‘What have you brought me?’ she said, putting on her glasses.
Fran took the top off the box. ‘Sandwiches, baby pasties and some frangipane tarts.’
‘Very nice. Give me a pasty. Let’s see how good your pastry is.’
As Fran knew her pastry was excellent she handed one over with confidence.
‘Mm, very tasty.’ But Amy put the pasty down half eaten. ‘I’ll try a sandwich now. What’s in them?’
‘Egg and cress.’
‘What I would like to try’, said Amy, when half a finger sandwich had been consumed, ‘is some of the cheese you make, which is apparently so wonderful.’
‘Oh, Amy, I can’t give you soft, unpasteurised cheese! I’d be had for trying to murder you. You said so yourself!’
‘What do you mean? What nonsense!’
‘Seriously. Elderly people shouldn’t have unpasteurised milk, or the products of it, you know that.’ Amy had clearly forgotten accusing Fran of trying to poison her with her cheese. Then Fran had a thought and pursed her lips. ‘However, a hardcheesemight be OK. If you told me where the quarry was, for us to age the cheese in, you could taste for yourself how wonderful it is.’
‘I know how wonderful the milk is. I drank it for sixty-odd years. And I don’t think young people should be just handed things on a plate.’
As Fran had just handed Amy a plate with a frangipane tart on it, she couldn’t help laughing. ‘But it’s different for old people?’
But Amy shook her head. ‘You don’t get out on the farm enough, my girl. You’d find the quarry for yourself soon enough if you did.’
‘Roy hasn’t found it either,’ said Fran, resentment finding its way through her fondness for Amy.
‘Then he’s not going out enough.’
‘But Roy—’
Before Fran could expound, there was a noise. It was Roy. ‘What’s that about me?’
‘Nothing!’ Fran felt childish and undignified. It was time to go. She got up.
Roy instantly took her seat and scooped up about three sandwiches. ‘These are nice.’
‘They were for Amy! For her to have later,’ said Fran.
‘They’ll be stale later,’ said Amy.
It was all Fran could do to stop herself sticking her lower lip out and stamping her foot.
‘I’ve brought you some of that lemon water you like,’ said Roy, putting a bottle on the table.
‘Oh,Roy! You are kind,’ said Amy, obviously delighted.
‘I didn’t know you liked that,’ said Fran. ‘I’ve just been bringing you water from the farm.’
Roy, looking extremely smug, ate a pasty in one bite. ‘You should make a bit more effort to find out what Great-Aunt Amy wants,’ he said.
Fran felt pushed out and insecure. Did Amy really want to be called Great-Aunt? Had she been misreading the signs about what Amy needed? She was trying so hard to get it right, to please Amy, to make her happy, and yet Roy seemed to manage this without really lifting a finger.
‘I’d better go. Is there anything you need for next time, Amy?’ she said.
‘Roy will look after me,’ said Amy.
Fran felt cut to the quick. Amy could starve to death as far as Roy was concerned. She struggled to sound nonchalant. ‘OK, I’ll see you tomorrow.’
