‘Yeah. I’m Amy.’
The woman grinned.
‘I’m Nisha,’ she said. ‘Nisha Chauhan. This is my aunt and uncle’s shop. Hari was my cousin.’
Amy smiled weakly and sniffed. She swiped at her eyelashes, which were suddenly glistening again.
‘I’m sorry,’ Nisha said, sounding troubled. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you. Auntie Binita says you two were very close.’
‘We were,’ Amy said. ‘And you haven’t upset me, honestly … It’s actually nice to hear his name mentioned– it’s been a while. I’ve been living in London for years, though I’ll be back here for a few months, now.’
‘Really?’ Nisha said, placing Amy’s milk into a flimsy-looking plastic bag, then adding the rest of her groceries on top. ‘Well, if you’re looking for local friends while you’re back, look no further! Meg and I willtotallyadopt you. And you absolutely have to join our book group. You work in publishing, don’t you? You’d be perfect! And it’d be so nice to have someone else there below the age of seventy, ha ha!’
Wow, Amy thought. The village grapevine was clearly as healthy as ever. Back in London the people who’d lived in the flat downstairs from hers barely knew her name, let alone what she did for a living.
Also, Nisha had mentioned Meg. Could she really mean Meg Ainsworth? Surely not, Amy thought– by rights, Sam’s sister should have a starring role onMade in Chelseaor be in the process of launching her own fashion and accessories line. Amy remembered Meg as willowy, glossy and beautiful: a classic, pretty posh girl.
Before Amy could formulate any sort of response to her promised ‘adoption’ by Nisha, or her urging to join the local book club, Nisha was tearing a scrap of paper from the till roll and insisting Amy write her mobile number on it.
‘Brilliant!’ she trilled, briefly reminding Amy of a brightly coloured songbird. ‘Book group meets every month, usually at the pub– I’ll text you the details of the next one. And maybe let’s go for a coffee or brunch or something? It would besonice to get to know you.’
‘Okay,’ Amy said, feeling more than a little in awe of Nisha’s warm openness and strength of personality.
‘I’ll set something up,’ Nisha said, smiling. ‘Oh! And it’s five eighty-five for your shopping, please.’
‘Great, thanks,’ Amy said, tapping her card on the reader.
‘No problem … Oh! Hi!’ Nisha’s voice rose at the same time as her hand, which she was waving in the direction of the shop doorway.
Amy twisted around so she could see who Nisha was shouting to and immediately wished she hadn’t. She also wished that she’d paid for her stuff and exited the building five minutes ago.
Sam Ainsworth was striding towards them, the last light of a changeable spring day blinking though the shop’s large front windows to illuminate the gold in his hair and the glow of his skin. He cut an irritatingly radiant yet solid figure– like an angel thrown out of heaven for poor conduct, forced to take on corporeal form.Urgh.
‘You two must be old friends!’ Nisha cried gleefully, as though she were doing them a tremendous favour by reminding them they knew one another.
‘Something like that,’ Sam said, smiling. He slid his eyes from Nisha to Amy, who resisted the desire to stick her tongue out at him and settled for scowling instead.
Sam had come to a stop in front of the wine shelves. He was wearing rich-blue jeans and a grey marl T-shirt with a plaid shirt thrown on top, and had slightly battered-looking Nikes on his feet. If she hadn’t known him, Amy might have assumed he was a normal sort of guy.
However, she did and he wasn’t, so she said: ‘What’s the occasion? Hot date with a debutante? Surely there’s something in your wine cellar that would do?’
She had no idea why she felt the need to reopen hostilities after all these years; it was like a reflex. An immune response. A defence mechanism.
‘The only things in my cellar right now are spiders,’ Sam told her, immediately rising to the challenge and seeming to relish it. ‘And while it’scharmingthat you’re taking such an interest in my love life, this is for my sister. She’s cooking me dinner tonight.’
‘Trust me, I have zero interest inanyaspect of your life,’ Amy said.
‘Obviously,’ he nodded sarcastically. ‘That’s why you’re stood here sniping at me when you could be halfway home by now.’ He gestured at her shopping in its branded bag: goods for which she had clearly already paid.
‘Oh, I’m sorry,Your Lordship,’ Amy griped at him, a pink flush starting to bloom on her face because, in all fairness, he had a point. She willed it away. ‘Should I have vacated the premises the moment you arrived?’ she asked. ‘Left the area so you could wander the aisles unperturbed, like a royal?’
‘Heaven forbid! If you had, I’d have missed out on this scintillating conversation.’
Sam sounded cool but his eyes were bright with mischief– lit with the familiar nervous energy they’d often exhibited during his spiky exchanges with Amy at sixth form. He was clutching two bottles of wine, one in each hand.
‘Er …?’ came Nisha’s voice, shaky and uncertain. ‘If that’s for Meg, Sam, I can tell you she’ll prefer the one on the right. The New Zealand Pinot Noir.’
‘Thanks, Nish,’ Sam said, his shoulders relaxing a little as he refocused on the task at hand. He put the bottle he didn’t need back where it had come from, then made his way past Amy to the counter. This was the closest he’d been to her since the long-ago night when they’d kissed. She willed herself not to react in any way whatsoever.
