Chapter Ten
The cattery was perfect. Crosby and Nash hardly gave Bryony a second glance as they inspected their large comfy quarters with its overlarge squashy beds and climbing trees that let them go from inside to outside, sniffed the food, ate some, and chose where to lie down for a cat nap. Bryony was more than relieved, as the last thing she wanted to do was roam the country with two cats and an escapologist dog. A quick phone call to Maisie asking if she and Maisie’s elderly but Mop-besotted neighbour would Mop sit for a week or two had been met with a very enthusiastic yes, but why?
‘Tell you when I get there.’ Bryony promised and left Little Brindish within the hour. If anyone did come a-calling she didn’t intend to be there to receive them. She’d sort any bills online, and sod anything else. Now, with the cats settled and their accommodation paid for, she could head to Maisie’s, and hopefully find her friend had a shoulder for her to cry on.
She’d promised Lou and Dunc she’d keep in touch. Dunc had made her lodge an official complaint about what had happened and promised to keep an eye on things for her. Lou had arranged for her sister-in-law to Joe-sit and offered to cover Bryony’s shifts at the craft shop if Maddie didn’t mind. Bryony was oh so tempted just to go and not say anything to anyone, but that would be cowardly. Okay, clearing off for a while could be interpreted as cowardly as well, but she called it a strategic withdrawal to regroup.
She waited until she knew Maddie would be on the school run, hoping Dex wouldn’t be around to answer the house phone, and dialled their number. Her luck was in. The tinny message of the answerphone clicked in and she was able to leave a message saying she’d been called away and Lou would stand in if needed. Within half an hour she was on her way. She filled up with petrol in a motorway services and grabbed some wine and chocolate. Always good standbys. Hopefully Maisie would have whatever else was needed. The only food she’d remembered was Mop’s. Most of the drive she did on automatic, the rest on cool, calm…and ice cold rage. By the time she reached Wimbledon, she was weary, hungry and very sorry for herself.
‘So, you see, Mais, I just had to get away.’ Bryony sat on Maisie’s settee in her friend’s second-best dressing gown and hugged a cushion. Mop squeezed in between them and looked from one to another before he whined and lowered his head to his paws. Bryony ruffled the hair around his neck in an absent manner. Poor boy. It was obvious he accepted the sole visit outside he’d get for now would be five minutes in the tiny garden to do the necessary. She made a mental promise that he’d get an extra-long walk in the morning before she headed off. Maisie’s elderly tortoiseshell, Rumer, would ignore him, unless Mop went too close to Rumer’s food bowl and then the fur would fly. In the literal sense. That apart, Mop would be spoiled rotten, and have the time of his life. Maybe not even want to leave. That thought didn’t make her any happier.
‘So, you tell me everything, do your woe is me bit, and let me tell you what I think.’ Maisie tucked her bare feet under her. Bryony noticed it was blue and green striped nails this week. Maisie never went for ordinary when extraordinary could do. The green strip in her dyed red hair vouched for that. Bryony’s red plait was tame in comparison.
‘I felt like I had some contagious disease, or three heads or sommat. Every sodding person treated me like a freak.’ That made her sound such a wuss. ‘Sniggering and giggling at me. Lots of nudge, nudge, wink, wink crap. Then the rubbish and get out notice. They made me shiver. Dunc said he’d keep an eye on the house, Lou’s gonna work my days, and I’m gonna sulk for ohhh ‘til tomorrow at least. Then I’ll get my mad. To get the mad, I needed you to egg me on. I rang you, cried on your shoulder, begged a bed, grabbed the animals, put the cats in a very upmarket, all singing, all dancing Cattery near Exeter, shoved probably the most useless set of clothes into a bag and headed here.’
‘Hmm.’ Maisie passed over a third glass of wine. ‘Thank goodness for half term. No school tomorrow.’
‘Oh lor, I’m sorry, aren’t you going away? I’ll leave now… oh, no, not after wine and a Chinese takeaway, I won’t. First thing, once I’m sure I’m not over the limit.’
‘Wednesday, so stop worrying. And I can cancel.’
‘Oh no, you can’t. I’ll be gone by then. I just needed the wise woman of Wimbledon to shake me up. Oh Lord, Mop. I’ll take him with me.’
‘Nope, Mrs T has it all sorted. Chloe, her granddaughter, is on walk duties. I er… promised her a few quid, I hope that’s okay? She’s saving up for a car and is doing all sorts of odd jobs to get one.’
‘Of course it’s okay, tell me how much and I’ll get it out of the bank.’
‘It’s not that whopping. I said a tenner a walk.’
‘That’s not enough. I’d say twenty. I know Chloe and her walks. Ten miles and three hours later.’
‘Up to you.’ Maisie handed over half a chocolate bar. ‘She’d do it for nothing, you know that, but the cash will be appreciated.’
‘Yep, and I can say that amount now. Great feeling, knowing that. It’s not a lot really, when you think how much those walks eat into your day.’ Bryony bit into the bar in an absent manner and jumped when raspberry liqueur hit her taste buds. ‘God, this is good.’
‘Well, I guessed my role was to supply wine, feed you chocolate and give you a hug? We can have your offerings later.’
‘Yeah I need all that. And the mad.’
‘Okay, consider it done,’ Maisie said, briskly. She passed over a fresh glass of Chenin and sat down on a nearby chair. ‘Now what?’
‘Tomorrow I’m going to drive somewhere different and think. Really think. Decide what I want, what I need to say and do and how to achieve it all.’
‘And check some of those emails and texts you seem to be getting every minute.’
Bryony looked down at her phone and saw Maddie’s name umpteen times, and a shed load from a number she didn’t know but guessed might be Dario. ‘Nope, I’ll just turn my phone off.’ She was as good as her word. ‘I’m not going to just give in. I deserve a good sulk, dammit. I felt such a fool.’ She took a gulp of wine, choked and spluttered, and wiped her streaming eyes as it went down the wrong way. ‘See? I would never treat good wine like that if I wasn’t so upset.’
‘Pissed off, not upset.’
‘Same difference.’
‘If you say so.’ Maisie didn’t sound at all convinced. ‘So, this is all cos your poor wee sensibilities were offended? You’ll let them worry you’ve done yourself in?’ She shook her head and thumped the chair arm. ‘That is not my friend. That is a pathetic specimen of womanhood.’
Trust Maisie to cut to the chase. ‘Thanks. That’s me then.’
‘Bollocks.’ As Maisie rarely swore, and that was twice in less than a minute, nothing could have shocked Bryony more. ‘And bugger to the shit stirrers. They deserve dragging behind a fishing boat as bait.’
‘Did you really swear?’
‘Yes, I did. Why are you being so arsy?’
‘Because it matters,’ Bryony yelled. Mop jumped off the settee and ran to hide behind it. ‘Now look what you’ve made me do. Mop, come out, I’m okay.’
‘You think he’ll believe you? With you looking like the guy on top of the bonfire and screeching like a banshee? It’s all right, Mopsy my love. Naughty mummy didn’t mean it.’ Maisie’s crimson pyjama clad bum stuck up in the air as she presumable tried to persuade Mop that Bryony wasn’t about to go crazy. Bryony harrumphed. She wasn’t sure her friend was at all correct there.
Maisie twisted her head around. ‘Stupidity over?’
‘No… well yeah, I guess so. But why Mais? Oh, not the scare tactics, they just got me annoyed. Dario hurt me. Why deliberately not tell me? I thought he’d got over my buying the house he wanted, and we were, you know, getting on okay. Why keep secrets?’
Maisie wriggled backwards, dragging Mop who she placed unceremoniously, and heavily, onto Bryony’s lap. Bryony grunted as his weight sank her three inches further into the settee and stroked her pet. Poor Mop, he was getting the short straw here, and it wasn’t his fault.
‘I have no idea. Did you give him a chance to explain?’ Maisie demanded, as she retook her seat and dusted her hands on her pyjama bottoms. ‘I really ought to give the dust bunnies notice to quit. It’s a regular asthma attack in waiting, back there. After all, did he know you didn’t know?’ She swapped subjects with her usual swiftness and ease.
Bryony shrugged. ‘He still could have said.’
‘Does he know you’re a millionaire?’
Bryony scowled.
‘No, I thought not.’
‘That’s different.’ Lord, she sounded sulky. Like a five year old told she wasn’t having any more sweets.
‘Nope.’ Maisie waggled her fingers, and then pointed at Bryony. ‘You, Miss Bryony Bennett, are guilty of being judge and jury and pronouncing sentence before you heard the evidence. As well as guilty as charged. Now, how are you going to resolve that?’
Bryony sighed. Maisie was right, damn her. ‘By turning on my phone?’
‘That’s a start. Now, I’m off to bed, so you can sit here or take yourself into the spare room, whatever fits. But my mum, and yours, said never go to sleep on an argument and we always said they are omnipotent, or sommat, so…. go on, be brave, and do it.’ She went to the door and then looked back. Her dyed mousy hair, now a red that should clash with her pyjamas but somehow didn’t, stood on end, the green streak shimmered in the dim light and her bright eyes glinted with wickedness. ‘The house is yours for as long as you need it, you know that. I might nag but whatever you decide I’ll back you. I might not be here, but you could water the plants and feed the fish.’
‘You don’t have any fish.’
‘I could buy some if you need an excuse.’
‘Nope I’m going to somewhere all by myself to think hard and pull my big girl boxers up.’
‘Fair enough. Then text me every day to say how far up your legs you have got them.’
‘Yes Miss. Blimey, you ain’t half bossy.’
‘That’s why I’m the teacher. Sort yourself out.’
Delaying tactics were all well and good up to a point. After making coffee, drinking it, cleaning her teeth, having a wee, taking Mop into the garden, emptying the cat’s litter box and eventually taking her pill—goodness knows why, she’d forgotten what making love was like—Bryony wiped her damp hands down her borrowed dressing gown and switched her phone back on.
Just do it and then I can forget it. Maybe. Sort of. Oh do, do, do it.
It was just as well she’d put her mobile onto silent, as the screen flashed so many messages she’d have woken the street with the sound on. As she suspected, the unknown number was Dario’s. Most of the texts were along the same lines. ‘Call or text me please . ’ Until the last one. ‘I’m off to evensong and not to atone for perceived sins either. The next move is yours.’
Maddie’s weren’t a lot different, except they got longer and more complicated. In the end she’d just written one sentence in capitals. ‘If nothing else tell me you’re alive.’
That was easy enough. Bryony hesitated, her finger hovering over the keypad and then typed quickly. So quickly she had to correct her mistakes before she pressed send. The same text to Dario and Maddie. ‘Alive. Away. No phone reception.’ That should work. Even so, she kept the phone on and in her hand, reading the news app and the online papers just in case she received a reply, until she dropped it on her nose as she fell asleep.
No more texts.
The first thing she did after a night of broken sleep—from her own disturbing dreams, Mop’s snoring and his occasional farts—was to check her mobile. One text, from Dario. ‘Thank you. I’ll water the veg plot. ’ Damn. In her hurry to get away, she had forgotten the few vegetables Dario had persuaded her to plant. Fine gardener she was. Poor seedlings, gasping for water and wilting in the heat. The garden detectives would string her up for cruelty to carrots. Nothing from Maddie.
Bryony waited for half an hour, until she heard Maisie finish in the bathroom, then nipped in, had a quick shower and got dressed. Luckily, she’d put clean undies, a t-shirt and a not too shabby pair of jeans in her case when she’d thrown in the first things she could find. That was about all that was wearable. Maybe now she was in town she should visit the shops?
Before she left the bedroom, she keyed in her reply; ‘Thank you, I appreciate it.’
His response was prompt. ‘I appreciate, you appreciate it.’
It made her smile. Even so she waited until the last minute to go down stairs and hug Maisie. ‘Are you sure you’ll be okay with Mop?’
‘Stop it and yes. Any idea when you’ll be back?’
‘No longer than a week, I promise. It’s the darned pop-up bookshop soon, and I’m not that arsy I’d miss it. Anyway, I want to meet this mysterious Mandi with n ‘i’ Rook.’
‘Ah yeah. Let me know all about her. If she is real.’
‘I promise, and I promise I’ll let you know I’m okay.’
Which was why, twelve or so hours later she wandered down the street of the tiny village where she had ended up and rented a gorgeous house for a week. One whose price made her cringe, but whose surrounding made her heart leap with pleasure. If only the phone signal wasn’t so sketchy. She discovered the best place to make her promised call to Maisie was at the bottom of her garden next to the loch standing on a wobbly stone—she’d ended up in the Trossachs about thirty miles north of Glasgow—and hope she didn’t teeter and fall in the water.
With only a couple of brief stops on her journey north; for fuel, food and to organise the cottage, she’d arrived settled in, sorted out the Wi-Fi, and found the phone signal. Maisie answered somewhat out of breath, and Bryony swore she heard a man’s voice before the noise of traffic filled the background. Maisie had evidently moved into the garden. In case it was a man, Bryony made her call short, and managed to ring off before she actually said where she was. Tomorrow she’d text.
It was amazing what a reasonable night’s sleep did to your perspective. After she woke up with the sunrise filling the bedroom window—a lot earlier than at home in Devon—Bryony luxuriated in the knowledge she could stay where she was all day if she wanted. She didn’t, but to know she could was heaven. No doubt within a day or so she’d miss Mop like crazy, but for now no doggy whines and growls or hissing cats was perfect. She stretched, threw back the covers and winced as she saw the time. It wasn’t even half past four. As it had still been light when she took herself to bed around 11pm, Bryony understood for the first time how light it must be further north. One year, she’d go to John O’Groats on midsummers eve and see for herself. For now though, the Trossachs would do just fine.
Three hours later she looked at the map she’d downloaded onto her phone, and plotted her route, as she made sandwiches and checked she had everything she might need for a day out. A walk around the nearest loch, lunch in the next village and back a different way. Not too strenuous, not too long, but somewhere she’d never been before. Plus, she always did her best thinking when she walked.
The ache in her muscles told her she wasn’t as fit as she thought or wanted to be. Mind you, she had eventually chosen to do the extra loop, which added four or five miles to her walk and on reflection she decided it was well worth it. The views were stunning and the metal eagle she’d discovered on its ‘branch’ was clever and well executed. Plus, she had cleared her mind, given herself a strong talking to, and told herself that she had to stop throwing the dummy out and behaving like a diva. She was almost thirty and it was time to act like it. Therefore, she’d enjoy the rest of her minibreak, go and collect Mop and the cats, and make her apologies to certain people who deserved them. She still didn’t include Lottie in that list.
She spent the next three days being cultural—or partly so. She visited Stirling, parked in town and walked up the steep hill to tour the castle on its rocky outcrop, and marvel at the tapestry she saw there. Enjoyed Bannockburn with its wealth of history and sadness and congratulated herself on her stamina at The Wallace Monument, where she climbed the alleged two hundred and forty six stairs to the top. She stopped counting at just over one hundred to save her breath before she spent a good hour up there as she explored the galleries and drooled over the views. With a little imagination she could almost see right along the valley to where her holiday home was.
The following day she decided on culture of a different sort, and spent the day at the local safari park, watching the antics of the animals and the children. Sometimes, she could think it must be difficult to decide who behaved the worst. The screaming kid who was denied, as his mum said with a sigh to Bryony as she let him roar his displeasure, a third ice cream and had a heel-drumming temper tantrum in front of the giraffe enclosure won hands down. Or was it the chimp who threw stuff at the tourist boat as it sailed past Chimp Island, turned its back on the boat and defecated? It was a close run thing.
According to the local weather man, a welcome and unusual spell of dry and sunny weather led to several gorgeous days where Bryony just sat in the garden, with a glass of champagne, until the early midges drove her indoors. Pure indulgence, as was the cake from a nearby cook shop, and the gluten free fish and chips in the local pub garden. She’d have to watch what she ate when she got home, or she’d be the size and shape to roll down the lane if she fell over, but for now she refused to feel any guilt. It was a long time since she’d had a holiday, or enjoyed herself so much, and not thought – much - about what else was happening in the world.
She drove down to the next village the day after and watched a hilarious display of sheepdogs herding Indian runner ducks over obstacles and learned all about different breeds of sheep from a very clever and knowledgeable lady shepherd. Then a visit to a small bothy made her stop and watch with awe and admiration as an elderly lady spun wool and explained the method as she did so. That ended up in her buying two gorgeous made on the premises with local Scottish wool, spun in the bothy, pashminas for Maisie and Maddie, and the needles pattern and wool to knit herself a jumper. By the time she packed ready to head south, Bryony had half the back of the jumper knitted and was certain she was chilled and mellow enough to cope with anything life threw in her way. Although the half hour tailback on the M74 motorway, and the overturned lorry a few hundred miles further south did their best to disturb that equilibrium, she survived without too much muttering under her breath, and pulled up in Maisie’s drive before Maisie got home.
She could get into the house as she had a key, but a swift visit next door showed Mrs T was out so there was no Mop to be seen. Bryony unloaded what she’d need, found the pashmina and the Scottish gins she’d purchased for Maisie, and took herself off into the garden with a coffee to wait for companionship.
An hour or so later, she heard movements indoors. Maisie looked up as Bryony walked into the kitchen. Mop made a bee line for the open garden door. He loved Maisie’s garden, and never did his escapologist act from it. He woofed at Bryony sniffed her hand and dashed passed her.
A wee was evidently more important that she was. Maisie grinned.
‘Hello, stranger. Snit over?’
Bryony hugged her. ‘Yes, thank you. I am now, for better or worse, once more a fully paid up member of the ‘trying this adulting lark’ club.’
‘And what is the latest member going to do, now she is aware of her status?’ Maisie handed over a mug full of coffee. The inscription on its side always made Bryony smile. ‘Good friends know each other’s mug size.’
‘Glory knows.’ Bryony calculated how long it was since she’d finished her last cup and decided it was well time for another. She took an unwary slurp of coffee and waved her hand in front of her mouth. It was a tad too hot for comfort. ‘Sheesh, that’s hot. Actually, never mind it’s good. I’ll get over burnt gums.’
‘Good, you’d moan if it wasn’t hot enough. What else will you get over?’
‘My arsiness, I hope. I’ll be on my way very soon to atone for all my sins and beg forgiveness. Well, apart from anything to do with Lottie Botte. She can whistle.’
‘That’s more like it. I’ve got some seafood paella for later. And a sav blanc to go with it. That’ll help you get into the right frame of mind.’
After an evening of wine and chat, and in Bryony’s case a goodnight’s sleep, even with Mop as a foot warmer - not needed when the night time temperature hovered around the eighteen degree Celsius mark - she woke up in a positive mood. Mop woofed and licked her face, before he went to the door and looked back at her expectantly. He had been delirious when he saw her and hadn’t left her side all evening, even when she went for a wee, until bed time when he ignored her and went upstairs first. To claim his spot.
She got out of bed and let him into the garden. A walk in the park would have to wait until she had more than her ‘Librarians do it by the book’ T-shirt on.
Maisie and Bryony chose to have breakfast in the garden. Neither said much until Bryony stirred and sat up. ‘Dammit, Maisie, I’ve got money, I’m going to spend some. Fancy a day of clothes and cocktails with a curry after? Devon can wait a bit longer. It won’t go away.’ A couple of specific occupants might, but that was tough. Bryony wanted this day out with her friend.
Maisie sighed dramatically and patted her chest. ‘Be still my heart. Do I ever. Half an hour. I’ll nip next door and see if I can get Mrs Tennyson to pop in to see Mop, shall I? She was saying how much she’d miss him, so it will be a wee extra time for her. I’ll ring her while you get what you need.’ She glanced at their pyjama clad selves. ‘I suppose we’d better get dressed as well.’
‘Better had. They’ll never let us into Harvey Nic’s dressed or undressed like this.’
‘Like I said, half an hour.’
It was more like forty-five minutes before they left the house. Maisie turned towards the tube station and Bryony grabbed hold of her by her jacket. ‘Taxi, it’s here and waiting. She indicated a black cab with its meter running. ‘Today we do grown up , grown up. This is George and we’ve got him and his cab for the day. Isn’t that right, George?’
‘Sure is,’ he confirmed in a local accent. ‘Wherever and whatever as long as it’s legal.’
‘Oh, it’s legal, just a bit pricey. Not you,’ Bryony said hastily. The last thing she intended was for him to think she was complaining. She’d actually got a very good deal, with just the meter running and no extras. He couldn’t do anything else but stick to the terms of his licence he’d said apologetically but wouldn’t do any add ons.
‘My intentions are expensive. I’m having a day out with my mate, a handsome bloke to drive us and the thought of lots to do and see. Perfect.’
Sixteen odd stone, balding and fifty plus George blushed. ‘Then where first?’
‘I’ve got a list.’
‘You and your lists. I swear you just change it as you please. My tootsies think they’ve been tortured. Thank God for flip flops.’ Several hours and too many shops to count later, Maisie looked at her swollen feet. ‘How the hell don’t yours look like two suet dumplings as well as mine?’
Bryony waggled her toes. ‘Comfy shoes before flip flops. And peppermint foot balm. The stuff you turned your nose up at.’ She waved the pot under Maisie’s nose.
‘Ah gimme, gimme.’ Maisie stretched her hand out. Bryony held the pot out of Maisie’s reach. Maisie rolled her eyes and pouted theatrically. ‘Nasty lady.’
‘Gimme, gimme what?’
‘That pot of pleasure, pretty please. Not a man after midnight, a handful of that to sooth my aching feet so I can enjoy my curry.’
Bryony handed the pot of balm over and watched, amused as Maisie dolloped some on her toes and sighed loudly before she handed the pot back. ‘Bloody perfect. You better take this before I accidentally on purpose forget to return it.’
‘Keep it, I’ve got another one at home.’
‘Done, thank you, you’re a doll.’ She pushed it into the outside pocket of her overstuffed handbag. ‘Snarky and mardy at times, but a doll. Are you sure you don’t want to eat out?’
‘Perfectly. I want to sit on the settee, watch trashy TV, drink the fizz we bought and chill. I promise not to be mardy, can’t promise about snarky, but I can tell you what I’ve decided next.’ The taxi drew up into the narrow but needed drive outside Maisie’s house. The street was full of two and three car families and parking was a nightmare. Carless by choice, Maisie had on more than one occasion been offered what she called a small fortune to rent out her garage—now housing Minnie.
‘Ah, here we go. One last waddle and crawl and we can flop.’ Maisie sniggered. Two cocktails and she got giggly. ‘Not a belly flop, just a flop, flop.’
‘You need coffee, c’mon, let George go home and relax as well.’
‘Ohhh, George, you are sooo loverley…’ Maisie carolled, as she got out of the car. ‘But I’m sure there’s two of you.’
George laughed. ‘The missus will tell you one’s enough.’ He patted the boxes of curry next to him. ‘Me and the missus will enjoy this. You’ve been dream customers, ladies.’
‘You’ve been a dream driver,’ Maisie said dramatically, and blew him a kiss, as Bryony began to gather boxes and bags together. ‘Damn, if you weren’t married with a wife, four kids and however many grandkids, I’d beg you to run away with me.’
George shook his head in amusement as he also got out of the cab and started to ferry their parcels to the front door. ‘I’ll remember next time the wife wants me to do the supermarket shop with her.’
‘Well that’s torn it. I’d need that. Can’t we just run away to Bora Bora or something?’
‘Except you’d be hard pressed to run,’ Bryony pointed out, as she shoved some notes for the tip George refused under the curry. ‘A crab like shuffle wouldn’t hack it. Not if George’s wife came after you with a rolling pin.’
‘Ah yeah, true, Oh well, you’re safe then, George.’
‘Phew. The missus is a right old termagant when riled. Now do you need me to do anything else?’
‘Nope, that’s brilliant.’ Bryony joined them at the door, paid the fare and sketched a wave as George ambled off, got into the taxi and tooted the horn as he drove away. ‘Right can I suggest we get this in, ignore it, have a pee, open the fizz for me and coffee for you and flop for half an hour?’
‘Why not, but I want coffee and then some fizz.’ Maisie stared at the kitchen table as if she’d never seen it before. ‘It’s drinking rum that does it. I should know better by now. Rum equals tipsy …ohh, and Mrs T’s left a note to say Mop’s out with her and she’ll bring him home around ten… Good God, the dog’s out on the town later than we are, bet they’ve gone to bingo at the club. They let dogs in. He’ll be having a pie and a pint and Mrs T crisps and a shandy. She’s probably bought him two cards to mark, he’ll win the jackpot and the two of them will share it. A bottle of fizz and a poke of chips on their way home to celebrate.’
‘High living and you can clear up if he throws up. Just as well I know you’re kidding. Mrs T tells me every time I see her that three dog biscuits and a marrow bone is his treat.’
Maisie snorted. ‘You believe her?’
Bryony shrugged. ‘Heck no, but I pretend to. And to be fair, Mop has never been ill after a visit with Mrs Tennyson.’ She took off her flip flops and wriggled her toes. ‘I wish I’d thought of a foot spa as well. Hey ho, never mind. Fizz is a cure all eh?’
‘Too darned right.’
Suddenly, Bryony realised a wee was imperative. Too much water and wine. ‘Bags I the downstairs loo.’ She dashed inside did what she had to do—it felt like she’d weed for England—and came out to see Maisie flopped on the settee, the patio doors open and two glasses on the table.
‘I got this far and the will to move gave up on me. Over to you.’
Bryony laughed and fetched the fizz. Outside a bee bumbled around the rose bushes and a police siren spoiled the sense of peace. Typical town.
‘So, what are you going to do now?’ Maisie asked, as they sat side by side and watched old Rumer stretch out in the last sunny spot on the patio. ‘Apart from dream about curry and get tipsy.’
‘Tipsier I reckon.’ Bryony sighed. ‘Oh, don’t worry, today was fantastic, but I’m going back. I love the house, it really is a forever home and there’s a lot of unfinished business to sort out. I’ve had a text from Dunc saying nothing else has happened, but he thinks it was kids who had heard their elders talking. I hadn’t noticed the bad spelling in the note. ‘The first few lines were fine, obviously copied but evidently it then said... ‘You are now riqested to leeve. Get out form the viilige.’ He went into the local school and put the fear of God into the kids. Evidently several went white, and one was sick. There’s been nothing else.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘To say nothing of the fact I’m manning a bloody bookstall the weekend after next. And allegedly will meet the mysterious Mandi with an ‘i’ Rook. If the woman really exists and isn’t three robots in a garage in Budleigh Salterton.’ It would be just her luck something like that was the case and crowds of excited Mandi with an ‘i’ lovers harangued her for their money back.
‘Well, someone would need to programme the robots, surely?’
‘Literal you. Yes, okay, but seriously, there’s no info, no picture, nothing. I’m beginning to wonder if she’s really royalty or something, so her identity can’t be revealed,’ Bryony said moodily. ‘Apart from the Queen of Erotic Thrillers. Ah, sod it, not my problem. As long as they don’t ask me to pretend to be her. I might know books, but not to explain how to write them. And hers are erotic thrillers. The most erotic thrill I’ve had lately was when I got static electricity on my new allegedly wool but not really wool jumper last year. So, to talk about erotic or thrillers… argh, she better be real and be ready to be unveiled.’
‘Well, you said she going to be at the arts weekend thing?’ Maisie pointed out as she stood up and patted her tummy, which rumbled on cue. ‘So, surely the powers that be…’
‘Maddie Monk.’
‘Maddie Monk will make sure she is.’
‘True.’
‘Curry?’
‘Why not? Anyway, sod it, tomorrow I’m car shopping.’
Maisie began to put containers in the microwave. ‘What about Milly?’
‘I’ll arrange for her to be shipped back unless you want to drive her down when you can? I can’t give her up, but sadly I need a Chelsea tractor type of car. One for all roads, lanes, tracks, weather and occasions. To say nothing of molehills. The darned things seem to be mining under my lane. Millie is going to get stuck on one before long, refuse to come down, and block the lane. Mind you, then I’d maybe discover who the green van driver is.’
‘It’s a mystery,’ Maisie sang, as the microwave pinged. ‘And you’d get your shopping home without Mop siting on it.’ Maisie put the containers on the table. ‘Grub’s up.’
‘Yep, and my shopping.’ Bryony found plates and cutlery, sat down and began to help herself to food. ‘Can’t leave that behind.’ She sniggered. ‘After all, who knows when I’ll need a pair of Manolos to walk up the lane into the village. You gonna come for some test drives?’
‘In the Manolos? Not my size.’
Bryony rolled her eyes.
‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world.’ Maisie said through mouthful of butter chicken. ‘But you didn’t buy Manolos. You said you’d never get the chance to wear them’ It was true. Bryony hadn’t let her heart rule her head for once.
‘Silly me. Next time.’
‘Ha, I doubt it, knowing you. Not unless you intend to frame them, Miss ‘I fell off a pair of wooden clogs when I was dancing to Maggie May and sprained my ankle’ Bennett. How soon will you get a car?’
‘Tomorrow, or they kiss good bye to the sale.’
‘Ohhh, go you.’ Maisie stood up and bowed. ‘Money talking?’
Bryony grinned and waved her glass in a toast. ‘To my shame, yes. So, are you in?’
‘Ha, well if you insist.’ They clinked glasses. ‘But I’d say do not be shamed, this is one occasion when if you’ve got it flaunt it.’