‘Oh, look what you’ve made me do,’ Pearl said with a cackle and a strong nudge of her elbow into Arrina’s ribs. ‘I’ve got all distracted talking to you. Now, these good people are liable to riot.’ She gestured to the patient queue of people at the till. ‘I’ll have to watch myself around you, Miss Fenn, I can tell.’
Then with another loud laugh, the plump woman returned to the counter, where she gossiped and chatted with the customers about her upcoming trip away.
Arrina enjoyed the background noise of Pearl’s conversation while she walked around the supermarket and picked up the essentials she needed for her new kitchen. She found everything she wanted, despite the minute size of the place.
Only when Arrina came to the tea shelf was she disappointed. There were a few boxes of PG Tips and some bags of Tetley’s but nothing like the selection that Arrina was used to. She was glad she’d stocked up on all her favourites before moving to Heathervale. Earlier that morning, she’d started her first full day in the village with a pot of Russian Caravan tea. Its smokiness still lingered on her tongue as she headed towards the counter to pay.
Just then, a bald man pushed through the door, holding a Labrador tightly to heel. The bell overhead jangled loudly. ‘Who on earth has taken Ursula’s space?’ the man asked, glaring at everyone in the supermarket.
The man wore a bright red fleece zipped up to the chin; his cheeks glowed even pinker than Arrina’s in the warmth of the day.
Arrina stood by the rows of yoghurts and milk cartons in the fridge and looked around at the other people nearby. Nobody answered the irate-looking man.
‘It’s a silver-blue car,’ the man said. ‘A G-reg with a Christmas CD on the passenger seat and—’
‘That’s mine,’ Arrina said, stepping forwards before the man could describe anything else he’d seen inside her car. She’d driven it over from Manchester the day before and was not entirely sure what she’d left strewn across her seats. She didn’t need the entire supermarket to hear about it.
‘You have to move it,’ said the bald man.
Arrina looked around at the other customers again. Nobody met her eye.
‘I checked the sign,’ Arrina said, forcing her voice to sound friendlier than she felt right then. ‘I’ve got two hours on a weekday morning, and I’ve only been here about twenty—’
‘You have to move your car,’ the man repeated. He tapped his watch. ‘It’s Ursula Martin’s spot, and she’s due here any minute.’ The man’s panting Labrador pulled at its lead.
The spot Arrina had parked in did not belong to anybody. She was certain. The village of Heathervale was recorded in the Domesday Book of 1086. Nothing was mentioned back then about the reservation of parking spaces on the High Street, and there was no sign that things had changed in the village since.
But Arrina didn’t say this.
‘Right,’ she said, her skin prickling with awareness of the many eyes on her. ‘I’m sure I can find another spot. I’ll just pay up here and move further down the street.’
She took her basket to the counter, where Pearl tugged at her lime green cardigan as she rang up Arrina’s items in hurried silence.
‘Parking on the High Street is reserved for local people,’ said the man in the tomato-coloured fleece.
Arrina composed her face into the politest expression she could manage and then turned around to face him. ‘I am local, actually,’ Arrina said. ‘I moved here yesterday. I’m up at the old Talbot place.’ She reached out a hand. ‘Arrina Fenn. Pleased to meet you.’
The man’s eyebrows shot up to where his hairline must once have been. Clearly, she’d said the wrong thing.
‘Young lady,’ the dog-walker said, pulling his impatient Labrador to heel again, ‘living in Heathervale one day does not a local make.’
Then the man yanked open the front door again and waited until Arrina passed through it and got into her car. For once, the ancient Jaguar cooperated and started on only her second turn of the key. Arrina kept her eyes fixed straight ahead and drove off down the High Street.
As she passed the greengrocers, the bakery, and the gift shop that she’d been looking forward to visiting, she felt her heart sink. Fitting in to the village was not going to be quite as easy as she’d hoped it would be—not with people like the bald fleece-wearer around.
But Arrina would not be put off that easily.
As she drove back to her cottage, she reminded herself of the many good reasons she’d had for moving to Heathervale. Her new job was interesting, the pace of life was relaxing, and the views in the surrounding countryside took her breath away. And perhaps most importantly, Arrina had first visited the village at Christmas. She had walked through knee-deep snow, drunk mulled wine by the pub’s open fire, and joined in with candle-lit carols on the village green.
Christmas was Arrina’s favourite time of year, and Christmas in Heathervale was the most wonderful she’d ever known.
Now she just had to figure out how to live there for the rest of the year.
***
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The Slay of the Land (The Heathervale Mysteries Book 1) Page 25
