never take what’s yours, and I believe Julia should have it, to save arguments between the girls. Mother says it’s our family’s lucky charm, and it has to be passed down to the right person at the right time or we’ll be doomed. What a load of twaddle. Anyway, how are things with you? Have you seen anything of Charles? Has he asked after me? I might see if I can get a few sailing lessons from him next time I’m down. You could mention it, if you run into him?
May reads on, letting the delicious tingle spread from her fingers right through her body, warm and sensuous, like melted chocolate. It’s a sensory overload. Better than champagne. Better than caviar. And a lot better than sex, in most of May’s experiences, at least. Not all, but most. One exception stands out, but it’s best not to think about him.
The phone on the sideboard rings, shocking May out of her blissful reverie. She gets up unsteadily and goes over to answer it.
‘Hello, May, it’s Julia. Just checking you’re home safely.’
‘Well, of course I am,’ says May rather too sharply, irritated beyond measure at this foolishness. What could have happened to her between Julia’s house and her own, supported by Andy? Then she relents. She’s enjoyed her time across the road, and if she upsets Julia, she won’t be asked back. ‘I’m sorry, you startled me. I think I might have been nodding off.’
Julia clears her throat. ‘Well, I’m glad you’re relaxing. Erm … I don’t suppose you noticed a letter when you were over with me earlier, did you?’
‘I noticed heaps of them, dear,’ says May, chuckling. ‘Why?’
‘I seem to have lost one I was looking at earlier.’
May hears a sob, quickly stifled. ‘Are you feeling quite well, Julia?’ she asks.
‘No … no, I’m not. May, I can’t remember which letter I was reading last, or who it was from, and I can’t find it, and …’ Julia tails off, gulping for breath.
‘Now, calm down and get yourself a nice mug of hot chocolate, or something similar,’ says May. ‘I think you might have been overdoing it, delving into old times so soon after losing poor Don.’
‘Not just Don. I’m losing my mind too, May. This is the beginning of the end. What am I going to do?’
May chews on her knuckle. How should she deal with this? She seems to recall something along the same lines happening before once or twice with people from the village soon after she’d taken their mementoes, although it could have been more common than she realised, because why would the villagers bother to tell her if they’d forgotten random things about their past lives? She’d only found out by accident a couple of times over the years, three at the most. It’s as if her harvesting sometimes leaves them with gaping holes in their memories. Holes they’re never able to fill.
‘I don’t understand,’ she hedges.
‘Neither do I, May. My mind seems to have gone blank when I try to think about what I was reading. I can’t even recall who the letter was from. I wondered if you’d … you’d maybe seen me put it anywhere?’
This is a tricky situation, but not disastrous. Julia’s noticed there’s a letter missing, but she seems more jittery about her own memory than suspicious of May’s involvement. What’s the best way to handle it? It seems to May that how she tackles this problem will affect her life … and eventual death. She needs Julia to be calm and unsuspecting so that she can have access to the letters in the coming months. She’s so nearly one hundred and eleven. Come on, May, she tells herself, don’t mess this one up.
Fossil bursts through the cat flap and into the living room where May sits pondering. He leaps onto her knee and begins to knead the boniest bits of her thighs with his needle-sharp claws.
‘Ouch!’ shouts May, more loudly than she intended.
‘What’s the matter? May? Are you hurt?’
May doesn’t answer. She tucks the letter well out of sight under her chair cushion, and waits.
‘May? Have you fallen? Hang on, I’m coming over …’
The line goes dead, and May smiles. Result, as Andy might say.
Two minutes later, May hears Julia rattling the handle of the back door. There’s no need for that – it’s open. Some of the older residents of Pengelly still can’t be doing with locked doors. Never have done, hopefully never will.
‘May?’ Her neighbour comes into the room and sees her with Fossil on her knee. She clutches her chest, like a character in a bad sitcom. ‘Oh, thank goodness. I expected to find you slumped on the floor. Why did you stop talking to me?’
Irritation is creeping into Julia’s voice now, and May needs to act fast. She passes a shaking hand over her face. Oh, yes, she can ham it up too when she needs to. Those years with the village Amateur Dramatic Society weren’t wasted after all. ‘I … I … everything went black for a minute or two …’
Julia springs into action. ‘How about I make us a nice cup of tea?’ she asks, bustling into the kitchen without waiting for a reply. ‘You just sit still and get your breath back.’
Listening to the comforting clatter of cups and saucers, May breathes a sigh of relief. Julia will have ignored the serviceable mugs on their hooks. She’s got style. ‘And maybe a fig roll, dear?’ May calls. ‘They’re in the tin on the dresser. Next to the teabags.’
Julia’s soon back, and settles the tray on a low table. She pours their tea without asking if May wants her to be mum, and soon they’re sipping away as if they do this at May’s cottage every day. The first part of the mission is accomplished. Now for the next steps.
‘I’m relieved you’re feeling better. I wonder if your blood pressure needs checking?’ says Julia, frowning. ‘Sometimes if it drops suddenly, you can keel over. It happened to me once or twice when I was carrying Felix. I really thought I was going to find you flat on your back with a head wound, or something.’
‘You’ve got a very lively imagination, dear,’ says May. ‘You should write a novel.’
‘I often wish I could. I have to make do with reading them.’
‘You should have a try. You’d need one of those USPs, though.’
‘A what?’
May sighs. She’d thought Julia would be well up on publishing terms, with Emily being in the business. ‘Unique Selling Point. I heard them talking about it on the radio when they were interviewing that lady who wrote a story about the girl looking out of a train window?’
‘I haven’t read that one. What’s it called?’
May snorts. ‘Er … Girl on a Train?’ she suggests.
Julia shakes her head. ‘No, never heard of it. What could I have for a UFO then?’
‘USP, dear. I’m not sure.’
May thinks for a moment. ‘How about your letters? They’d make the perfect starting point for a book,’ she says, clapping her hands together.
‘My letters? Why would anyone want
