Turn of the Tide | ONC 2023

[2] Trouble Comes Calling

    Only when the crate clattered against the farmhouse decking did Sally realise she had never checked the contents of her mother's list. "I thought Mam just wanted some veg for dinner!" she cried, picking out one of the seven ample onions that rolled around the crate's base.

    "That she did, lass." Polly scanned the notepaper one last time, then slotted it between the swede and a punnet of foraged mushrooms. "That's your dinner for the whole week sorted. Took some proper graft to get all that ready for today, it did."

    Dropping the onion back with its peers, Sally sank to the floor beside the crate, her brow broken by anxious lines. Flick took one look at the bounty and released a long, sharp whistle. "Gotta say, Sal, you're a tougher gal than I am for carrying all this home yourself." The sloshing of liquid by her ear meant Sally did not need to look to know Flick's hip flask was back within her reach, though more tempting than before. "Need a morale boost?"

    Since they had landed outside the farmhouse, Flick had thrown on her flannel shirt, leaving it unbuttoned so it hung loose from her shoulders whenever she moved. The garment wore an acre of deep creases from its cramped journey between the seats, yet such messiness suited Flick perfectly. In fact, the girl's easy demeanour was what drove Sally to shake her head and send the flask back to its owner's side. "No thanks. I'll manage."

    "Heck yeah, you will! Hit me with your plan, bud."

    Sally stood up and dusted off her knees, her lips pursed. "I'll figure it out. There's a longer way home that's not as steep, I think I can walk back that way."

    Casting her eyes to the dark clouds above, Polly cursed under her breath. "You'll be doing no such thing, you hear? I'm not having your mammy calling by, asking after her radishes and her child!" She stepped inside the house, then returned a moment later staring at the screen of a mobile phone. "Seems Mr Rowe's too busy playing politics to answer his wife's calls. Typical man."

    A huff passed through Sally's flared nostrils. "At least he's not swilling in the pub all afternoon like Dad is."

    "Watch your tongue, lass. Jim Tremaine's the hardest worker Porthdruro's got to offer, and I'll not hear otherwise." Polly snapped her berry-stained fingers at Flick, perched on the decking fence with her flask still in her hand. "You on the other hand, Felicity, aren't doing anything but giving me a sore head here. Make yourself useful, see our Sally gets this veg home."

    Kicking off the fence, Flick clicked her tongue and unscrewed her flask. "You got it, Auntie. I'll just find myself a room, get unpacked, finish this old thing off –"

    The daggers brandished in Polly's eyes cut Sally to the core, and she had to look away as the woman's seething presence pushed Flick back to the fence. "You'll go now! Leave your blasted bags here, I'll sort them out. And stop drinking in daylight!" Nails struck against tin as she snatched Flick's whisky away, slamming the farmhouse door shut to block out the girl's protests.

    Flick blew a clutch of stray hairs out of her face. "So much for rural hospitality." Turning on her heels, she unlocked her car and tapped the stunned Sally on her shoulder. "This longer route that's less steep...which way is it?"

    As she hoisted the crate to her abdomen by its handles, Sally glanced at the tiny hatchback she had arrived in. Doubts grew in her gut, and she wondered whether the car even had any space in the back, let alone enough for a market stall's worth of produce. "Let's get this lot in the back of your car, then I'll show you."

    "Seems like you're going to be my navigator after all," Flick said, dropping her sunglasses over her face with a grin brighter than the shine off her blushing lenses. "Come on! It'll be fun, I swear."