The Mysteries of Brambly Hollow

placed a vodka and lime in front of Meli.
    “Did you know that?” Meli smiled her thanks at Doug while aiming the question at Cal. “About the darts match?”
    Cal nodded. “I’ve just heard. We might be better off in the lounge?”
    “ That’s an excellent idea,” chirped Barbara, “It’ll be less smoky too.”
    Cal held his gaze on his wife, waiting for her agreement.
    “Yes, definitely,” she nodded at him as she stood up. Picking up their drinks they squeezed themselves through the crush of bodies to the narrow corridor that led down the side of the bar and through to the lounge. Meli had never been in here before. It was more cosy looking than the saloon, with its hearth and sofas and high backed floral armchairs flocking around low tables, and a bit brighter, even though its plastered walls, painted magnolia, were stained a yellowish brown from years of inhaling cigarette smoke.
    “ Sorry,” she apologised to an elderly woman in a wheelchair when she caught her handbag straps on the handles.
    The woman ’s companion, a pint-sized, scrawny figure of a man with a pair of mean, black brows, leaped scowling to his feet. “Here Vilma, let me move you before you get hurt.” Totally ignoring the new arrivals, he expertly manouvered the wheelchair until it was repositioned on the other side of the table, clear of the entrance.
    Meli shot the man a look so sizzling that it would have melted a twelve foot square block of ice. How rude, and unnecessary. If he hadn ’t left the stupid wheelchair in the way, she wouldn’t have bumped into it. As she stomped passed she caught Vilma’s eye and her look thawed as she saw the apology on the other woman’s face. What a shame she was stuck with him. Meli led the way to the only free table. Settling on the far side, so she had a good view into the room, she glanced around. It was pleasant in here, more peaceful and not so claustrophobic. She counted a dozen people in total, most of whom she didn’t recognise. Her eyes came to rest on Vilma and her obnoxious companion. They were an intriguing, unusual pair. Meli watched them closely, observing their body language, trying to decide whether or not they were a couple. She was having a problem with this. There was an absence of bodily contact, an invisible barrier between them, both of which were highly suspicious in her opinion.
    “ I think we should order quickly,” Doug advised, drawing her attention. “Before the darts people do, otherwise we’ll have to wait all night, and I’m ravenous.” He patted his spare tyre affectionately. “Got to keep our strength up, hey?” Lowering his gaze he eyed his wife’s similarly expansive waistline with equal affection; a resemblance that didn’t stop there. They were like two peas in a pod, with the same thick thatches of silvery blond hair, the same dumpling cheeks, same inflated lips and droopy, almost sleepy grey eyes, that lit up like frosted icing when they looked at each other. They were a delightful couple, great fun to be with, with a jointly wicked sense of humour who took perverse delight out of ribbing people that they were twins, not husband and wife; an easy ploy for the unsuspecting, including Meli, to fall foul of, given their looks and builds and their freakish habit of dressing in the exact same clothes, possibly even down to the size. Meli was convinced that Barbara couldn’t possibly have any idea what the inside of a womans shop looked like, as all their jumpers and trousers looked as if they came from the mens department of Debenhams. The only concession to any femininity on Barbara’s side was an occasional covering of deep crimson lipstick that made her lips look like two huge and bulging varicose veins, like tonight, and the weighty armful of seventies bangles dragging at her wrist. Viewed from the rear, you had to take a second look, and even then it was almost impossible to tell the terrible twins apart.
    Meli still hadn ’t totally forgiven them for taking her in, and she still had the occasional nightmare about it. After meeting them for the first time, her eyes had bulged from their sockets like two boiled ostrich eggs when she’d seen them a couple of days later canoodling in the front garden of Blue Bells like a pair of over-sexed teenagers, and when they eventually came clean, she’d taken a lot of convincing that there was nothing incestuous going on. In fact, even now, she still sometimes wondered.
    Accepting the menu from