Page 11 of Matilda’s Summer of New Beginnings

‘The walk starts in the centre of the village, and then takes you along the street where A Christmas Carol was filmed. It follows where lots of the Little Doddington Deaths victims were found, and the cottage at the end of the lane where the two ladies and their dog lived, the ones who solved all the crimes.’

‘Is the owner of that place annoyed when people linger?’ I asked curiously.

Jay shook his head. ‘No. It’s a holiday cottage. We’ve got a couple of them in the village, and that’s the biggest one. The Doddington crew like to rent the place out for chunks of time to film their episodes. They use it as a sort of base. Then the walk takes you along to the canal, so you can see that part. There was a body of a Doddington lock keeper found on a bridge along there too.’

‘Doddington is a dangerous, dangerous place,’ I said seriously.

‘Massively dangerous.’ Jay nodded, equally seriously. Then he perked up. ‘We had a celebrity here last year that cycled along the tow-path for a limited series. The trail follows his journey too.’

‘Ooh, nice and flat to ride on!’

‘Yep. And there’s a brief pause at the bit where he veered off the path and fell into the canal, which is exciting.’

‘Hence the fact it was a limited series?’

‘Exactly.’ He raised his hand, and I high-fived him. ‘It’s not very well signposted though,’ he continued. ‘The leaflets definitely need a revamp as well. It’s just all words with things like “walk fifty yards and look at the house on your right”. I’m not sure about you, but I don’t think I could confidently say when I’d walked fifty yards.’

‘I don’t think I could either. I guess if they had some photos in the leaflet, you’d know where you needed to stop and look around you.’

‘Photos would be a good idea. Or at least something visual.’

‘How about line drawings? I think they’d fit better with the spirit of Padcock. They’d look more quaint and quirky than bog-standard photos.’ I loved a bit of quirky ink and wash architecture — it was one of my favourite things to draw. I also hated straight lines in my drawings, so everything had a cheerful wobble.

‘That’s a nice idea, actually.’ He looked at me appraisingly, which made me feel a little uncomfortable. I didn’t know if he had suddenly decided I looked too silly with my mermaid-hair, or he was concerned about the amount of cake that had vanished from my plate already, or perhaps he was potentially seeing me as an artist. ‘If only we had an artist in our midst,’ he said.

Ah. So it wasn’t the hair or the cake then. Bonus!

‘You’ve got Edie and Ninian!’ I said.

‘Well yes, but they also have Bean, and their own careers in London. And neither one of them does anything that looks like quaint and quirky line drawings.’ He was right. I’d looked up Edie and Ninian’s work after Rosie mentioned them to me, and I therefore knew that Edie did mad, wild, joyful abstracts on huge canvases, and Ninian did sculptures and installations.

‘What we could really do with,’ continued Jay, ‘is someone who would do those pictures in the appropriate style.’

I clamped my lips together so I didn’t fall further into the Padcock Prowl/Pathway trap. I could see where this was going and I didn’t want to get involved.

Nope, nope and thrice nope. Illustrating the leaflet was a nice idea, but it would link me inextricably with Padcock, and I was a stranger really. Why would they accept me, Matilda Matthews, doing stuff to their lovely leaflets? They wouldn’t want me barging in and changing things. And if the WI were as formidable as my brief introduction to them tonight suggested, I could be upsetting a lot of people for no good reason.

‘Your style would suit a revamped leaflet,’ said Jay, obviously completely unaware at the speed my mind was working to negate this bonkers suggestion.

‘Nope.’

‘Yes, it would.’

‘You wouldn’t know.’

‘I would.’

‘You haven’t seen my work.’

‘I have. You leave it scattered around your flat.’

‘Hmm.’ I couldn’t argue with that.

From the bar, we suddenly heard some shouts, apparently appealing for Jay to go through and sing a song or two to entertain his guests. I was very pleased at this interruption. Much as I was enjoying chatting to Jay, I felt nervous at the suggestion of my work being seen by strangers. More proof that a Mayfair gallery would not be the place for me. I felt an unwelcome nudge from a small part of me that once again asked why I was so cross with Damien for securing his exhibition.

I was cross, I told myself sternly, because he was thoughtless and sneaky. That was why. Had he talked to me first and not been so boastful and dismissive of me and my work, kicking me when I was down, then we might have even laughed about it.

‘But it’s my birthday!’ Jay muttered, interrupting my thoughts. He was looking at me, and deliberately turned the corners of his mouth down in a pretend pout. ‘Someone else should be singing to me. Cerys. It’s Cerys’ job, really. She can do it. She’s supposed to be the Live Entertainment.’ Even as he said it though, he was putting his empty cake plate down and standing up a little straighter, tugging his t-shirt down where it had ridden a little way up and exposed his tummy. I quickly looked away. It wasn’t fair that a man could have not an inch of fat on him when he clearly loved cake. Meanwhile I would have to skip dessert for three days to make up for the cake I’d scoffed tonight, just to ensure my jeans fitted me next weekend.