The blast of hot air struck Zach from all sides as he exited the building. The museum's forecourt was a sun trap, and he'd left his bike in it without realising. Even his helmet's plastic outer shell felt softer than it should have. And Zach worried that by picking it up, he'd somehow reshape the thing.

That didn't happen, but when he finally plucked up the courage to fasten it to his head, his hair immediately grew itchy with sweat.

He wanted the journey home over and done with, so he reached for the metal handlebars, only to scold his fingers when he went to lift them. His misery didn't end there either; the leather seat was so warm he thought he could smell it burning.

Fortunately, the tyres hadn't melted, so Zach dragged the bike away from the wall and pushed it off with his foot. He couldn't sit, though; whenever his inner thigh grazed the boiling frame, he screamed.

As the lad pedalled, he kept hearing someone calling his name. But every time he glanced back, he saw nothing but the empty road and museum.

Zach let his mind wander and kept returning to Lana's ghostly tales. He didn't believe in such nonsense, but he couldn't take the chance he was wrong, so he cycled faster and faster until the gear chain unravelled.

Instead of stopping, he shoved off again with his foot and used his bike like a children's scooter, and it worked fine for the most part. Of course, leaving work earlier in the day also helped. There wasn't much traffic, for one thing, and for another, he could safely navigate the Gillybury Crossroads without using the paths.

Despite not following the route he'd taken last time, Zach couldn't help but search for Clifford's house as he passed. Now that he knew the volunteer, he wanted to stay as far away from him as possible, especially outside work. However, the hunt proved distracting, and more than once, he wobbled from one side of the road to the other.

'Learn to drive that thing or leave it at home!'

Before Zach could respond, the car driver overtook him and cut him off. Then as they slammed their brakes, the lad mounted the curb and fell into an overgrown hedge.

Having won the vehicle duel, the driver beeped their car horn to a melodic tune only they knew and sped away, leaving Zach to stare after. And as he tried to shuffle free from his bristly prison, he heard the cracking of a window opening nearby.

'Get out of my bush! How many times is this now? Get out before I call the Police!'

Zach's heart was still racing from the near hit and run, and his vision was so blurry that he likely wouldn't have seen the yelling person even if he didn't have to contend with all the leaves in his way. But, after a minute, he finally spotted the shaking curtains of their downstairs window. It seemed the person didn't want to make themselves known.

'Sorry.'

'Sorry? You're still playing in my bush.'

'I'm not playing in anything; I fell.'

'I bet.'

It took effort, but Zach managed to drag himself through the scratching branches. 'Look, I said I'm sorry.'

'And I still don't believe you. Come back again, and I'll feed you twigs.'

Zach raised his eyebrows and kicked away on his bike again, this time not caring to apologise. He'd had enough. However, he didn't want to take any more chances with maniacal motorists or wicked homeowners, so he stuck to the paths like last time and was back on his street before he knew it.

He'd scarcely entered Hillgrove when a pair of magpies flew overhead, and he recalled the old superstitious tale where seeing two would bring joy. So, smiling wide and coasting along, Zach was utterly unprepared for eye-patch Betty when she leapt from behind her front gate with a fist full of dirt.

'Your father owes me five new Nippleworts!'

'What the hell's a Nipplewort?'

'It's a plant,' snapped Betty. 'What else could it be?'

Zach was too tired to argue with the lady, so he nodded. 'I'll let him know when I see him.'

'You do that.'

Zach kept pushing his bike along, knowing that Betty was likely watching his every step like she always did with his father. Then as soon as he reached his little wooden gate, he sighed with relief. The ranting neighbours, the insane volunteers and staff at Flurbury's all faded to the back of his mind. He was home, and it felt great.

He lay down his bike and unbuckled the helmet to let the sweat-soaked strap hang off his finger. And it wasn't until he reached the front door that he remembered to drop it. Then as he stepped inside the house, the intoxicating scent of lilacs washed over him. 'Mum?'

'You're back early.' She replied, blowing out another of the candles she'd lit.

'First day.' Zach said, already heading for the family sweets cupboard.

'Judging by the look on your face, I'm guessing it wasn't your last either?'

'Apparently, they loved me and now want to keep me on.'

Mrs Garett squeezed Zach's cheeks until they flushed red. 'Of course they did! I told you they would.'

'Okay, okay,' muttered Zach, unwrapping a fudge bar. 'You were right.'

'I was what?'

'Right.' Zach repeated.

'I could get used to hearing that. Now, put down that junk before you make yourself sick. Supper will only be another hour or so.'

Zach looked from his mother to the switched-off oven, and he knew the food wouldn't be ready for at least two hours, mostly because she always waited for his father to return from work. Still, he didn't want to upset her, so he set the bar down on the counter and leaned back.

Mrs Garrett prodded his hip. 'How was Flurbury's?'

'The people there are nuts, but they're growing on me, mostly.'

'Why mostly, is somebody picking on you?'

'No, no. One of the volunteers rubbed me the wrong way; it's not just me either; the guy annoys everyone at the museum as though it's his life's mission.'

'People are different, son. And you're going to meet all kinds while you're there.'

'Clifford Tick certainly qualifies as 'different', that's for sure.'

'Tick? You mean that charming man living near the Gillybury crossroads?'

Zach almost choked on the fudge still in his mouth. 'Charming. You can't be serious?'

Mrs Garrett nodded. 'His wife goes to Bingo with me on a Friday.'

'Clifford has a wife?!'

She laughed. 'The man couldn't have been that bad.'

'Mum, he does what he wants, whenever he wants.'

'Well, didn't Clifford used to be a school headteacher?'

'I don't know, but that would explain every-' Zach looked up when the front door rattled.

Mr Garrett was trying to get in with a hulking cardboard box, and when he dropped it, a photo frame tumbled out and broke. Yet beneath the split wood and shattered glass, the picture of Zach and his mother picnicking on a family vacation appeared intact.

'Dad? What's wrong?''

Mr Garrett looked like he'd aged a decade in one day. He kept sniffing, his eyes were red like he'd been crying, and one of his arms got caught when he tried to remove his jacket.

'We didn't hear you pull up.'

Mr Garrett snorted. 'The icing on the cake. Old Rusty's gone; the damn head gasket blew on the motorway and sent me skidding off the road.'

'Have you been to hosp-'

'I'm fine.'

Mrs Garrett frowned as her husband backed away but quickly rallied and attempted to pick up the dropped box, only for the bottom to collapse. There were more photographs, stationary, articles and a stack of leather-bound journals.

'Funny how my entire career can fit in there, isn't it?'

'The company sacked you?'

Mr Garrett bit his lip. 'The so-called 'News Tomorrow' had been failing for six months. At least that's what the owner told us this afternoon, two hours before the end of our shift. They laid everyone off, Helen, people I've worked with for years, and we aren't even getting redundancy pay.'

'Surely they can't do that.'

'Helen, they have done it, and I don't know how we're going to afford-'

Mrs Garrett slapped her husband's shoulder and looked at Zach. 

The man flinched but masterfully hid his pain behind a smile that appeared genuine. 'How did the interview go? I want to hear all about it.'

Zach closed his eyes. He felt awful; he was about to deliver his uplifting career news to someone who'd lost theirs. It would have been a difficult enough task if he were breaking it to a friend, but this was his father, and he saw no way of getting out of it.