“Pussy Willow?” Rayah froze. “What’s Love Honey apart from…”
“Pussy Willow is who you formally knew as Gran. At this time, she has adopted her alternative ego to best-serve the festival goers.” Fannyella stared into her crystal ball.
Rayah turned around and frowned. “And what, perchance, isPussy Willowselling?”
Fannyella looked slightly perturbed, as if someone had broken wind. “She has a variety of tools to enhance pleasure. Which is what we all seek in life. Pleasure. Now if you don’t mind, I have to take a nap. All of this mediumship is rather tiring.” She lifted a hand to her brow and gave an impression of a Victorian character about to faint.
“I think I need a drink,” Abby said, finding her hand gripping onto Rayah’s forearm. “And how pregnant are you?”
“Four weeks. I’ll buy you two and you can drink one for me. Then I need to ask you some questions.”
Abby nodded. It was time.
The walkfrom the fields was around a mile and half over easy terrain. Although Rayah was only just pregnant she wasn’t in anyway unfit; Abby knew that the week before she’d been involved in a rescue when a man climbing had fallen and broken his leg.
“How protective is Jonny being?” Abby asked, curious. Jonny was one of the most laid-back people she knew, but she’d seen him have a look in his eye many times when Rayah had been up to something that could invoke injury or the police.
“Only a nine on a scale of one to ten. He’s trying not to go into full on ‘you shall not leave the house mode’ so we’re doing pretty well. I’m composing a list of things he can and cannot say at various points in the pregnancy. There will be fines if he doesn’t stick to them.” Rayah grinned evilly. “Maybe Pussy Willow will come in handy for imposing those fines.”
Abby shuddered. “On which planet does a eighty somthing-year-old woman sell sex toys and distil gin?”
Rayah laughed. “Welcome to Severton. Where the alpacas are wild and the old ladies are a tad perverted. You know they have a calendar each year of Severton men without their shirts on?”
Abby shuddered. “Seriously?”
“Oh yes. It’s pinned up behind the counter in the post office and they sell it to select customers and lord knows who else.”
“Don’t they need the men’s permission – and where do they get the photos from?” Abby frowned. The idea of Alex being somehow displayed wasn’t sitting very well with her.
“We don’t know. Festivals, high days and holidays and none of the boys will ever say no to Gran because that means she’ll try to persuade them. It’s better to ignore that it actually happens than try to debate your way out of it.” Rayah came to an abrupt stop as they reached the first telephone box in the town.
“Shit, Abs, look at this.”
Abby looked straight ahead and pretty much stopped breathing. Severton had its very own ghost artist, an unknown resident who managed to spray paint scenes depicting events on the post boxes and telephone boxes around town.
This one, the first on the road into the town from Leeds, was adorned with a very life-like image of her and Alex, the background a rock face and a setting sun.
“You’re famous.”
“Thanks,” she managed to get out, stunned by the scene. “Who does these?”
“We have no idea. Severton’s biggest mystery.” Rayah turned to look at her. “Apart from you.”
“What do you mean?”
“I know who you are but why are you here and not climbing the south side of the Eiger or something?” Rayah looked pained. “If I had your talent… I wouldn’t be here.”
“I like it here.” It was then she realised that even given the choice, she might not leave. “And maybe someday I’ll be able to climb again and travel.”
“Someday? Why wait till someday?” Rayah’s voice was all school ma’am and no sympathy. “I spoke to Zack. Alex spoke to him and you know, small town and all that. We all know each other’s business round here.”
“Who doesn’t know about me?” For a moment she found she was struggling for air. “I can’t have the people who have my sister know I’m here. That could mean the end for her (if she’s still alive) and for me. And if they know who I’m close to – not that I’m really close to anyone…”
Rayah stood there, her eyes narrowed. “If you were in my class I’d tell you to wash your mouth out with soap and water for talking shit.”
“Do you actually call it ‘talking shit’?” Abby narrowed her eyes back.
“Hell no. I may have used that phrase with Sadie Grace once or twice and she did tell her dad.”
