Chapter Five
The Locals
‘ Woah! ’ Annie stopped dead on the threshold of the grand ballroom of Clove Lore Big House and every head in the room whipped round to face her. ‘Sorry,’ she said, shrinking a little and whispering to Harri, ‘I forgot, this is England. You’re not supposed to be impressed by a great big five-hundred-year-old manor house.’
Harri sniffed a laugh and led the way further inside.
A young blonde of about twenty-ish approached them with a drinks tray of wine and orange juice.
Annie was still looking all around her at the glowing candles burning in antique sconces along the wall. A great ball of mistletoe hung from the lofty ceiling. A grand piano stood under its cover beside a smoky fire in a very grand fireplace and in the centre of the room were chairs set out in a circle and a larger gathering of people than either of them had expected.
‘I didn’t know the meeting would be so fancy,’ Annie said in a confiding tone to the blonde girl as she lifted a glass of juice and Harri took a wine.
‘It’s always like this,’ the girl murmured back. ‘Minty likes everything done proper.’
‘Ah! There you are!’ cried an imperious voice, both shrill and booming in the English country-house way. The woman attached to the voice was making her way towards them. She was a gracious figure in winter tweeds, green wellies and a silken scarf knotted at her throat.
‘ Camilla Parker Bowles ,’ Annie coughed.
Harri only just managed to hold in his laughter and a mouthful of wine. The girl with the tray scooted out of the path of the advancing woman.
‘How nice of you to join us,’ the woman was saying. ‘I’m Araminta Clove-Congreve, proprietor of Clove Lore Big House Estate and Gardens. Friends call me Minty.’
This left Harri none the wiser as to whether she classed them as friends or not. She jabbed a hand out for the booksellers to shake.
Annie introduced herself and Harri knew she was fighting the urge to curtsey by the tiny smirk on her lips.
‘And I’m Harri,’ he said while the prim woman crushed his fingers.
‘Did Minty mention she’s also the manager of the Clove Lore Estate food pantry and community growers’ association?’ chimed an even more glamorous woman wearing an expensive-looking shimmery, belted kaftan and silvery ballet pumps.
‘Co-manager,’ Minty replied with an indulgent smile at the woman, who Harri noticed was alternately sipping from two glasses of white wine at the same time. She had no eyebrows to speak of and was extremely beautiful, in a slightly batty way.
‘These are the new Borrowers, Estée,’ the lady of the manor was telling her friend. ‘Annie Luna and Harri Griffiths.’
Harri thought how they hadn’t told Minty their surnames but she knew them anyway. Interesting . His mind flitted to Brenda Coxhead, the head of his and Paisley’s street’s residents’ association who had her finger in every pie and somehow caught wind of everything going on in their area. Brenda was a menace, and if he wasn’t mistaken there was something of the menace about Minty too.
His conjecture was interrupted by Annie exclaiming, ‘I know you!’ and almost sloshing her juice over the rim of her glass in her haste to shake hands with the woman in silver. She quickly realised the woman hadn’t a hand free to shake and so gripped at her own elbow instead like she was trying to contain herself. ‘You’re Estée Gold! The TV star. I thought you lived in Hollywood?’
Estée smiled, delighted. ‘Oh honey, I did, but one glimpse of Clove Lore and poof ! I was transported! I never went back.’
That was her story and she was sticking to it, even though her very public divorce and bankruptcy had been splashed across every British tabloid a couple of years ago. Even Harri had a vague inkling of it somewhere at the very back of his brain.
‘Vacationing with celebrities and royalty!’ Annie continued, enjoying every second of this introduction to Big House life. ‘It’s just like Downton Abbey .’
Minty raised a brow at being identified as royal, but didn’t correct her.
‘Oh, ’tis just like it!’ came another voice and the two glamazons parted to let a smaller, pink-cheeked, white-haired woman come between them.
‘This is Mrs Crocombe, one of the volunteers,’ said Minty in her clipped way.
‘I thought I heard another American accent! Just like yours, Estée,’ the elder woman said.
‘Except Annie’s accent isn’t put on!’ said a tall man as he slipped past trying to catch up to the girl with the drinks tray. Harri only just caught his wickedly purring Eastern European inflection.
‘Don’t be rude, Izaak!’ chided Estée Gold in her strongest Scarborough accent, which surprised the newcomers. ‘I’m Transatlantic !’ she added, before sipping from one of her glasses, signalling that was an end to the discussion.
‘And what do you two young’uns make of our bookshop, then?’ said Mrs Crocombe, ignoring all the Big House nonsense like she was immune to it.
‘We love it,’ Harri said, quite genuinely.
Something about this made Mrs Crocombe snap her eyes between the two Borrowers. ‘ We is it?’ she said, her jaw jutting forward interrogatively. ‘Jude said you was just friends?’
‘Oh we are, just really good, long-term friends,’ Harri said, aware he was labouring his point.
‘So you won’t be doing a Jude and Elliot, then?’ Mrs Crocombe went on.
Annie cocked her head. ‘A what?’
‘Jude met ’er husband at the Bookshop when she was on ’oliday. Fell in love inside of two weeks. Now they both live ’ere. Elliot’s our top vet. Jude’s our resident baker.’
‘Umm…’ Harri began, clueless as to what to say next.
The man Estée had referred to as Izaak returned, now with a drink in his hand and a handsome man on his arm. They both looked to be in their thirties. Izaak introduced him as his husband, Leonid, before saying, ‘You’re not matchmaking already, are you Mrs C.?’ He gave Annie and Harri an appraising look.
‘Me?’ said Mrs Crocombe innocently. ‘I’m only telling them the story of Jude and Elliot.’
‘And what about Austen and Patti?’ Izaak said. Harri realised he talked with a softly Polish accent. ‘They’ve been together for a while now, ever since Austen’s bookshop holiday.’
‘Woah!’ Annie was enjoying this. ‘Is this village some kind of hotbed for romantic liaisons?’
‘There was the other ones as well.’ Mrs Crocombe was clicking her fingers and circling her wrist, her eyes closed. ‘The Icelander and the girl who washed ashore?’
‘Magnus and Alexandra,’ Minty put in.
‘That was before my time here,’ said Estée.
‘All Borrowers,’ Mrs Crocombe confirmed with enthusiasm. ‘Then there was Joy and our Monty Bickleigh! Not one of them could resist the magic of Clove Lore.’
‘Are you sure it didn’t have something to do with your betting book?’ Leonid added softly.
Harri didn’t like the way Mrs Crocombe was looking between him and Annie like they were part of some new salacious project she was devising. She drew a book from her handbag.
‘Annie and… Harri, isn’t it?’ Mrs Crocombe asked, her eyes narrowing. She produced a pencil from behind her ear. What was she up to?
‘And what about you and Mr Bovis?’ Izaak was saying with a look of cunning, directed right at Mrs Crocombe. ‘Another big Clove Lore romance? Hmm?’
‘Well, I reckon it’s time to start the meeting, isn’t it?’ chirped Mrs Crocombe shiftily, hastily shoving her notebook and pencil away again.
‘Ah, indeed!’ cried Minty, checking a slender watch and turning towards the circle of chairs in the middle of the ballroom. ‘Quick quick!’
Annie and Harri hung back with the waitress as the crowd obediently followed the lady of the manor.
‘Why do I get the feeling we narrowly avoided getting involved in something…’ said Harri, watching the villagers settling in the circle but speaking to the girl with the tray. ‘Sorry, I don’t know your name.’
‘Samantha,’ the girl replied. ‘You want to watch Mrs Crocombe. She runs a betting book on all the incomers.’
‘A betting book?’ replied Annie.
Samantha’s voice dropped lower. ‘That lot are forever placing bets on who’s going to get together next. And you Borrowers are fresh meat. She won’t stop ’til she’s won a tenner on you.’
‘What do you mean?’ Annie asked, incredulous, but not nearly as horrified as Harri.
‘I mean, her and Izaak will either want the pair of you loved-up and together by the end of your holiday or they’ll have you paired up with one of the village spares!’
Annie spluttered her juice as she laughed.
‘ Spares doesn’t sound very nice,’ said Harri.
‘That’s how she sees them. No single person is safe when Mrs C.’s around. And that nosy parker boyfriend of hers, Mr Bovis, is just as bad. Those two shacked up a while back and they’re pretending to be just good pals, but the whole village knows the truth. Two peas in a pod, and forever up in everybody’s business, pair of stickybeaks.’
‘And what about you, Samantha? Has she paired you up?’ Annie asked, laughing, like this was all just quaint, small-village custom and perfectly delightful.
At that moment, Minty called the last of the stragglers to order, and a young, handsome blond man went by, dressed from head to sneaker in black, designer streetwear.
‘You okay, Sam?’ he mouthed as he went, which made the girl smile back shyly. Annie had her answer.
The three of them watched on as he obediently took his seat next to Estée Gold.
‘That’s my Jasper,’ Sam said.
‘Another Clove Lore love match.’ Annie was clearly enjoying this.
Sam didn’t answer, only blushing pink all down her neck, and the three of them made their way to the circle to join the meeting, Harri feeling very much like an exhibit in a museum: a specimen of the single Welsh holidaymaker, and by the way Mrs Crocombe was scribbling frantically in her notebook and showing the page to a smirking Izaak, he guessed the villagers were determined he wouldn’t stay single for long.
Well, more fool them, he thought smugly. Little did they know he was only here to make Annie happy. There’d be no matches made for these Borrowers, and they’d all know it, come Valentine’s Day when they shipped out of Clove Lore once more and went their separate ways.
Suddenly, Harri didn’t feel quite so smug. He finished his wine and hugged his arms around himself to quell the empty feeling.
Harri wondered if this was how all village meetings went around here. It had started off oddly with Minty’s husband Jowan standing up to read the list of ‘apologies’ from people who couldn’t be present, which included a regretful ‘Aldous’ who was ‘hopefully not biting poor Anjali round about now’, and this had descended into a long, involved discussion about how Aldous – who Harri sincerely hoped was a dog – had grown so scruffy over winter he’d been sent to the vet for a tidy up; something, Harri gathered, Aldous was not keen on.
Jude the baker was sitting opposite Harri in the circle and beside her was a huge, dark-haired, ridiculously handsome fellow in green scrubs. They were holding hands. He must be the ex-Borrower the matchmakers had mentioned. Elliot, was it?
He’d chimed in to confirm his confidence in his colleague’s abilities to handle the wrath of Jowan’s elderly Bedlington Terrier, and then Minty had to call everyone to order because the circle fell to gossiping once again after Mrs Crocombe enquired after Anjali the vet and whether she was seeing anyone at the moment. She had pinned Harri with a meaningful look before writing something down in her book.
Annie witnessed the whole thing and didn’t even try to hide her mirth until Harri threw her a scowl and she pretended to be chastened, clamping her lips.
The first item on the agenda came from the smart blond guy sitting next to Estée Gold, the one who had made Samantha blush. He got to his feet to address the room, speaking in a true Transatlantic accent with hints of a decidedly posh Chelsea twang.
‘So, hey everybody, I’m Jasper Gold.’ This was clearly for the benefit of Harri and Annie, the incomers, as Samantha had called them. ‘As most of you know, my classic cinema afternoons begin on February fourteenth.’
This was met with a smattering of applause, and an exuberant little whoop from Sam.
‘Tickets have been selling well for our first event and I think I’ve dealt with concerns about potential bad weather.’
‘Don’t want your first showin’ to be rained off,’ interrupted a very red-faced, stocky little man in green waterproofs sitting very close to Mrs Crocombe. ‘I said it, didn’t I? That sittin’ outside watching a film in the middle of February won’t be everyone’s cup of tea.’ He looked very proud of himself for making this observation.
‘Yes, well, thank you, Mr Bovis,’ Jasper continued, swishing sleek blond strands away from his eyes. ‘There’ll be one parasol to each pair of deckchairs in case of rain showers, and everyone has been told to wrap up warm and waterproof, and they can bring a blanket. There’ll be hot drinks, not to mention Monty’s grill for hotdogs.’
‘I’m bringing my hot water bottle,’ interrupted Mrs Crocombe.
‘Yes, quite,’ Jasper flustered. ‘And if there’s high winds, Minty has said we can move inside to the ballroom.’
‘But it shan’t rain,’ Estée Gold added confidently, like she truly believed she had control over the Devonshire weather.
Harri could feel Annie’s body radiating pure joy every time one of the barmy elder locals spoke. He was glad she was enjoying herself, but he was a little too worried about what Mrs C. might be planning to relax.
‘Is it open to anyone? Your movie?’ Annie piped up.
‘Yup, I’ve got tickets with me, if you want some afterwards? It’s When Harry Met Sally . Starts at sunset, four-thirty.’
‘Oh, I love that movie,’ Annie burst out.
Harri had never seen it. He figured that was about to change.
‘Jasper’s our local film buff,’ Mr Bovis put in. ‘Brilliant in the pub quiz, and so good for our young Sam Capstan.’
Poor Sam only looked down at her crossed ankles and pretended she wasn’t blushing.
Mr Bovis and Mrs Crocombe are as thick as thieves, observed Harri, watching how close they were and how vehemently Mrs C. was agreeing with him.
‘I’m mostly into avant-garde cinema,’ Jasper Gold continued, ‘but you have to show what the local people want, apparently.’ This was said through a gritted-teeth smile, giving Harri the impression the film choice may have been a bone of contention at an earlier village meeting.
‘First rule of box office,’ said his mother, Estée. ‘Give the people what they want.’
‘Well, thank you very much, Jasper,’ said Minty pointedly. ‘We wish you lots of luck with your movie night venture, and of course we’ll all be there to support you. Won’t we?’ She eyed the assembly sternly. That hadn’t been an invitation but an instruction. ‘Now, Estée has a report on the food bank project.’
This made Harri do a double take. Why was a local celebrity involved in the food bank?
‘Food pantry , thank you,’ said Estée rising to her feet. ‘I’m pleased to report that after a visit to Sparing’s Farm out on the promontory, I’ve managed to persuade the younger farmer Sparing to donate some of his early potato and kale harvest this year. He was also very forthcoming about delivering the produce himself, so long as I’m around to sign for it.’
‘I’ll bet he was,’ snorted Mr Bovis under his breath, but still loud enough for the circle to hear. ‘Daft lad ’ud be goggle-eyed at the sight of the famous Mrs Gold.’
‘ Ms Gold,’ she corrected him.
‘Amazing what a flash of those American chompers’ll do,’ Bovis said, paying her no heed, only to receive a jab of Mrs C.’s elbow.
‘In fact,’ Estée continued, ignoring him, ‘the community has surprised us all with its generosity towards the pantry and, combined with the Clove Lore estate produce, masterfully grown by our own Leonid, we’ve enough donations coming in to get us through the winter and well into spring.’
‘You’re doin’ a lovely job, Estée,’ put in Jowan. ‘And we’re all proud of how you’ve made the food pantry take off, what with you having no experience of the real world or us normal folks’ ways.’
Estée smiled at this and lowered herself to her chair in a floaty haze of voluminous silver fabric. ‘Thank you,’ she said graciously.
Harri couldn’t help glancing at Annie to see if she thought the whole exchange as deranged as he did. He found she wasn’t even trying to hide her delight.
‘What’s next?’ said Minty, consulting her agenda. ‘Oh yes, my husband reporting on the unhappy goings-on at Castle Lore.’
This made Harri sit up. ‘Sounds like a novel,’ he said, but the locals kept their eyes fixed on Jowan. ‘I’ll shut up then,’ he whispered for Annie’s ears only. She glowed beside him.
‘’Tis a sad business,’ began Jowan, standing, his pearl drop earring bouncing at his jaw. Harri thought how like a pirate he looked as well as sounded. ‘Seeing a once great castle up for sale and all its effects going to auction.’
‘Not that any of us have set foot in the place!’ tutted Mrs Crocombe, arms folded over her matronly bust.
‘Not one amongst us but our Mint ever laid eyes on the mysterious late Lord Courtenay of Castle Lore,’ Jowan said, turning to his wife.
‘It’s true,’ Minty responded. ‘My father included him in his hunting party when the young fellow first inherited the castle. He’d lived in France all his life, and came to England that winter. Gosh, it must be fifty years ago now. He rode over, drowning in his late father’s hunting pinks, gulped down a sherry while astride, spoke to no one at all, and when the hunt moved off, he beat a hasty retreat back to his castle. I never saw him again. Sickly, he was, and ever so pale. I invited him to the Big House, of course, but he never responded and that was that. Some country folk can be a little strange,’ she concluded sagely, leaning into the circle to address Annie.
Harri felt Annie’s shoulders shaking by his side. He had to speak to stop himself blurting a laugh. ‘And now they’re selling off the castle, did you say?’
‘Lock and stock,’ said Jowan. ‘There’s no one to inherit; the entire line died out with him, title an’ all. Auction’s on Saturday.’
‘We’ve all been agog at the auction catalogue, haven’t we!’ Mrs Crocombe said excitedly.
‘Not everyone,’ Elliot the vet put in dryly and with the look of a dutiful young husband dragged along to these things against his will.
‘And that brings me to you two!’ Jowan was saying, pointing his sandy-bristled chin at Harri and Annie.
‘Us?’ Annie grinned, totally lost as to what was going on, but having fun nonetheless.
‘The bookshop always requires antiquarian stock. It sells well an’ it looks good on display. The auction catalogue suggests Castle Lore’s grand library has an impressive collection, much of it is goin’ to be bundled in lots of unspecified titles, which suggests there’s too much material to catalogue individually!’
‘I smell treasure,’ Mr Bovis butted in.
‘An’ that’s where the Borrowers come in,’ Jowan continued. ‘We need representatives to attend the auction and bid on some of these lots. Suss them out, find the treasure.’
‘It’ll be goin’ for pennies,’ Bovis added knowingly.
‘Will you go on our behalf?’ Jowan was asking Harri. ‘Auction’s on all day and there’s a drinks reception for buyers before the big lots in the evening. Collectors will be flyin’ in from all over the world for a snoop.’
‘Heck yes we will!’ answered Annie. ‘An auction in a spooky English castle, and with drinks thrown in?’
‘Don’t you want to go?’ Harri asked Jowan. ‘Since it’s your bookshop, your stock?’
‘We’ve an open house here for potential brides and grooms that day. It’ll be all hands on deck. So, we’ve settled it then?’
Annie drummed happy feet on the floor.
‘I can drive you over there,’ added Jowan, ‘and I’ll give you the credit card before you go.’
As Jowan sat back amid satisfied murmurs of approval, Mrs Crocombe peered over her specs at Annie and made another note in her book.
‘Do not make jokes about spooky castle,’ came Leonid’s serious Russian accent, silencing the room.
Jude smirked at Elliot, but Izaak weighed in, just as dolorous. ‘It is true. Even I have heard the stories.’
Estée Gold, who Harri had mistaken for a reasonably sensible person added her two pennies’ worth. ‘The castle’s unoccupied and has had no power for months now, but ever since Lord Courtenay’s death, candlelight has been seen at night in the windows in the tallest tower.’
Annie was fit to burst with electric energy now. Harri didn’t have to look at her to know she’d be beaming at the TV star in deeply amused admiration.
‘Squatters,’ asserted Elliot flatly.
‘Haunted,’ countered Mrs Crocombe adjusting her bosom between folded arms. ‘Mark my words, there’s trouble up at Castle Lore. You better keep your wits about you.’
‘I’m sure they’ll be fine, what with it being a public sale, and daytime, and everything,’ Jasper Gold put in, looking right at Sam.
These two younger Clove Lore residents must hear this kind of garbage all the time, thought Harri.
‘Any other business?’ came Minty’s cut glass voice.
‘Actually, Annie had an idea for an event at the bookshop,’ Jude put in. ‘I suppose that counts as any other business.’
The whole assembly seemed pleased to hear this.
‘Well, it’s nothing really, just a silent reading group, for one Sunday night only,’ said Annie.
Following an encouraging nod from Harri, she reached into her bag and pulled out the poster they’d made earlier that day, unrolling it to a fanfare tootled by Izaak.
‘Silent reading group?’ Mrs Crocombe read dubiously. ‘As in…?’
Bovis completed her sentence. ‘Sittin’ around reading?’
‘We already have a book club. Our murder mystery and thrillers club, at the Siren,’ said Minty, perplexed.
‘This is more of a cosy night in, but out , and together, reading, and it’s for the whole community,’ said Annie. ‘And there’ll be hot chocolate.’
‘I’m in,’ said Jude. ‘That’s right up our street.’
Elliot confirmed his attendance with an arm wrapped around his wife’s shoulder and a kiss on her forehead.
‘Sam? Come with me?’ Jasper asked across the circle. Sam assented with another smiling blush.
The meeting rapidly descended into a loud cacophony of excited ideas for what books they might bring along.
Minty had clearly had enough and drew the whole thing to a close. ‘That’s decided then. A silent book club will take place for one night only on Sunday evening at the Borrow-A-Bookshop. You know what to do, people. Spread the word amongst your networks.’
Shortly, everyone was on their feet and chatting in groups. Sam did the rounds with her tray once more. Was there no end to this evening? All Harri wanted was a bit of dinner at the pub.
Annie had rolled up her poster and was interviewing Jude and Elliot about their meeting at the bookshop. He overheard Jude remarking, ‘Hard to believe it was four years ago this summer.’
That was before he realised Jasper Gold was standing before him, flicking blond hair from his brow and holding a ticket book. ‘Two, is it?’ he said.
‘Ah, of course, the Valentine’s cinema night?’ Harri dug in his pocket for his wallet, keeping his ears open to all those around him. He and Annie seemed to be the main topic of conversation.
‘I reckon Anjali the young vet will do for him, and how about Kit at the pub for Annie?’ Mrs Crocombe was saying to Izaak, Leonid, Minty and Jowan.
‘We must let it happen naturally,’ Minty hissed loudly. ‘No point forcing things.’
Harri noticed Jowan reaching for Minty’s be-ringed hand. He was making devoted eyes at her. Another recent Clove Lore love match, no doubt.
After having parted with twenty quid, he pocketed the movie tickets and scanned the room looking for Annie once more. They had to get out of here quick before they were married off against their will.
‘And you and Harri aren’t…?’ Jude was asking.
‘What, us? God no!’ Annie said with a barking laugh. Harri knew she was overcompensating, trying to throw the community off their tails but still, she didn’t have to be quite so emphatic about it. And then she said something that made his nerves jolt.
‘There was a while, back in uni, where I had a crush on him, but…’ Harri watched Annie swipe the idea away with a dismissive hand. ‘We’re just really good friends.’
Harri found he couldn’t move. In fact, he felt like he was suddenly lit by a spotlight’s beam, blindingly bright. Was everyone looking at him?
A crush? In uni? There was no way that could be true. He’d have known. If that was really the case they’d have…
‘Ready to go?’ Annie called to him.
The spotlight went out. Harri blinked.
Annie was smiling, forcedly now, and with a touch of tiredness around her eyes. She looked chilly. The thin silver and gold chains at her throat sparkled in the lights from the sconces. She’d worn his jumper the whole afternoon. It looked spectacular on her.
Now she was by his side and telling him in a low voice that all she wanted was to get out of here and have a hot bath and a long sleep.
‘Right,’ Harri faltered. ‘Let’s go.’
They picked their way gingerly back down the slippery cobbled slope towards the bookshop in the muted light of the village’s Victorian streetlamps. It was sleeting sharply, right in their faces, preventing them from talking.
Harri collected his thoughts. Had a crush. Past tense. We’re just really good friends . If she’d let on she liked him back then, they could have been together all this time, or it might have been the thing that destroyed them. It could have been just a fling or a short-term thing, and living so far apart she could well have become nothing but his ex. They might not even be in contact now. He shuddered at the idea.
They passed down the sheltered turning off the slope and made it to the shop door. As Annie punched in the keycode, he asked, ‘We’re doing all right, aren’t we?’
‘ Hmm? ’ Annie swung the door open and practically dived into the warmth of the dark building. The heat from the radiators had at last built up to a decent temperature. ‘How d’you mean all right ?’
Harri shrugged. ‘As pals? Here, on holiday? We’re good, aren’t we?’
Distractedly, Annie threw off her coat, and kissed him exuberantly on the cheek. ‘We’re the best.’ She made for the staircase. ‘We’re the GOAT! Greatest of all time.’
Quietly astonished by the heat on his cheek where her lips had pressed, Harri locked the door.
Annie effervesced her way up the stairs, calling behind her. ‘It says in the information binder there’s only enough water for one bath per evening. Since you jumped in the shower this morning…’
‘Go ahead. I’ll hit the hay.’ He pointed stupidly to his bedroom door. Hit the hay? When did he ever say hit the hay ? He was being weird again and he hated it.
By the time Annie Luna emerged from the tub, the scent of her almond milk bath oil had spread throughout the whole place, Harri was under his covers with his pillow pulled firmly over his head, and on Annie’s nightstand he’d left a bedtime snack of hot buttered toast and milky tea, made just the way she liked it. Beside it were the two tickets for When Harry Met Sally at the Big House outdoor cinema on Valentine’s Day.
She stopped at the side of her big white bed, rubbing the towel over her damp hair, and thought herself very lucky indeed. Harri Griffiths really was the very best friend a woman could wish for.
The sleet had stopped around about the time Annie was drifting off to sleep, having made sure to check her phone for a reply from Cassidy. There had, of course, been none.