Agatha Raisin and the Fairies of Fryham

proceeded to give them an Elvis Presley impersonation, ‘Jailhouse Rock’, complete with gyrating hips and pretend guitar.
    The three women, aware of their glaring husbands over by the bar, laughed and cheered. One of Barry’s friends, Mark, a weedy youth with a rolled-up cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth, said, ‘Don’t half cheer the place up, a bit of a song. What about one of you ladies?’
    To Agatha’s amusement, Polly, slightly red about the nose – must have had a few to bolster her, thought Agatha – rose to her feet and belted out ‘The Fishermen of England’, while they all drank steadily and more champagne appeared. The locals, hungry for a free drink, began to crowd round the table until the errant husbands were left isolated at the bar.
    ‘Why don’t those three join the party?’ shouted Agatha.
    ‘That’s our husbands,’ said Harriet.
    ‘Your husbands! ’ Agatha affected amazement. ‘What on earth are they doing on their own? Do they come to ogle the barmaid?’
    The three promptly came over but could not get near the table for the crowd. Agatha called for more songs and more champagne and kept the party going until Rosie called, ‘Time, gentlemen, please.’
    They all crowded out into the night. ‘What a marvellous evening,’ said Agatha loudly. ‘See you here tomorrow night, girls?’
    The ‘girls’ were now flanked by their glaring husbands, but Harriet said gamely, ‘Same time, same place, Agatha.’
    Agatha saw the lank figure of the village policeman crossing the green and decided to leave her car where it was. She walked home, somewhat unsteadily, let herself in and swallowed as much cold water as she could to try to stave off next morning’s hangover.
    Next morning, she was awakened by a furious ringing of her doorbell. She put on a dressing-gown and struggled downstairs. The clock in the hall said eight o’clock.
    She opened the door, blinking in the strong sunlight, and focused on the wrathful face of Henry Freemantle.
    ‘We want you to leave our wives alone,’ he said truculently.
    ‘What on earth are you talking about?’
    ‘That pub is for men.’
    ‘Apart from the delicious Rosie?’
    He reddened. ‘I’m warning you.’
    ‘See this door?’ said Agatha. ‘Take a good, close look at it.’
    She slammed it in his face.
    What time-warp have I landed in, she thought angrily, but she felt hung over and shaken. Once more she toyed with the idea of packing up and going home. She fed the cats and let them out into the garden and went back to bed and immediately fell asleep, not waking until noon.
    She showered and dressed, feeling much better. A good walk was what she needed. This glorious weather would not last forever.
    She walked out on the road leading past the police station and the manor lodge. The air was sweet with the scent of pine. A hill wound upwards. She reached the top and paused in amazement. The road before her dipped down to flatland as far as the eye could see. An enormous sky stretched out over her head. She walked down and along the straight ribbon of road. She walked until she came to a broad lake bordered by reeds. A light breeze ruffled its glassy surface, which mirrored the small puffy clouds in the blue sky above. She sat down on a rock. Behind her, a stone plover called. Agatha did not know the name of the bird, only that the sound made her feel lonely and isolated.
    But then the bird fell silent and after a time the loneliness ebbed, leaving her enfolded in a strange feeling of peace. She lit a cigarette and then promptly stubbed it out. Cigarettes tasted foul in fresh air. The old Agatha would have chucked the unsmoked cigarette into the lake. The new Agatha put it in her pocket, not wanting any passing duck to gobble it up.
    A skein of geese flew far overhead. Agatha sat dreaming about not much in particular, soothed by the lapping of the water and the breeze rustling through the tall reeds.
    At last she rose and stood up. She felt slightly stiff and all her ease left her. She was suddenly sharply aware of being middle-aged. Was it worth all the effort to keep age at bay with exercise and anti-wrinkle creams? There was always the temptation to let it all go, let the hair grow in grey, let the chin sag and come to terms with age.
    She looked towards the horizon, shading her eyes. There was a black line of cloud and thin wisps were streaming out from it like the fingers of approaching winter. The air had become cold.