“See, it’s what happens to some of us,” Gethin explains. “When we see a beautiful woman and we’re not allowed to fancy her. We get all tied up.”
“When have you ever been tied up?” Shirley slaps his hand away from the HobNobs.
Just then, there’s a little commotion outside the door in the hallway.
Trolley lady, on her way back from dispensing dishrag water, has stopped to remonstrate with another woman.
“You’ve always been a thief.” Trolley lady is actually quivering with rage. “I’m going to report you, and you know what that means.”
The lady with fluffy white hair, I remember from earlier because she tried a couple of shortbread fingers. She’d thanked me and gone to another room. Now she’s red faced and clearly upset.
“How dare you accuse me of stealing?” Despite the strong words, her voice shakes.
“I dare. You’re a greedy pig is what you are. Give’m back.” She tries to take something from the lady who steps back through the doors into the room where we’re all sitting. Hermovements are awkward because she’s also trying to hold on to her walking stick.
Shocked, I look around. Surely someone will stop her, but no one reacts.
Trolley lady follows her in. “Give’m, I said.”
The lady holds her hand behind her back, but she’s visibly scared. I get up and start towards them, hoping to say something to divert the argument.
“What’s up?” Welsh Hagrid suddenly materialises from somewhere.
“Flaming Philomena,” trolley Lady spits. “She broke into the supply cupboard.”
“Never.” Philomena shakes her head so much I’m worried she might make herself dizzy.
Hagrid looks from one to the other. He actually towers over both women.
I hurry over in case he and trolley lady gang up on the frightened Philomena. At the very least, I’m a witness.
“They’s for managers only,” trolley lady continues. “She’s always stealing food.”
“No.” Philomena sees me and points with her hand. The one closed over whatever it is she’s been accused of stealing. “She brought them as a gift.”
“Show him.” Trolly Lady lunges forward, but Hagrid lays a hand over her arm, stopping her.
“Make her open her hand.” Trolley lady fumes.
There’s no need. Philomena has her palm open on a broken fan-shaped shortbread biscuit from the packet I brought. I hadn’t seen her take any, in fact I hadn’t noticed her at all, or I would have offered
“I didn’t steal anything,” she says, voice wobbling.
“She’s telling the truth,” I tell them. “I brought these for my grandfather and he offered them around.”
Welsh Hagrid’s eyes settle on me for a moment, then he tugs on the sleeve of trolley Lady. “Come, Mrs Jenkins. Let’s leave them.” It’s the same calm uninflected voice I heard him use before.
Mrs Jenkins gives me a venomous look. “Shouldn’t be allowed, people bringing biscuits and demanding more tea.”
Even though it’s none of her business, her strong accusation makes me answer. “I paid for these myself.”
“What if everyone starts wanting the same? We can’t provide. You must tell Cynthia.”
Hagrid has an unreadable expression as he ushers her out of the room.
“It’s not cheap that stuff,” she continues to grumble. “If she wants to treat her relative, then take him out.”
She drags her trolley behind her and moves out of sight. Hagrid lingers and watches me take Philomena and lead her towards our table. Good. Let him see that this scared old lady isn’t completely friendless.
