The renovators

The renovators strike their pose on E Street, outside number twelve. Adorning ladders, showing steadfast grit through shrouds of sanding dust. Inside the gutted carcass, on the kitchen floor sits Freddy crosslegged, age nearly nine. Playing with his tin soldiers; an entirely different kind of reconstruction. He watches, waiting for them to notice his apparitious nature. But the renovators are too busy to believe in ghosts. He selects his favourites from the colour charts they leave lying. Yellow Submarine, Red Red Wine, Blue Moon. They hear the tunes in their heads alright, but don’t put two and two together. Too focused on four by four. What planks Freddy muses. But they are re-vamping his house. And he laughs at his own supernatural pun. He’s looking forward to having inhabitants again. They have a lot yet to learn about life on E Street. This will be fun.