Poppy's Christmas Cracker E-Book

Leigh Russell

• Herausgeber: Crime & Mystery Club
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Serie: The Poppy Mystery Tales
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Seitenzahl: 296

Beschreibung

The NEW cosy crime novel from million-copy-selling author Leigh Russell!

A French patisserie opens in the village of Ashton Mead in time for Christmas. Local residents are pleased but Hannah, owner of the Sunshine Tea Shoppe, feels threatened by the competition.

When the owner of the patisserie is killed, Hannah is suspected of murdering her business rival. Her friend, Emily, is determined to clear Hannah's name. She seems to be facing an impossible task... until her little dog Poppy makes a surprising discovery.

Page-turning and heart-warming, The Poppy Mystery Tales are perfect for fans of Richard Coles' Murder Before Evensong, Richard Osman's The Thursday Murder Club, Ian Moore's Death and Croissants and SJ Bennett's The Queen Investigates series.

Readers love The Poppy Mystery Tales

'A great mystery which kept me turning the pages long into the night... A delightfully, light read and extremely well plotted... Five stars for Leigh Russell and a bone for Poppy' *****

'As expected, Leigh's writing is excellent, as are her descriptions of small town life... We Poppy fans just want to see more of her!' *****

'A thoroughly delightful read. Cosy, entertaining, intriguing (with a mystery to solve, of course) and interesting characters all set in a somewhat typical English village. With the star of the show... Poppy. As a dog enthusiast, I love Poppy!' *****

'Poppy is the best dog hero since Lassie!' *****

'Charming... An extremely well- crafted cosy mystery... It offers a great mystery to keep you guessing, a perfect location that pulls you in, and even romance, and I could almost smell those newly baked scones in the café that Emily works in' *****

Leseprobe

Critical Acclaim for Leigh Russell

‘A million readers can’t be wrong! Clear some time in your day, sit back and enjoy a bloody good read’ – Howard Linskey

‘Taut and compelling’ – Peter James

‘Leigh Russell is one to watch’ – Lee Child

‘A brilliant talent in the thriller field’ – Jeffery Deaver

‘Brilliant and chilling, Leigh Russell delivers a cracker of a read!’ – Martina Cole

‘Leigh Russell has become one of the most impressively dependable purveyors of the English police procedural’–Times

‘DI Geraldine Steel is one of the most authoritative female coppers in a crowded field’ – Financial Times

‘The latest police procedural from prolific novelist Leigh Russell is as good and gripping as anything she has published’ – Times & Sunday Times Crime Club

‘Another corker of a book from Leigh Russell… Russell’s talent for writing top-quality crime fiction just keeps on growing…’ – Euro Crime

‘Good, old-fashioned, heart-hammering police thriller… a no-frills delivery of pure excitement’ – SAGA Magazine

‘A gritty and totally addictive novel’ – New York Journal of Books

This story is for Poppy

It is also dedicated to Michael, Jo, Phillipa, Phil, Rian, Kezia and Poppy’s cousin, Lily

1

It was lucky for me that my boss was also my best friend. Anyone looking through the window of the Sunshine Tea Shoppe at the beginning of November might have seen the two of us having fun festooning the windows of the café with tinsel and other seasonal decorations. Hannah hoped the two months leading up to Christmas would be busy for the tea rooms. Although we were rarely short of customers, she often worried that her business was close to financial ruin. The problem, as I saw it, was partly due to her own good nature, because she often waived the bill for customers she thought were struggling financially. I had given up trying to convince her that her open-handed approach was threatening to turn the café into a magnet for the needy.

‘Isn’t that the point?’ she had said the last time we had discussed the situation. ‘Needy means they need help, and that’s what we’re giving them.’

‘You’re always complaining about paying the bills,’ I pointed out. I didn’t add that my wages hadn’t increased in the three years I had been working for her.

‘The one has nothing to do with the other,’ she replied. ‘Giving away a few quid here and there isn’t going to affect the rates or my other horrendous bills.’

I wasn’t sure her argument made sense, but merely shrugged, muttering that she was the boss and it was her business on the line.

As we strung up the decorations, Poppy jumped around at our heels, barking with excitement. Eager to join in our new game, my little Jack Tzu darted off several times with a colourful string of bunting trailing behind her while my friend chased after her, ignoring my protestations that there was really no point; Poppy was too fast to catch. Time and again, she dodged Hannah’s outstretched hands. A cross between a Jack Russell Terrier and a Shih Tzu, Poppy was mischievous but undeniably cute, with white legs and tail, and light brown patches on her back. Her bright-black eyes and affectionate nature made her utterly adorable. Even people who were not usually dog lovers warmed to her. Not only faster on her feet than a human being, she was also more intelligent than many people I met.

Three years had passed since I inherited Poppy from my great aunt, along with my picturesque cottage. I had been enchanted by Rosecroft from the moment I saw its soft yellow-stone walls with honeysuckle and clematis growing around the door and a low white-picket fence marking the border of the garden. No doubt my great aunt had done her best, but she had been frail by the time she died and must have struggled to maintain the property. It was old and packed with little cupboards and crannies which were difficult to keep free of dust that appeared to burgeon from nowhere, accumulating in corners and on shelves that were difficult to reach. After years of neglect, the interior of my new home had taken me weeks to clean, but enjoying the good fortune to own a home of my own had made it worth all the effort. And even though Poppy had been foisted on me without my consent, we had quickly become devoted to one another, until it was impossible to imagine my life without her.

Once we had finished decorating for Christmas, the tea rooms looked like a magical cave, a spectacular riot of sparkling colours, the yellow walls hung with strands of glittering crimson and gold tinsel, adorned with bright shiny red and green baubles. The merry colours of Christmas seemed to reflect Hannah’s cheerful nature. She ran her tea shop with unflagging good humour, extending her warm hospitality to everyone, and welcoming strangers as though they were old friends, in a happy combination of sound business acumen and natural affability. Her tea shop itself was the result of a similar happy combination of circumstance and aspiration, her divorce from a wealthy ex-husband having given her enough money to fulfil her dream of opening a café. Tall and statuesque, her natural blonde curls seemed in keeping with the yellow tea shop, as though it was natural for her to be working there. My unruly red hair didn’t match the décor as well, and my mother was certainly convinced I was out of place there. She thought I should be striving to better myself and disapproved of my working as a waitress, but I considered myself lucky to be working in such a friendly tea shop, in a picturesque village. With Poppy as my constant and loyal companion, my life was very nearly perfect. All that was missing was a boyfriend.

Reactions to our decorations varied. Hannah’s boyfriend, Adam, barely acknowledged our efforts, merely grunting when Hannah asked his opinion, but many of our customers complimented us on our efforts. The women, especially, gazed around, smiling and remarking how lovely it looked. I repeated all the accolades to Hannah, and we were both gratified by the appreciation. On the first Sunday of November, we served the last of the teatime orders for the day and closed with barely enough time to clear up before the lights along the High Street were due to be switched on. We stepped outside and joined a crowd of local residents who were standing around, stamping their feet and chattering noisily, little clouds of condensed breath faintly visible in front of their faces. Hannah had confided to me that she was a little disappointed by Adam’s ready dismissal of our tinsel and fairy lights. Predictably, he had declined to come along to witness the annual turning on of the Christmas lights.

Although I was keen to watch the lights come on, it was growing increasingly chilly, and before long my fingers and toes began to hurt. Hannah was as eager to leave as I was; she wanted to go home to Adam. Still, it seemed churlish to complain about the weather. It was November, and not especially cold for the time of year. Nevertheless, I waited impatiently as the road and both pavements filled up with spectators gathering near the enormous Christmas tree. Other than suffering from the cold, my other concern was that Poppy might be scared by so many onlookers crammed together in the centre of the village. She liked people, as a rule, but the villagers were out in force today, all packed into a small stretch of the High Street. So far she seemed happy enough, settled between my feet. As we were waiting, Hannah murmured that it was a good thing we had put the finishing touches to our decorations in the tea shop the previous evening, as everyone could see into the Sunshine Tea Shoppe from the street. I agreed the place looked stunning, and she beamed.

The Christmas tree in the High Street was paid for by the local retailers, with a contribution from the council. None of us knew how much money had been donated by the council. According to rumour, it wasn’t much. Nevertheless, we all cheered when the mayor stepped forward to turn on the lights. As soon as the cheering and clapping started, I picked Poppy up and held her in my arms where she would feel safe. To be fair, the noisy applause was more for the lights than the official who had deigned to come along and flick a switch, but he smiled and waved his hand graciously before making a speech which was thankfully short. It was almost impossible to hear his voice above the excited chatter on the crowded pavements, but as no one wanted to hear what he was saying, it didn’t matter. All the retailers had made an effort to coordinate their decorations, and when the lights were turned on, the whole street glowed and glimmered with strings of red and green lights.

Even the empty store across the road from our tea shop sported coloured lights strung across its frontage, thanks to the shopkeepers on either side. Until the summer it had been a gift shop, aimed mainly at tourists passing through the village, but everyone knew the owners had been struggling for a while. Close to retirement age, once their lease ran out they had been pleased to close down. The premises had only been empty for a few months when the estate agent’s ‘To Let’ sign was taken down. We were all curious to know who was taking it over, but even Maud who ran the village grocery store, and was usually up to date with local gossip, couldn’t tell us. The uncertainty gave rise to several rumours, which became increasingly outlandish as time passed. For no apparent reason, one of our customers was convinced it would be a shop selling kitchenware. The owner of the village hair and beauty salon was worried that a second hair salon was opening in the vacant premises. We were assured by a number of people that it was going to be a tattoo parlour. Hannah and I suspected that particular rumour had come from a single deluded person who had speculated about it to a number of their neighbours, each of whom had mentioned it to several other villagers. Someone else assured us a shop selling risqué lingerie would be opening its doors opposite us very soon. In the meantime, we just had to wait and see.

The Christmas tree in the street looked beautiful, swathed in strings of golden lights interspersed with shining stars. There was a communal sigh as we saw it light up, glowing against the dark sky. People were laughing, jumping up and down in the cold, and rubbing their hands to warm them, while children careered along the central stretch of the road which had been closed to traffic. Every year the middle section of the High Street was cordoned off for the Christmas tree and the local children took that as an invitation to run wild on the open road. The closure was always controversial, as some retailers felt it affected their business when customers couldn’t park right outside their shops. The counter argument to that was that when the streets were busy, drivers were unlikely to find a parking space on the High Street anyway, so it actually made no difference at all. Hannah didn’t mind either way, but I preferred looking out at the Christmas tree than at cars driving past or parked on the street, and in any case the tree blocking the road probably attracted people who might pop into the tea shop for a hot drink and a cake.

While the mayor had been delivering his speech to the assembled villagers, Poppy had nestled quietly in my arms with her head against my shoulder. Her tail wagged cautiously, as though she could sense the excitement but wasn’t quite sure what was going on. I suspected she was even less interested in all the Christmas lights and tinsel than Adam. When the mayor had finished, I had slipped the loop of Poppy’s lead around my wrist, so I could put her down and join in the polite applause as he stepped down from his makeshift podium. Poppy settled down between my feet, watching the crowd, alert to every movement near us.

Above the confused hubbub of voices, the local pub landlord’s stentorian cheering rang out like a foghorn through the mist. It was easy to spot the local policeman, Barry, who stood a head taller than most of the other villagers. His windswept straw-coloured hair appeared to have golden highlights in the glow from the Christmas lights. Remembering how keen Barry had been to go out with me, I smiled at him, but he didn’t see me. Beside him, and just within my line of vision, Maud and Norman were standing hand in hand like young lovers, although neither of them would see sixty again. Norman, the village butcher, and Maud were due to be married soon. Hannah had been tasked with making a wedding cake for the occasion, which she had insisted neither Maud nor Norman was allowed to see. Maud had begged for just a peek at it, but Hannah was determined to keep it a secret. She had placed me under strict instructions not to betray even the smallest detail about the design. It was a rich fruitcake, which Hannah said would keep fresh, giving her time to work on it. She had spent hours making a stupendous creation, a tower comprising four cakes which diminished in size as the layers rose. Each was generously covered in white icing decorated with hundreds of delicately coloured sugar flowers all made by hand.

‘Is there no end to your talents?’ I asked Hannah, awestruck by her artistry.

Looking towards the tree, I caught sight of my friend, Toby. He had brought his mother, Naomi, to watch the lights being turned on, and the people standing in front of them had parted so she could watch the proceedings from her wheelchair. Almost hidden under a heap of blankets, she was grinning with excitement and nodding her head at something Toby was saying. Once a PE teacher, Naomi was no longer able to walk, thanks to a crippling condition, and she didn’t get out much. She bore her physical affliction with cheerful fortitude, but it couldn’t have been easy for her. Her life must have been quite tedious, most of the time. Attending an event like this must have made a welcome change for her, and she looked as excited as the children.

The only person I was dismayed to see in the crowd was Dana Flack, a reporter from the local paper who was always poking her nose into village business, scavenging for scraps of scandal to misrepresent in her gossipy reports. With crimson lipstick and a black beret, her tall figure and hunched posture were easy to spot in the crowd. Her piercing eyes roamed restlessly over the heads of the crowd, swooping down now and again to focus ferociously on an individual who had attracted her interest. Although I had no reason to hide from her, I shifted sideways to stand behind a tall man to shield myself from Dana’s predatory stare.

With the Christmas lights on, the crowd began to disperse and the mayor departed to fulfil his next civic duty. He probably had more lights to switch on before he was finished for the day. He must have had a tiring schedule, coming up to Christmas, but he had the grace to look as though he was enjoying himself. Lifting Poppy up again, I made my way slowly through the thinning crowd. Leaving the High Street behind us, we headed for home. Poppy wriggled to be put down and trotted happily in front of me, stopping now and then to sniff the ground. She was particularly interested in clumps of weeds growing at the edge of the pavement, and favoured specific places to pause and pee. She was very particular about where she wanted to mark her territory or leave messages for other dogs. The rain had held off while the lights were switched on, but a light drizzle began to fall as we reached the lane where we lived, and we were both pleased to reach the shelter of home.

2

A week or so after the lights were turned on in the High Street, the wedding of Maud and Norman looked set to go off without a hitch. There was a festive atmosphere of barely suppressed excitement in the packed church as we waited for the ceremony to begin. Everyone had dressed up for the occasion, and I was glad I had listened to Hannah and worn a long skirt with a coordinating sparkly top. Hannah looked stunning in a close-fitting black dress. She and Adam were a good-looking couple. Even Barry looked unusually smart in a jacket that hugged his broad shoulders. As for Maud, she was resplendent in a long frilly raspberry-coloured frock, her naturally grey hair transformed into rigid blonde curls. We all agreed in her presence that she was a beautiful bride. Opinions varied when she was no longer in earshot, with some people wondering why she wanted her natural hair to resemble a wig, and others questioning her gaudy choice of wedding outfit.

Despite these few critical comments behind her back, we were all very complimentary to her face. The residents of Ashton Mead prided themselves on being a supportive community, and everyone wanted to be kind to Maud on her special day. Perhaps with Christmas approaching, the guests were particularly keen to share the spirit of goodwill. Everyone, that is, except the groom’s former partner. During the ceremony, when the vicar asked if anyone knew of a reason why Maud and Norman should not be joined in holy matrimony, a woman leapt to her feet, shrieking a shrill accusation.

‘Norman can’t marry that old bat,’ she cried out. ‘He promised to marry me soon as his divorce came through. You get away from her this minute, Norman Norris. She must be seventy if she’s a day. He oughta be making an honest woman of me, not running off with some old hag all tarted up in pink!’

‘Didn’t I tell you me and Patsy were never married!’ Norman cried out triumphantly to the congregation at large, before swinging his considerable bulk round to address the intruder. ‘Sling your hook, Patsy, I’m with Maud now.’ With that, he turned back to his bride and leaned down to give her a resounding kiss on the lips.

‘We haven’t reached that part yet,’ the vicar stammered, clearly put off his stride by the noisy interruption to the proceedings.

‘Sorry about that, vicar,’ Norman said, duly chastened. ‘I don’t know what Patsy’s doing here. She wasn’t invited.’

There was a brief scuffle at the back of the church as Norman’s aggrieved former partner was escorted out, screeching about mutton dressed as lamb. Adam pointed out that was an appropriate comment to make about the bride of the village butcher, causing ripples of laughter as his remark was repeated around the guests. With the gatecrasher removed, the congregation stopped laughing and settled down, and the vicar resumed. Maud seemed completely unfazed by the disturbance and remained resolutely radiant. Even the vicar’s sermon failed to dim her smile as he rambled on about fruitful unions, which hardly seemed appropriate, given the age of the couple. Still, all in all, it was a jolly affair, and certainly entertaining. At last the address came to an end, the ceremony was over, and Hannah and Cliff, the landlord of The Plough, hurried to the pub to remove covers from platters of food and open bottles of bubbly. Leaving me in charge of the Sunshine Tea Shoppe, Hannah had spent the week baking bread and buns, sausage rolls and quiches, doughnuts and scones and cupcakes. The trestle tables in the bar area were packed with enough food to satisfy the inhabitants of several villages.

While the wedding buffet was being prepared, and the local photographer was busy taking pictures of the happy couple and their friends and family, I slipped away to fetch Poppy. Entering the pub, she stood transfixed, sniffing the diverse food smells, while Hannah bustled about, straightening the display around the centrepiece, the wedding cake which towered above the sausage rolls and finger sandwiches like a colossus. With everyone around us drinking and tucking into the buffet, I shared a cocktail sausage with Poppy who devoured her morsels ravenously. The salt in the tasty treat was no good for her, but it was hard to resist her pleading eyes. As it happened, she had eaten a good breakfast that morning before I left for the wedding ceremony but, like everyone else, she was entitled to enjoy the party.

‘I hope I’ve made enough,’ Hannah said, stepping back to survey her handiwork critically.

‘Don’t be daft,’ I laughed. ‘There’s enough food here to feed an army.’

We had no time to say anything else before Adam swept her away to meet a friend of his, and I took another sausage to share with Poppy. The beaming landlord, Cliff, and his barmaid, Michelle, were kept busy pulling pints and pouring glasses of wine. Michelle’s boyfriend, Toby, went behind the bar to lend a hand. He said something to Michelle and she laughed, tossing her hair back from her thin face and smiling at him. Seeing him plant a kiss on her cheek, I felt a slight flicker of regret. When I had first arrived in the village, Toby and I had engaged in a casual flirtation. At one point I had even hoped we might become an item. But months passed, and our relationship had never developed beyond a warm friendship. Then Michelle had arrived and put an end to my speculation. My initial disappointment had quickly faded, especially as I liked Michelle. Placid and quiet, she was very different to me, and seeing how happy Toby was with her, I realised he and I would never have been compatible as a couple.

While Toby chatted with Michelle, I circulated, talking to people I knew, and watching Hannah enjoy the occasion as people complimented her on the buffet.

‘I’m stuffed,’ Adam said, pulling a chair over and joining me, closely followed by Hannah. He grinned at her. ‘You’ve done us proud,’ he told her and she smiled.

‘Emily helped,’ she murmured.

‘Only by serving tea and cakes in the tea shop,’ I protested. ‘You did all this.’ I waved my hand around to indicate the buffet, narrowly missing knocking Norman’s arm and upsetting his beer all over Maud’s frock. She didn’t notice, and Norman winked at me and put his finger on his lips.

Once the eating and drinking frenzy slowed down, Maud and Norman went and stood in front of the bar to the accompaniment of cheers, after which there were toasts and applause and speeches and more cheers, which grew increasingly rowdy, and everyone had a thoroughly enjoyable time. Finally, the moment came to cut the cake. Norman picked up a long-bladed knife with the easy familiarity of one accustomed to chopping meat. Maud placed her hand on top of his just as he made a sudden swift slicing movement with the knife. By now very tipsy, and already teetering on high heels, Maud lost her balance and fell forward onto the cake. With a faint popping of cracking icing and a wheezing sound, the wedding cake crumbled beneath her, scattering flecks of icing and shattered sugar flowers over the remains of the buffet. With a yelp of delight, Poppy darted forward to hoover up crumbs from the floor. I grabbed her and lifted her out of harm’s way, as the cake was packed with dried fruits including raisins which are potentially toxic for dogs. To placate her, I gave her a whole sausage, dusted with flecks of icing, which she gobbled down ecstatically. Norman helped restore his giggling bride to a reasonably upright position, and she hung on his burly arm, smiling adoringly up at him. The cake, unfortunately, was a write off.

‘It’s lucky the photographer took pictures of it before it was ruined,’ I murmured to Hannah.

I didn’t add that the destruction of the wedding cake was probably a blessing in disguise; at least the guests had an excuse not to eat rich sugary cake on top of everything else. I, for one, wasn’t sure my stomach could have handled it. At last, the guests had almost all left, apart from a few dedicated drinkers who lingered in the pub until closing time. Cliff and Michelle began gathering up the glasses while Hannah and I packed away any food we could salvage for the café. Toby and Adam were supposed to be helping us, but they only got in our way and were finally persuaded to sit down together over a last pint while Hannah and I got on with the task of clearing up.

Cliff declared himself satisfied with his takings for the day, and before we left, he booked Hannah to cater the Christmas party at the pub. When I first arrived in the village, the pub had offered hot food in the bar every day. Since his previous barmaid had been arrested, which was a whole other story, Cliff had withdrawn the menu in the bar area, and now only sold packets of crisps and nuts there. Customers who wanted to sit down for a proper meal could do so in the small restaurant area of the pub between seven and nine in the evening. With the success of the wedding party, and Cliff asking Hannah to supply a cold buffet for the Christmas party, she was pleased to have the work, even at short notice, and so it was agreed on the spot. Most of the village would be celebrating at home on Christmas Day, but at least those who lived alone could enjoy a communal party at the pub on Christmas Eve. The philanthropic aspect of the idea appealed to Hannah, while Cliff was no doubt calculating the profit he stood to make behind the bar.

Having made the arrangement with Hannah, Cliff returned to his clearing up, leaving me and my friends to discuss the Christmas Eve party. As well as that, the children who lived in the village were all invited to a children’s party at the pub at the beginning of December, and we would need a Father Christmas to hand out gifts.

‘Who would like to volunteer to be Father Christmas this year?’ Hannah asked, looking around at Adam, Toby and Barry.

Adam shook his head vigorously. Toby mumbled that he would probably be busy, helping out behind the bar. Barry fidgeted and looked at the floor. Adam suggested that Cliff, with his portly figure and loud voice, was an obvious choice, but the pub landlord said that, although he would like to oblige, he would be needed behind the bar. It didn’t really matter who played the part, as he – or she – would be concealed behind a red outfit. Adam added that under a red jacket even a slim woman could be padded out to create an illusion of a large jolly man. He looked directly at me as he spoke, but I quickly scotched that idea, pointing out that a female voice would destroy any illusion. A heated discussion followed, with many protestations and downright refusals from Adam and Toby and every other man in the bar. In the end, in his absence, Norman the butcher was volunteered for the role. As a tall stout man with a booming voice, he was certainly an ideal candidate for the role. He would be informed of our decision on his return from his honeymoon, when hopefully he would be in too cheerful a frame of mind to refuse our suggestion.

‘He’s going to love doing it,’ Adam said confidently, and Toby and Barry nodded.

Now they were no longer under pressure to volunteer, they all agreed it would be a fun role to play.

‘Who knows?’ Hannah said. ‘Norman might even be pleased that we thought of him. Now, does anyone know where we can find the costume from last year, or do we need to order a new one? We don’t have much time.’

‘Do we even know what size he is?’ Michelle called out from behind the bar.

‘That’s a good point,’ Toby replied. ‘We can’t have Santa bursting out of his red outfit.’

‘Just get the biggest one we can find,’ I replied. ‘It doesn’t matter if it’s too big.’

‘It can hardly be too big,’ Adam said.

Since no one had actually asked Norman, we discussed whether he might refuse to take on the role and decided that Maud would be the best person to persuade him to agree. With an awkward shrug, Barry agreed to speak to Maud to help make sure Norman went along with our plans. Barry was her nephew, but since he had been orphaned at a young age, Maud had brought him up as if he was her own son and she was as devoted to him as any mother could have been. We were all sure that he would be able to prevail on her to support our idea.

‘She may have plans of her own over Christmas,’ Barry murmured, but no one paid any attention to his reservations.

‘If anyone can persuade her, you can,’ Hannah said with an air of finality.

‘You have to,’ I pleaded with him. ‘It’s really important.’

‘Do it for the children,’ Hannah added.

Barry glanced anxiously at me and nodded, as we all knew he would. His crush on me was no secret, and a word from me was often enough to sway his opinion, at least in trivial matters. Not that our choice for Father Christmas could be considered trivial. On the contrary, the question loomed large in all our minds. Children could be devastatingly honest critics, and the wrong person playing the part could ruin the occasion for everyone. At last we all felt satisfied the matter was settled, even though Norman knew nothing about it. Talking about Norman reminded me that I had agreed to do a two week stint at the village grocery store while the newlyweds were away.

Hannah had assured me she was all set up to cope without me. Michelle was keen to earn some extra cash for Christmas, and she would be covering my morning shifts; Cliff had said he could manage at the pub without her until lunchtime. Toby and Michelle had met because she worked as his mother’s carer. She lived close to the pub and the tea shop, meaning Naomi could call Michelle if she needed her, while Michelle was out at work. Hannah’s mother was also happy to help out at the tea shop if Hannah was struggling to cope on her own. So, everything was settled. Only now the time had arrived, I wasn’t feeling as relaxed about the situation as when we had first made all the arrangements.

‘It’s only for two weeks,’ Hannah had reassured me. ‘But I’m glad you’ll be back before the Christmas rush. There’s no way I could manage without you once it gets manic. We’ve already had tons of bookings. It’s going to be a nightmare,’ she added cheerfully.

It was late by the time we left the pub, and Hannah, Adam and I walked back down the High Street together, with Poppy either straining at her lead wanting to run on ahead, or stopping to sniff at the ground. As we waited for Hannah to store the excess food in the tea shop, Adam and I discussed the empty premises over the road from Hannah’s café. A notice announced it had been let. The windows had been painted white, indicating that something was going on inside, but the only other sign so far merely announced, in flowery letters, ‘Opening in time for Christmas!’ None of us knew who had rented it. I thought it was exciting, not knowing what was coming, but Hannah was anxious.

We reached the top of my lane, where Hannah and Adam said goodbye to me and walked on towards their little house across the river. From the top of my road it was only a short way down Mill Lane to Rosecroft. Had I been on my own, it would have taken me two minutes to walk past the one other property in the lane where Adam’s father, Richard, lived. With Poppy, it took longer, as she insisted on stopping to sniff every inch of the grass verge. At last we reached our cottage and settled down for the night. It had been a busy day.

3

On Monday, I was due to start working at Maud’s shop, the local grocery store which was rather grandly named the Village Emporium. To be fair to Maud and the pretentious name she had given her shop, it was larger than it appeared from the front as the interior went back a surprisingly long way. The shop was packed with shelves from floor to ceiling, crammed with all manner of tins and packets, household items and cleaning materials. In short, it was a veritable Aladdin’s Cave containing everything anyone could possibly need in order to survive, were the villagers ever to find themselves isolated from the outside world. While Swindon, with its vast supermarkets, was not far away, going there involved a journey by car or bus, and a round trip could take as much as an hour in travelling time alone. But Maud’s main competitors were Amazon and online deliveries from supermarkets, which she hated with a passion. Her tiny figure seemed to seize up and her fists clenched whenever internet shopping was mentioned.

Aware that she couldn’t hope to compete with other suppliers on price, she offered weekly Bargain Buys and Special Offers, as a means of attracting customers into her shop. She also had a singular advantage over any other outlet: her seemingly endless supply of local gossip. No one could expect a baby, or lose their job, or be fined for a minor traffic offence, without Maud knowing about it. She seemed to absorb local news from the ether. Her relentless prying wasn’t driven solely by curiosity. Gossip and rumour were the fuel that ensured the survival of her business. Even the local paper couldn’t vie with Maud for local information, and she was careful never to share her secrets with anyone other than her numerous customers. People went to the Village Emporium ostensibly to shop, but more often than not they were only there to hear the latest news, and Maud rarely disappointed. Having made a purchase, customers went away agog with the latest local scandal about who had fallen out with a neighbour over an overgrown tree, or who was suspected of embarking on a clandestine liaison, and Maud just kept on counting up her takings at the end of the day.