Twenty-Four Hours. Margaret Mahy

It was Ursa who spoke this time. “Look, thanks for bringing us back, and sorry about the complications. Like a cup of coffee, after all that?”

      Ellis hesitated. In the silence he heard rackety music beating in from somewhere.

      “Do come!” said Leona. “It sounds as if we’ve got a houseful already, but we can find a peaceful place somewhere.”

      “The gang’s here!” said Ursa gloomily. “As always!”

      Ellis almost said that he’d better be getting home – indeed, he’d been thinking of home with pleasure – and yet, within a breath, the words he was shaping in the back of his mouth twisted on his tongue and came out saying something that surprised him much more than they surprised anyone else.

      “Great! OK to leave the car here?” After all, in spite of everything that had happened, it was still early. Not even half-past eight, yet.

      “Safer than some places,” Ursa said, smiling and sketching the sign of the cross in the air with her finger.

       8.25 pm – Friday

      Following Ursa and Leona in at the front door, Ellis was immediately aware that the Land-of-Smiles Motel, though it was no longer used as a motel, was haunted by its past. He was confronted by a small counter, across the front of which narrow ledges and sagging, rusting wires had once supported brochures and flyers advertising city tours. A phone stood on the end of the counter, a phone book beside it, and the wall beside the phone was scribbled and scratched with a swarm of numbers, some of them boxed in so that they could be easily found again. Leaning against a wall beyond the counter was the sort of backpack used for carrying a small child, an unexpectedly innocent object in such weary surroundings.