Free (5/20)Over the Gate by Miss Read Page A

a squelch and putting it, unasked, on my desk. 'I thought it might be that chewing gum again when I first saw it, and then I thought: "Not likely. Not that sized lump. No one could get a lump that big in his mouth. Not even Eric Williams, and dear knows his mouth's big enough, on account of his poor foolish mother feeding him with a dessertspoon at six months." So I looked closer and saw it was this 'orrible putty. Them workmen want sorting out, Miss Read, letting the children have such stuff.'
    'I believe they've nearly finished,' I answered, trying to soothe the savage breast. I glanced at the clock. Amy was coming to tea and it was already past four. Mrs Pringle grunted disbelievingly.
    'I knows workmen,' she said darkly. 'Got no sense of time. I feel downright sorry for that couple waiting to move in. They'll be lucky to close their own door behind them before Easter, at this rate.'
    This was the first I had heard of the future occupiers and though, as any normal villager, I should dearly have loved to hear more, I did not intend to probe Mrs Pringle for details, and, in any case, it was time I put on the kettle for Amy. I made my way to the door. Mrs Pringle, who can read my thoughts much too easily for my comfort, sent a parting shot after me.
    'Name of Blundell,' trumpeted Mrs Pringle. 'Could tell you more, but I can see you're not interested.'
    I caught the glimpse of smug triumph on her unlovely face as I closed the door.

    Amy and I were at college together many years ago. We lost touch with each other and only met again when I came to Fairacre. She had moved to Bent, a village a few miles south of Caxley, when she married, and so knew more about the Caxley neighbourhood than I did.
    Amy is a dynamic person, full of good works and good ideas. I only wish I had half her energy. It is always exhilarating to have a visit from her and I looked forward to an hour or two of her company on this particular afternoon.
    The car arrived as I set tea. Amy, elegant as ever in a new suit, emerged with a bunch of daffodils and a new hair style. We greeted each other warmly and I complimented her on her looks.
    'Do you like it?' she asked, patting her variegated locks and preening herself.
    'Very much,' I answered truthfully. 'I like all those stripes, like a humbug.'
    Amy looked at me with distaste.
    'Like a humbug!' she echoed disgustedly. 'What a dreadful way of putting it!'
    'What's wrong with it?' I asked. 'I'm very fond of humbugs, and those auburn streaks remind me of the treacly ones.'
    Amy bit delicately into a sandwich.
    'It cost a fortune,' she said sadly. 'And took hours to do, with all the strands sprouting through a bathing-cap affair. I thought James would like it, but he hasn't noticed yet.'
    I enquired after James, her husband, and learnt that he was away for the night at a conference in the north. To my mind, James has a suspiciously large number of overnight engagements, but it is no affair of mine, and Amy is wise enough not to discuss the matter with me.
    'You know,' said Amy, looking at me closely, 'I think you could take this high-lighting effect. It would do something for you.'
    'Now, Amy,' I begged, seriously alarmed, for I have had many a battle with my old friend about my mousy appearance, 'please don't start on me again! I am a plain, shabby, middle-aged woman with no pretensions to glamour. I like being like this, so leave me alone.'
    Amy waved aside my pleading and took another sandwich.
    'A few glints in your hair, some decent make-up, and a good strong pair of corsets would work wonders for you,' said Amy. 'Which reminds me—I want you to come to the Charity Ball at the Corn Exchange next month!'
    'Never!' I cried, with spirit. 'You know I can't keep awake after eleven o'clock. And I don't like dancing. And I haven't got a frock to wear anyway.'
    Amy sighed.
    'Then it's time you bought one. You simply can't waste the whole of your life in this one-eyed village. You never meet a soul—'
    'I do, I