The Mysteries of Brambly Hollow

her daughters support in this. After all, she had been a victim too, and at the hands of her loathsome brothers. Looking at Cass’ ultra serene profile, she bit her tongue. Cass was obviously so love sick that she wasn’t behaving rationally. Two months ago, she would have demanded that the twins were hung, drawn and quartered. Yet here she was behaving like an earth bound angel. Everyone seemed to be ganging up on her today.
    Had she really been such an ogre?
    Cal only confirmed this (although not in that exact terminology) when she talked it over with him that evening, and so, depressing though it was, she felt compelled to accept that it was all her fault. After all, the rest of them couldn’t be wrong. Could they?

    Meli’s postponed trip to the Post Office was further delayed the next morning by an unexpected and long phone call from Paula in Reading, who had just come back from a water sports holiday in Tenerife, so she didn’t arrive until twelve forty-five. Just before half day closing.
    “Morning Mrs. Barber,” Meli greeted as she headed for the paper stand. As she expected, all the Daily Mails had gone. Reaching for an alternative, she was stopped by Mrs. Barber.
    “No, no, put that back,” the Post Mistress beamed, squatting her hippo sized torso so she could reach under the counter. “I thought you might still call, so I put a copy aside for you, when I noticed they were getting low.”
    To Meli’s astonishment, a copy of the Daily Mail was thrust out towards her. “Well, thank you. That was very kind,” she gushed. Ever since Mrs. Barber’s visit to Brambly Lodge, there had been the most radical change in their relationship. Gone was the barrier of ‘you’re still an alien in these parts’. Now they were like two chimps swinging from the same branch. It made Meli preen with pride.
    They began chattering, and Meli didn’t even notice when Mrs. Barber shut up shop, leaving the two of them locked in together. “Would you like to come out back for a cup of tea?” Mrs. Barber threw her the invitation.
    Meli wouldn’t have been more stunned if Mrs. Barber had shed her clothes and swung naked from the brass bell over the door. She thought about the boys, waiting for their lunch. No doubt they would take matters into their own hands and make themselves something if they got hungry; she couldn’t miss out on a golden invitation like this. It was the answer to her prayers. “That would be lovely, thank you.” Eyes sparkling with anticipation, she followed Mrs. Barber behind the counter and into her home territory, fighting off the uncomfortable feeling of being somewhere you shouldn’t, almost like going through someone’s personal belongings without their permission.
    In front of her, Mrs. Barber turned sideways to negotiate a doorway. Looking at the opulent frame, completely blocking her view of the narrow portal, Meli was of the opinion that it would be an impossible feat of physics for her to force her way through, but amazingly she did. Even so, it was still like watching an orangutan squeezing through the doorway of a Wendy house. When the portal was eventually clear of the last pound of crushed flesh, Meli walked her small frame through unhindered. She had expected to find herself in a living area resembling the environment of the shop: cluttered and crammed with everything and anything, including an overflow of stock, and very pink. But it was the total opposite; very minimalist in comparison with just the bare essentials for a living room: sofa, one arm chair, coffee table, TV, and a wall cabinet, and there wasn’t a hint of pink anywhere (apart from Mrs. Barber’s overall, that was).
    “Take a seat, and I’ll just put the kettle on. Always like a cuppa when I’ve finished,” Mrs. Barber told her as she lumbered away in the direction of the doorway to the left. Meli settled on the sofa, facing the window overlooking the lane. Through the net curtain, with its pattern of tiny cottages, she could see figures walking passed on the opposite side of the road. After a moment, she rose to her feet, and went and studied some photos on the cabinet.
    There was one in particular, which caught her eye. It was of Mrs. Barber when she was in her twenties, with a young man standing by her side. First impression was that they were a couple, but there was something about the body languages that just wasn’t quite right. It was while she was trying to work out what, that it suddenly dawned