to the high street,’ she said, pushing her sunglasses on and pointing up the lane, clearly on edge.
‘Race you, Cow Pat,’ Sonny shouted and ran ahead.
Rosie sprinted after him. ‘Don’t call me Cow Pat.’
Gus found himself side by side with Amy.
They walked in silence for a bit.
‘Everything OK?’ he asked, more just for something polite to say. She definitely seemed a bit odd but then she always seemed slightly odd to him.
‘Fine,’ she said, without turning his way.
Gus nodded.
A bus trundled by. They walked past a tea room and an antique centre. An old woman with a stick was deadheading her geraniums. ‘Oh, hello Amy, love. You all right?’ she asked.
‘Fine thank you, Mrs Obertone,’ Amy said, super polite, taking her sunglasses off and making a point of checking that Mrs Obertone’s children were well, etc.
Gus shuddered. He couldn’t bear the idea of everyone knowing him and everything about him again. Visits to his parents’ house were always accompanied by wind-ups in the pub about when he was going to take over the farm.
When they got to what Amy had referred to as the high street – a gallery, fish and chip shop, pasty shop, and pharmacy – Gus trailed behind her as she went into every shop and enquired about her father. And every single person enquired about her, a subject he noticed Amy expertly deflected, countering quick smart with questions about all the other person’s extended family. For Gus, it was painfully slow going.
Finally, they got to the Londis.
Gus ambled the aisles as Amy queued at the checkout to talk to the cashier whose name nobody could remember.
He found Rosie in the toy section holding a Barbie in a box. ‘Don’t you think she looks like Amy?’ she said.
Gus exhaled as he took the Barbie off her and stared, reluctantly, at the big blue eyes and the big blonde hair. ‘A bit.’
‘You don’t look like Ken,’ Rosie said flatly.
Gus laughed. ‘No, I know I don’t.’
‘Your nose is too big,’ she said, giggling naughtily to herself after she said it.
‘Thanks.’
Rosie looked confused. ‘I don’t understand why you said thanks.’
‘Because your aim was to insult me and it didn’t work.’
Her cheeks pinked. ‘Will you tell my mum?’
‘Yes.’
She looked panicked.
‘No,’ said Gus, rolling his eyes. ‘Why would I tell your mum? How old are you?’
‘Seven.’
‘Well, you’re old enough to learn. Don’t say bad shit about people’s noses.’
‘You said “shit”.’
‘Yes, I did. Got a problem with that?’
‘It’s not nice to swear.’
‘Are you going to tell my mum?’
Rosie giggled. ‘I can’t tell your mum.’
‘Here,’ Gus got his phone out his pocket, ‘ring her up, tell her.’
‘Noooooo,’ Rosie laughed, like he was the silliest person she’d met.
Gus put his phone away with a grin.
Rosie picked up the Ken doll box. ‘He actually looks like Uncle Bobby.’ She turned to look at Gus. ‘He died. Did you know that?’
Gus shook his head.
‘Surfing,’ Rosie said.
‘Oh right.’ Gus nodded. ‘And Uncle Bobby, that was your Mum and Amy’s brother, yeah?’ Part of him knew that that wasn’t going to be the right answer when he said it, but the part of him willing it to be right had overruled it. Because if, as he suspected, this Bobby character had been Amy’s husband then it suddenly added another layer to this person he’d inadvertently slept with. To this person he had intended to persuade to terminate the baby she was carrying. To this person who wasn’t really a person but just an airhead Britney Spears WhatsApp avatar.
Rosie made a face at him, a real winner of an are-you-completely-stupid stare and said, ‘Mum doesn’t have a brother. Bobby was married to Amy. It’s really sad. Amy was really sad. Bobby was really handsome—’
‘That’s enough, Rosie,’ Amy’s voice cut in on the conversation. She was standing at the end of the aisle, arms crossed.
Rosie jumped and dropped the Ken doll.
Gus bent down to pick it up, slowly, all the time watching as Amy came forward and yanked Rosie over to the ice cream freezer.
Then he stood up and slotted the doll back on the shelf, pausing for a second, his hand resting on a Buy One Get One Free sign. ‘Shit,’ he muttered under his breath.
Stella and Jack were halfway back from the fishing lake when the car broke down. The petrol gauge had been bleeping on empty since they left the house but a trip to the petrol station was in the opposite direction to the lake, and Jack had assured Stella that the Nissan Qashqai can run 43 miles after the needle hits empty on the dashboard. The lake was only ten miles away. Unfortunately, Jack hadn’t factored in a key road on the route being blocked by a lorry pouring concrete for building works and a diversion which then led off into a winding country lane maze outside Stella’s jurisdiction and unnavigable because iMaps wouldn’t load on either of their phones. When they finally got back to countryside she knew, they were out of petrol.
‘We should have got the sat nav fixed,’ Jack muttered, slamming the car door.
‘Or,’ Stella said, standing in the passing point where they’d managed to crawl to a stop, ‘we should have got some petrol.’
Jack didn’t reply. Just sucked in his cheeks, visibly fuming.
Stella scratched her head, looked around to get her bearings. It had been so long since she’d lived around here.
‘Which way?’ Jack said, his phone map still just a frustrating grey grid with a blue dot.
Stella shrugged. ‘Well, the house is that way.’ She pointed slightly to her right. ‘But the quickest route would be straight ahead to the sea and then along the cliff path. So up there.’ She pointed towards the high verge beside them that flanked the road. Jack looked dubious but didn’t argue, clearly still furious with himself about the petrol.
