The Mysteries of Brambly Hollow

grinned. As Elsa turned and hobbled on her way, Meli caught tiny flashes of smoky grey and white through breaks in the hedgerow, as Tabby, as she had come to refer to the skinny moggy, romped along behind her. What an odd pair.
    Remembering her Chelsea Bun her mouth watered. Maybe some refreshments would perk her up. Letting herself back in, Meli filled up the kettle and plugged it in. A nice calming cup of tea would go well with her treat. Lifting her head she glanced up at the ceiling where the light bulb had begun to shudder, agitated by a frantic burst of activity coming from the pipe work overhead. She wasn’t going to offer them a cup of tea. No way, she wouldn’t do it, not after their cheek, coming into her home uninvited and almost turning her grey!
    Snatching a mug from the cupboard she hurled a tea bag at its bottom. The kettle boiled. More sounds overhead. She turned on the radio. Adding milk and sugar to her drink she choked every dreg of tea from the teabag before plopping it into the bin. She took a tentative sip. Thoughts of her earlier behaviour began to churn uncomfortably in her stomach, its unsavoury taste rising up to contaminate her mouth like raw sewage. Had she been unreasonable? There was no one in when they arrived; the door wasn ’t locked; it was an easy mistake for them to assume it had been left open for them. Her lips pressed together tighter than the steel jaws of a German Shepherd being force fed a worming tablet. She knew she was weakening. She knew she wouldn’t enjoy her own drink while father and son sat upstairs, their mouths as dry as the bottom of an empty water tank after the system had been drained. Besides, did she really want the whole village to be told she was tight and stingy as well as unhinged? Accelerating across the carpet she stood at the bottom of the stairs and shouted up. “Anyone want a cuppa?”
    Tony ’s head appeared in a puff of coarse, cobwebbed festooned hair, his cheeks swollen into a bulbous pink grin. “Yes please. Milk and two sugars in each ta.”
    That was the closest they would get to an apology from her. And they all knew it. Besides, as Meli stomped back to the kitchen, she had the uncanny suspicion that the burst of activity overhead, a well timed reminder that Dick and Tony were there, was a bit too much of a coincidence. How had they known she was making a drink? Was there a spy hole in the ceiling? A quick scrutiny of the whitewashed plasterboard revealed nothing and eventually she put it down to workman ’s intuition, which was a bit like women’s intuition, only limited to areas concerning the stomach, sex and bodily functions.
    Later that morning, unable to get on with anything useful while the two Swindons ’ were in residence, Meli found herself crossing the drive and standing before the small single storey building that had once been stables, but was now her studio. This was her birthday present from Cal, an exceedingly generous present she might add. It was part of her dream, part of her reason for moving, yet every time she stood here she was plagued by double edged emotions: half joy, sweet and pleasurable like Cornish Ice Cream melting on her taste buds; half terrible sadness, like a cold fog clinging to her skin.
    She sucked on her quivering lower lip, deciding that she was becoming much too maudlin for her own good. Fumbling at the handle she pushed open the door and stumbled through. The studio had been designed to be bright, airy and functional, and it exceeded all three criteria. The original south facing windows had been enlarged, with a further two glass panels set between the black beams in the sloping roof, enticing sunlight to cram within the white painted walls and authentic flagstone floor. It was still sparsely furnished with just the bare necessities of her trade; the shelves, which ran the entire length of two walls, still empty; the workbench, carefully situated in the centre of the floor so she could work at it from any angle, still spotless, unmarked by blade or dye. There was even a small sink and worktop, where she could make herself a drink, or clean up. She ran her gaze round the sunny interior. It was still virginal, just waiting for her touch. Her blood surged through her veins, she really was so lucky. She just hoped that she could make a go of this. If not they would be in trouble.
    Suddenly, the mouth watering Cornish ice cream liquefied and turned to vinegar, and it was all she could do not to