“Good boys, now go back to the table and eat them – slowly!” She turned to Cytrine, who was glaring at Kennedy. “Are you alright, darling?”
“Train him, Arden!” Cytrine said and returned inside.
Nigella laughed and turned to me and Ollie. She walked between us and looped an arm around each of our elbows, and led us back to our table. “Well, well, well. You must be the ex,” she said to Ollie.
Ollie blushed. “Um …”
“I was going to come over the moment you walked in, but then I saw you being accosted by Odette. I would’ve come to save you, but I’d just had half an hour of her telling me about remedies for morning sickness she’s found from a group on Facebook, and I had lost the will to live.” As she said this, Cytrine came to our table and deposited a large glass of wine in front of her.
“Ah, my will to live has returned,” she said, and we clinked glasses.
She took a sip and continued talking. “Darling, it’s wonderful to have you back out and about once more. We were all very worried you were going to sell up and move back to London after, er, you know, what happened.”
“I needed some time.”
“He fell off the face of the earth,” Ollie said to Nigella. “I almost drove down here several times to see if he was still alive.”
“I …” I decided not to say any more.
Nigella gave me a long look. “Whatever you needed to do, let that be the end of your self-imposed exile. No one around here is blaming you; I want you to know that. The only conversation topic in the shop was how worried we all were about you. The Hetheringtons wanted to give you a medal for saving Ellie.”
I blushed. I had been trying not to think of Ellie. Because it led to thoughts of that night. I traced the scar on my head where there was a bump from the tyre iron Tarquin had bashed me with.
“Anyway, you’re not even the biggest conversation topic anymore because of Sheridan,” said Nigella.
“Mmm, big drama there,” Ollie said, nodding along as he supped his pint.
“What or who is Sheridan?”
They both stared at me in confusion. “Arden, did you crawl out from under a rock?” Ollie asked.
“Macauley Sheridan,” Nigella said to me slowly.
I shook my head. Was I supposed to recognise that name?
“The MP. Our MP,” she added.
Oh. “Did he get caught doing something?”
“No, he died,” Ollie said. “In Parliament. His secretary found him in his office one morning a couple of months ago. He’d had a heart attack while working late.”
“How did you not hear about this? It was in the news for weeks,” Nigella said. “The tabloids had a field day with their puns.”
“He was a hardcore Brexiteer Conservative, so they’ve been celebrating his life,” Ollie added.
“TheDaily Stareven tried to say it was murder for a hot second,” Nigella said, rolling her eyes.
Cytrine brought us our meals. A ploughman’s lunch for me, a steak for Ollie.
“Yes, and now we’re going to have a by-election,” Cytrine said as she placed the dishes down. She gave Kennedy a withering look. “Enjoy!”
“I hadn’t heard any of this,” I said, admitting my ignorance.
“Oh, Arden,” Nigella said in a matronly manner. She looked over to her children, and my eyes followed hers. At her table, Archie and Luca were tucking into their sundaes while Nigella’s husband, Matteo, sat on his phone looking bored. His eyes met Nigella’s, and he mouthed something to her before gesturing at the children.
“I think I’m due back,” she said. “But, on a side note, the first hustings for the election campaign are tomorrow at the Sittingston village hall. There are going to be a few surprises, let me tell you.” She eyed me. “Come with?”
“I’m not political.”
