Dennie rubbed her forehead. ‘Quite a bit better, thank you. Listen, I just wanted to say how sorry I am for the way I acted last week.’
‘Oh, honestly, look—’
‘No, no, you and Everett have been nothing but kind and generous, and the last thing you need is a doddery old neighbour yelling at you. Please, will you accept my apology?’
‘Of course. You’re sure I can’t tempt you with one of Everett’s pulled pork rolls?’
‘Not me, I’m afraid, but you might be able to tempt Viggo.’
She did accept a wrapped-up portion of meat to take back for Viggo, as both reward and apology for leaving him at the allotment. ‘There you go,’ she said, setting it down in front of him. ‘That’s for being such a good boy.’ Viggo, who had never been known to refuse a treat, including many that he was not technically supposed to be able to digest, sniffed at the meat but then turned away and curled himself into a corner, looking at her reproachfully over one paw. ‘Really? Do not try to tell me that you’ve gone veggie too. Frankly, my dear, your farts are bad enough as it is.’ She tried again later, but he wouldn’t touch it – wouldn’t even sniff it at it. In the end she threw it in the bin.
* * *
‘That went well, then,’ Everett said.
‘Better than we could have expected,’ Ardwyn replied.
They were driving back from the village with debris from the feast rattling around in the back. Everett was happy but exhausted, and night had fallen, and he was working his way slowly along the twisting country lanes, headlights picking out details of the hedgerows. Hawthorn branches were just coming into bud but they still had the stark, skeletal beauty of their winter thorns.
‘It’s just a pity Gar couldn’t be there,’ she added.
‘He’s better off at the farm, out of sight. I think we might have been a bit complacent letting him be amongst people so soon. He’s not used to it, poor chap. How many of them ate the first flesh?’
‘At least a dozen.’ Ardwyn squeezed his arm lovingly and leaned her head against his shoulder.
‘You were magnificent. That speech – the bit about not being religious? I nearly choked. Did you find out their names?’
‘Mm-hm. I mingled, I chatted, I caught up on all the local goss. I was the perfect Mother.’
He nodded, relieved. ‘And we only need six. That gives us the rest of the month to check them out and pick the ones who won’t be missed.’
‘As well as the ones who can be useful,’ she added. ‘I’m afraid you’re going to have to put up with a few dinner parties at home over the next few weeks.’
‘I promise I’ll be on my best behaviour.’
‘Good lord, that bad? I might have to make you eat out in the shed with Gar.’
They drove on in silence for a while. ‘Pity about the old woman,’ she said eventually. ‘I would have liked for her to join the new church, then we wouldn’t have to worry about her sniffing around so much. But, if she will insist on refusing to eat meat…’
The van lurched as Everett twisted the steering wheel violently and slammed on the brakes. Something heavy slid up the inside and whacked the back of their seats.
‘What—?’ Ardwyn gasped.
Standing in the road in front of them, paralysed by the headlights, was a small tawny-coloured deer. Its head was narrow and triangular, it had no horns, and it only stood about three feet high. Its flanks were heaving and its nostrils flaring. They stared at it through the windscreen, equally transfixed. Then it bolted, the hedgerow quivered, and it was gone.
‘Steady,’ Ardwyn breathed. ‘You nearly killed that poor creature.’
They looked at each other, and then burst out laughing. Everett started the van and they drove home.
7
LIZZIE
ON THE WEDNESDAY AFTER THE BARBECUE, DENNIE’S youngest daughter Elizabeth paid her a visit, and that was when she really got pissed off with Angie.
The potatoes had been chitted, she had two rows of strawberries under plastic to force them into an early fruiting for the summer, and her current job was mulching her broccoli with bunches of shredded newspaper as part of the annual war of attrition against the great slug horde. In the Watts’ pond, three plots over, frogs were beginning to spawn, desperately shagging each other and leaving great gelatinous puddles everywhere. In contrast, fruit trees all over Briar Hill Allotments had come into blossom like pink and white clouds of candyfloss, and the bees were going crazy. There weren’t as many of them as there had been in the past, but that was the way of things, she supposed. Even the strange new neighbours were keeping themselves to themselves. She found that the less time she spent interacting with other human beings the fewer blank moments she had, and that was just fine by her.
The only conversation she’d had so far that day had been first thing in the morning, heading in with Viggo and her tools, when she’d been surprised to see Marcus Overton humming and whistling to himself as he pottered away, weeding. He’d been much less active on his allotment in the last few years as his arthritis had worsened, but she’d seen him at Sunday’s barbecue tucking into a pork roll as rapturously as the rest of them. She certainly hadn’t expected to see him here again, so early in the morning, and especially on his hands and knees pulling up weeds.
‘Someone sounds happy,’ she commented as she passed.
Overton looked up and waved. ‘Good morning, Denise!’ He smiled. ‘I thought it was about time to give the family estate a bit of TLC. How are you?’
‘Can’t complain. How are the knees?’ On the rare occasions that he was seen out of doors, it was usually making his painful way to the shops on a pair of
