Amber Heather Burnside (that summer book .TXT) 📖

The rain that had threatened all morning had now arrived with callous precision and Amber could feel it penetrating her clothing and soaking her hair. It didn’t seem to bother the neighbours, though, who had come prepared with rain macs and umbrellas.

Nasty-minded bitches, she thought, taking pleasure in my misfortune. Despite her upset, Amber raised her chin and glared across at them, all her grief and angst of the past few weeks making her angry. Just let any of them say anything, and I’ll tell them exactly what I think!

She made it to the gate, but her arms were already aching, and the handles of the carrier bags were becoming slippery. It was shut, but she didn’t want to put the bags down on the drenched garden path while she opened it. So, instead, she shifted most of the bags into her left hand so she could manage with her right.

Unfortunately, the two bags remaining in her right hand were making it difficult. Amber reached for the latch but, as she did so, she could see the plastic handles becoming stretched. She had just about managed to grasp the trigger and was lifting it up when one of the bag handles snapped and some of her clothing slipped out onto the soggy garden path. The action made her lose her grip on the latch and it dropped away as well as the two bags she had been clutching with her right hand.

‘Shit!’ she yelled, staring at the drenched and soiled clothing.

She kicked the gate in temper and could hear a snigger from across the road.

For a moment she stood still, wondering what to do and fighting back tears. Then she became aware of somebody outside the gate. She looked up to see an unlikely saviour in the form of Mrs Wiley who was now holding the gate open for her.

‘I can see you’re struggling,’ she said, stepping inside. ‘You take them, and I’ll sort out those.’ She nodded towards the two bags, which had now spilt much of their contents onto the soggy ground. ‘Take them to mine. You can have a dry-off before you go on your way.’

Amber picked up on the implicit meaning of Mrs Wiley’s words. She was welcome to dry off but not to stay. Still, it was better than nothing and preferable to the ridicule on offer from the neighbours over the road. Mrs Wiley would have made a difficult housemate anyway with her overbearing, no-nonsense approach and Amber’s occupation would have caused obvious difficulties. But, at the moment, Amber would have settled for anything.

She waited outside Mrs Wiley’s door while her neighbour caught up with her. ‘Go on, inside. Don’t stand on ceremony, girl,’ she ordered as she trundled up the path carrying Amber’s two remaining bags.

‘Pop them down in the hallway. That’s right. We can sort them out later but right now I think you need to dry off, and a nice cuppa to warm you up wouldn’t go amiss either. What d’you say?’

‘Yes thanks, Mrs Wiley,’ muttered Amber.

‘Now don’t go getting any ideas. You’re welcome to have a cuppa and a warm but I’ve no room to put you up.’

‘Oh, that’s OK. I’m gonna sleep on a friend’s sofa.’ The lie flowed from Amber’s mouth.

They went through to the kitchen and Mrs Wiley put the kettle on. ‘Sit down,’ she said, talking to Amber as she busied herself around the kitchen taking out cups, teabags and a packet of biscuits. She put the biscuits down in front of Amber. ‘Help yourself. I always think they’re nice with a cup of tea.’

I wouldn’t know, thought Amber.

She’d had no time to think about biscuits or any other trivialities lately but seeing them placed in front of her, she couldn’t help but tuck in.

Mrs Wiley soon came over with two steaming cups of tea and plonked herself down on the seat next to Amber. ‘I know you’ve not had it easy, love,’ she said. ‘And I’m not just talking about your mother passing away either.’ She grabbed Amber’s hand in a show of affection. Amber was shocked at her forthright attitude and for a moment she stared at her, dumbstruck. ‘Oh, I know, love, I’m not daft. There’s been some right goings-on in that house, hasn’t there?’

Suddenly, Amber was besieged by a surge of emotions. Her current situation combined with Mrs Wiley’s show of sympathy had finally got to her. To her embarrassment she burst into tears.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, feeling foolish.

‘That’s alright, love. Don’t mind me.’

It took her a while to recover and Mrs Wiley waited patiently till Amber was calm before she spoke again. ‘I tell you what I’ll do, Amy. Like I say, I’ve no room for you to stay but if you’re looking for somewhere to store your things, I’ll keep them for you. I mean, you can’t be dragging that lot through the streets, can you?’

Amber was amazed at Mrs Wiley’s perception. It was as if she knew that the tale about staying on her friend’s sofa had been a fabrication. ‘Yes, thanks. I appreciate that. But I’ll need to take some of them with me.’

‘Course you will, love. Tell you what, when you’ve finished your tea, go and sort out what you’re taking, and I’ll store the rest. And don’t worry about the dirty clothes; put them to one side and I’ll get them washed and dried for you.’

‘Thanks,’ Amber repeated.

After she had sorted through her things and piled a few essential items into one carrier bag, Mrs Wiley bid her goodbye and Amber left her cosy home. She was glad to see that the rain had now eased, and the neighbours were back indoors.

Mrs Wiley waited until Amber had reached the garden gate, then she shut the front door. Amber stepped back towards her old house, which had now been shut up. For a while she stood staring at its frontage, as if wishing it a final goodbye before she departed.

In a way she was