Five Six Pick Up Sticks (Grasshopper Lawns)

by EJ Lamprey

  Jayenthi touched the back of her slim brown hand to the angry puffiness. 'It is certainly very hot. And no pain? It isn’t worse after moving house today, all the walking – I mean to say, you haven’t twisted or sprained it?' She twitched the cotton fabric back into place and straightened up. 'I think you are worrying about a deep vein thrombosis, yes?'

  'Well, yes.'

  'It is more likely to be an infection, a fairly common one, but you should get your doctor to check. Even better, go to the Royal Hospital outpatients. If they aren’t absolutely sure they can do an ultrasound scan and blood tests.'

  'I’ll take you home. Or to the hospital, if you like?' Edge pushed her drink away and picked up her handbag.

  Vivian protested, but gave in when she realized Edge genuinely couldn’t wait to get away.

  'No more bullies, right?' she remarked as she followed Buster into Edge’s little car.

  'No more bullies,' Edge agreed fervently. 'I’m glad we did it, he’s best behind bars, but I’ve never been more afraid in my life. I’d have broken and run if not for Buster.' She reached up to fondle the old dog’s ears as he thrust his head between theirs to get a better view, and he stopped panting long enough to wipe his muzzle affectionately on her shoulder.

  'Good, because I’ve thought once or twice you’re being a little too casual about the risk.' Vivian shifted restlessly and reached down to rub her leg.

  Edge glanced affectionately at her old friend as she took the motorway, and wished she could tell her how little risk there was. 'Easy to be brave when I’m never out without an escort. How scary were the boys today?'

  'William was magnificent!' Vivian agreed proudly. 'Donald even scared me, for that matter. I wouldn’t want to meet him down a dark alleyway. If he wasn’t a friend, I mean. I’d feel safe walking down a dark alleyway with either of them. Edge, this is driving me mad. It throbs, and it itches, and it burns – where are we going?'

  'The hospital, and we’re nearly there. If it’s an infection,' she talked over Vivian’s protest, 'I want to know what it is, if I’ll get it, and how to head it off. Haud your whisht!'

  Chapter 12 – Over the hogsback

  Clarissa’s bulldog-cross Maggie greeted Edge with a fervent wriggle of pleasure, then froze and stood stock still while Buster sniffed her in a friendly, albeit cautious, manner. In times past she would have attacked him for taking such a liberty but the post-trauma Maggie was altogether milder and more benign.

  The two dogs, formalities concluded, led Clarissa and Edge towards the campsite across the road for their walk. Vivian’s condition had been confirmed as cellulitis, which she said ruefully sounded too much like orange-peel thighs to get any respectful sympathy, and she was under orders to keep her leg elevated as much as possible. That was easier said than done, but Donald and Edge were taking turns to give Buster at least one good walk a day.

  Once safely across the road the dogs were let off their leads to investigate the fascinating smells left behind by the rush of recent visitors. The Easter weekend was well behind, but good spring weather had kept the campsite busier than usual. It was deserted today under a low and threatening sky and the dogs could explore as they pleased, Maggie lumbering gamely in Buster’s excited wake.

  Clarissa, who was making a steady recovery after a stroke, still needed a stick on rough ground and they moved sedately in the wake of the dogs. She was full of questions about Edge’s dating experiences, agog for vicarious excitement. Edge tried to sound cheerful, and as if she was thoroughly enjoying her adventures, but it was an effort. She was relieved when Clarissa noticed Maggie was flagging and turned back, leaving Buster to canter on alone and Edge to her somber thoughts.

  Spring was supposed to be a season of budding promise, of feeling youthful and energetic. It certainly seemed to be that way for Buster, who was joyfully snatching mouthfuls of green grass as he darted from scent to scent. She’d now had nine dates for the police and Nick was still the most interesting – a man who saw her as a source of investment commission. Had she secretly thought that helping the police was a wonderful way to meet another Alistair? It was turning out to be a far cry from that long-off first attempt. It was probably time to accept that meeting the love of her life had been one of the rare success stories, the thrilling minority that keeps the whole machinery in motion.

  The sky flexed rumbling clouds and chased Buster back to her side with some warning fat raindrops. He didn’t like thunder, and, although a dog who would plunge enthusiastically into any water he found, he didn’t care for rain. They reached the protection of the walkway as the full fury of the storm hit and she returned him to Vivian, refused to stay for coffee, and removed herself and her black mood back to her apartment with the excuse of some work that had to be done.

  Rain hissed against her window and rough gusts of wind pushed her Havana chairs sideways roughly on her little verandah, startling Mortimer. She changed into a favourite purple jumpsuit over a bright red T which did a little to lift her mood, joined him at the window briefly to stare out at the storm, then with a sigh shook herself, put on some music, and sat at her desk to get on with some overdue work.

  It was no good. The script she was trying to edit for a client was so badly written, and the concept so dull, that she pushed it aside after twenty minutes and checked her social media instead. Twitter was peevishly debating an issue that interested her not at all, and most of her Facebook friends seemed to be out enjoying themselves rather than chatting. With another sigh she logged on to the first of the two singles websites to wade through the overnight messages. It was almost a relief to have a visitor, even if it was, surprisingly, Sylvia. Mortimer removed himself discreetly to the bedroom alcove.

  'May I bring Froufrou in? She’s a bit wet. I can tie her to your bench in the rain if not.'

  'Of course you can – I’m all set up for dog visitors anyway.' Edge stroked the elegant poodle’s head and got a friendly nose-poke in response, before the dog headed unerringly for the fascinating smells of the dog bed. The mixed scents of damp dog and Annick Goutal billowed into the room and she discreetly left the door slightly ajar.

  Sylvia peeled off her raincoat, revealing a lime green knitted trouser suit and jaunty navy and white rolled scarf. She perched on the very edge of the chair, refusing the offer of a hot drink.

  'You may have heard me saying I’d been invited to steward at a local dog show?' she asked and Edge nodded. 'The breeder who set it up breeds standard poodles. In fact, one of her best stud dogs is one of Froufrou’s. I hated breeding, so Froufrou only ever had the one litter, but they all did well. I’ve showed eight standards, over the years, and done very well with them. I got in touch with Beverly about getting a puppy, and she talked me into stewarding instead. At the show I remembered how much work a show poodle is, and I’m too much of an expert to want to start again with another breed. I’m applying for a judging licence instead. Oh, all right, white tea, if you have it?'

  'I have rooibos, that’s also a health tea?' Edge offered instead, and Sylvia shrugged and nodded.

  'Anyway,' she told Edge’s back, 'I’m not telling you anything you don’t know, am I? Beverly said you suggested it to a mutual friend. To approach me about getting involved on the judging and stewarding side. She let it slip this morning.'

  Edge turned back from her kitchenette, surprised and a little wary. 'I didn’t, not quite like that. I said,' she picked her words carefully, 'that if good judges come from experienced breeders and winners, I knew someone who knew poodles from nose to tail. My friend’s in another breed altogether, but she remembered you from the circuit. If she passed the comment on, it can only have been in conversation.'

  'I’ve been asked before,' Sylvia said sharply, 'but at the time I was a bit fed up with the whole thing anyway. It’s quite a bitchy world at times.'

  'Literally, surely.' Edge, smiling, put a cup of pale rooibos tea next to her visitor, who looked slightly puzzled, and sat opposite her.

  'Oh.
Bitch. Right.' Sylvia’s brow cleared and she sipped at the tea, making a face. 'Always with the jokes. Anyway, I quite enjoyed the stewarding and I think I’m going to try for my judge licence, so when I found out you had a hand in it I came to say thank you. And,' she squared her tiny shoulders, 'to apologize.'

  'Apologize for what?'

  'Putting in a formal complaint about the cat.' Sylvia managed to look both defiant and truculent at the same time. 'That’s how I found out you’d been involved. I was telling Beverly how Katryn wouldn’t let me have a puppy but was turning a blind eye to your cat and that I’d written to the Trust about it. Then she told me you’d taken the trouble on my behalf. I still think it’s unfair that you’ve brought in a cat after the fuss Katryn made about me getting a dog but I’ll write again to say I’ve changed my mind, if you like.'

  'Honestly, Sylvia, you are the bloody end.' Edge felt herself flushing with annoyance. 'What good would that be? A complaint is a complaint. And by the way, if you can’t see the difference between a ten-year-old cat and a puppy –'

  She was interrupted by another knock at the half-open door, and Katryn put her head inside.

  'Bad time?' Her eyes fell on Sylvia, who was rigid with affront, and she beamed. 'Excellent, this involves Sylvia anyway. Ooh, rooibos, got any more?'

  Edge got up slightly sulkily to pour a decidedly darker cup from the teapot. Katryn accepted it gratefully and sat opposite Sylvia.

  'Sylvia, I think you’ve misunderstood about the cat.' She drank deeply, then put the cup down. 'It was adopted by the Trust. Like the dogs. We were asked by the police if we could take it in, and I for one think cats are better suited to this place than dogs. However, the house dogs weren’t having it. Hamish tried to phone you to explain as soon as he got your letter. I know he left a message asking you to call him back. I even knocked at your door on my way over, so I’m glad to catch you here. And I came here, Edge, because Hamish wants to know if you’ve made a decision.'

  Edge was so impressed by this calm and blatant lie she almost missed her cue, then hastily nodded. 'Oh, yes, I do want to keep him. He’s lovely.'

  'Good. That’s settled then. I thought he would be excellent for the house but when the house dogs took agin him…' She shrugged. 'So. How’s the dating going?'

  'Let me know when the Trust gets around to adopting a poodle puppy, won’t you?' Sylvia looked absolutely furious, but her face changed ludicrously as Katryn’s last words sank in. 'What dating? Who are you dating?'

  'I’m doing some research for a possible script about senior singles.' Edge managed to avoid sounding too crisp. 'It does mean occasionally meeting up for dates.'

  'Oho, if that’s your story, you stick to it!' Sylvia, with one of her mercurial changes of mood, was thrilled. 'Anyone good?'

  For a half-beat Edge was genuinely tempted to drag the conversation back to a lively quarrel but Katryn’s eyes, over her raised cup, were slightly anxious. Mortimer’s head, as he peered through the alcove door as though checking whether the coast was clear, tipped the balance. Instead she passed on Nick’s story about the medium, then described the date she’d had on Monday.

  'Non-smoker, light drinker, fit, just under six foot,' she quoted and despite herself had to smile. 'I’m five nine in heels, we were exactly the same height. And he reeked of smoke and cheap brandy. Teeth like a row of condemned houses. He told me he’s specifically looking for a wife, so he thought, and I’m quoting, ‘we should go away, er, for a weekend and, er, try each other out’.'

  Sylvia shrieked with delight and Katryn choked on her mouthful of tea. 'The man must be bluddy mad,' she said with conviction. 'Edge, this isn’t safe. How on earth did you get away from him?'

  'Oh, William and Vivian think it’s a hoot. They’ve been coming along to the same places and we even have a little signal when I need them to come over and join in. On Monday they couldn’t – Vivian’s not very well – so it was Donald on duty, and he scared him off in a couple of minutes. Pretended to be my violently jealous Baltic lover and Colin couldn’t get away fast enough. He bolted while Donald was dragging at my wrist and hissing at us both in broken English.'

  She paused because both Katryn and Sylvia were howling, and started to laugh herself at the memory. It was a minute or two before she could go on.

  'They’ve been great, William and Donald. I had a really alarming date on Saturday night, who was trying to bully me, and they loomed at him. You know how big William is, and Donald can look unexpectedly evil. The bully hadn’t a chance. Most of the guys have been okay, but far too normal for my research.'

  'Well, I’m barely five feet tall; if you find a good one too short for you, pass him on. All well and good, having a toy boy on the lead, but the strong silent type can get boring, especially when they’re shy. When’s the next date? Tonight?'

  'Nothing tonight. There’s one who may be too good to be true who asked me out tomorrow but...' Edge let her voice trail off. She could hardly add 'but I’m waiting until the police stop monitoring my dates' and couldn’t think of anything else to say. She had every intention of continuing to put Ben off until she could meet him free of microphones and hidden listening devices.

  Luckily Katryn had heaved herself to her feet, and Froufrou was also standing up, so Sylvia let herself be shepherded out by the administrator, who turned at the door to flash a parting wink.

  'Clever Katryn, clever Hamish,' she told Mortimer happily, 'you’re officially a resident now!'

  They had a hectic round of the game she’d dubbed ‘crouching mouse, hidden tiger’ to celebrate. He won easily and jumped back to the window seat with his slightly battered catnip mouse. The clouds had cleared with the suddenness that is so very Scottish, and the sky was washed pale, rose-tinted lilac in the west. She was drawing the curtains to put on the lights when there was a tap at the door. Please not Sylvia again.

  As she opened the door Donald’s dainty whippet slipped past her to check the dog bed for any interesting updates. Donald gave her a swift expert up and down glance and winced.

  'No date tonight, then,' he said, deadpan, and she shook her head.

  'Couldn’t face another tonight. Maybe ever. And by the way, even if I do, I won’t tell you in advance. I don’t think that poor man will ever recover.'

  'He was boring me to tears, and I wasn’t even at the same table.' Donald said severely. 'Anyway, you rolled your eyes at me and William had told me that was the signal. How does he get rid of them, anyway, when I’m not there?'

  She felt a giggle bubble up again at the memory and pulled the door open invitingly.

  'I introduce him as my late husband’s brother, and Vivian as my sister-in-law, and then they sit and stare. Won’t smile, won’t talk, it’s nearly as quick as your way and the poor man isn’t petrified into the bargain. Coming in?'

  'Nope, I came to take you out for a walk, if you weren’t gilding the lily for another victim. Too nice to be inside. Don’t make me feel guilty; you’re doing this for stories, and he didn’t look the type that would have any.'

  Odette spotted Mortimer as Edge sat down obediently to tug on her still-damp walking boots, and Mortimer hopped down to inspect her. They touched noses, then Mortimer settled down, his paws tucked under him, and purred.

  'She’s good with cats.' Edge was impressed. 'Buster still tries to pretend Mortimer doesn’t exist. I’ve got some good news; Hamish and Katryn worked out a way I can keep him.' She pulled the door shut behind them and glanced across the lawns. As always at this time of day, there wasn’t a soul in sight. 'Okay, which way are we going, and are we collecting Buster?'

  'No, because we’re going past the donkeys and out across the golf course. Buster will never get over the wall, and I’ve got some prime gossip for you.'

  'Good grief, Donald, you’re turning into Brian. I don’t think I can walk that far, I’ve already done one walk today. No one ever walks dogs that way, because of the hogsback. And it’s nearly dark!'

  'There’s a good
hour of light left, and I don’t go the whole way round, I turn back at the old well. I’ll help you over the hogsback, and Odette climbs it like a monkey. Come on, hurry up – I want to get away before anyone sees us. Anyway, you’ve put on weight since Maggie went, so some extra exercise will do you good. Especially now you’ve been fully spayed.'

  She gasped with the shock, then had to laugh. 'Gay men are so utterly charming.' She fell into step beside him as Odette flitted ahead of them. 'What’s the gossip?'

  'All in good time.' He held up a roll of peppermints. 'I’ve brought Polos for the donkeys, do you want some?'

  The sky may still have been light but the shadows under the trees next to the donkey paddock were gathering fast. They stroked the soft noses of the donkeys and fed them Polos until the jenny flashed her teeth jealously at Dudley. He threw up his head and did a very gentle, sedate canter back to the hayrack under the trees.

  'Now for that hogsback,' Edge said resignedly. 'This had better be prime gossip. It is a lovely evening, though. All we need is a full moon to bay at.'

  'Aye, would be good.' Donald offered her a steadying hand as she nervously negotiated the steep old stone steps over the wall and Odette charged away in huge exuberant circles. 'But the moon’s dark at the moment – new moon tomorrow. All the druids will be out with their sickles. Miss P will, anyway.'

  'Donald! You knew?'

  'Since December. I was out walking Odette just before Christmas, on the solstice, and she’d got herself into difficulties cutting mistletoe. I had to rescue her and climb up and get the bloody stuff. Apparently it’s pretty rare in Scotland and she wasn’t taking no for an answer.' He shot her a sidelong glance. 'I did wonder what I had got into, a nice quiet retirement village bulging with murdered corpses and inept hefty witches. She told me the other day that she’d told you too. She was really touched we hadn’t told each other. I did toy with the idea of warning William not to eat or drink anything she gave him, but I don’t think she’s up to love potions, eh? Auld Crabbit got away.'