The Mysteries of Brambly Hollow

she leant closer. “But then she never did seem to worry much about money.” Her voice had lowered conspiratorially, as though she secretly thought that Elsa had a hoard of money stashed under the floorboards, money that she suspected had been gained by illicit means. Meli had images of smuggling or prostitution, but they only lasted a second before being shrugged off as absurd; well, at least the prostitution bit.
    “ But then, that’s Elsa for you.” Mrs. Barber straightened, instantly distancing herself from Meli, who sighed, sensing that she had been standing in a portal of great discovery, only to have the door slammed shut in her face as Mrs. Barber realised she was being indiscreet.
    “ Did you know that she almost sold the lodge three times?”
    Meli looked up sharply from slipping her change into her pocket, her eyes widening as though she ’d been stung on the buttock by a hornet. She’d had no idea that the lodge had been on the market before. When Meli shook her head, Mrs. Barber carried on, lowering her voice even further and in such a secretive way that the muscles in Meli’s neck twitched, eager to glance back over her shoulder in case someone had furtively entered the shop, and without disturbing the bell.
    “ But every time they were close to a sale, Elsa just suddenly changed her mind and took it off the market. Just like that. There were a lot of disappointed people, I can tell you.” Mrs. Barber’s bloated palms struggled upwards, managing to ascend to shoulder height so she could adequately express her bafflement. “Do you want a carrier bag for that?” The change of subject was dramatic, as her slate grey eyes rolled down and locked on the paper, her hands plummeting from their lofty position like coconuts falling from a tree.
    The untimely and deafening clamour of the bell abruptly shattered any hope of recapturing the moment. Both women glanced towards the door. Meli recognised the tiny frame of the widow Rushmore, who owned the cottage two doors along, as she hobbled up the aisle towards them, as usual weighed down by the awesomely huge black handbag that dragged at her spindly forearm, its rotund belly scuffing the floor as if it was filled with jelly, or some other glutinous substance. Meli decided that one day she would have to ask about the bag thing, but sensed that it would be considered socially impolite to do so while still wearing her townee I.D. badge, which branded her as a non indigenous native of the village, who therefore had no right to pry into such personal matters.
    After the three of them had exchanged greetings, a strained silence fell, during which Meli found herself the uncomfortable recipient of frigid looks from the two older women; clearly dismissive looks. Taking the hint, Meli bade them farewell and left, catching Mrs. Barber’s loud voice as she launched into a new branch of local gossip before the door could swing closed behind her. Despite feeling a trifle rattled, she couldn’t help but grin ironically to herself. Back in Reading she had barely known her neighbours, even though they had lived in their last house for twelve years, let alone exchanged gossip with them.
    A gentle breeze fingered Meli ’s hair as she emerged outside, harrying the last of the clouds over the eastern hills like a sheepdog herding a flock of unwieldy fleecy sheep, leaving the honey-gold sun to luxuriate in a pillow of unblemished pastel blue sky. Meli took a deep breath, once again savouring the rich damp earthy smell of the countryside. For some reason the stimulation of her nasal senses reminded her of the cakes and their wicked little voices tempting her to buy them. How could she have forgotten? Spinning on her heels she re-entered the shop. The animated conversation between the two women ceased with such abruptness that Meli was amazed neither of them exploded as their bodies began to swell from the build-up of suddenly plugged hot air, that made them resemble a pair of blowfish. From their uncomfortable expressions she knew without doubt that she had been the subject of their attentions.
    “ I really fancy one of those cakes,” she announced as the clang of the bell died away into the awkward silence.
    “ Yes, of course.” Mrs. Barber must have shrunk two dress sizes as the trapped air found its escape by shooting down both nostrils with a sound like a steam train racing through a tunnel. “What would you like?”
    “ No, that’s fine, finish serving Mrs.