doomed.’
That’s when Emily had stood up to leave. At the mention of the house something inside of her had snapped. It was the best thing that had happened to her in years and somehow they’d already snaked their way inside and put their grubby little stamp on it. ‘Faye.’ Emily turned back and rested her hand on the back of the sofa. ‘This is over. I’m not answering anything else.’
‘Oh come on! What happened to the Emily Hunter-Brown that we all know and love? Just give me a little soundbite, tell me who you’re shagging and your plans to wreak havoc in the countryside and I can flip the whole focus of the piece.’
Emily ran her tongue along her top lip, watched Faye with her chewed Biro hovering over her notepad.
Just give her what she wants and she’ll go away.
But something made this time different. Something held the quip back about blazing a trail through the sleepy little island. Something Emily couldn’t quite pinpoint, but she knew there was only one answer. ‘Sorry, Faye, that’s private.’
‘I can only apologise, Ms Hunter-Brown, it’s a hold up on the other end. It’s nothing to do with us,’ the estate agent stammered down the phone.
Emily pulled a face at Angus the removals man who was leaning against his van door having a cigarette and opening a Lilt.
Emily hadn’t had a Lilt for about twenty years. In this glaring sun it looked tantalisingly tempting.
‘You want this?’ Angus said, holding up the can as he saw her staring at it.
‘Really?’ she mouthed as the estate agent wittered on about how he didn’t see them completing till about two o’clock. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered as she took the can and reached up to give Angus a peck on the cheek, making his chubby cheeks blush.
‘OK, fine, fine, fine, darling – stop, it’s fine – just ring me when it’s done and we can go in,’ Emily said hanging up the phone and taking a sip of the ice-cold Lilt.
‘How do you do that?’ her friend Annie asked as she stood up from where she’d been sunbathing on a patch of grass outside Montmorency Manor.
‘What?’
‘That – get people to give you things.’
Emily made a face. ‘I don’t know. They just do. Want some?’ she asked, handing the Lilt to Annie who shook her head.
‘I don’t like Lilt, it has a funny aftertaste.’
‘See, that’s why no one gives you anything, you turn your nose up at it. Right, boys,’ she said to the removals guys hanging around the truck, ‘I’m starving, can we go and get something to eat?’
‘Don’t you think, while we’re here, we should go to the allotment?’ Annie said, dusting off the back of her denim shorts.
‘No I absolutely do not. I can’t think of anything worse.’ Emily rolled her eyes, looking across at the removals men to bring them in on the joke and they all sniggered.
Annie made a face. ‘I don’t want to go either, but we did promise, Emily.’
Emily scrunched up her face. ‘Can’t you just go?’
‘No.’
‘Pleeeease?’
Annie stood with her hands on her hips. ‘Emily, remember I’ve known you since you were fifteen. That crap doesn’t work with me. The whole Emily Hunter-Brown thing – nothing. Doesn’t work.’
‘Actually, Emily,’ Removals Angus stepped forward, ‘I was wondering if you’d sign this…’ He held out one of his company fliers, ‘For my daughter. She just loved your films.’
Emily gave Annie a smug little smile and said, ‘Of course I will, Angus. Do you want Annie to snap a photo of the two of us?’
Annie glanced heavenward, but even she then had to smile as Angus perched up on tiptoe to give a crimson Fred another kiss on the cheek for the camera.
‘Right then,’ Emily said, ‘Shall we go and get bacon sandwiches, I’ll buy.’
‘Emily—’ Annie cut in, ‘The allotment.’
‘Urgghhh, you’re so boring! OK, fine, Fred, here’s a twenty, we’ll be there as soon as we’ve gone to look at plants. Come on then, Annie. Let’s go.’
By the time Annie had realised she’d got her way, Emily was already halfway up the path that ran down the side of the manor to the allotment, her gold wedge sandals crunching on the long grass, and Annie was the one trotting along behind her, trying to keep up.
The Cherry Pie allotment was based on a small patch of land between Mont Manor and the boatyard and studios. The plot Annie and Emily were caretaking was #138 and had once belonged to the late island matriarch Enid and their close friend Holly. Together they’d won a number of trophies every year at the Cherry Pie Show and, this year, as a tribute to Enid, Holly wanted to win at least one of the categories. She’d planted and netted all the seeds, carefully looked after her dahlia tubers over winter, chitted her potatoes and had a variety of seedlings growing in the shed, however she’d then discovered she was pregnant and had moved to France to live with the baby’s father.
Asking Emily and Annie to step in wasn’t an ideal choice – neither of whom knowing the slightest thing about gardening – but Holly’s options were limited as most of the island gardeners were preparing to do battle against her in a bid snatch up the categories previously dominated by Enid’s horticulture.
Winding through the grassy path, Emily realised that she knew most of the faces from her youth – on her right was Holly’s dad, Martin, constructing a new greenhouse, further up was Barney from the pub, on his knees patting down the soil around his tomatoes and next to him was Annie’s mum and her husband Valter, both in their gardening gloves, arguing over where to plant whatever it was they had in pots on the ground in front of them.
‘Hey, Mum,’ Annie called with a wave.
Her mum looked up and, catching sight of the two of them, pulled her gloves off and came strolling over. ‘Hi, darling,’ she said, giving Annie a quick kiss on the cheek. ‘Emily, lovely to have you back! I do love it when you’re around. Always such fun. I hear you’re helping Holly with her plot. Not sure that’s strictly in the rules,’ she laughed.
Emily smiled, noticing the seriousness behind Annie’s mum’s chuckle and had a vague recollection of Holly’s instructions about the competition.
‘They all seem nice, Emily, but they’re not. It’s a front. Like Annie’s mum, for example, lovely but when it comes to gardening – ruthless. She’s got a cabinet full of trophies and she wants more. I think she’s going for a clean sweep. Oh and don’t trust Annie’s brother, no way, he’s just competitive for competitive’s sake. I don’t even think he likes plants, just wants everything to do what he says. You can sort of trust my dad but he still wants to win so may give you
