The Little B & B at Cove End. Linda Mitchelmore

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СКАЧАТЬ full of them,’ Josh laughed. ‘Oops, sorry.’

      ‘For what?’ Mae said.

      ‘Not you,’ Josh said, his voice suddenly much quieter than it had been. ‘I’m trimming hedges for old Bert Godfrey and it seems I’ve just snipped off the best of his roses while I was doing it.’

      ‘You’re working?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘But it’s way past working time.’

      ‘Not for self-employed gardeners, it isn’t. Not at this time of year when everything grows like crazy. Look, Mae, I’d better go. Bert Godfrey’s standing at his back door watching me now.’

      ‘Okay. And, Josh …?’

      ‘What?’

      ‘Thanks for the chat. And caring.’

      ‘No probs. Try not to worry, Mae. Your mum’s only trying to make a better life for you, more financially secure you know, since your dad, you know, messed up and didn’t. Anyway, got to go.’ Josh made kissy noises down the phone. ‘Bye.’

       Didn’t? Messed up? What did Josh mean by that? Did he know more than she did? What hadn’t her mum told her?

      ‘Bye,’ Mae said, comforted in one way by the chat with Josh and yet discomfited by what it was he hadn’t said. He had a job that brought in a bit of cash if not a lot. Mae knew Josh’s dad gave him money as well. Mae knew her mum’s balance in her bank account was going down and down because she’d taken a sneak look at the latest bank statement on the kitchen table when her mum had turned her back for a second. Less than three hundred pounds at the last sneak look. Not having money of her own made Mae reliant on Josh when they went anywhere, beholden to him, which was a vicar-ish sort of word to use, but appropriate with Josh’s dad being a vicar; like she was a charity case or something. Well, she could change that, couldn’t she? She could get a job. She’d ask Meg Smythson in the corner shop if she needed any help in the evenings or for a few hours on Sunday morning or something. Or there was the ice-cream kiosk down by the harbour that was opening up more and more now the weather was turning warmer and more summery. She could try the information office, too, to see if they knew of anyone needing help. And then a well of emotion threatened to overwhelm her. She could do all that on the internet if her dad hadn’t taken the computer and if it hadn’t been wrecked beyond repair in the accident and if her phone was so ancient she couldn’t access the internet on it. And if her stupid mother hadn’t left the stupid Hines people alone so they’d had the opportunity to take her laptop. Mae grabbed a tissue and wiped her eyes to stop stupid, stupid tears from falling. Crying wasn’t going to help, was it? And life existed before computers and laptops and mobile phones.

      And then there was her frock that had got ripped when she’d struggled to get away from Josh. It had always been her favourite, that frock, though it was getting a bit tight for her now. When her dad had bought it for her, it had been a bit big and he’d said, ‘You’ll grow into it, honeybun.’ But her dad hadn’t lived long enough to see her grow into it and now she was growing out of it, especially the bust bit seeing as her boobs were now two sizes larger than they’d been back then. ‘Hand-reared,’ Josh had joked when she’d mentioned it. She loved Josh fondling her boobs, kissing them, nibbling them, sucking on them – it made her feel more grown up and it made her body want to go the whole way but she was holding out for the moment – just! Her mum would probably go ape if she knew. That thought made the corners of Mae’s mouth turn up, almost involuntarily, into the beginnings of a smile and it felt good. Not because she had a secret from her mum, but that she did have a life still, even if her dad wasn’t in it. He’d have probably killed Josh for touching her boobs. Mae reached for her now sad-looking frock and held it to her for a second. Then she leapt off the bed and decided to start putting her getting-a-job idea into reality.

      Her mum was sitting on the bottom stair, her mobile clamped to her ear, as Mae ran down the stairs.

      ‘Hang on,’ her mum said to whoever it was she was talking to. She leapt up off the stair and reached out an arm to Mae. ‘Is something the matter, Mae …?’

      ‘Just going for a walk for a bit,’ Mae said. ‘It’s like asphyxiating me up there, all the cleaning products.’ She did a mock-faint to show her mum it was a joke really. ‘Who’re you talking to anyway?’

      ‘Rosie. Just checking a few details about something.’

      ‘Right.’ Mae didn’t think there was any point in asking what and her mum would probably fob her off with something anyway, like she was a kid in primary school.

      Mae glanced at the hall clock, a huge thing that looked as though it should have been on a railway station platform or something. Twenty- five to four. She’d have to get a shift on.

      ‘I’ll let you get back to Rosie,’ Mae said. Sometimes she was jealous of Rosie and how close she and her mum were, like they were sisters or something. ‘Okay?’

      ‘Supper in an hour, Mae.’

      ‘Okay,’ Mae said again but without the hint of question in the word this time. Then she was out the door and running down the hill.

      ‘Well, well, well,’ Meg Smythson said when Mae burst through the door just before the shop was about to shut up for a couple of hours so Meg Smythson could eat her tea and watch Corrie before opening again for the evening trade for those people who forgot milk on their online Tesco shop or whatever. ‘Without the boyfriend tonight, Mae?’

      ‘Am I?’ Mae said, looking behind her theatrically. ‘Oh yeah, seems so.’

      ‘Come for some more bacon and eggs, have you? Saw the B&B sign up. New venture there, is it?’

      ‘No to the first question, yes to the second,’ Mae said, struggling to retain the good manners her mum would want her to have when speaking to an elder … another vicar-ish word that, elder.

      ‘The police were up at your place last night, so I heard.’

      ‘You heard right,’ Mae said.

      ‘Everything all right?’

      ‘Yep,’ Mae said. ‘Just a social visit. The lady copper is a cousin of Josh’s, just thought she’d stop by.’ Mae knew she’d failed miserably to keep sarcasm out of her voice. That was the trouble with small village living – people knew all your business within minutes of it happening, and sometimes even before it. ‘That was a lie, obviously, about the social visit. The WPC is Josh Maynard’s cousin. A couple of old people took advantage of being alone in our house while Mum was here buying bacon and eggs from you. Helped themselves to stuff and scarpered. That’s the official version, Mrs Smythson. Ignore anything anyone else tells you.’

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