He stepped close to her and stared intently at her finger. ‘I’ll have that out in no time,’ he said with a smile.
She was about to thank him when he pulled a large penknife from his pocket. ‘Actually, it’s fine,’ she said, whipping back her hand.
‘Don’t be a baby,’ he said, opening up the knife to reveal a rather large blade, which picked up the only shard of sunlight and glinted menacingly.
‘I don’t think amputation is the answer,’ she said, sticking her finger in her mouth and trying to locate the end of the splinter with her teeth. She could feel it under the skin but there was nothing to bite onto so she couldn’t pull it out. She took her finger out of her mouth and glared at it.
Sam took a cup of steaming water from Arthur and dipped the blade in it.
‘It won’t hurt,’ he said softly.
‘Liar.’
Sam grimaced. ‘Okay. It might hurt for a second.’
‘I don’t think this—’
‘Trust me,’ said Sam, taking hold of her hand again. There was something oddly intimate about the moment. Despite her fearing for her fingertip.
Norman appeared at Blythe’s side. ‘I’ll get you a coffee, Blythe. But the cakes are going quick so I thought you’d better choose one,’ he said, holding the open cake box under her nose. The waft of sweet pastry had her full attention. ‘Now I know you like an éclair but there’s also one blackberry and apple turnover left—’
‘Ow!’ yelped Blythe, as a stabbing pain shot through her finger. She couldn’t snatch her hand back because Sam was still holding it tightly.
‘It’s out,’ said Sam, brandishing the tip of the pen knife like a trophy.
‘I’ve got antiseptic wipes and plasters,’ said Arthur, popping up between Sam and the cake box.
A few minutes later Blythe was sitting on a sheet of plastic with a coffee, a turnover and a plaster-covered finger. Sam sat down next to her. ‘Have you forgiven me yet?’ he asked.
‘Definitely not. I’ll probably need therapy to get over the trauma.’ She took the last bite of her turnover, closed her eyes and savoured the perfectly autumnal flavours – there was even a hint of custard. She opened one eye to see that Sam was grinning at her. ‘What?’
‘Does that taste good?’
‘Absolute perfection.’ She nodded at his vanilla slice. ‘Is this your first taste of Norman’s cakes?’
‘Yeah. But cake is cake right?’
Blythe became animated. ‘Ohmyword. You could not be more wrong. Taste it. Go on.’
‘Okay.’ Sam shrugged a shoulder, took a bite and started to chew.
Blythe could spot the exact moment the flavours kicked in – Sam slowed down his chewing and his eyes conveyed how incredible it tasted. ‘Told you,’ she said, feeling smug. She sipped her coffee and waited for him to finish eating.
‘That’s astonishingly good,’ he said, licking his fingers.
‘That’s Norman’s bakery. One of the very many benefits of living in Holly Cross.’
20
6thNovember
Holly Cross always did their Bonfire Night on the nearest weekend to the 5thof November. And it was just the right amount of wintry when Blythe left home. She had a number of layers on, including the first outing for her Arran woolly hat with the double pom-poms and matching scarf.
She let herself into Sam’s utility. There was no sign of Turpin who had taken to sleeping in the sink. She wondered if she could sneak in a cat bed or if Sam would object. She put down the cat food and took the empty tin outside. She tapped a few times with the fork. ‘Turpin! Dinner time!’ She waited but there was no sign of the cat. She put the tin in the recycling and returned to the utility. As she came in one door Sam came in the other.
‘Oh, hi,’ she said. ‘Have you seen Turpin?’
Sam looked a little sheepish. ‘Yeah, this way,’ he said, showing her into the kitchen. She followed him through to the living room. She was scanning the sofas for any sign of the cat. Sam cleared his throat and pointed at the window. She didn’t spot Turpin at first. But when she looked further up there he was sound asleep on the curtain rail.
