rent.’
Amy had lived with her mother for a while but had felt so suffocated, she’d moved out to an attic studio deemed too tiny even for use as a holiday let. It had two windows, noisy neighbours and views over the rooftops of the old town but she had her independence. It made dealing with her mother a little more bearable. Just.
‘Think it works better if we live apart, don’t you?’
As usual, when her mother didn’t get her own way, she went on the attack. ‘I don’t know why you want to live all on your own.’ She sniffed again. ‘After all, it’s not as if you’re ever going to get a man again. Not looking like a lump of lard. Not after Lee jilted you.’
Amy took in a sharp breath. Katrina often pointed out her inability to lose weight but she was rarely vindictive enough to mention the jilting at the altar by Lee Styles. ‘Mum,’ she said, more tears erupting. ‘How could you be so cruel? Maybe that’s why I don’t want to live with you!’
As if sensing she’d gone too far, Katrina deflated. ‘Oh my darling,’ she cried, putting a conciliatory and manicured hand on her daughter’s arm. She pouted a little. ‘I only want you to be happy.’
‘I am happy, Mum.’
‘Really?’ Katrina’s eyes widened. She spread her arms. ‘Working here? In a shop? It’s hardly using your degree properly, and you were always such a clever girl.’
Amy had had enough. Time was getting on and she needed to get the bookshop ready for the day. ‘Did you come here simply to insult me, or was there a proper reason?’
‘Now now, no need to be snippy. I just popped by to tell you that I’m going away for a few days.’
Amy raised her eyes heavenwards. This was the main reason her mother had no money; she was impossibly extravagant. ‘I thought you had no money?’
‘Oh don’t be so ridiculous, Amy. A weekend in an out of season hotel in Scarborough isn’t going to break the bank.’
Amy was just about to launch into an explanation that money in had to equal money out when she heard a familiar, softly accented voice.
‘Feck, it’s cold this morning. Anyone around?’
‘Hi Patrick.’ Amy smiled and blushed, aware her mother was watching them avidly.
‘Amy. Hi. Couldn’t see you. I’m on the early side but thought I’d treat us to a wee coffee and pastry.’ He held up a bag. ‘Badgered Millie into selling me two apricot Danishes. They’ve only just come out of the oven. Thought we could go through the spring catalogues. See what you want to stock after Christmas.’
‘There’s the literary festival in January too. We’d want to stock books by the writers taking part.’
‘Ah, so we should.’
‘Well, hello there.’ Katrina put out her hand. ‘Amy has kept you very quiet.’
‘Not much chance of keeping me quiet,’ Patrick said affably. ‘Patrick Carroll.’ He shook her hand. ‘Pleased to meet you.’
‘This is my mother, Patrick,’ Amy supplied, as Katrina raised her immaculate brows in a silent demand to be introduced.
‘As Amy is making such a mess of introducing us, I’ll finish the task. I’m Katrina Chilcombe.’ She smiled, showing small white teeth. ‘How absolutely delightful to meet you. Are you Amy’s boss?’
Amy shifted, irritable that her mother should assume, simply because Patrick was a man and older, that he should be her superior.
‘Ah sure. I just help out now and again.’ Patrick gave Amy a warm look. ‘It’s your daughter here who’s the one in charge and a fine job she does of it too.’
Katrina simpered. ‘Really? How very kind of you to say so. And is that an Irish accent I can hear? So terribly charming.’
Patrick gave a modest nod but didn’t say anything.
‘Mum, I’ve got to get on. I haven’t done anything this morning yet, apart from clean up.’
Katrina made a great show of examining her watch. ‘Goodness, yes. I must away. Can’t be late for Suki.’ She patted her hair. ‘Having my hair done before my little holiday,’ she said for Patrick’s benefit.
‘Now, why would you, when doesn’t it already look grand?’
‘Oh,’ Katrina giggled. ‘It’s true then, the Irish are charming.’ She caught Amy’s glare. ‘Right, off then.’ Reaching up to air kiss her daughter, she trilled, ‘Bye then both. Lovely to have met you, Patrick.’ Then she was gone, leaving a Dior-scented whirl in her wake.
‘You’re not at all like her,’ was Patrick’s only comment.
‘Apparently I take after my father.’ Amy caught Patrick’s look. ‘Thank God.’
He laughed and held up the paper bag again. ‘Now, come on, I can’t function without coffee at this unearthly hour. Let’s eat breakfast and you can tell me why you’re running so late.’
Over their coffee and pastries, eaten at one of the scrubbed pine tables in the café end of the bookshop, Amy filled Patrick in on what she had found when she’d opened up that morning.
His blue eyes widened over the rim of his mug. ‘That’s a shame. I remember you saying you were going to carve them when I came by on Friday.’
‘It doesn’t make me feel very secure down at this end of town when the days are so short, to be honest,’ Amy said, thinking about what her mother had pointed out about the harbour part of town being deserted off season.
‘It’ll just be kids, Amy. Bored I expect. And sure, isn’t the biggest crime around here the theft of the traffic cones from the one way system? Bet that’s kids too. A gang of lads thinking they’re the big “I Am.”’
‘A gang?’ Amy’s voice trembled. ‘In Berecombe?’
Patrick put his hand over hers. ‘Sure, they’ll just be lads, no older than ten or twelve.’ Patrick pulled a face. ‘Think we can safely assume they’re not blessed with imagination. They’ll claim there’s nothing else for them to do.’
Amy’s fears deflated a little. ‘You’d think Paul Cash has got enough on his plate,’ she said, referring to the town’s only policeman. ‘What with Tash’s court case looming.’
‘Is that still happening?’
Amy nodded. ‘Poor woman can’t move on until it’s all sorted.’
‘So this Adrian, this ex of hers is up for rape, is that your man?’
‘Yes. He did all sorts of horrible things to Tash too but she got out in time, before it escalated. All sorts of
