is this one?' Martin pointed at the smart 900cc black Kawasaki with raised handlebars.

'That's Nathan's. Pretty smart, eh?'

Martin looked round the barn. It was full of junk - old farm machines, an old van and a pile of hay. They sat on a hay bale and admired the bikes.

'You ready for Thursday?' said Tim.

'Thursday? Oh, school. Yeah, s'ppose so. What's this Miss Bransby like, then?'

'OK I s'ppose. That's if you like French. She's always talking to us in French.'

'What, all the time?'

'No. Sometimes she does, sometimes she doesn't. You never know with her.'

Martin gazed thoughtfully ahead of him. 'D'you keep hens?'

'You must be joking! We've got ten thousand of 'em in the broiler house. Nathan's in charge of it.'

'Oh. Dad's going to keep chickens. Free-range, though. He doesn't approve of cages.'

'Ours aren't in cages. Anyway, dad says we can't afford to be choosy. Short of cash. That's why we're doing this crop trial. Oil seed rape.'

'It's not one of the GM trials, is it?'

Tim slid off the hay. 'Dunno anything about that. You ever ridden a bike before?'

'Only my mountain bike.'

'Want to have a go on this one?' He patted the seat of the Suzuki.

'What, now?'

'No!' He looked at his watch. 'Bonfire time. How about Monday?'

'Yeah, great.'

'Well wear your wellies - it's muddy round the track!'

He switched off the light, closed the door, and the two boys walked back to the farmhouse.

In the kitchen, the rest of the party were helping themselves to food from the table. Emmy offered Sheila a sausage roll.

'Oh, no thanks, Emmy. I'm vegetarian. Well, we all are.'

Eddy cast a glance at Nathan as if to say 'Thought as much. Typical!'

Emmy surveyed the table anxiously. 'Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know.'

'Don't worry, Emmy, there's plenty here we can eat. Looks as though you've done enough to feed an army!'

Eddy opened the back door. 'Bring your food outside. We'll eat round the bonfire.'

They walked round the side of the house, past the tractor shed, to the front yard, where the bonfire was now burning brightly, giving off warmth and sending showers of sparks into the cold night air. Nathan and Mark had set up a line of big rockets.

'Oh, just a minute. I forgot.' Eddy handed his plate to his wife and went back into the house. A minute later he returned with a portable radio blaring some Scottish dance music. 'Are you ready, Nathan?' he called, putting the radio down and taking his plate back.

The music stopped. There was quiet for a few seconds, except for the crackling of the bonfire and the clink of forks on plates. Then, out of the darkness, came the chimes of Big Ben.

Nathan lit a rocket. As the first stroke of twelve rang out, the rocket soared into the sky. Emmy and Eddy hugged each other.

Tom looked at his wife. 'Happy New Millennium, Love.'

'And happy organic farming,' said Sheila. They kissed.

A great globe of bright colours burst into the black sky.

'Yes!' shouted the boys.

'Brilliant!' exclaimed Sheila.

'Oh, well done!' said Tom.

Sam looked across at Nathan and made a new year resolution.

Eddy insisted that they went back inside for a last drink. 'Or should we say the first one of the new millennium?'

Then the Ostlers thanked their hosts and returned home. As they walked across the dark yard, they heard the distant sound of breaking glass.

'What the devil ...?'

'Relax, Tom,' said Sheila. 'Probably Eddy throwing his glass into the fireplace. You know, like the Russians do.'

'You think so? Was it the Russians?'

'Yes.' Sheila sounded dreamy.

Martin and Sam followed on behind.

'Anyway, I know what you were interested in and it wasn't the horses!'

'What do you mean?'

'You know what I mean. You soon forgot Craig!'

'Of course I haven't forgotten Craig.'

'Well, you spent all evening eyeing up Nathan. I saw you!'

'Shut up you little brat.' She chased him to the front door.

They went into the hall and took their coats off. Sheila opened the kitchen door and a sleepy Ben greeted them, his tail banging against the wooden floor.

Martin started up the stairs, then stopped half way. 'Tim mentioned something about a crop trial when we were in the barn. You don't think it could be a GM crop, do you?'

Tom looked anxious. 'Didn't he say?'

'Not really. He didn't seem to want to talk about it. Perhaps his dad's told him not to say anything. Bound to be, though, isn't it?'

'I can't believe it. Eddy told me ... If you're right, this'll ruin our plans to run an organic farm here. I'll have to talk to him about it.'

'Oh, Dad! Don't go stirring it up. I've only just made friends with Tim and he'll be the only one I'll know at school on Thursday.'

'All right. I'll leave it for a while. At least till you're settled in at school. But I'll have to say something. Tell you what, why don't you have a good look round - see if you can find out any more when you go over to the Wrights on Monday?'

'Yeah, OK.'

Tom opened the lounge door. 'What the devil ...?'

'What is it, Tom?'

The rest of the family crowded in to look.

There was a huge hole in the big window. Broken glass everywhere. And an old brick on the carpet just in front of the television.