glad,’ the lady said slowly, straightening her skirt. ‘As I’ve told Amy, the process is pretty simple. We can edit anything you like at the end so don’t worry too much, just enjoy our selections. And I will be nearby if you need any assistance.’
‘Thanks again,’ Amy said, smiling and clearly wanting to get on and start shopping. ‘We’re going to head to Homeware.’
‘Something for the bedroom,’ I chirruped, the weird giggle back.
‘Er . . . fabulous,’ she nodded, moving to a safe distance.
‘Do you do that stroky-arm thing with Luke?’ Amy asked.
‘Why, you like it?’ I asked, resting my head on her shoulder again for show.
‘It tickles. Right, come on, life partner, let’s furnish our marital home . . . ’
Half an hour later and we were just having too much fun for me to go and ruin things. In fact, as the minutes passed it really did seem possible that Amy just wouldn’t ask. Any time we had a lull in conversation I would direct her attention to another candlestick, coaster set or teapot.
We had already zapped a stunning set of dinner plates, a cake stand, a set of magenta napkins, pepper and salt pots, place mats, table runners and more. Now Amy was hesitating over a ceramic pestle and mortar.
‘What do you even do with it? Which bit is the pestle and which is the mortar?’
Amy’s forehead wrinkled at my question. ‘Well, you grind stuff in it.’
‘What stuff?’
‘Small stuff that needs to be made smaller . . . ’ Amy sounded unsure.
I picked it up and turned it over in my hands.
‘My grandma had one,’ Amy said, ‘Although I think she might have just kept small change in it.’
Grandmother.
That prompted her. I felt my grip on the ceramic tighten, my knuckles whitening.
‘Oh, that reminds me . . . ’ she began.
I felt my stomach drop, my throat dry up. I licked my lips, turning away. ‘Maybe a pestle and mortar would be worth getti—’
‘Did you bring her brooch?’
I thought I might drop the pestle and mortar.
‘Maybe you should get a KitchenAid. I’ve always wanted a KitchenAid,’ I said, my voice suddenly an octave higher, faster too.
‘Lottie?’
I placed the pestle and mortar back on the shelf in front of me with shaking hands. ‘Mary Berry uses one, doesn’t she, I think, I mean, if she doesn’t I imagine she would want one . . . ’
‘Have you got the brooch?’
I really couldn’t avoid it. I closed my eyes, ready to turn around.
The shop assistant reappeared. ‘Are you both all right? Finding everything you need?’
Amy ignored her. ‘Lottie . . . ’ Her voice was low, a warning. I felt tears prick the back of my eyes. Oh God.
‘More time needed?’ she asked, oblivious to what she had walked in on.
I turned to face Amy, palms up, appealing already. ‘I’m so, so, sorry, I . . . ’
The shop assistant was still standing next to us, her stuckon smile faltering as she started to sense the tension.
‘Did you just leave it at home?’ Amy asked.
Maybe I should have leapt on that chance to escape the inevitable but my face couldn’t hide it. I felt it crumpling, slowly shaking my head side to side. ‘I . . . I’m so sorry. I went back, I called, I . . . ’
The shop assistant attempted to make her exit. ‘Well, I see you have things in hand so I’ll just . . . ’ She cupped a hand to her neck as Amy took a step towards me.
‘You didn’t even get it,’ Amy whispered, her whole face draining of colour, her free hand curling into a tight fist.
‘I . . . I meant to, I . . . ’ What could I say? I knew there was nothing that could give me a good reason. This wasn’t court, I couldn’t argue my way out of it.
‘I can’t believe it.’ She raked two hands through her hair, her voice loud in the high-ceilinged room, seeming to bounce off every shiny surface. ‘You knew, Lottie, you knew it had to be that day.’
She was pacing up and down. The shop assistant stifled a cough into a hand. ‘I could have rung someone else. If I’d known I could have . . . God, why did I even . . . ’
The lady brought her hands together, her voice bright and hopeful. ‘I’ll be over here then, I’ll just . . . ’ She seemed to hover in between us, really not sure of