During the next few days, Macho never left his house. To all intents and purposes, he had disappeared from view. Unfortunately, the same couldn’t be said for the other inhabitants of Brimful Coffers.
Lorinda recognized that she was scaling new heights in her endeavours to sidestep, evade and escape her colleagues and fellow villagers. It wasn’t until she dropped into the library that morning that she discovered she wasn’t the only one.
‘Oh, it’s only you.’ Honor Norton, the librarian, appeared suddenly from an alcove, relief in her voice and a smile on her face. A library assistant also hove into sight and the hitherto deserted reception desk resumed its busy workaday life.
‘Only me,’ Lorinda confirmed. ‘Why? Who were you trying to avoid?’ As though she couldn’t guess the answer.
‘Not you,’ Honor said. ‘You’re all right but …’ She looked towards the entrance nervously. ‘We have to be just a little bit careful about visiting authors these days.’
‘Trouble?’ Lorinda asked sympathetically.
‘Oh, nothing we can’t handle.’ Honor grimaced. ‘But we’d rather not. We do hate scenes.’
Lorinda couldn’t fault them on that. She had begun to notice that she was not the only person in the village who had taken to loitering outside shops until she’d had a good look through the windows and assured herself that neither of the warring rivals was inside.
‘I hope Macho Magee is all right,’ Honor said. ‘We haven’t seen him around lately.’
‘I’m sure he’s fine,’ Lorinda assured her smoothly. He was probably keeping out of sight until his scars faded. ‘I haven’t seen much of him myself. He’s … very busy.’
‘Oh, yes.’ The sharp glance let her know that she wasn’t getting away with anything. ‘She’s been in. Borrowing some very strange books on his card.’
‘Strange?’ Lorinda wondered uneasily what Honor thought of her own selection. Perhaps it was better not to know.
A sudden flurry of protesting yelps and yaps erupted outside the entrance to the library.
‘Oh, dear’ Honor said. ‘Gemma’s hitching them to the railings. They hate that. They ll be fussing all the time she’s in here.’ She watched the door nervously. ‘Is she alone?’
She was. Gemma hurried through the doorway, looking back over her shoulder, and came to a sudden halt at the desk.
‘Oh!’ She seemed surprised to find herself there. And more surprised to find them. ‘Oh!’ She shook her head groggily. ‘Oh, how nice to see you again. You must be well recovered from your trip now.’ She gave Lorinda a weak smile. ‘You’re looking so rested. And so well.’
The same couldn’t be said of her. The word that sprang to mind was ‘haggard’, followed by ‘harassed’ and … ‘hunted’?
‘Hello, Gemma. Um … are you by yourself?’ Honor was looking a bit harried herself, still watching the door as though she suspected a trick to lull her into a false sense of security.
‘Oh, it’s so peaceful here!’ Gemma leaned against the desk, unmindful of the patrons beginning to glare in her direction. Obviously, she did not hear the noise her own dogs were making to disturb the peace of others.
‘I’m glad you think so.’ Honor’s lips tightened. She looked towards the disturbance outside and back at
Gemma. Her expression changed abruptly. ‘Gemma, are you all right?’
‘Yes, yes.’ Gemma pulled herself away from the desk and stood there swaying. ‘I’m fine.’
‘You’re sure?’ Lorinda moved closer to catch her if, as seemed all too likely, she fell. ‘You look a bit —’ She stopped abruptly, before the word ‘haggard’ actually escaped. ‘A bit tired,’ she finished.
‘Oh … yes, well, I must admit I haven’t been sleeping any too well lately. Too much … disruption …’
‘You mean Opal works late at night?’ Lorinda was prepared to sympathize – up to a point. She often worked late at night herself, although she could see it might be disturbing to another person in the house.
‘Oh, no, Opal isn’t any bother … that way. She’s still at the research stage in her new book, so that just means a lot of reading. Very quiet and no trouble to anyone …’
But there was something wrong. Gemma was trying to smile now – and not making a very good job of it. Honor was still watching her with concern. Patrons collapsing in the library presented a tricky situation when one had to decide quickly whether it was necessary to call an ambulance or whether a short lie-down in the staff lounge would be sufficient.
‘Oh!’ Gemma jumped suddenly. ‘What’s that?’
‘What’s what?’ Honor frowned; hallucinations definitely required an ambulance.
‘The dogs …’ They had stopped barking. Only Gemma was upset by the silence.
‘Someone must be fussing over them, that’s all.’ Honor assured her from long experience of dogs parked outside and susceptible villagers stopping to admire them.
‘Oh, yes, I suppose so.’ Gemma seemed unconvinced. ‘But perhaps I ought to make sure they’re all right …’
The barking started again before she reached the door and Freddie entered on a wave of outraged howls. How dare she leave them and go into the building that had swallowed up their mistress?
Freddie swept up to the desk, dropping her armload of books on to it. They were all cookbooks, Lorinda noticed.
‘Ooooh …’ Gemma craned her neck to read the titles. ‘Planning a party?’
‘Not with this little lot.’ Freddie pushed them across the desk to Honor for cancelling. ‘I’ll have a look around for something more … challenging, I think.’
‘You know where they are,’ Honor said. ‘Good luck.’
‘What are you —’ Gemma began, but Freddie sent an imploring look to Honor.
‘Or perhaps you’d like to have a look in the stacks.’ Honor interpreted the look correctly. ‘We have a lot of very old books there, waiting to be repaired or deaccessioned. You might find something of interest.’
‘Perhaps I could help.’ Gemma stepped forward eagerly. ‘If you tell me what you have in mind …’
‘Sorry.’ Honor did not need another look from Freddie. ‘Only one member of the public in the stacks at a time. Library rule.’
‘Thanks!’ Freddie said gratefully and fled.
‘Oh, well …’ Gemma looked after her plaintively. ‘I was only trying to be helpful.’
‘I’m afraid Freddie is in the throes of inspiration.’ Lorinda hoped she wasn’t fanning the flames of Gemma’s curiosity. ‘She’s at the point where no one can really help her. She has to work it out for herself.’
‘Oh, you creative people!’ Gemma shook her head. ‘How well I know! Life at the magazine would have been so simple, if it hadn’t been for you.’
There wouldn’t have been a magazine, if it hadn’t been for them. Lorinda forbore to point this out, but her exchange of glances with Honor was eloquent.
‘Just remember —’ Gemma shook her finger at them coyly. ‘If you ever do need any help, you can call on me.’
A cold day in hell
, was the cliché that sprang to mind, but
Lorinda kept her face smooth. ‘I’ll tell Freddie that.’ Her voice was even smoother. ‘I’m sure she’ll appreciate it.’
‘Any time,’ Gemma assured her. ‘Any time at all.’
‘Right …’ Lorinda gathered up her issued books, piled them into her shopping cart and left the library, carefully skirting the exuberant Lionheart and Conqueror, who obviously felt that she should pause and entertain them for a while.
It was a pleasant day, with just a hint of impending rain, which might or might not arrive before nightfall. She had no menu planned, she’d just see what looked good in the shops. It was so lovely to be home and able to arrange her own meals and days, without having to fit into everyone else’s plans for her.
Lorinda stopped smiling as she reached the crossroads and the makeshift shrine. There was something different about it. She realized that the flowers that had been gently fading away had been replaced by fresh blooms. Not all of them. The bouquets at the base of the lamp post were still withering and dying inside their dusty cellophane carapaces. It was the bouquets at eye level and above that had been renewed – a poignant reminder that parents, relatives and close friends were still grieving, unwilling to allow the memory of the dead child to fade into oblivion along with the flowers.
More poignantly still, some of the miniature toys dotted about amongst the bouquets were also losing their identity after being battered by rain and wind, their tattered ribbons holding them to the post by only a few last frayed threads.
Grave goods
. Reminders of things cherished in this life to accompany the departed one into the next, providing comfort and memories of love on the journey. How the race memories of ancestral beliefs lingered.
Her eyes blurred by sudden tears, Lorinda turned away. The day no longer seemed so promising. As that other day
must have done – to a child, every day is promising. That it might be the day of their own extinction was undreamt of.
‘So sad, isn’t it?’ Betty Alvin fell into step beside her. Where had she come from? Lorinda had not seen her approach. It was not the first time Betty had appeared unexpectedly at this place. Did she spend much time hovering by the shrine?
‘That poor family will never get over it, you know,’ Betty continued. ‘Everyone says how fortunate they are to have another little girl and a boy, but it’s not the same, is it? They’ve still lost a child, with its own personality and hopes and dreams, no matter how many other children they have.’
Lorinda murmured agreement and was relieved when Betty’s chatter moved on to lighter items of local gossip. They parted amicably – and to Lorinda’s relief – at the fishmonger’s.
‘Couple of lovely heads of cod and haddock I’ve put by for your lucky cats,’ he greeted her. ‘Boil ‘em up until the flesh falls off the bones and you’ve got a feast fit for a king – and almost good enough for your lot.’
Lorinda laughed and allowed him to add the fish heads to her order. The cats would appreciate them, even if the preparation was messy and a bit gruesome. She owed Had-I and But-Known a bit more pampering to help atone for what they considered her gross desertion.
She encountered a bemused Professor Borley at the greengrocer’s.
‘Sprouts,’ he complained, looking to her for elucidation. ‘Brussels sprouts – we don’t have them where I come from. And these Jerusalem artichokes.’ He gestured towards the small knobbly tubers in an adjoining bin. ‘What on earth do you do with these?’
‘Avoid them, mostly.’ Lorinda laid it on the line. ‘Unless you’re planning to be on your own for the next twenty-four hours or so. They’re very gas-producing – about equal to three tins of baked beans.’
‘Is that a fact?’ He looked at her oddly, suspecting mockery. ‘Then why do they have them?’
‘They’re quite tasty and they make a delicious soup. But you don’t find it on the menu very often because a lot of people feel that it isn’t worth the consequences.’
‘Hmmm …’ He dropped the tuber he had been inspecting back into its bin and moved on hastily. ‘Maybe I’ll just have a bunch of carrots, instead.’
‘That would be safer,’ Lorinda agreed, selecting spring onions, beetroot and baking potatoes. ‘It doesn’t always pay to be too adventurous.’
‘You’ve been to dinner at Freddie’s since you got back,’ he deduced gloomily. ‘I hope you had better luck than I had.’
‘It wasn’t really dinner,’ Lorinda confessed. ‘It was more of an assortment of canapés. Most of them were quite good.’
‘You did have better luck.’ He nodded resignedly. ‘I got something that was supposed to be Japanese. At least she won’t put that recipe in her book. She’d lose a lot of readers, if she did. Maybe permanently. I wouldn’t be surprised if it proved fatal to anyone of a weak disposition.’
‘Good heavens! What did she give you?’
‘I don’t know and I don’t want to know. I just don’t think I’ll be accepting any more dinner invitations from her for a good long while. Nothing personal, you understand, just self-preservation.’
Lorinda made a mental note to find out exactly what Freddie had concocted that had had such a traumatizing effect on Professor Borley. It might be a useful recipe to have in her armoury if he became too intrusive.
‘Oh, yes.’ As an afterthought, she added a bag of plump tempting lemons to her basket of purchases.
‘I like lemons,’ he said wistfully. ‘But, if I buy that many, they shrivel up before I get a chance to use them all. Maybe I should do more entertaining.’
‘What you should do —’ How had he reached the age he had and still remained so unaware of basic principles? —‘is
simply squeeze them all at once, strain the juice into an ice cube tray and freeze it. Then you have lemon juice on tap whenever you want it. No fuss, no muss, no bother.’
‘You don’t say?’ He snatched up a bag of lemons eagerly. ‘I never thought of that.’
‘Just bear in mind,’ she warned, ‘they don’t pop out as easily as ice cubes. I’m not sure why. You may have to coax them out with the tip of a knife, but it’s still a lot easier than squeezing it from the start, especially if you have guests waiting.’