The Fire House on Honeysuckle Street. Rachel Dove

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СКАЧАТЬ to dispel from her brain, riding the bolt of ice water she felt zipping down her spine. This would be a better holiday. It had to be.

      ‘Breakfast first though, Mummy,’ Xander checked.

      ‘Yes, my darling. Breakfast. I think holiday pancakes are in order.’

      Xander’s nose scrunched up. ‘Ordered from who?’

      Marlene bustled into A New Lease of Life and flopped down on the chair that Grace had her leg on, shunting it to one side.

      ‘Hey, my knee hurts you know!’

      Marlene shot her a look. ‘Don’t moan, woman, it never stopped you doing samba last night, did it? Thrusting your hips at a man half your age, I ask you, where’s the dignit—arrgghh!’

      She rubbed her left bottom cheek as Grace stuck her tongue out at her, her needle flicking back to her work after a successful stabbing. Marlene narrowed her eyes, looking around her quickly before opening her mouth.

      ‘You do that again, woman, and I’ll tell everyone about you and Ted Wilson, you see if I don’t.’

      Grace jumped forward, horror etched on her face.

      ‘You promised!’ She hissed. ‘Since 1974 you have held that over me, you buzzard!’

      ‘Buzzard?’ Marlene frowned, before realisation set in. Followed by anger. ‘You mean vulture, you bloody wizened old crow!’

      Grace jabbed her wool-free knitting needle out in front of her menacingly.

      ‘Crow! Crow? I’ll stab you in the throat, you blackmailing witch!’

      ‘Ladies, ladies, please!’ Amanda, owner of the shop, and proud host of the Westfield Craft Club, pushed the two ladies gently back into their seats, prising Grace’s needle from her white knuckles and placing it behind the counter. ‘You can have this back when you stop trying to attempt ABH, okay?’

      Grace opened her mouth to object, but thought better of it. Instead she mouthed ‘you’re dead’ at Marlene, who ignored her.

      ‘How are you, Marlene?’ Amanda asked, putting a tray of tea together, and arranging some biscuits on a plate. ‘Did you get the brandy snaps for Agatha?’

      Marlene reached into her bag, producing a posh-looking pack.

      ‘Yep, although why she can’t just eat Malted Milk like the rest of us is anyone’s guess.’

      The door opened, the tinkle of the bell heralding someone’s arrival.

      ‘Guess what?’ Dot said, striding in with her bags. ‘It is rather glorious out there today, I had a lovely long walk here. I’m at 6,000 steps already!’ She waggled her wrist at them all, her red fitness band’s screen lit up.

      ‘Agatha’s posh biscuit demands, that’s guess what. Six thousand is nothing, I’ve smashed my target.’

      Dot looked at Grace suspiciously. ‘How did you beat me? You came in the car, didn’t you?’ She looked outside the shop, at Baker Street, where Grace’s car was parked near the pavement. Marlene, still incensed at the stabbing incident, joined in.

      ‘Yes, Grace, how did you do that?’

      Grace pushed her remaining needle into her wool ball, and dropped it into her bag.

      ‘I just did, I’m a very busy woman.’

      The two women’s gazes centred in on her wrists. Amanda started laughing, setting down the tea tray on the table in front of them and heading back to her workstation. She was used to these ladies coming into her business and taking over. Today was an average day. Quiet even. Dot suddenly inhaled sharply, pointing excitedly.

      ‘It’s on your dominant knitting arm! You bloody well cheated! Stitches are not steps, Grace!’

      Grace poured a china cup full of tea, the smell filling the shop with a homely aroma.

      ‘Tell that to the app. I bet I’ll win weekday warrior this week.’

      Dot, who always won the weekday warrior challenge, was furious. ‘By cheating and sitting on your fat arse, yeah!’

      The ladies all spoke to each other at once, the decibels increasing as they tried to get their points across, shouting to be heard over each other. Their cacophony of noise drowned out the shop bell.

      ‘You can’t win every week, it’s not fair on the rest of us!’

      ‘It’s a competition, Grace, you don’t just get to win for nothing because it’s your turn! I walk every inch of this village, so if I win, I win on merit!’

      ‘Er, hello?’ A quiet voice could be heard, but only Amanda looked at the shop doorway.

      ‘You always did have to win, didn’t you? You were always the same, even when we worked together.’

      ‘Hello?’

      ‘Oh here we go!’

      “Yeah, let her have it!”

      ‘Hi,’ Amanda said finally, moving through the shop and reaching out her hand. Lucy stepped forward, Xander gripping her other arm, and shook Amanda’s hand. ‘Ignore the ladies here, they will settle down soon.’ She turned to Xander, leaning forward, hands on her knees to get on the same level. ‘And hello, young sir. May I interest you in some cake, and a glass of juice?’

      His eyes opened wide at the mention of cake. Cake was one of Xander’s horcruxes. Cake, Lego and superheroes. Not necessarily in that order. The boy was obsessed, and his obsessions were all-consuming at times. Lucy still knew all the names of the dinosaurs from the Cretaceous period, including half of the Latin ones, from having picked them up over the years, when his dino love was in full flow. She could go on Mastermind with that specialist subject, and feel completely at ease. Xander had learned all there was to know about the subject, and then moved on. Now it was all superheroes and Lego. Which was a real hardship to Lucy. Really, she did suffer. It was cruel really, this parenting lark. From learning about extinct scaly creatures to having to watch every superhero franchise movie, complete with half-naked sex gods? Parenting was indeed very tricky sometimes, but she did grin and bear it. Especially when poor Thor lost his long hair. That was terrible. She didn’t get any cleaning done that day, that’s for sure.

      Amanda leaned in a little further, as though she was sharing a secret.

      ‘Come with me to the counter, and I’ll cut you the biggest piece.’

      Xander nodded slowly, a happy smile crossing his features, and Lucy watched as he let go of her hand and trotted along behind the lady. He really was anybody’s for a slice of cake. She pushed down the mild thought of terror that sprang to her throat when she thought about that simple truth, and shook herself out of it. The ladies were all still sniping at each other, Grace mumbling something about a needle weapon, so she walked forward and sat down in an empty wooden chair next to her aunt.

      ‘Hello!’ Marlene seemed to start a little when she noticed her, and the conversation stopped, turning to cheery hellos. The women transformed before her eyes from the cast of Hocus СКАЧАТЬ