(Note- My spellcheck recognises “Keeley,” but not “Fredo.”  It’s very uncultured.)

Sunday Night- Cousin Keeley and Cousin Roma

Aunt Bernie had named her daughters, Roma and Keeley, in honour of the places where they’d been conceived.  Gran said that this was a pretentious thing to do, to which Bernie usually replied that at least she hadn’t given her oldest daughter a boy’s name like some mothers she could mention.  (And then Gran would say that Bernie was actually a very common girl’s name in Ireland, and Bernie would say that they weren’t in Ireland, were they, and Gran would go on a tirade about how children were never grateful for the sacrifices their parents made for them, and then Sandy would get tired of listening in and go off to do something else.)

This evening, Sandy had gone out to help Keeley and Roma walk their dogs.  Keeley, who was two and a half years older than Sandy but didn’t look it (or act it, most of the time), walked beside her, swinging the end of the lead from side to side, while Roma, who Keeley had been winding up all afternoon, strode out two yards ahead of them, glowering.  Meanwhile, Sonny and Fredo (the springer spaniels) bounded around their ankles, gazing up at them in adoration.

“Sandy, Roma doesn’t love me anymore,” said Keeley mournfully.  She was the same height as Sandy and wore similar round Penny Crayon glasses, so, from a distance, you could only really tell them apart by the hair (Keeley’s was brown and Sandy’s was red.)  “We no longer share a deep, self-sacrificing sisterly bond like in ‘Goblin Market’.”

Roma, currently visible only as a head of dark curls at the top of a long black coat, hunched her shoulders and walked faster.

Keeley did her best to close the distance.  “Roma, I’m sorry I said your boyfriend looked like a serial killer.”

“You are really annoying me now,” said Roma, without turning around.

“While we’re on the subject, I’m also sorry that your boyfriend looks like a serial killer.”

Roma let out a sound a bit like a kettle coming to the boil, and strode ahead, tugging Sonny’s lead (not that he needed much encouragement to race ahead), until she reached the side gates and left the park.

Keeley, not sorry at all, turned back to Sandy.  “It’s the hair that does it.  Never trust a man with a bowl cut, that’s what I say.”

“You shouldn’t tease her like that,” said Sandy- a little uncertainly, because she had been enjoying it.  She was never sure whose side to take when Keeley and Roma fell out.  Whichever one she picked, she always ended up feeling bad about the other one.

“Well, if she will go out with serial killers…”  At this point, Fredo was straining at his head in an attempt to drag them out of the park and see what his brother was up to, so Sandy and Keeley obeyed.

They caught up with Roma outside the newsagent on the corner, where she was waiting with Sonny.  As soon as she saw Keeley, she shoved the end of the lead into her hand.  “Mum said to pick up some bread and milk.  You stay outside with the dogs.”

Keeley turned round, a big smile on her face.  “Hear that, Sandy?  Mum said to pick up some bread and milk.  You stay outside with the dogs.”  And she presented Sandy with both leads.

“I wasn’t talking to Sandy!” snapped Roma.

“It’s OK,” said Sandy, taking the leads in her hand, “I don’t mind looking after them.”  As soon as Keeley had given her the leads, both dogs had fixed her with a look of sheer, worshipful love.  It was nice to be wanted.

Roma threw up her hands, in the same way that Gran did sometimes.  “Fine,” she muttered, and went into the newsagent.  Keeley followed her, hopefully not to carry on taunting her about the serial-killer-boyfriend thing.  Stuff like that only stayed funny for a little while.

Sandy crouched down to scratch the dogs behind their ears.  And at some point in between standing and crouching, the old woman appeared at her side.

The old lady was taller than Sandy, but not by much.  She had a rough, leathery face, and straggly grey hair that reached her shoulders.  She wore a long brown coat, and carried two overloaded shopping bags.  Sandy had never seen her before in her life.

“Sandy, isn’t it?” said the old lady with a grin.

Sandy straightened up, her grip tightening on the dogs’ leads, as if she thought the old lady was going to try and steal them.  “Um…”

“Alexandra Faith Buckland, if you want to be formal.”  The old lady grinned wider.  Her teeth were so yellow that they almost looked orange.  “Am I right?”

Sandy looked up at the clouds, which had gone slightly grey but didn’t look exactly threatening yet.  Beside her, Sonny let out a low growl.  “Are you a friend of my gran’s?” she asked, but she knew that couldn’t be it even as she said it.  She knew all her gran’s friends.  There weren’t that many.

The old lady chuckled.  “I’m a friend of yours, Alexandra Faith.  Or I can be.”  She lifted her hand up, and stroked her chin thoughtfully.  The nail on her thumb looked a lot longer and sharper than any of the others.  “I heard about what happened yesterday, you see.  At the fete.”

Sandy thought about the man who’d yelled at Aunt Caroline, his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish.  Almost without meaning to, she looked up at the clouds again.

“It’s a mistake to draw too much attention to yourself,” said the old lady.  The dogs were both growling now.  Maybe that was why she hadn’t come any closer.  “I don’t think you quite know what you’re dealing with.  But you will.”

Sandy looked at the clouds.  They were greyer now.  There seemed to be more of them.  I don’t want to be here.  Come on, come on…

The old lady gave another tight grin.  “I need to know what you are.  Before I decide what to do with you.”

And then, in a split-second, the hail started.  It burst out of the sky as if the clouds had been straining to hold it in all this time.  The old lady looked around, aghast, as the hailstones clattered and bounced off the pavement around them.  Before she had a chance to gather her thoughts and say anything, Keeley ran out of the newsagents.

“Quick!” she said with a laugh, and took Sandy’s arm.  “Let’s get these dogs home!”  And the two of them ran up the road towards the house.

After a minute or two, the hail began to ease off, and Sandy had a chance to look behind her.  No sign of the old lady.  She must have run off to find shelter, too.

“Roma sent me,” Keeley explained, “She said that it only took one person to buy bread and milk, and it wasn’t polite to leave our guests to freeze to death.”  She looked around happily, surveying the damage that the mini-hailstorm had caused.  If there was one thing Keeley liked, it was a little bit of chaos.

“Hmm.  Thanks for that,” said Sandy, clutching Sonny’s lead as tightly as she could.  She knew she wouldn’t feel completely safe until they’d got to Aunt Bernie’s house and locked the door behind them, but she was glad the dogs were there, anyway.  And she was glad she was with Keeley, too.  She wasn’t big or scary-looking enough to act as a bodyguard, but she was a bit older, at least, so she might know a thing or two that could help in a dangerous situation.  And it was a million times better than being alone.

“I think she was just looking for an excuse to get rid of me, personally,” said Keeley, as they turned into their street.  She fished the front door key out of her coat pocket and started twirling the keyring around on her finger.  “Sending her little sister out into the snow…  Disgraceful.”

“It wasn’t snow,” said Sandy.  She wondered if she could have managed that.

“Pfft.  No-one likes a pedant, Sandy.”  And Keeley walked up the garden path and unlocked the door.