New Beginnings for Bryony Bennett

Chapter Eight

The one half decent clothes store in the nearest town was packed with red faced, perspiring holidaymakers looking for strappy tops and sun hats. The weather was, according to the weathermen, unseasonably high and the pollen index ditto. When Bryony went into the chemist for deodorant, it was doing a roaring trade in antihistamines, and sun cream.

She pushed her way – politely - into the only other clothes shop of any size, between bodies and through the area called ‘get your seaside on’, and towards where a helpful assistant had explained were clothes for occasions. She hadn’t got the heart to say that all she wanted was a dress that wasn’t creased, crumpled, or holey…though holy might do the trick. She surveyed the rails doubtfully. This was more ‘occasion’ than occasional, and really for church? Where no doubt it might be twenty-five degrees outside, but more like fifteen inside? A short floaty thing that brought Lottie Botte - no way was she going to call her Monk now - into mind would give her goose pimples on her goose pimples. What she needed was smart but casual and which would do for church and maybe this art weekend. A tall order maybe. She scowled at the rails.

‘What’s that poor dress ever done to upset you?’ Dario stood beside her, his hair in a short pony tail. The ever-present ear stud was turquoise this time. He saw her glance at it. ‘My birthstone. So, what’s bugging you? Unless it’s that bilious shade of yellow, of course. That’s enough to upset anyone.’

Bryony stared at the garment in question. ‘It is awful isn’t it? But nope, I just need a dress for church. Maddie has persuaded me to go and wave goodbye to the lay reader person, who I’ve never even met. No idea why, but you know your ex, and I have no idea where to start.’

‘Not here anyway. Come on.’ He took hold of her hand and with the surefootedness of someone who knew what he was doing and where he was going, steered her out of the shop by a little used back doorway into the car park. ‘I’ll show you where. As long…’ He stopped. ‘You’re no snob, are you?’

‘Me? Blimey no, why?’

‘You’ll see. Come on and if you don’t take too long, you’ll get the G and T I promised you. It’s definitely G and T time.’

‘I hate bloody clothes shopping. Nothing fits, and I feel a freak,’ Bryony muttered, as they walked down a narrow alley where the shadows of the building on either side created a mosaic on the tarmac. Obviously, it wasn’t on the tourist route to anywhere, for apart from a black cat sunning itself on a window ledge and a teen on a skateboard, they were the only two around. Somewhere a radio blared out the ‘non stop oldies’ and Dario whistled along to a few bars of ‘Simply the Best’.

‘Why a freak?’ He looked down at her boobs and grinned. ‘Ah, you mean you’ve the perfect hour glass figure, and today’s fashions are lamp posts? Never mind we can sort that.’

‘Mr blooming optimistic. Where?’

‘Here.’ He turned into a sunny courtyard, where baskets of silk scarves sat next to coat stands of hats and handbags, all artfully shaded by umbrellas and trellises. In the window a silk and lace confection frothed over a series of stands like a colourful material waterfall. It looked like the place his sister would patronise. So not her.

‘It’s not my sort of place,’ Bryony hissed. ‘Let’s go to the supermarket. I can buy curry and clothes there.’ That would solve all her shopping in one quick dash around the aisles.

‘Snob.’

‘No, I am not. Why say that? Oh fu… shoot. I didn’t see the sign.’ Above the door was a sign. The Re-shop. Re-cycle re-use re-love . ‘I just thought it looked too posh for me.’

Dario glanced at her, and damn it, his expression was one of understanding. ‘Lottie wouldn’t be seen dead here, don’t worry. Her idea of reuse is to wear something twice. This is run by the sister of a guy I went to…to uni with.’

Bryony wondered what he had been going to say.

‘Any clues what you want? It’s only family service in a village church, not Exeter Cathedral with the queen in attendance.’

‘Just as well, I’d never cope with not getting to the loo for hours,’ Bryony said frankly, as she let Dario angle her towards the double doors. ‘Nerves make me need to go.’

Shut up, stop discussing toilet needs with him. How to turn a man off you before he’s even started. Next, it’ll be support hose and hold-in knickers.

‘Don’t they make everyone?’ he said cheerfully, knocking her musings out of the way. ‘I can’t go therefore I need to? Do you think there’s an upsurge in the sales of incontinence pants the week before a royal visit? Which, incidentally, as a kid I thought were called incompetence knickers and told my sister she needed some when she did something stupid. Mum was in fits of giggles and explained it to us carefully. Lottie thumped me, gave me a black eye and I sat on her arm and broke her wrist. Sibling love.’

Bryony giggled. What the hell am I doing, exchanging incontinence stories with a guy who until very recently I called, Mr Grumpy?

‘If there’s not a surge, someone is missing out on a fortune. They could even decorate them with union jacks and crowns. Or is that treasonable, do you think? Oh my… look at that.’ She pointed to what she thought of as her perfect dress. Long, with splashes of pink and red, and floaty, but in cotton, not silk and lace. ‘That is me.’

‘It so is. Want to try it on?’ The woman who appeared from behind a bamboo screen smiled at her and kissed Dario’s cheek. ‘Hi, handsome, have you come to run away with me?’ She laughed uproariously. ‘Not likely if you’ve brought your lady to see me. Hi, I’m Lou.’ It was the woman Bryony had nearly bumped into outside the chain store on the day of her futile shopping expedition.

Lou’s eyes widened. ‘Well hello, we meet again. Did you buy anything in the end?’

‘Bryony, and I’m not…’

‘In a shopping mood,’ Dario interjected smoothly. ‘You’ve met?’

‘I was clothes shopping then as well,’ Bryony said. ‘I ended up in the supermarket and bought a pair of jeans, some trousers and a couple of tops for work. Which fit and worked perfectly for the shop,’ she said, defensive as ever. ‘Now I need something special and have no idea where to start. Not a clue what suits me, just what I’m happy in. I’m more at home in long hippy skirts that were probably my mum’s or my nan’s. Proper clothes shopping scares me. As in run away and hide scares me. I’d prefer root canal treatment, and I have to be sedated to get in the dentist chair.’ An exaggeration, but not much.

‘Be kind to her.’ Dario said. ‘I’ve told her it’ll be painless.’

‘I’m always kind unless I’m in a bitchy mood. And as your blooming sister isn’t here, my bitch is not around.’ Bangles jangled on Lou’s honey-toned skin and a toe ring attached to an ankle chain shimmered in the sunshine, just above the scalloped hem of her dress. ‘I’ll be honest, about that dress. It broke my heart when it didn’t fit me any longer.’ She patted her boobs. ‘I only wore it twice. The girls grew when I had my son and decided they liked their new size and stayed there.’

Dario coughed. ‘Lou, that comes under the heading of too much information maybe?’

‘Nonsense, nothing fazes you. Dunc’s out back with your godson, if you want to go through. Joe’s teething mind so he might bite you as easily as offering you a kiss.’

‘Maybe I’ll take an iced lolly in as a bribe then. First, though, ignore Bryony’s ‘I need something for church’. She needs something to suit her.’

‘Church? You mean???’

Oh God what did Lou think was happening? Bryony hurried to disabuse Lou of any romantic ideas. ‘Maddie’s coerced me into going to church a week on Sunday. Evidently, it’s the farewell to the lay reader day, who I freely admit I do not know from Adam. Maddie nevertheless thinks I should go. Mind you, she’ll have to tell me when to get up and down. The last church I went to was a lot less churchy, if you get me.’

‘Ah yeah, but I thought St Micks wasn’t that high and.…’ Lou coughed and looked at Dario. ‘So…’

‘So, just find something that Bryony is happy in. Church and the preacher can wait until it’s time for them. Today we have a G and T on the agenda.’

‘Then we better get on with it. Vamoose.’ Lou made brushing movements to him and he laughed.

‘Don’t come to blows. I’m off to play with my godson.’

It had been one of those weird days, Bryony decided as she and Mop walked to the edge of the garden and stared out over the narrow field beyond the fence, across the coastal path to the edge of the land and then to the sea. Many feet below, the waves lapped on the base of the cliff. High tide left no sand or shale to be seen. The ebb and flow, tiny white horses, the swish of rock, and the occasional cries of the gulls were strangely soothing and gave her a sense of belonging.

‘We were right to come here,’ she said to Mop, who woofed softly and leant against her legs. ‘Even if things have been a bit difficult, it’s home now.’

The dress had fit perfectly. Lou had been friendly, but not very forthcoming about Dario or her own family. Bryony felt rebuffed and it hurt, until just as she and Dario were leaving, Lou hugged her. ‘Come over next Tuesday if you’re free and we’ll do lunch. It’s my day off and Dunc will look after Joe for a couple of hours. I reckon you’ll be ready for a walk along the prom and the best fish and chips in the west country.’ She scribbled on a piece of paper. ‘Mobile and shop numbers, in case.’

‘Gluten free,’ Dario said. ‘Mrs Cherry told me,’ he added, as she looked at him in surprise. ‘That you’re coeliac, not that the chippy does gluten free, that’s on the board outside. Evidently Mrs C’s going to stock stuff you say you’ll buy on a regular basis.’ He smiled at her amazed look. ‘Nothing’s a secret in a village.’

Except who Mandi Rook was evidently.

It was the first Bryony had heard about Mrs C and gluten free stock, but then she’d been too busy to go into the village. More by chance than anything else she’d found the coffee maker, in its original packaging, but in the downstairs loo. Her knickers she discovered in the pantry, in a box she thought had said pans not pants. No wonder it had felt so light. Now at least she could refresh her brain via a large cup of Kenya’s finest beans and then go out decently clad. Maybe she had better make her way up the lane and make sure she gave Mrs Cherry a regular order. She added it to her mental to do list. Soon she’d better turn mental into actual, or knowing her she’d never remember half of it. However, at least she had something clean and tidy to wear to church, to say hi and bye to whoever it was taking the service. Whom, she realised, was still nameless, and for that matter, sexless. What was it with the village and its propensity not to name any one? Did they think any newcomer might use it for nefarious purposes? Write scurrilous stories or rude ditties on the bush shelter side? Anyway, calling the unknown preacher he or she didn’t much matter if the vicar whoever he…or even she was… was about to leave the village. For the hello, nice to meet you, sorry you’re leaving thirty seconds meeting ‘vicar’ would do. On that thought, she whistled Mop and made her way back to the house. It had, she realised, ended up a lovely day. The gin and tonic on the patio of the pub on the seafront was followed by a pot of shrimps and a stroll along the prom, until, as Dario put it, they were both well under the legal driving limit once more. Not that one gin would necessarily put her over, but she would never take a chance. She’d arrived home, full and happy, and decided to bring Mop out—as he’d consented to stop in her bedroom for the duration—and soak up the scenery before bed. Since his successful outing with Dex and the twins he’d been happy to stay at home for a short time. Especially if she left him in her bedroom with Radio Four on, a bone and his water bowl. The fact she found the bone in her bed three times out of five, which resulted in her stripping and remaking the bed was a small price to pay.

Bryony heard the sound of an engine and turned around. Typically, she missed the green van and its driver by a few seconds. This time she saw the back of it as it disappeared over the railway bridge and drove towards the village.

Oh well, one day…

The hammering on her door woke her with a start. Mop who, whatever Bryony did, managed to get into the bedroom during the night and sleep on the mat by her bed, barked and ran to put his paws on the windowsill. Then his barks became frenzied. Bryony glanced bleary-eyed at the clock. Just shy of six am. What the hell? She flung the covers back—they’d been found a few days earlier—and struggled up from the perfect new mattress. A swift glance at her t-shirt clad torso and she found her dressing gown. Of course, she ended up with it on inside out, but that wouldn’t matter to look out of the window and swear at whoever woke her up from a rather nice dream about Dario and gin and tonic.

A shower of stones hit the window and she opened it and stood back sharply. The last thing she wanted was to be hit by one. ‘Hold on. I’m awake.’

‘Come on down.’ It was Dario, of the gin and tonic dream. She rubbed her eyes and leaned over the sill, just to make sure she wasn’t still asleep.

He was there, better than she’d dreamed him. He grinned when he saw her, nodded and his earring—this time a dangling spiral of gold and silver as far as she could tell—flashed with what was either a diamond or a bloody good imitation. ‘Get decent. Hurry up, there’s been a whale sighting. You don’t want to miss it.’

True, she didn’t. ‘Two minutes.’

Bryony slammed the window shut, grabbed a sundress and some knickers, put them on, and shoved her feet into trainers. A bit of a mess, but with bed hair and bed breath, it was the best she could do, except for a swipe of toothpaste over her teeth and a scrunchy in her hair. Whales were unlikely to wait until she made herself properly presentable. She headed down the stairs two at a time, grabbed two bottles of water from the fridge and a couple of energy bars, and opened the back door. Mop dashed passed her to be caught by Dario.

‘Have you got his lead? He can come, but we need to be quick.’

Bryony nodded, picked up a handy back pack to put the refreshments in and took a lead from a hook by the door. She passed it to Dario, who snapped it onto Mop’s collar and held it firmly as she locked the house. ‘Do not pull, dog, or you’ll be locked in the hen house.’

Mop whined.

‘Hen house?’

Dario grinned. ‘Sounds better than the outside loo.’

‘I don’t have either,’ Bryony pointed out.

‘Ah well, he doesn’t know that. Let’s get a move on.’

‘Where?’

He inclined his head towards the bottom corner of her garden, where her land met the common. ‘Going by what I was told they’ll be passing Clennan Cove in about ten minutes if they stay close. We can get a good view from the stile into Yabsley’s Common.’

The names sounded strange but right for such an exciting sighting. Bryony resisted a little hop and skip and nodded. ‘I’m all set.’

He took the backpack from her unresisting hold, swung it over his shoulder, and reached for her hand. Let’s go.’

‘Oh goodness.’ Bryony got goosebumps as she watched the three dark shapes pass them, spouting and sinking under the slow swells. ‘What sort are they?’

‘Humpbacks. Great isn’t it? Not as rare as some that have been sighted off this coast, but not an everyday occurrence either. I thought you wouldn’t mind being woken up for this. Most people would give their eye teeth for a sighting, especially one so close to home. I just happened to be out when I saw them, and then old Johnny Bentine confirmed he’d had his eye on them and their likely route.’

Bryony sighed in happiness as they stood in silence and watched the procession swim slowly past. ‘Not one bit.’ Her tummy rumbled. ‘I’m so glad you were out, and Johnny Whoosis told you.’ She wondered where he’d been at such an early hour. ‘Any time. I’d get up at three if this were why.’

‘I was up to go fishing. This is better.’

So now she knew. His considering look made her smart. Was she so darned transparent? ‘There’s water and energy bars in that back pack.’

Mop whined. ‘You wait, it’s not your food time.’

Mop sat down with a thump and put a paw up to Dario, who laughed as he held the bag out to Bryony. ‘Hey, don’t look at me, mate. I’m stopping on your mum’s good side.’

‘If I’m not careful he just piles on weight.’ Bryony didn’t want to come across as cruel and heartless towards animals. ‘He’s greedy. I never dare leave anything out. He even managed to get a quiche from the top of the fridge freezer once. And that was well over seven feet high. I had to stand on a chair to put it up there. And before you ask, yes, I had moved the chair away. No idea how he managed it.’

Mop scratched his ear.

‘He’s not telling,’ Dario commented. He took a swig of water and bit a chunk off the gluten free oar and fruit bar. ‘Hmm, tasty.’

‘Of course. I might not be able to eat like you do, but I’m damned if I’ll eat cardboard. Things have improved so much these last ten years. I bet you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference with some things.’

‘If you say so.’

She punched him lightly on the arm. ‘Not everything. Ohh, look they’re going further out now.’ A pang shot through her. It had been one of those magical moments. To stand there in harmony and watch the magnificent mammals, as they went about their business was a scene she hadn’t thought she would experience so close to her home. ‘Aww. Thank you for bringing me.’ Impulsively she hugged Dario, then realised what she’d done. ‘Um, well, yes.’

‘Um, well, yes.’ He winked. ‘You can do it anytime.’

‘Even though I’ve got your house?’

He laughed. ‘Yes, even that. Right, if the show is about over, can I invite you to accompany me up to the village? It’s farmers market day and there will be bacon baps and oh damn sorry… you won’t be able to eat the rolls, will you?’

He looked embarrassed at the gaffe. Bryony decided the man was getting ever more human by the day. ‘Never mind, I’ll pinch your bacon and come for a coffee if there is one?’

‘A great take away stall. And if they’ve not been all nabbed, semi-comfy seats. It’s an early morning, over well before noon, thing. The first stalls set up by six thirty. And you never know, we might even find you a gluten free brownie.’

They did even better. Two hours later, after a gluten free roll stuffed full of the best bacon she had ever tasted, a mug of coffee, and a bag of cookies tucked away for later, she walked back down the lane.

‘That roll was great. Do you know, I once went into a café and they said of course they could do a gluten free bacon roll. When I got it, it looked remarkably like the non gluten free roll of my mate. So, I asked if it was gluten free, and was told, of course the bacon was gluten free.’

Dario snorted. ‘And not the bun?’

She shook her head and shrugged as she remembered the scene. ‘The poor lad was amazed when I said that of course the bacon was, but what about the bun? He replied, he thought I wanted a gluten free bacon bun. He didn’t think that meant the bread had to be gluten free as well. I gave him a quick lesson on what gluten could do to people who were coeliac. Poor sod was green and almost in tears when I finished. Then I felt rotten for berating him.’

‘I bet he’ll never get it wrong again though.’

‘I hope not. The café even advertised g-f. And hells bells, he was studying English at the local uni.’

‘Close shave. Bet you’ve never been back?’

‘Nope.’

‘Once we get this book thing over, if you want to spend more time with me, I promise I’ll take you to a café and a restaurant that does such amazing gluten free stuff you’ll weep when you can’t eat it all.’

‘You will?’ Why wouldn’t I?

‘Yep Café Ode and Ode restaurant in Shaldon, not far away. Just up or along from the ferry, whichever one you mean. In fact, we’ll try to go before the arts festival if we can. Scones and brownies at the café amongst other things, and in the restaurant, a fantastic tasting menu they’ll alter for you. I’ve been with friends and one of them is coeliac. Katy said it was one of the best meals she had ever tasted.’

‘You’re on.’ It sounded right up her street.

‘If you still want to go with me. You’ll want to go to Ode, regardless.’

‘Fair enough.’ It sounded somewhat mysterious, but she’d humour him. ‘If I still want to go with you.’

The church clock had chimed half past the hour, and Dario glanced at his watch. ‘Hey look, sorry, I’ve got to go. I have an appointment at nine and I’ve got to get changed. I’ll give you a ring about sorting more of the barn out, and Ode.’

It was only after he’d walked away briskly Bryony realised she hadn’t given him her phone number. She shrugged. If he really wanted it, Maddie had it and no doubt would give it to him with alacrity. She’d told Bryony on more than one occasion that he needed a good woman. Not only for himself but to give Lottie the heave ho. When Bryony had protested that might be unkind, Maddie had said darkly for her to wait and see what she meant.

That wait and see warning had been issued a few days earlier. Bryony wondered why on earth it would apply to her. After all, the only reason she was involved with Dario was due to the bookshop, wasn’t it? She might fancy the idea of a bit more involvement, but she wasn’t going to hold her breath. He was friendly and polite but was it any more than neighbourly? She was so out of practice at this dating, who fancies who and what lark. Okay, he’d offered to take her for a meal—afterwards, or was it before—but what did that mean? How the hell would I know? I’ve not exactly been over successful in the romance stakes. Maybe it was time to do something about that? Perhaps there would be a book in the pop-up bookshop on the cliff as Maddie had decided to call the barn, on ‘how to attract a man without appearing to be an idiot’. The without being an idiot part was the most important as far as Bryony was concerned. She had no idea to go about attracting a man. Matt the rat with his scathing comments had shown her that. She had thought—in error it seemed—that to be her usually friendly, slightly ditsy, individual self was the way to go. After all, surely it was who you were that mattered?

The following afternoon Bryony pondered that knotty question as she stood at the sink, elbow deep in suds as she hand washed her mum’s lacy heirloom tablecloth, which she had found in a box of tea towels and dusters. It had, according to her mum, belonged to the aristocracy and been given to her granny or her granny’s granny when she was a ladies maid at a country house in darkest Rutland, allegedly by her lover, the third son of a duke. Whether any of it was true or not, didn’t matter. Bryony loved the cloth and treated it with care. She remembered why she had packed it in that box. In the middle of linens and cloths, it was well cushioned and protected from stray sharp ends of anything, including cats’ claws.

On the whole, Bryony was satisfied at how well her unpacking and finding things was going. Some things she really wanted must still be in the boxes still stored in the other barn. The one she’d just closed the door on and locked it with a mental promise she’d sort it out when she had more time. Anything in there, she would do without or buy new. At least she could do that now. Even though she still stopped, thought and rethought about any spending, especially on things she should have somewhere, it was a relief to accept she had a cushion between her and her worries. So far, she hadn’t purchased anything, but knowing she could, made her sleep easier at night.

The peremptory rap and thump on the door made her jump. She wasn’t expecting anyone, and the postman had knocked several hours earlier. Sadly, he’d only brought a catalogue for chair lifts and a post card from Maisie inviting herself down for a weekend. It was a bummer that it wasn’t the bookshop one, she now couldn’t make that. Just as he was about to drive away Joe the postman opened his window and thrust a parcel at her. ‘Forgot this. Here you are.’

Bryony took it with a murmur of thanks. It was a paperback she’d ordered ages before, forgotten ordering, and had already bought several weeks earlier, when it arrived at the bookshop she had worked in. Ah well, it would be a good addition to the ‘new’ table, at the festival.

As the day got closer, Bryony realised she was becoming more and more excited about it all. Not just the bookshop but all the other things that would go on and hopefully make her a local and bring the close knit community—including her—even closer together. Plus, with a bit of luck, entice holidaymakers to part with their cash and help restore the local playing fields and put a new boiler into the village hall.

The knock sounded again. Whoever it was didn’t have much patience.

‘All right, keep your hair on, I’m coming.’ Bryony dried her hands on her skirt, the dish cloths and kitchen hand towels she’d used were drying on the makeshift clothes line outside the back door and she hadn’t got round to getting fresh ones out of the drawer. She’d prefer whoever it was not to knock the door in. It was one of the few solid things about the cottage. She opened it with a sharp tug—it needed a bit planed off the side—and stood back in a hurry, just in time to miss the fist that the visitor had planned to use.

‘I hope that was to thump the door and not my face?’

‘What? Oh hell, yes sorry, I didn’t know it would open like it did.’ Lottie Botte flushed and stammered as Bryony raised one eyebrow. ‘It sort of jerked back just as I was going to knock again.’

Knock? Well I suppose that is one way of describing a bloody great thump. What is she doing here oozing sweetness and light?

‘Obviously. So, how can I help you?’ She doubted Lottie, still dressed more for a day in the city than deepest Devon—this time killer heels and a pencil skirt—was on a courtesy call or offering to man the bookshop. Well, not unless Dario was due to be there.

Her words seemed to act like a bucket of water over Lottie’s unusual and amenable mood. ‘By leaving my brother alone. He’s had enough of people like you sniffing around him.’ Lottie folded her arms and looked mulish. ‘It’s not fair.’

Bryony saw red. ‘People like me? People like me? It’s not fair? Awww, but it’s not raining either.’

Lottie obviously didn’t get it.

‘Who the hell do you think you are?’ Bryony was on a roll, ‘People like me are normal people, not silly little women who think that get up you’re decked out in is suitable for cow pats and muddy lanes. What would you do if you got a puncture in that gas guzzler of yours, eh? I bet you don’t even know where the jack is, let alone what you do with it. And don’t say, “ohhh I’d ring someone", because the phone reception around here is shite.’ Bryony bit her lip. What a cow she was. She decided to try another approach. ‘Lottie, he’s your brother not your lover.’

Evidently not the correct one.

Lottie went white, red, and white again, and balled her hands into fists. ‘That’s the second time you’ve hinted at such a vile thing. Of course he’s not my lover, you pervert.’

‘Well stop bloody acting as if he is. He’s a grown man. He doesn’t need you to hold his hand or tell him when to try a wee. Let the poor sod breathe. Lottie,’ she went on in a gentle manner, as Lottie said nothing. ‘You’re not helping him get on with his life.’

‘Yes I am. It’s people like you and flipping Maddie who are spoiling everything. He’s going to make the biggest mistake in his life and it’s all your fault.’

What? ‘Lottie.’ Bryony held on to her temper with difficulty. ‘I hardly know the man.’

‘But you want to, and he wants you to. Don’t you see? It would be all wrong. He’s going to ruin his life.’

He does? He is? It would? I’m not so sure.

‘I think that’s up to him, don’t you?’

‘He’s a man,’ Lottie said, as if that explained everything.

‘Just as well. I don’t fancy women,’ Bryony said. Sadly, she spoke in a flippant manner and could have bitten her tongue out as soon as she uttered the words. ‘Lottie, enough. I’m not answerable to you and neither is he. If, and I stress if we ever get to be more than acquaintances, it’s got b. all to do with anyone else.’ Dare she be rude? Why not. ‘If we choose to go at it like rabbits, swinging from the door frames and singing ‘hi ho silver lining’, it’s no one’s business but ours. As long as it’s our door frames. Our lives, not yours.’

‘You cow.’ Lottie slapped Bryony hard enough to rock her on her heels, turned on her own vertiginous footwear, stumbled as the thin stiletto caught in between two stones, and stalked back to her car, which Bryony noticed was parked skew whiff and half in a rut.

Tough. If she got stuck in it, Bryony had no intention of helping her. She shut the door and locked it for good measure. Turned the radio up to loud and went back to put a cold compress on her cheek and deal with her washing. The blare of ‘Let me entertain you’, seemed strangely apt. When she glanced out of the hall window half an hour later, the car was gone. Thank goodness. Would her conscience really have allowed Lottie to be stuck? It wasn’t a question Bryony wanted to answer.