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Merryn stomped towards the stairs. ‘I am more sinned against than sinning,’ she called loftily.
‘Baileys?’ Avril turned to the others, blowing out a sigh of relief.
‘Deffo,’ Lucie answered. ‘It’s Christmas. I’ve usually had three in my coffee by this time on Christmas Eve.’
Avril found the bottle and three glasses and poured them all stiff measures. They collapsed back onto the sofa and sipped contentedly, the tension slipping from their shoulders, a bone-wearying tiredness replacing it.
After a while Avril spoke. ‘Did Merrynreallyjust quote Shakespeare at us?’
‘Soz. That’s my fault. We were talking about King Lear while putting the tree up,’ Lucie explained.
Honor, feeling a sort of happy hysteria rising, looked at the other two. ‘Well, there’s three of us. Who’s who then? Can I be Cordelia? Wasn’t she the good sister? I can’t remember. Don’t know the play very well.’
‘You learn never to say anything in front of Mer that you don’t want repeated back to you. Once heard,’ Avril said sagely, ‘she never forgets.’ She topped up their glasses.
‘Well, with your Anglo-Saxon language earlier, I reckon that makes you Regan,’ Lucie observed. ‘Wait until Merryn turns into a teenage horror and that one will come right back and bite you, babe.’
They shrieked with laughter, tears running down their faces. Merryn thumped on the floor to shut them up.
‘Regan? Wasn’t he inThe Sweeney?’ Avril asked. ‘That was my dad’s favourite telly programme.’
They collapsed into giggles again and the more they tried to stop, the more laughter escaped.
‘Oh, I needed that laugh,’ Avril said eventually, hiccoughing. ‘Done me a power of good.’
Lucie picked up the copy of the local newspaper,The Lullbury Bay Echo, which had lain ignored on the floor. ‘Have you heard Keiran Ascott is moving on up?’
‘Don’t tell me he’s got promoted to theTaunton Tribune?’ Honor murmured, having trouble keeping her eyes open. ‘Not even Keiran deserves that.’
Keiran Ascott was the journalist from the local newspaper. Known for nosing out stories and inventing them if they didn’t exist, he wasn’t universally liked.
‘It’s even better than that, babe. He’s moving right out of the area. Rumour is, he’s got himself a hack job onTheMail.’
Honor levered herself up from the squashy sofa with difficulty. ‘What?TheMail? In London?’
Lucie nodded. She began leafing throughThe Echo. ‘Oh, hold on.’ She held up the double-page spread. ‘Must be his final hurrah. An exposé on the Knit and Natter Group!’
Over a photograph of the knitting group, shouted the headline:
THEY MAY LOOK INNOCENT BUT ARE THESE WOMEN BEHIND THE KNITTED GRAFFITI SPREADING DISCORD THROUGH TOWN?
‘Spreading discord?’ Avril said indignantly. ‘That’s awful.’
‘It is,’ Honor agreed. ‘If he’s going to work atTheMail, he’ll have to come up with punchier headlines than that.’
The others giggled.
‘Looks like your cover’s blown,’ Honor added. ‘Not that it was hard to guess anyway. And, don’t worry,’ she patted Avril’s hand. ‘It’s just Keiran stirring things as usual. I don’t know anyone who isn’t one hundred percent in love with all your knitted stuff.’
‘It’s only a bit of silly fun,’ Avril defended. ‘And entirely innocent.’
‘It is.’ Lucie began to laugh. ‘Although it’s just as well a certain pagan and senior member of the knitting group hasn’t been around lately.’
‘You mean Aggie?’ Honor said. ‘Why?’
‘Can you imagine what Aggie would come up with to knit?’ Lucie screwed her eyes up in mock horror. ‘What with her being rumoured to be a white witch and everything?’
‘Now this is someone I’ve got to meet,’ Avril poured more Baileys.
