Page 34 of The Inn on Bluebell Lane

They left the music room together, and as they walked down the corridor toward the science block, a snide girl’s voice called out, “Oh look, it’s Snotty Sophie. Has she finally made a friend? How sweet.”

Jess looked over, startled, to see a girl with a high blonde ponytail and narrowed ice-blue eyes looking at them. Sophie’s cheeks had started to turn red, but she ignored the girl and kept walking.

Jess did the same, but she felt everyone’s eyes on the pair of them and her face started to flush as well. She told herself she didn’t care about that stupid girl—of course she didn’t—but she realized, uncomfortably, that it wasn’t quite true and, in any case, Sophie obviously did. She mumbled her goodbye, not even looking at Jess as she hurried to get her bag left outside the cafeteria, leaving her alone once more.

With a sigh, Jess went for her own bag. For a little while she’d felt as if she’d finally made a friend, and it had been amazing. Now she just hoped it lasted, but she hadn’t even seen Sophie before today. What if they didn’t run into each other again?

Jess thought of Emily and Chloe, taking mirror selfies together, tongues sticking out. If Chloe could make a new best friend, well then, so could she. She’d just have to figure out a way to find Sophie again, and make it clear she didn’t care about those other girls’ teasing. At all.

CHAPTER 19

GWEN

“What would you like to do, Ava?”

Gwen smiled at her granddaughter as they stood in the sunlight-dappled kitchen after school. Ava’s uniform looked too big on her skinny, little frame, her eyes wide as she stared back at her grandmother in surprise, it seemed, at being asked such a question. In a busy family like hers, with so much going on, Gwen doubted Ava was asked her opinion very much.

Ellie had gone to pick up Josh from a playdate, and Ben and Jess were due back from school at any moment. For now, Gwen was in charge, and she was pleased to be spending some time with her youngest granddaughter.

“We could play a game,” Gwen suggested, “or do a puzzle, or go out and feed the chickens.” Ava had enjoyed visiting the chickens, and she’d helped Gwen collect the eggs on several occasions, squealing in delight when she’d found one. “Or Toby could use a brush, if you like.” She glanced down at the faithful spaniel, stretched out in front of the Aga. He caught her glance, his droopy eyes lighting up as his tail began a staccato beat against the stone-flagged floor. Gwen knew how much Ava loved Toby—maybe a little too much, sometimes. “Well?” she asked with a smile. “What do you think?”

“Can we bake something, Granny?” Ava asked, her eyes lighting up. “I like baking. Mummy and I used to bake lots, back home, but we haven’t since we’ve come here.” She stuck her lower lip out in a pout, and Gwen realized afresh how so much had changed for her grandchildren.

“Of course we can.” With a smile, Gwen went into the pantry for sacks of sugar and flour. “What would you like to bake? Biscuits? Or should I say, cookies?” She gave her granddaughter a wry smile. “A cake? Or perhaps brownies?”

Ava screwed her face up in a thoughtful frown. “What about those cakes?” she asked.

“Cakes…?” Gwen repeated, not sure what she meant.

“The ones with the raisins.”

“Welsh cakes.” Gwen let out an uncertain laugh as she recalled that particular disaster. “I thought you didn’t like those, Ava.”

“I like them now,” the little girl declared. “I didn’t know that I liked raisins.”

“Didn’t you?” Gwen murmured, with a smile. She felt rather ridiculously heartened by the little girl’s admission. “Well then, of course we can make Welsh cakes. Or pice y ar maen, as they’re called in Welsh. That means ‘cakes on a stone’, because that’s how they used to be cooked. We’ll make ours on the Aga, though.”

“I’ve learned some Welsh,” Ava announced. “At school.”

“Oh? What have you learned?”

Ava paused, screwing up her face again, and then said carefully, “Alla… i… fynd…i’r… toiled!” She smiled triumphantly, and Gwen let out a laugh.

“May I go to the toilet,” she translated into English. “Very good.”

“And I know how to say amser cinio,” Ava told her, and Gwen nodded.

“Lunchtime.”

“And amser chw—chw—” She paused, frowning, and Gwen filled in.

“Amser chwarae? Playtime.”

“Yes!” Ava looked both surprised and impressed. “How do you know Welsh, Granny?”

“I learned it when I was little,” Gwen told her. “I grew up not too far from here, about an hour north, where lots of people spoke Welsh all the time, back in the day. I spoke quite a bit of Welsh myself, when I was your age, but I’ve got out of practice.”

“I can teach you,” Ava offered seriously, and Gwen was both amused and touched by her granddaughter’s offer.