A Kiss in the Snow - Rosie Green Page 0,21

Maud is at the counter haranguing Anita when I enter.

‘More graffiti!’ she’s exclaiming. ‘On the front of my cottage this time. Come and have a look! Oh, never mind about your bread display. It’s not as if arranging the loaves like that is going to make them look any better.’

Anita presses her lips together. Then she sees me and smiles. ‘Hi, Carrie. Do you mind if I just pop along to Maud’s for a minute? She just lives three doors along.’

‘No, not at all.’ I hold the door for them, exchanging a comical, raised-eyebrow look with Anita on her way out, then I leave the shop myself, curious to see the cause of Maud’s agitation.

Out on the pavement, I’m surprised I didn’t see it before. I must have been too charmed by Wilfred to notice. Emblazoned in white paint across the front wall of Maud’s red-brick terraced house, set behind a square of garden, are scrawled the words: You Left the Oven On.

‘Oh, that’s awful,’ murmurs Anita, shaking her head.

‘It’s scandalous,’ agrees Maud. ‘People were far more respectful of other people’s property in my young day.’

‘I’m sure they were.’

‘I’ve phoned the police and I’ve told them it’s those boys.’ Maud purses her lips. ‘Not that they’ll do anything about it, of course.’

‘How do you know?’ says a voice, and we all turn as a teenage girl approaches us.

She’s wearing a thick, rainbow-coloured scarf that looks hand-knitted and is wound round her neck several times, her dark red hair tucked beneath it. But her beige coat is thin and – together with the black ballet pumps she’s wearing – seems to provide less than adequate protection against the freezing weather. Especially since the coat is straining across a belly that shows her to be about eight months’ pregnant.

Her question is addressed to Maud, who snaps, ‘How do I know the police won’t bother? Well, it’s obvious. They never bother with any sort of petty crime these days.’

The girl shakes her head. ‘No. I mean how do you know it was “those boys” who did the graffiti?’

‘I just do,’ says Maud coldly. ‘But of course they’ll get away with it, and no doubt they’ll grow up to be a drain on society, like so many young people these days.’ She looks pointedly at the girl’s pregnant belly.

The girl’s chin rises slightly in response, and her grey eyes flare as she mutters, ‘You shouldn’t judge a person until you’ve walked in their shoes. You don’t know their stories.’

Maud makes a rudely dismissive noise in her throat, but Anita cuts in with a smile.

‘Nora! Lovely to see you. How are you?’

‘Fine, thanks.’

‘Do you want shopping?’ She points into the store.

Nora shakes her head. ‘No thanks. I was just getting some fresh air. I need to get back.’ She pushes her hands deeper into the pockets of her thin coat and I worry that the buttons might pop. Then she hurries off through the snow, head down, slipping slightly every now and again. And I watch her, my heart in my mouth, frightened she’ll fall. In her current state, that would be disastrous.

‘On benefits, of course,’ mutters Maud, who’s also watching her go. ‘And who pays for her to get a bun in the oven so she doesn’t have to work for a living? The tax-payer, of course. You and me.’

I glance at Anita. Her irritation is evident, although she hides it behind a cheery remark. ‘Do you pay tax, Maud? I didn’t know you were working. I thought you were a lady of leisure.’

‘Well, no, of course I’m not working now. But I always paid my dues when I was employed by the council all those years. And so did Harold.’ She sniffs. ‘You’d never catch us free-loading like that one.’ She jerks her head in the direction of Nora, who’s making her way towards the bridge end of the high street.

I exchange a look with Anita, and she says, ‘Anyway, Maud, about this graffiti. Do you think it’s removeable?’

We all peer up at it.

‘I think it is,’ I say, stepping closer. ‘Look. The moisture in the air is already making the paint run.’ I fish out a paper hanky and rub at one of the letters, and the paint blurs.

‘Oh, so it is,’ says Anita, surprised. ‘I’ll just go and get a damp cloth.’ She disappears and I stand with Maud, contemplating the message. Whoever did it has a sense of humour, that’s for sure, but it hardly seems like the work of