“Yep.” Mum and Hannah were at the kitchen table, staring at the screen of Hannah’s laptop. Dad was in the studio with the door closed, which meant one of two things – either he was doing fine-detail work on his plates and didn’t want to be interrupted, or he was working on one of his wacky heads and didn’t want Mum to see. “It’s coming together,” Hannah said. “See?” I leaned between them and watched as she scrolled slowly through the pages she had laid out on the screen. On the Move. A Town Reborn. New Beginnings. Out With the Old, In With the New. Lower Grange says Yes! to Progress. “It looks good,” I said. And it did. It was slick and professional. There were clean, crisp borders around the scanned photos and newspaper clippings. The text Hannah had added wrapped over and between them in a way that looked right, as if the pages hadn’t been put together by someone but had always been there. There was something strange, though. I couldn’t put my finger on it at first, but as Hannah scrolled further and further, past smiling faces and tall, leafy trees, I realised.
