‘Yeah. I’ve been quite busy lately.’
‘Too busy to watchDroid Defenders?’ Wilf shook his head. ‘You need to get your priorities straight, Jessie.’
‘You’re probably right, thanks Wilf.’
‘Okay.’ Connie was reading her phone. ‘Tendro couldn’t use his freeze spray because the megalorian is so hot it would turn to steam as soon as it touched his scales. It happened in season one, episode five when they were cornered in the dungeon.’
‘Oh!’ Wilf jumped up and down, a miniature knight in polyester armour. ‘I remember, I remember. When that big bird with the round thing in its beak came and swooped Tendro up at the last second before his head snapped off!Yes! That’s why! Phew! I’m glad he didn’t try; that freeze spray runs out really quickly. Thanks, Mum.’
And before we could say goodnight, he’d gone.
‘Thanks, Isaac,’ Connie said, her mouth curling up in a gentle smile as another message pinged through.
‘Always there when you need him,’ I couldn’t resist saying.
‘You know,’ she said, putting the phone down. ‘He really has been there a lot, lately. That day at Newstead Abbey was brilliant. It’s just… so stress free when Isaac’s there. Like, rather than finding Wilf a complication, or something to be managed, he steps in and helps. Sometimes before I’ve even noticed that Wilf needs it. When Wilf started getting nervous about a horse coming too close, without causing a fuss, Isaac just quietly asked him if he wanted to move to a different section where he could see better.’
She went to take another handful of popcorn, before noticing it had all gone. ‘I guess all that tension between us must have been work stress. If he invited us out for the day, he can’t find me that annoying. Unless he’s got a secret passion for local history and couldn’t think of anyone else to ask.’
‘I can promise that he doesn’t find you annoying. And he really likes Wilf.’ I took another sip of gin to congratulate myself on resisting a comment about Isaac’s true secret passion.
‘Ugh.’ She sat back, releasing a noisy sigh. ‘It makes such a difference when we hang out with someone who gets my son. Ooh!’ She sat up again, quickly, eyes lighting up. ‘Can you bear to talk about men for a few more minutes, because if I don’t get this out there, I’ll burst. I have literally no one else to tell this to apart from Mum, and as far as she’s concerned I can’t go near a man without getting pregnant, so I already know what she’ll say.’
‘Okay?’ I braced myself, determined that however I responded to this, it would be as a great friend, and an even better twin.
‘Someone asked me out.’ She stopped, one hand pressed against her chest. ‘And I think I’m going to say yes!’
* * *
Thursday was the first of the special bank holidays celebrating the Queen’s Jubilee. Enough of the Barn’s regulars were royal fans that instead of closing, we’d planned a celebration. As well as decorating every inch of the ground floor with purple and silver bunting, thanks to the new embroidery group, we’d opened the Barn up to family members for the afternoon, and set up games in the garden including croquet, giant Jenga and boules. There was even a small bouncy castle in one corner. Mum had tried to insist only children could bounce, but their grand and great-grandparents were having none of it. A few of the Outlaws had dug out their instruments and formed a brass-band, now tootling away in the shade of a tree.
‘Isn’t this marvellous!’ one woman exclaimed. ‘It’s the first time in years my Gerry’s had his trombone out.’
‘We can tell,’ Arabella Goose declared. ‘It’s the first time in years I’ve been grateful for the deterioration in hearing in my right ear. At least I can position myself so it’s no more than a background fart.’
‘How very rude.’
‘Rude, but true,’ someone added to a chorus of nods.
Wendy had come up with an afternoon tea fit for the monarchy, including delicate sandwiches and lavender scones spread with thick, clotted cream and blackberry jam. There were miniature quiches and vol-au-vents stuffed with coronation chicken or herby cheese filling, and seemingly endless sweet treats to go alongside the pots of tea or homemade lemonade.
It was all very charming until Veronica and Vivienne Vincent whipped out their water pistols.
‘Death to the monarchy!’ Viv shouted, aiming a squirt at Hetty, who’d made the mistake of dressing up as the Queen.
‘Power to the people!’ her sister roared, shooting a blast of freezing water straight up, that promptly came down and soaked her green bristly head.
‘How dare you insult Her Royal Highness!’ a woman called Natalia screeched, jumping up from her seat beside Hetty and throwing her glass of water at Viv’s face. Whether she meant her friend or the actual Queen was anybody’s guess, and immediately irrelevant as chairs were pushed back, water receptacles were snatched up and the peace and gentility of the Barn garden erupted into all-out war.
‘I counted at least eight water guns,’ Lance panted, a few minutes later as we sheltered behind a tree. ‘This was a premeditated attack.’
‘Thank goodness the jugs are plastic.’ I winced as a man staggered past in sodden wet trousers, closely followed by another one carrying a water bomb.
‘Shut the doors!’ Dad cried, as he attempted to shield Olive, one of our oldest Outlaws who was in wheelchair, with his body. ‘Cut them off from the source!’
‘Oh, stop blathering and get out of the way!’ Olive cried, leaning past him brandishing a pistol that was at least half as big as her. ‘I had a perfect shot at Freddie Woodthorpe. He was a fiend to babysit.’
‘Babysit?’ Dad tried to gently get hold of her weapon, but she was waving it about too much. ‘He’s eighty-seven! Surely it’s time to let that one go.’
