ME: We’ll have to spend them apart one day.
EVA: Not this time. I’m going to speak to your fancy man and demand he returns you to sender for our birthday.
ME: He’s not my fancy man.
EVA: The papers say differently.
ME: Get a bloody hobby, Evangeline.
I tossed my phone down onto my bed and stared out of the window. I had the prettiest view of the woodland that stretched out to the side of the manor, and a flock of birds took flight from somewhere within it. They looped through the air until they disappeared into tiny black dots.
Eva was right. I’d almost forgotten that our birthday was coming up, and we really had never spent it apart. It was one of those things about being a twin, and despite the fact we were edging ever closer to thirty, we still did a lot of things together.
That’s why this whole thing with me being here was a lot.
I was wondering if it was starting to take a toll on me. I’d only seen her once in three weeks, and we hadn’t spent that much time together at the gala weekend.
I wondered if Alex wouldn’t mind if I went home for my birthday. I would have to ask him—if we ever spoke to one another again.
Oh, that was a little dramatic. Of course we would speak again. It might just take us a little time to get back to normal.
As it were, I didn’t have much more time on my hands to think about that. I needed to get out of the house more than ever, and Millie had texted me earlier to let me know that the cross-stitch club was meeting tonight.
That was exactly where I was heading now.
There was still no sign of Alex as I made my way through the house and out to my car, pausing only to let Boris know I was going out, just in case anyone asked.
The drive into Whitborough was as easy as always, and there was no traffic in the shape of sheep this time around. Nor tractors—and that was perhaps rarer than the former.
There were always tractors, and they were always moving things like sheep and hay bales when you were running ten minutes late and could not afford to go ten miles an hour on a single-track road with zero overtaking places.
Not that I was bitter about that or anything.
Finding a parking space was a little tougher than last time, on account of the fact we were smack-bang in the middle of August and the village was surrounded by staycation-lovers who wanted a bit of a countryside break before the school year restarted in September.
After putting my parking ticket on the dashboard, I walked through the village to The Pheasant Arms. I opened the door and wrinkled my nose—it was catastrophically busy here, and this was a far cry from the previous meeting.
Was it even possible to cross-stitch in this noise and mess?
Was everyone here yet?
How would I even know?
Oh, Jesus. This was a nightmare. I should have known better than to come out, no matter how badly I needed to get out of Bentley Manor.
Sleepy little English towns were just that—until they weren’t.
Which was far too frequently in my opinion.
“Adelaide!”
I turned at the sound of Millie’s voice and found her waving at me from their usual spot in front of the fire. Grateful that she’d been looking out for me, I shoved my way through the crowd. Florence made Helena move along the sofa, something she wasn’t all too pleased about—although I rather suspected Helena wasn’t too pleased about many things where I was concerned—and I plopped my backside in the empty spot.
“Gosh. It’s mental here. What’s going on?” I asked, setting my handbag by my feet.
“There’s a small music festival not far away,” Millie explained. “It’s why Grandpa stayed at home tonight. Too many people.”
I peered over the back of the sofa and looked around. She was right; the crowd was largely younger people and not so many kids. “How terrible.”
Maggie chuckled. “Spoken like a true country girl.”
Helena snorted.
Florence side-eyed her. “Something to say, Helena?”
“No.”
“Then be quiet,” she concluded.
I bit my lower lip to stop myself laughing. Sure, Florence looked all sweet and nice and like the kind of gentle grandmother who knitted baby booties and hats to donate to the local NICU ward, but she had a wicked tongue.
I knew I didn’t want to get on her bad side.
“There’s no need to be so rude,” Helena replied, prodding her needle through her cross-stitch design.
“That’s why I told you to be quiet,” Florence promptly shot back, drawing herself a stern glare from the other woman.
Maggie chuckled and pulled a ring out of her bag. “Adelaide, dear, I remembered a training pattern for you. It’s rather garish and childlike, but it’s the simplest one I had.”