‘You’ll have a job,’ Iris said, over her shoulder. ‘I’m going to the pub.’
Bex opened her mouth to say ‘really?’, but closed it again when she saw Iris’s expression.
The front door opened, spilling light. It was Mrs Farrier. ‘I just wanted to say … sorry for the way things turned out.’
‘Don’t give it another thought,’ Bex said. She felt Jon’s hand take her own and there was no room in her mind for anything else.
‘You’ll come by tomorrow?’ Mrs Farrier said, her usual frown looking more concerned than severe.
‘Not to work,’ Bex clarified. ‘But I’ll visit Carly and Tarc and say goodbye.’
‘Okay,’ she nodded sadly. ‘Goodnight.’
Once the door closed, Bex went on tiptoe to kiss Jon again. She caught sight of Iris retreating down Silver Street and was seized with a sense of responsibility. Iris had been really poorly; she ought to keep an eye on her. ‘Shouldn’t we go after her?’
‘If she’s going to the Red Lion, Bob will drive her home,’ Jon said. ‘He’s done it before.’
‘If you’re sure,’ Bex said. She would call in on the old girl tomorrow, take her something to say thank you. ‘Do you think she likes flowers?’
‘Who? Iris?’ Jon said.
‘Probably prefer something practical,’ Bex said.
‘Do you want to finish Walk the Line?’ Jon said, as they turned towards home.
‘Why not?’ Bex said, loving the feel of him close to her side, his warm hand clasping hers.
Dusk was falling quickly into night and Bex snuggled closer to Jon as they walked. He released her hand in order to put his arm around her shoulder and she imagined how good it was going to feel sitting on the sofa with him in few minutes’ time. Anxiety fluttered through her stomach. How would they transition from friendship to relationship? They knew each other too well. Maybe it was too late for romance to work. Kissing him had felt wonderful, but perhaps that had mostly been relief that she hadn’t made a fool of herself, hadn’t lost him from her life? Maybe it would be too weird to be sitting in his house, watching a film on the sofa. Her stomach clenched. What if he expected everything to be on fast-forward because they knew each other so well?
He stopped walking. ‘I can hear you worrying, you know.’
‘I’m not worrying,’ Bex tried to say, but the words stuck in her throat. Bloody truth potion.
‘I’m really happy,’ Jon said.
‘Me, too,’ Bex said, feeling her breath catch as she looked at his face.
‘We don’t have to watch the film. Not tonight. We can watch it tomorrow or on the weekend or next month or whatever.’
‘I know,’ Bex said. ‘I’d like to, it’s just –’
‘You feel weird. About us.’
‘A bit,’ Bex said. ‘I’ve wanted this to happen for so long …’
‘It’s scary,’ he said, and she felt her worries disappear.
‘And amazing.’
‘We could just watch a bit of the film tonight; we don’t have to do the whole thing.’
‘Okay, that sounds good. Start slow.’
They started walking again, hand in hand this time.
After a minute, Jon said, ‘Can I just check? We weren’t just talking about Walk the Line, were we?’
Bex squeezed his hand and felt his pulse answering her own.
***
Iris had a swift whisky and then accepted a lift home from the barman, a sweet boy whom she’d helped out the year before. She waved to him and then turned to the shadowy shape of her home. The thick scent of herbs wafted from the garden, but there was decay, too. Not the good earth smell of mulch, but something rotten and wrong. She felt her sense of contentment drain away.
No sooner had she got inside and put the kettle on for a hot drink than there was the sound of footsteps on the gravel path and a knocking on the door.
‘Good evening, Martin,’ Iris said, recognising the tall figure straight away.
‘Can’t stop,’ Martin said. ‘I just brought you something.’
Iris realised that he was carrying a cardboard box. Oh, no.
‘I wanted to say thank you and I knew you’d like it.’
It? The whisky and elderflower wine sloshed uneasily in Iris’s stomach.
He opened the box and held it out, looking pleased with himself. ‘He belonged to my daughter when she was little, but, well, she’s not little any more.’
Inside the box, not looking particularly little, either, was a tortoise.
‘I thought you might be a bit lonely these days,’ Martin was saying. ‘It’s not right, a woman on her own.’
‘So you brought me a guard tortoise?’ Iris looked at the lumpen reptile and suppressed a shiver.
‘No,’ Martin explained earnestly. ‘It’s a companion. A friend.’
I don’t need a friend. I need somebody to dig over my vegetable patch. It’s having a tantrum and I don’t have the energy to soothe it any more.
The tortoise was patiently chewing a leaf. It didn’t look particularly happy about being in a cardboard box, but it was hard to tell.
Iris resolutely looked away. ‘I don’t want a pet,’ she said. ‘Don’t need something getting under my feet.’
‘He’ll be no bother,’ Martin said, setting the box on the floor. ‘Once he’s settled in, he’ll live in the garden. Give him that old dog house in the corner. You don’t use it for anything else.’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake,’ Iris said. It was official; her standing as the scary old witch was definitely waning. Martin would never have dared bring her a tortoise in the old days.
‘Don’t blame me if it dies,’ she said. ‘I don’t know the first thing about reptiles.’
‘Wouldn’t dream of it.’ Martin adjusted his cap and dipped his head. ‘It’s just a gift, Mrs Harper. Yours now, to do what you like with.’
‘I’d like you to take it away,’ Iris said, but Martin just smiled idiotically.
‘You’ll like having the little guy around, I promise. Got to get back to work,’ he said, turning to leave.
‘So have I,’ Iris said to his retreating back.
She looked at the tortoise and, with a theatrical sigh, picked it up and put it on the
