Every Bookshop Needs a Cat (Fleckney Fields Series, Book 2)

Anya

Anya jerked and opened her eyes. She couldn't believe she'd fallen asleep. Where's your hypervigilance, lady? She looked at Varya, but the girl was peacefully reading her Kindle.

"How long have I slept?" Anya asked and threw a quick glance around.

There were only two other passengers in the coach, an older couple. Anya remembered her ex always telling her that once one was in Fleckney, one had nothing to worry about - but unlike the naive man, Anya was born and bred in two megalopolises: St. Petersburg, also known as the Criminal Capital of Russia, and then Bristol. The stories Dom had told her of his home county of Fleckney had always seemed nothing but fairy tales to Anya.

"About five minutes," Varya said and gave her Mum an amused look. "And you mumbled."

Anya ignored the remark. Of course she 'mumbled.' They were in a coach, all their worldly possessions packed in two suitcases with them, plus Varya's cat Persimmon, currently contained in a cardboard box, because they couldn't afford a proper carrier. It was because of the daft animal, they had to take this rickety old bus, going in loops and taking twice as much time to get to Fleckney. They didn't allow animals on proper lines, like Megabus and the National Express. So, it was six o'clock, Anya was exhausted, stressed beyond measure, and hungry as well. She had sarnies packed for Varya, but with all this barney, Anya hadn't eaten since last night. She had every right to mumble as much as she wanted.

"Do you want to eat?" Anya asked the girl. "We'll be there in half an hour, and it seems like a long walk to the farm."

She didn't want to get the girl's hopes up. When she'd texted her ex brother-in-law asking if he'd pick them up at the station, he'd simply ignored her message.

"Nah, I'm good," the girl said. "You have it."

Anya jerked towards her bag, already imagining biting into the lovely sandwich she had there - and then she stopped. Let's face it, supper wasn't a given future for the two of them, to think of it. What if they didn't find the farm? What if Mr. and Mrs. Ferguson had one look at Anya and Varya and sent them packing? Without letting them unpack, she added in her mind sarcastically.

"It's only half an hour," she said in a forced light tone. "I'll have it with tea at the farm."

A thought of a large mug of strong tea made her mouth water. She was Russian, meaning, even more of a tea drinker than the British. Varya hummed, confirming she heard her, and continued to read.

***

The coach station in Fleckney Woulds, the county town - which still looked like a tiny village to Anya - was empty, with the exception of a pleasant looking middle-aged clerk who gave them a friendly wave. Anya hesitated a moment, waved back, and grabbed Varya's shoulder. The girl's hands were occupied by Schrödinger's Persimmon.

"C'mon." Anya pulled Varya towards the exit. "Clearly, your Uncle isn't here."

It was snowing outside - and a lot. Anya looked around and shook her head in disbelief. The surrounding cosy streets, with twinkling lights decorating them, neat evergreen hedges, and little shops looked like the setting of a Hallmark film that Anya was guilty of indulging in - that is, when she still could afford a streaming service.

Anya pulled out her phone and checked the map again. There was a local coach that would take them closer to the farm, but they'd have to get off near some sort of a historic landmark called the Nidhogg Hall, and then they'd have to walk through the field surrounding it and through a rather significant chunk of woods, which scared Anya even more than the dark, slowly setting down around them, and walking along an empty country road. Also, she couldn't find any information on where the coach stopped and what its schedule was.