Six bees buzz lazily around my face – a little entourage of fuzzy black friends trooping after me as I make my way into the village.
He’s missing. I can do whatever I like.
I breathe in the fresh air. My chest expands as if my ribs have cracked to make extra room. The air tastes like summer, like cold drinks on the patio in the warm evenings, and fish and chips in a cone, and honeysuckle (attracts wealth and good luck).
Like magic.
“Stop it,” I snap out loud as I look over my shoulderagain. No matter how many times I tell myself that he’s not going to appear suddenly from a privet bush, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m a misbehaving teenager who’s about to get caught.
I suck in a deep, summery breath. My bees buzz with encouragement. I’m almost there now. I pass other cottages like ours with thatched roofs and gardens bursting with colour. A tabby cat slinks down a stone wall, focused on a sparrow nest in an oak tree withmalicious intent. I borrow a little of that cat’s surety and stalk towards the centre of Argleton village.
The moment I step onto the village green – a round grassy park surrounded by quaint shops and the village pub, the Rose & Wimple – I exhale. I made it. I’m here. I went into the village by myself.
Now what?
I hadn’t actually thought this far ahead.
I stare up at the pub, wondering if I should get some lunch. Warrick took me there for dinner sometimes – a rare treat. He liked it when people noticed what a thoughtful husband he was. “It’s not even a special occasion,” he’d say as he chose my drink for me – always a G&T even though I hate the taste of tonic water. “I just wanted to treat my lovely wife.”
No, not the pub.
But maybe some food?
My gaze falls onGlazed and Confused– the bakery and teashop that occupies one side of a Tudor half-timbered building that was once the coach house associated with the pub. Perfect. A little treat. I love treats and I haven’t had many lately. Warrick’s been on a ‘wellness journey’ so he wants sugar-free, organic food from the garden, lots of eggs and protein, and occasionally a slice of gluten-free bread I get up early to bake fresh.
It’s not transgressive to walk into a bakery and ask for a cream doughnut,that sharp voice reminds me.It’s not a nuclear arms deal. It’s just carbs.
As I step up onto the stoop, I cast my gaze to the other half of the building. There used to be a flower shop there – Old Widow Hardcastle sold stunning bouquets, potted plants, and greeting cards painted by local artists. Like me, she was a hedge witch, and her bouquets were imbued with plant magic – snapdragons for protection, cowslips for bridal bouquets, foxgloves for secret grudges and revenge. She used to buy plants from my Grandmother Mags, but they had some kind of falling out, so officially we don’t talk to each other, but she would occasionally show up at my garden gate whenshe was short of something, and I’d sell her cut flowers or herb sprigs. We barely said a word to each other, but that wasn’t abnormal for me.
Everyone in the village whispered she was a witch, which I think is hilarious considering just how many witches and other supernatural beings live unseen in Argleton. But as well as being a witch, she was cantankerous – not the best quality for a shopkeeper, which might explain why the store was now empty and available for rent.
Available for rent.
My heart skitters.
Stop that. It’s a silly dream. You can’t go chasing silly dreams while your husband is missing.
Can’t I?
I push the bakery door open and step inside. I’m halfway to the counter when I realise that I don’t have any money. I rarely leave the house, and Warrick gives me a strict weekly budget in cash for groceries, so I don’t carry a purse or wallet. I’d been so focused on leaving the garden that?—
Now it’s too late. The red-framed head of Celeste Lucas beams as she catches my eye from behind the counter. Celeste and I used to be in a book club together before I quit because Warrick didn’t like that the club didn’t allow men. “Autumn, hello!” She hands over the tongs to Pax, her towering, bearded assistant, and bustles over to throw her arms around me. “I heard about your husband. I’m so sorry, you must be beside yourself with worry.”
“Oh yes, it’s terrible.” I focus on a spot over her shoulder because otherwise the warmth of her greeting will send me into what Warrick would deem my ‘hysterics’.It’s not her fault. She doesn’t know that the last time someone hugged me was my mother on her deathbed.
Unfortunately, the spot I’ve chosen to focus on is a narrow door that connects the two sides of the building. Celeste has always kept it closed when I’ve been here in the past, but now it’s open a crack with a sign on it about the lease. I’m itching to move closer and see what it says.
“I’m glad you’ve come into the village to take your mindoff things. We miss you at the Nevermore Murder Club and Smutty Book Coven. What can I get for you today?”
“I’m sorry, I thought I’d get a pastry, but I just realised I left my wallet at home?—”
“Sit, sit. Women whose husbands have disappeared get whatever they want on the house. It’s a bakery rule as old as time. Would you like an Eccles cake?”
Celeste has an uncanny knack for remembering everyone’s favourite treat. I only ever came here with Warrick (pre-wellness journey), and Eccles cakes were his favourite, so that’s what we had.
“Actually, if you’resureit’s okay, I’d love one of your cream doughnuts. And a pot of Earl Grey.”
“Coming right up.” Celeste seats me at a table close to the narrow doorway and bustles off to get my order.
