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Chapter 18

Peace and quiet. Yes, what a glorious thing that was. Well, it always sounded like a lovely idea, until you’d checked your phone for the gazillionth time, got fed up of the sound of your own thoughts and then realised you were excruciatingly bored. Even Pikachu was fast asleep, which was pretty much all her new mouse pet did all day. It was only at night that he decided to come alive like a mini vampire and keep her awake, incessantly running on his tiny wheel. Didn’t he realise going around in circles got you nowhere?

Alyssa sighed. Because now, the most interesting thing she had to think about was her rodent’s life problems.

She stretched out on her bed, wondering if she should paint her toenails again, for a bit of sport. Hanging around by yourself wasn’t that tiresome. This was soul time. Space to be zen, away from life’s noise. People paid good money for this sort of tranquil retreat. Ooh, maybe she could put on those snazzy yoga pants she’d bought to look wholesome and bendy on social media and try a bit of one-legged king pigeon. She considered it for a moment and then shuddered. No need to be extreme.

She rolled off the duvet and went to grab her phone again.

‘Reasons to be cheerful,’ she sing-songed in the direction of the clump of hay where Pikachu was snoozing. ‘I still have my latest ’Appy Together post-task questionnaire to complete.’

If she said it in an upbeat enough way, she might even convince herself she wasn’t dreading it. She had a feeling that awful algorithm was out to get her.

Or another thought. Maybe she was bringing some of this onto herself?

Hmm. If she hadn’t told the app she was into horticulture, maybe it wouldn’t have thrust them into a task where she had to pretend she was Alan bloody Titchmarsh. A task that could drag on for months, because they had yet to sow a seed. And she couldn’t deny that feigning a love for quinoa and mung beans had lost her the chance of her own bacon sandwich.

In fairness, the allotment task hadn’t been nearly as bad as she’d expected, and from the social media coverage, she hadn’t come across as a complete buffoon. It might even open up a whole new pool of potential love coach clients if lonely men in sheds started following her on Instagram. Some parts of it she’d even enjoyed. The sense of achievement, the time outdoors, the people. She shook her head. Well, not all the people, because nobody needed too much of striptease Devan or her snogging parents, and it still felt awkward dodging folk who might say, ‘Ooh, Beryl. I remember when Devan dumped you like a numpty and ran off with your pretty friend.’

Thank goodness she hadn’t yet bumped into Sylvie, even if now and again she caught herself absently wondering about her. Her once best friend’s betrayal had hurt, and Alyssa had made damned sure back then that Sylvie couldn’t get hold of her to talk about it – because she did not want to compare notes on the size of Devan’s schlong. She’d moved to London, changed her number and instructed her parents not to pass it on. At least they’d done her that courtesy.

But she hadn’t come back here to moon over relationships lost.

Alyssa clicked onto the app’s questionnaire. This time, should she blag a bit less? Not that she’d go admitting all her secrets, or anything wild. She had her reputation to keep, and people liked the version of her who ate mung beans. But would it hurt if she was a touch more honest, in the hope the algorithm would be kinder to her?

And if she wasn’t going to fall for Devan, come hell or high water, what was there to fear?

She paced to the kitchen and sat up on the worktop, because it was the only place to rest her bum other than her bed or the floor. She really must think about more furniture. When she’d searched online the previous evening, she’d wavered at spending that much money on stuff she’d get rid of when she went back to London. And who wanted to spend their earnings on something as dull as temporary furniture?

Her fingers danced across her screen as she answered the app’s questions with a touch less embellishment. She admitted she’d enjoyed being outdoors, though next time, maybe she didn’t need the whole town there, waving banners and appraising her wheelbarrow skills. She held off on adding and don’t invite my slutty parents.

It was still hard to believe Percy and Pearl were going through ’Appy Together’s seven-step shenanigans too. Were they actually into each other, or still on the partner swap merry-go-round? And how on earth had the app managed to throw them into the same task, on the plot of land next door? Surely there was something – or someone – else at play? Although she wasn’t going to spend her morning contemplating Devan Shaw. Or Pearl Bagnor.

‘Hellooooo there.’

Alyssa froze. Had her mind just conjured up that voice as she’d been thinking about her mother? Because it sounded freakishly like her.

‘Are you in? We’ve brought supplies!’

We? Was it really her mum? And who had she brought?

‘Cooee! I’ve got a lovely T-shirt for you.’

Alyssa winced. Well, that one sounded like Mrs Halfpenny. She guessed she couldn’t dodge her past forever.

The voices were accompanied by a round of resolute banging on the barn’s front door. It was not going away.

‘The ’ow ’hed?’ her mum seemed to be saying.

Ow indeed. Alyssa jumped down from the worktop, grateful at least that she’d showered and got out of her pyjamas.

She opened the door and was immediately surprised by the clamour. Had the whole of Hartglove descended on her doorstep, laden with packages and awkward-to-carry items? But it was February – not Christmas. What was going on?

‘Someone need a kitchen table?’ said Mrs Halfpenny, rocking a T-shirt that said, ‘Aorta Tell You Hartglove’s Got Love’. She was holding one end of a rustic wooden table, with her granddaughter Jess clutching the other.

‘And chairs,’ said another woman, who was carrying one, with three children behind her sitting on the rest of the set like a row of tired ducks.

‘You mentioned you didn’t have a freezer when I tried to foist my batch-cooked casseroles onto you,’ said an older man, who she instantly recognised as her wheelbarrow friend, Horace. He was pointing to the open back door of a van, which held a freezer, amongst other things.