woman, large teeth, hair cropped into a severe bob, dumps her bag on the table. ‘It’s very awkward, isn’t it? I mean, I don’t know what to say to her. Do we offer condolences or what? It seems an odd way to start a book discussion. Like, it sort of colours everything, doesn’t it?’
‘Perhaps it’s best not to say anything unless she brings it up herself,’ says Ruth. ‘We should give her a chance to move on from all that, get back to some sort of normality. Just make her welcome as we would any other newcomer, then we’ll get on with our evening as usual.’
‘Yes, I expect you’re right. Still, it gives me the creeps, what happened to him. I mean, just thinking about it.’ She gives a shudder. ‘I’ve seen her aroundthe village a few times. Looks very smart, bit posh for Hallowfield. God knows what she’ll think of us.’
‘She’ll have to take us as she finds us. Now, have we put enough chairs out? Better pull up a couple more, I think we’re expecting a full house tonight. Except for Claire—she sends her apologies. Is the room warm enough?’
‘All eager to meet the new member, eh Ruth?’ says the man in the cardigan. ‘Sure it’s not morbid curiosity?’
‘Course not. Besides, she’s very nice and I’m sure she’ll fit in fine. If we all behave properly, that is. She might be just what we need, bit of fresh air. Now, if we’re going to have an extra round of tea I’d better put some more biscuits out.’
Ruth darts back and forth and fusses with the table while people continue to arrive. The room is alive with conversation by the time Abbie opens the door and ushers Sally in. There’s an instant hush. Ruth hurries forward to make Sally welcome.
‘Come on in, love. That’s right, pop your coat up there, then come over and I’ll introduce you to everyone. I think we’re all here now except Fran.’
‘Fran’s the vicar’s wife, Sally,’ whispers Abbie as they remove their coats. ‘And whatever image that conjures up for you, I can assure you it’s wrong. She’s always the last to arrive, likes to make an entrance.’
‘Everyone, I’d like you to meet our new neighbour.’ Ruth turns to face the gathering, now all fully focused on the newcomer. ‘This is Sally Crawford. Recently moved to Wicker Lane. She’s a guest for tonight, but we’re hoping she might consider joining us as a regular member.’
Sally does the round of handshakes, names forgotten as soon as they’re spoken, except for the cardigan, who appears to be in charge and is called Harry. The only other males are a retired bank manager and a serious-looking young man with acne. Ruth and Abbie she already knows, of course, and there’s the local librarian whom she has already met several times. In addition to the young woman with the teeth, there are three other female members she hasn’t met before, although one of them could be the woman she encountered coming out of her gate. If it is her, she gives no indication of recognition, and this is hardly the circumstance in which to challenge her about it.
They all settle around the table and tea is served, the biscuits passed around with suitable compliments to the baker. Harry explains how the club is run.
‘We alternate, you see, month by month. One month it’s a new book from the bestseller list—there, we’re obviously guided by the current reviews. The next month we choose something more established in the literary world, perhaps one of the classics, or it could be something more recent, like a prize-winner or the like.’
‘It’s a good system,’ adds the girl with the teeth. ‘It makes us broaden our reading range. This month we’ve been reading
Kiss of a Stranger
, Martin Phelps. Last month it was
To Kill a Mockingbird
. What do you usually read, Sally?’
Sally is saved from answering that question by the door being flung open, and a blast of icy air sweeps in the last-awaited member.
‘God, it’s bloody freezing out there! Sorry
‘Perhaps it’s best not to say anything unless she brings it up herself,’ says Ruth. ‘We should give her a chance to move on from all that, get back to some sort of normality. Just make her welcome as we would any other newcomer, then we’ll get on with our evening as usual.’
‘Yes, I expect you’re right. Still, it gives me the creeps, what happened to him. I mean, just thinking about it.’ She gives a shudder. ‘I’ve seen her aroundthe village a few times. Looks very smart, bit posh for Hallowfield. God knows what she’ll think of us.’
‘She’ll have to take us as she finds us. Now, have we put enough chairs out? Better pull up a couple more, I think we’re expecting a full house tonight. Except for Claire—she sends her apologies. Is the room warm enough?’
‘All eager to meet the new member, eh Ruth?’ says the man in the cardigan. ‘Sure it’s not morbid curiosity?’
‘Course not. Besides, she’s very nice and I’m sure she’ll fit in fine. If we all behave properly, that is. She might be just what we need, bit of fresh air. Now, if we’re going to have an extra round of tea I’d better put some more biscuits out.’
Ruth darts back and forth and fusses with the table while people continue to arrive. The room is alive with conversation by the time Abbie opens the door and ushers Sally in. There’s an instant hush. Ruth hurries forward to make Sally welcome.
‘Come on in, love. That’s right, pop your coat up there, then come over and I’ll introduce you to everyone. I think we’re all here now except Fran.’
‘Fran’s the vicar’s wife, Sally,’ whispers Abbie as they remove their coats. ‘And whatever image that conjures up for you, I can assure you it’s wrong. She’s always the last to arrive, likes to make an entrance.’
‘Everyone, I’d like you to meet our new neighbour.’ Ruth turns to face the gathering, now all fully focused on the newcomer. ‘This is Sally Crawford. Recently moved to Wicker Lane. She’s a guest for tonight, but we’re hoping she might consider joining us as a regular member.’
Sally does the round of handshakes, names forgotten as soon as they’re spoken, except for the cardigan, who appears to be in charge and is called Harry. The only other males are a retired bank manager and a serious-looking young man with acne. Ruth and Abbie she already knows, of course, and there’s the local librarian whom she has already met several times. In addition to the young woman with the teeth, there are three other female members she hasn’t met before, although one of them could be the woman she encountered coming out of her gate. If it is her, she gives no indication of recognition, and this is hardly the circumstance in which to challenge her about it.
They all settle around the table and tea is served, the biscuits passed around with suitable compliments to the baker. Harry explains how the club is run.
‘We alternate, you see, month by month. One month it’s a new book from the bestseller list—there, we’re obviously guided by the current reviews. The next month we choose something more established in the literary world, perhaps one of the classics, or it could be something more recent, like a prize-winner or the like.’
‘It’s a good system,’ adds the girl with the teeth. ‘It makes us broaden our reading range. This month we’ve been reading
Kiss of a Stranger
, Martin Phelps. Last month it was
To Kill a Mockingbird
. What do you usually read, Sally?’
Sally is saved from answering that question by the door being flung open, and a blast of icy air sweeps in the last-awaited member.
‘God, it’s bloody freezing out there! Sorry
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