Chapter 18
Peace and quiet. Yes, what a glorious thing that was.
Well, it always sounded like a lovely idea, until you’d checked your phone for the gazillionth time, got fed up of the sound of your own thoughts and then realised you were excruciatingly bored.
Even Pikachu was fast asleep, which was pretty much all her new mouse pet did all day.
It was only at night that he decided to come alive like a mini vampire and keep her awake, incessantly running on his tiny wheel.
Didn’t he realise going around in circles got you nowhere?
Alyssa sighed. Because now, the most interesting thing she had to think about was her rodent’s life problems.
She stretched out on her bed, wondering if she should paint her toenails again, for a bit of sport.
Hanging around by yourself wasn’t that tiresome.
This was soul time. Space to be zen, away from life’s noise.
People paid good money for this sort of tranquil retreat.
Ooh, maybe she could put on those snazzy yoga pants she’d bought to look wholesome and bendy on social media and try a bit of one-legged king pigeon.
She considered it for a moment and then shuddered. No need to be extreme.
She rolled off the duvet and went to grab her phone again.
‘Reasons to be cheerful,’ she sing-songed in the direction of the clump of hay where Pikachu was snoozing. ‘I still have my latest ’Appy Together post-task questionnaire to complete.’
If she said it in an upbeat enough way, she might even convince herself she wasn’t dreading it. She had a feeling that awful algorithm was out to get her.
Or another thought. Maybe she was bringing some of this onto herself?
Hmm. If she hadn’t told the app she was into horticulture, maybe it wouldn’t have thrust them into a task where she had to pretend she was Alan bloody Titchmarsh.
A task that could drag on for months, because they had yet to sow a seed.
And she couldn’t deny that feigning a love for quinoa and mung beans had lost her the chance of her own bacon sandwich.
In fairness, the allotment task hadn’t been nearly as bad as she’d expected, and from the social media coverage, she hadn’t come across as a complete buffoon.
It might even open up a whole new pool of potential love coach clients if lonely men in sheds started following her on Instagram.
Some parts of it she’d even enjoyed. The sense of achievement, the time outdoors, the people.
She shook her head. Well, not all the people, because nobody needed too much of striptease Devan or her snogging parents, and it still felt awkward dodging folk who might say, ‘Ooh, Beryl. I remember when Devan dumped you like a numpty and ran off with your pretty friend.’
Thank goodness she hadn’t yet bumped into Sylvie, even if now and again she caught herself absently wondering about her.
Her once best friend’s betrayal had hurt, and Alyssa had made damned sure back then that Sylvie couldn’t get hold of her to talk about it – because she did not want to compare notes on the size of Devan’s schlong.
She’d moved to London, changed her number and instructed her parents not to pass it on. At least they’d done her that courtesy.
But she hadn’t come back here to moon over relationships lost.
Alyssa clicked onto the app’s questionnaire.
This time, should she blag a bit less? Not that she’d go admitting all her secrets, or anything wild.
She had her reputation to keep, and people liked the version of her who ate mung beans.
But would it hurt if she was a touch more honest, in the hope the algorithm would be kinder to her?
And if she wasn’t going to fall for Devan, come hell or high water, what was there to fear?
She paced to the kitchen and sat up on the worktop, because it was the only place to rest her bum other than her bed or the floor.
She really must think about more furniture.
When she’d searched online the previous evening, she’d wavered at spending that much money on stuff she’d get rid of when she went back to London.
And who wanted to spend their earnings on something as dull as temporary furniture?
Her fingers danced across her screen as she answered the app’s questions with a touch less embellishment.
She admitted she’d enjoyed being outdoors, though next time, maybe she didn’t need the whole town there, waving banners and appraising her wheelbarrow skills.
She held off on adding and don’t invite my slutty parents.
It was still hard to believe Percy and Pearl were going through ’Appy Together’s seven-step shenanigans too.
Were they actually into each other, or still on the partner swap merry-go-round?
And how on earth had the app managed to throw them into the same task, on the plot of land next door?
Surely there was something – or someone – else at play?
Although she wasn’t going to spend her morning contemplating Devan Shaw. Or Pearl Bagnor.
‘Hellooooo there.’
Alyssa froze. Had her mind just conjured up that voice as she’d been thinking about her mother? Because it sounded freakishly like her.
‘Are you in? We’ve brought supplies!’
We? Was it really her mum? And who had she brought?
‘Cooee! I’ve got a lovely T-shirt for you.’
Alyssa winced. Well, that one sounded like Mrs Halfpenny. She guessed she couldn’t dodge her past forever.
The voices were accompanied by a round of resolute banging on the barn’s front door. It was not going away.
‘The ’ow ’hed?’ her mum seemed to be saying.
Ow indeed. Alyssa jumped down from the worktop, grateful at least that she’d showered and got out of her pyjamas.
She opened the door and was immediately surprised by the clamour. Had the whole of Hartglove descended on her doorstep, laden with packages and awkward-to-carry items? But it was February – not Christmas. What was going on?
‘Someone need a kitchen table?’ said Mrs Halfpenny, rocking a T-shirt that said, ‘Aorta Tell You Hartglove’s Got Love’. She was holding one end of a rustic wooden table, with her granddaughter Jess clutching the other.
‘And chairs,’ said another woman, who was carrying one, with three children behind her sitting on the rest of the set like a row of tired ducks.
‘You mentioned you didn’t have a freezer when I tried to foist my batch-cooked casseroles onto you,’ said an older man, who she instantly recognised as her wheelbarrow friend, Horace. He was pointing to the open back door of a van, which held a freezer, amongst other things.
‘Which means you’ll need ice cream!’ said Jess, flicking her head towards the freezer bag on her shoulder.
‘And kitchen items,’ added Alyssa’s mother, pointing to a large box at her feet. ‘Because how can you make your lovely pea smoothies without a blender?’
‘And quinoa!’ said Sausage Sandra, who ran the local breakfast café. ‘Not our usual order, but I’m sure you’ll inspire us with your new fandangled ways.’ She held up a box of what looked like Alyssa’s least favourite pseudograins.
Jess was eyeing her freezer bag and mouthing ‘potato waffles’ and ‘triple-cheese pizza’.
Alyssa put a hand to her head. All these people. She was used to conducting her ‘friendships’ online. With followers she never had to meet and who couldn’t lovingly share their Furby toys and then smash your heart to smithereens, like a certain ex-best-friend.
‘Are you inviting us in?’ asked her mother.
‘Or we could leave the stuff outside?’ Jess offered, looking almost apologetic. She must have been picking up on Alyssa’s overwhelm and confusion.
‘We just wanted to be helpful,’ Horace added, looking charming in his flowery jacket and funky wellies. ‘You’re a good sort and we like you. But we don’t want to be a bother.’
Mrs Halfpenny plonked down her end of the table and Jess followed suit.
‘I know you’ve been avoiding me like an attack of pubic lice,’ said Mrs Halfpenny, sounding nothing like the sweet old dear who used to serve her Sherbert Dips in the corner shop.
‘So I won’t beat around the lady bush. Folk who’ve lived here long enough know you’re Beryl Bagnor and you weren’t born with bubble-gum hair and an online fan club.
But just like Shania Twain is really called Eileen, if you want to be known as Alyssa, we won’t tell tales.
Team Hartglove looks after their own – even if we’re pretending we don’t know you from Adam.
Though I do think you’d look smashing in this Save Hartglove T-shirt,’ she said, waggling one at her. ‘Just saying.’
Alyssa looked at the sea of faces, her hand strangely drifting to her heart.
They’d really brought all this stuff for her, and they weren’t going to blow her cover?
How could she possibly turn them away? As much as she’d been planning a serene morning it would be rude not to stick the kettle on.
She’d lived away from small-town life for years, but you never forgot the etiquette of offering tea.
And she had been feeling a bit on the bored side.
‘Wow, well, thank you. Can I interest anyone in a cuppa?’ Alyssa slowly backed away from her position of blocking the doorway, because she couldn’t leave everyone out in the drizzle.
‘Thought you’d never ask,’ said Sausage Sandra, bustling her way in. ‘I brought milk and teabags. And apple pie cookies – though I don’t suppose you ruin your arteries with those.’
Alyssa gulped. She’d have to keep them away from her fridge, if she didn’t want them spotting the junk food. Or could she trust them with that too? As people filed into her once-empty space, she couldn’t help giving a cursory glance for Devan. Not that she wanted him anywhere near her home.
‘Don’t worry, Signorina Cuore,’ whispered Anna Farina, who Alyssa had learned ran the local Italian dessert shop, Dolce & Anna, which was also on Apple Blossom Lane.
‘I brought caramel apple tiramisu. I won’t let you starve on this bean food.
’ She patted her own rounded belly. ‘Apples are symbolic of love, you know.’
Alyssa raised her eyebrows. She’d have to be sure not to eat too many – not that she believed in love nor fruit with superpowers. Was everything made with a hint of apple in this town? She did remember people used to store or cook and freeze them, to use all year round.
Anna gave Alyssa a wink, pinched her cheek as though Alyssa was an adorable toddler, and bustled into The Cow Shed, like a short, sweet woman on a mission. Alyssa didn’t know Anna from her previous years in Hartglove but could already tell she was going to like her.
And before Alyssa knew it, what seemed like half of the town and their friends, aunties and second cousins twice removed were piling into her small, converted barn, with armfuls of things she didn’t know she needed.
‘Where shall I put this air fryer?’ she heard her mother ask. ‘Everybody’s doing it, you know. You’re not alive until you’ve baked your cheese scones in a Ninja.’
‘My mum does her whole roast dinner in hers,’ said Jess. ‘Gravy and everything.’
Sausage Sandra pulled a face.
‘I brought you a heated clothes dryer,’ said the woman who’d been carrying a chair earlier.
‘I’m Mel from Splash ’n’ Dash launderette.
No idea why my husband bought me this for our anniversary, when I have thirteen industrial tumble dryers and a perfectly good washing line.
’ She lowered her voice. ‘Romantic, hey? And they wonder why there’s not enough love in Hartglove.
You’d better give me one of your business cards.
’ She winked and moved away, her three children following her and copying her hip-swishing action.
Splash ’n’ Dash. Well, it was an improvement on the days of Hackney’s All Washed Up.
‘Hartglove is perfectly nice,’ Horace added, when Mel and her brood had disappeared towards the kitchen. ‘It’s just that youngsters move away in search of more excitement, and many of us have come here to retire, sometimes widowed.’
He fiddled with a button on his flowery jacket and Alyssa noticed for the first time that perhaps it was more of a woman’s cut, as coats went.
Anna came past and squeezed his arm. ‘Me too, tesoro.’ Were her eyes welling up?
Before Alyssa could be sure, she’d sniffed loudly and was ambling off.
‘It means treasure, you know. Or maybe even darling,’ Horace said, absently. ‘It’s amazing what you can search for on this internet, isn’t it? My mobile phone tells me everything. Have you heard about apps?’ He smiled up at her, his eyes a touch teary too.
‘I have heard about apps,’ said Alyssa, her heart warming a little further, despite her best intentions. ‘Though you need to be careful with some of them. Shall we get you that cup of tea?’
As they arrived in the kitchen, the kettle was already on.
Her mother was setting up all manner of gizmos and gadgets.
Jess was sitting on the worktop eating raspberry ripple ice cream with stewed apples, and saying how she loved it when it rained, because you got to huddle in.
Alyssa hadn’t noticed until that point that it was hammering it down.
Somebody had plugged in an old radio and Anna was dancing solo to something that sounded Italian and operatic.
And were Mel and her children actually hanging the contents of her washing machine onto the heated clothes horse? Were those her favourite knickers?
Horace chuckled. ‘No secrets in this town, hey, duck?’
‘Or much in the way of peace,’ Alyssa replied.
She blinked a few times, not sure how to take it all in.
She ought to be outraged that a small person was now spinning around her kitchen floor with a pair of her tights, singing to Pavarotti.
Or that her peaceful morning was now completely shattered.
But there was laughter and warmth and a sneaky chance of tiramisu.
And everybody meant well. So just for once, Alyssa decided to go with it.
It wouldn’t be forever. She’d be back to her old, less overwhelming and more discreet London life soon enough.
The one where she kept real people at bay, because if you weren’t careful, they had a funny habit of muscling in.
But it wouldn’t hurt to loosen the rules and accept a bit of kindness, just this once. Would it?