‘Didn’t used to be,’ Amy told him. ‘I think I might be in shock.’
‘Amaryllis Perry– is that you?’ a voice boomed from several feet away.
Amy cringed and took a sip of her drink.And so it begins,she thought.
Kit whipped his head up to look at her. ‘Amaryllis?’ he hissed, eyes bright with unconcealed glee.
‘Not. Now,’ Amy said, through gritted teeth. ‘I’ll explain later.’
‘Looking forward to it already,’ Kit murmured, grinning. ‘In the meantime, you’d better see what that scary-looking lady wants.’
Amy turned to see Gran’s friend Barbara and her husband Dave, surrounded by empty plates that suggested they’d recently enjoyed a hearty meal. Bertie– who presumably knew Barbara well– was scrambling to reach their table, no doubt in the hope of claiming any leftovers.
Reluctantly, Amy scooped him up from the floor, which she noticed was no longer carpeted. Instead, large rugs sat atop what she assumed must be the building’s original flagstones, restored to their former glory. She plonked the dog on her lap and waved in Barbara’s direction.
‘Hi, Barbara,’ she said. ‘Yes– it’s Amy. Nice to see you.’ She hoped this emphasis on her name would indicate a preference– and that she could avoid a protracted catch-up conversation.
Moments later, though, Barbara was pulling up a chair to sit alongside her, offering Bertie something tiny, brown and pungent-smelling from a ziplock bag she’d pulled out of her coat pocket.
‘And who’s this young man?’ Barbara asked, blunt as ever and nodding in Kit’s direction. ‘Are you going to introduce us?’
‘This is Kit,’ Amy said. ‘My friend from work. He’s helped me move all my stuff up from London today. Kit, this is Barbara– Gran’s best friend and something of a local legend. Are you still involved with the WI, Neighbourhood Watch and the animal sanctuary?’ Amy asked.
‘Absolutely,’ Barbara nodded emphatically. ‘As well as the parish council.’
‘Pleased to meet you,’ Kit said, twinkling at her.
Barbara was a handsome woman, rather than a pretty one; she had symmetrical, even features that were attractive but somehow austere. Amy had always thought she had the sort of face you’d see carved into the prow of a ship– strong, bold and spirited. She was tall, particularly by Amy’s petite standards: at least five feet ten, with the sort of wiry frame that suggested constant busyness– a determination to happen to life, rather than let life happen to her.
‘Thanks so much for helping Gran with the house, Barbara. And for getting her to the hospital when she fell,’ Amy said.
‘Not at all,’ Barbara muttered, waving a hand. ‘Grace is well-loved in this village, as you know– Dave and I aren’t the only ones pitching in.’
Amy gulped and nodded. Frustration that she hadn’t been there to help her own grandmother formed a guilty lump in her throat.
‘Now, don’t take on,’ Barbara said, patting Amy’s shoulder in the way you might do an anxious dog. ‘I told her she should have let you know what happened.’
Amy nodded.
‘But,’ Barbara continued, a dangerous glint in her eyes, ‘now you’re back, you could certainly be helpful with a few things– especially while your Gran’s less mobile than usual. I’ve a number of events coming up where I could do with an extra pair of hands– fundraisers and the like. Are you any good at baking? How are you with sponges? Meringues?’
Kit almost choked on a mouthful of locally brewed ale. It was fair to say that while Amy had many talents, baking wasn’t one of them.
‘I’m afraid not,’ Amy said, giving Kit a swift kick under the table. ‘But I’d be glad to help out in any other way. Here, let me give you my number.’
As she added herself to the already bulging contacts list on Barbara’s mobile, Amy wondered what repercussions this small act might have. A moment later– and with a victorious smile that made Amy even more nervous– Barbara reclaimed the phone, stated her intention to be in touch soon and announced that she and Dave were off home.
‘Well. I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore, Toto,’ Kit said as he watched them go, looking as dazed as Amy felt.
Then he turned to her and asked, ‘So tell me,Amaryllis– are all the locals like that?’
‘Pleasedon’t call me that,’ Amy said, smiling gamely but allowing her voice to betray her deep discomfort. ‘It’s the name my mother gave me, but it’s not exactly “me”, is it? So flowery and fussy …’
‘No,’ Kit agreed. ‘You’re no more an Amaryllis than I am a Christopher. You could have told me, though.’
‘I know.’
Amy shook her head and decided to change the subject. ‘In answer to your question about Rowton’s residents, Barbara’s a special case,’ she said. ‘But this is definitely another country compared with London.’
