The Never Have I Ever Club: A laugh-out-loud romantic comedy about love and second chances

By Mary Jayne Baker

Robyn Bloom thought Ash Barnes was the love of her life – until one day he announced he was leaving her to fly halfway across the world.

Months later, Robyn is struggling to move on – but then she has a brainwave: The Never Have I Ever Club. Her handsome next-door neighbour Will helps her bring their fellow Yorkshire villagers together for some carpe-diem-inspired fun.

From burlesque dancing to Swedish massages, everyone has plenty of bucket-list activities to try, but it doesn't take long for Robyn to realise what – or who – her heart truly desires: Will.

There's just one problem: he's Ash's twin brother. Make that two problems: Ash is moving home... and he wants Robyn back.

Mary Jayne Baker is the recipient of the RNA Romantic Comedy Award for A Question of Us.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing
• Release date: Jun 18, 2020
• ISBN: 9781789546149

Mary Jayne Baker

Mary Jayne Baker is a romance author from Yorkshire, UK. She is represented by Laura Longrigg at MBA Literary Agents. After graduating from Durham University with a degree in English Literature, she dallied with living in cities including London, Nottingham and Cambridge, but eventually came back with her own romantic hero in tow to her beloved Dales, where she first started telling stories about heroines with flaws and the men who love them. Mary Jayne Baker is a pen name for an international woman of mystery...

Book preview

1

The fluorescent strip lights seared into Robyn’s brain in a shade of white she’d decided to name Guantanamo Ivory.

She assumed she could thank the daytime drinking for her headache. Two glasses of wine with lunch. Not a regular habit, but she’d felt the need for some Dutch courage.

She stopped at the hand gel dispenser, squeezed out a blob and rubbed it into her skin.

Cliff Cockburn was there, the corner shop owner’s hacking cough drowning out the hum of easy-listening jazz in the background. A harassed parent cuddled a snivelling, red-faced toddler and a stack of very out-of-date literature sat untouched on the table.

Doctors’ waiting rooms. They had to be the worst places in the world, with the possible exception of airport lounges and municipal swimming pools.

There was a self-check-in machine by the receptionist’s desk. Robyn tapped in her details, then frowned as it displayed the words NO APPOINTMENT FOUND.

Swearing under her breath, she approached the desk.

‘Hi, Mrs Sykes,’ she said to the receptionist. ‘Your machine’s not finding my appointment.’

‘Oh, pay no attention to that thing, it’s always playing up,’ Mrs Sykes said, casting a resentful glance at the machine. ‘Now, it’s Robyn Bloom, isn’t it?’

‘That’s right.’

Mrs Sykes tapped at her keyboard. ‘Yes, we’ve got you: 2.15pm, Dr Barnes.’

‘No, that’s not right. Dr Kaur’s my doctor, I’m here to see her.’

The receptionist frowned. ‘Not according to our records. It’s Dr Barnes you’ve been booked in with.’

‘What? But I was quite clear I…’ Robyn took a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry, but I’d really prefer to see Dr Kaur.’

‘Hmm. Young lad, was it? That you spoke to when you rang?’

‘Yes, why?’

‘Bloody Jason,’ she muttered. ‘That’s three times now he’s muddled the appointments.’ She glanced up with a conciliatory grimace. ‘I’m sorry, love. I’m training my grandson to work on reception and he’s a bit dithery. Looks like he’s put you in with the wrong doctor.’

Ugh. Was there anything in this place that worked?

‘These things happen,’ Robyn said, forcing a smile. ‘But can I please see Dr Kaur? I’d prefer to speak to a female doctor.’

‘I’m afraid she’s over at the Glen surgery in Longcliffe this afternoon. We’ve only got Doctors Sykes and Barnes here.’

‘Could I drive there?’

Mrs Sykes tapped at her keyboard and shook her head. ‘She’s fully booked for today. I could reschedule for you?’

Robyn hesitated. She could reschedule, but… she knew she’d have no rest, no sleep, till she’d been checked out.

‘No.’ She exhaled through her teeth. ‘No, it’s fine. I’ll see Will then – Dr Barnes.’

‘Right. Just take a seat and he’ll be with you shortly.’

Robyn went to sit in the waiting room. She grabbed an old Cosmo from the pile, gazed listlessly at the pouting cover model, then tossed it back.

Ten minutes later, Dr Will Barnes emerged from his consulting room.

‘Bloom,’ he said, nodding. ‘What, you missed me so much that you just had to come see me at work?’

She couldn’t help smiling. Easy charm was a trademark of the Barnes boys, who’d played on it shamefully all through their – and her – school years. It hadn’t been much of a stretch for Will to repurpose his flirting into bedside manner.

‘Mmm. Must be your magnetic personality,’ she said, standing up.

‘Well, I can’t argue with that. Come on through.’

In his room, she perched on the edge of a chair, her legs tightly crossed.

‘Right,’ Will said, firing up his computer. ‘So according to this, you’ve got women’s issues. I hate to tell you this, Bloom, but that’s not a valid medical complaint. Can you be any more specific for me?’

She looked down at her feet.

How the hell was she supposed to talk about this with him? Bad enough he was a bloke. Bad enough he was Ash Barnes’s brother. Bad enough he was her next-door neighbour. But then he had the nerve to sit there with Ash’s face, her ex-boyfriend’s face, smiling and expecting her to make casual chitchat about her lady parts like it was no big deal.

‘Um, I’ve had some… bleeding,’ she said at last. ‘At a time when I’d expect not to have. It’s stopped now, but for around four days last week.’

‘Heavy?’

‘No. Well, enough to worry me.’

‘Right. And this isn’t something you’ve experienced before?’

‘Never. My periods have always been regular.’

‘Where were you in your cycle?’

‘Around the middle, I guess.’

He looked up from the notes he was making. ‘Was this after sex?’

Her cheeks flamed an even deeper shade of crimson. ‘No. Just… random.’

‘And is there any chance you could be pregnant?’

‘Doubt it. I’ve heard a rumour you need to have sex first.’

‘Okay, I’ll take that as a no,’ he said, scribbling in doctor-esque gibberish on his clipboard. ‘When did you last have sex?’

‘You live next door, mate – you tell me.’

He smiled. ‘Come on, Bloom, meet me halfway here. You know I won’t judge.’

‘You can’t need to know that.’

‘I’m sorry, I do. Just, you know, ballpark. It rules a few things out, that’s all.’

‘I don’t remember exactly. At least six months ago. Before me and Ash broke up.’

‘And any unusual discharge other than the bleeding?’

‘No,’ she muttered. ‘God, Will, I feel so embarrassed talking about this with you. I wanted to see Darya Kaur, but she wasn’t available.’

He looked up. ‘Oh, right. I didn’t realise that. Would you prefer to reschedule with her?’

‘No thanks. I won’t have any peace until I’ve got this over with.’

He flashed her a reassuring smile. ‘Well, there’s really no need to be embarrassed. I’m a doctor; I deal with these things every day.’

‘I know. Um, will you need to… you know, examine me?’

‘I’ll need to take swabs, but I can refer you to someone else if that’s going to make you uncomfortable. Sykesy’s got free appointments this afternoon, or I can book you in with either Darya or the practice nurse for another day if you’d rather see a woman.’

‘No, I don’t want to wait. I want it out of the way.’

‘Would you prefer to see Dr Sykes then?’

This was the problem with living in a tiny Yorkshire Dales village like Kettlewick. Nearly everyone had a connection to you, or to some friend or relative – your doctor included. Robyn would have felt slightly less uncomfortable with Darya, who at least had all the same bits as her. She’d feel excruciatingly embarrassed with sixty-five-year-old Donald Sykes, the senior GP in an old family practice, who used to run the am-dram group she’d been in as a kid and was a mate of her dad’s.

No, awkward as it was, she’d prefer to be seen by an old friend like Will. She was about to make herself very vulnerable, and she’d rather that was with someone she knew and trusted. And it was true, wasn’t it? Doctors dealt with this stuff all the time. She might be embarrassed, but to Will it was just another body – another day in the office.

‘No,’ she said. ‘No, I’d rather have you, please.’

‘You’ll have a female chaperone, obviously. I’ll ask Mrs Sykes to come in.’

Oh, great. Someone else she wouldn’t be able to look in the eye when they bumped into each other down the shop.

‘Fine.’ She let out a long breath. ‘I’m scared, Will. That it’s, you know… something bad.’

‘Chances are it’s nothing. Most things are. The sooner we get it checked out, the sooner you can get your peace of mind back.’ He nodded to the curtained examination area. ‘You get ready while I fetch Mrs Sykes. I’m sure you know the drill from your regular smears.’

‘Okay,’ she said with a nervous smile. ‘Will there be snuggling after?’

He groaned. ‘Oh God, here we go.’

‘What?’

‘The wisecracks. Every bloody time I have to do a cervical or prostate exam.’ He sighed. ‘Go on, get them out of your system. At least buy me dinner first usually comes next.’

‘Will you? Because I could murder a burger and chips.’

‘No.’ He gave her arm a pat. ‘Look, it’s fine, Bloom, really. There’s absolutely no need to feel awkward. Not to make you feel cheap, but you’re not my first vagina.’ He stood up and gestured to the examination area. ‘Now go on, darling, get in there and spread ’em. I promise I’ll be gentle with you.’

She couldn’t help laughing. ‘Smooth.’

‘Thanks. Like I said, not my first time.’

Oh, he was good, she thought as she wriggled out of her pants behind the curtain. He knew that cracking a few jokes, just being his usual daft self, would help put her at ease. In fact, for a minute, she’d almost forgotten how terrified she was about what might be wrong. Actually, it’d been kind of nice, like old times – before Ash had left. Except in those days the conversation hadn’t tended to revolve around her private parts quite so much.

And now there they were, her private parts, exposed to the cold, naked chill of the surgery’s air con under her maxi skirt. And there were the nerves, back in force. Thank God she’d remembered to do her bikini line.

She looked around for somewhere to stash her knickers, realised there was nowhere and stuffed them into her bra.

Robyn heard the consulting room door close as Will came in with Mrs Sykes.

‘Right,’ he said. ‘Are you ready for us in there?’

‘Um…’ She glanced longingly at the door, just visible through the slit in the green paper curtains, then lay down on the bed. ‘As I’ll ever be.’

*

Freya leaned forward, barely noticing her hair falling into her wine. ‘And then what?’

Robyn shook her head. ‘You two are loving this, aren’t you?’

‘Come on, Rob, you can’t just leave us hanging.’

Next to Freya, her brother Eliot nodded emphatically.

‘Don’t you guys have invasive medical procedures of your own you can get off on?’ Robyn demanded.

‘No,’ Eliot said. ‘So as a charitable Kettlewick citizen, it’s only right you should share yours.’

‘Fine.’ Robyn lowered her voice so the story of her epic humiliation wouldn’t be audible to every drinker in the Boon Companions. ‘So, Will and Mrs Sykes come in and he’s brandishing this giant lubed-up speculum – I mean this thing was two foot long if it was an inch, I swear. With sodding claws on the end.’

‘Claws?’

‘I’m sure it had claws. Some proper Roswell shit. And I’m lying there, legs spread, eyes watering, then Will says – right, get this. Don’t worry, Bloom, he says, waggling this humongous metal schlong at me. You won’t feel a thing.’

Eliot snorted.

‘He’s taking the piss,’ Freya said.

‘Course he is, he’s Will.’ Robyn smiled. ‘But the jokes did kind of take the edge off. He’s good at that stuff.’

‘Did it hurt?’ Eliot asked.

‘Well yeah, course it hurt, El. It’s a three-foot-long rod made of hard, cold steel.’

‘It’s grown.’

‘It’ll probably grow some more by the end of the story.’ Robyn took a reviving gulp of wine. ‘Anyway, that wasn’t the worst bit.’

Freya cocked an eyebrow. ‘Being rogered by a ten-foot steel probe wasn’t the worst bit?’

‘No.’ She grimaced. ‘It was him. Will. I mean, when I looked down and he was… there.’

Eliot frowned. ‘Well he’d have to be there, wouldn’t he? If he was examining your bits.’

Freya nudged him. ‘She means because of his brother, you prat.’

‘Oh. Oh! Yeah, that’d be weird.’

‘I really didn’t think the whole identical twin thing through when I started seeing Ash,’ Robyn said. ‘You can wave goodbye to your bastard, but his doppelgänger in the house next door isn’t so easy to shift.’

‘Will’s not a bastard,’ Freya said.

‘Never said he was.’

‘You implied it.’

‘Maybe I did.’ She sighed. ‘I know Will’s Will and Ash is Ash. I’ve got no beef with Will; he’s a nice lad. But he’s wearing the face of a man who unceremoniously dumped me six months ago and is currently on a beach in Western Australia having lazy, sun-drenched, and – if there’s any possibility there really is a God – quite possibly herpes-ridden sex with a girl more than ten years his junior.’

‘Not Will’s fault, is it?’

‘No. But he’s genetically identical to the person whose fault it is, and that’s a tough one to get your head round. I mean, technically they’re the same human being.’

‘That’s not how it works, Rob. There’s more to people than DNA.’

Robyn shook her head, scowling. ‘Eight months me and Ash were together, and mates for decades before that, yet still he… every time I look at Will, all I can see is his knob of a brother giving me that excruciating it’s not you, it’s me speech the day we broke up.’

‘Pretty unfair on poor Will.’

‘I know it is. I feel awful about it, but it just… hurts, you know?’

‘If we could return to the issue of Robyn’s front bottom for a moment,’ Eliot said. ‘How is it? Clean bill of health?’

‘I won’t know till my swab results come back, but Will said everything looked normal. He thought the extra period might just be an anomaly.’

‘And you feel better?’

‘A bit, but I won’t be able to properly relax until I get the test results.’

‘When will that be?’

‘Two weeks. I’ll get a text if it’s fine.’

‘Which it definitely will be,’ Freya said. ‘Right. Are we starting tonight’s meeting?’

‘Hang on,’ Robyn said. ‘Drinks first.’

When Robyn had made a trip to the bar, Freya took a gavel from her handbag and banged it on the table.

‘Okay, welcome one and all to the seventh weekly meeting of The Happy Singles Club. We’ll waive the singing of the club song, I Will Survive, and get straight to business.’

Robyn shook her head at Eliot. ‘I can’t believe you bought her a gavel.’

‘Aww. But she does love it so,’ Eliot said, giving his sister a squeeze.

‘So. Eliot,’ Freya said. ‘I understand you’ve devised a new game to underline how much better off we all are in our single, manless state. Tell us more.’

‘It’s called What’s Wrong With Him?. I made it up when I was browsing Match.com last night.’

Freya frowned. ‘I shouldn’t need to remind you, El, that browsing dating websites is strictly against club rules.’

‘Hey, this was research.’ He took out his phone. ‘Okay, let’s give it a go. What do you reckon?’

He showed them a photo of a man around their age, mid-thirties. He was good-looking, greying at the temples in a sexy, silver fox type of way. Nice smile, fashionable shirt, deep brown eyes. He looked pretty perfect to Robyn.

‘Serial philanderer?’ she hazarded.

‘Possibly, but he’d hardly put that in his dating profile. No, it’s worse than that.’

‘Ooh, let me have a go.’ Freya snatched the phone off her brother and examined the photo, her nose practically against the screen. ‘Okay, I’ve got it. You’ve cropped the photo in the middle. Corduroys, I bet. Or – shit, it’s not board shorts, is it?’

Eliot shook his head. ‘Wrong again. You want me to tell you?’

‘Yeah, go on,’ Robyn said, intrigued as to what could possibly be wrong with George Clooney’s fit younger brother.

‘Winnie.’

‘Eh?’

‘That’s his name. Winnie. Short for Winston, I guess.’

‘Yikes,’ Freya said, casting a gleeful look at poor Winnie. ‘You’re right, that’s irredeemable.’

‘Come on, girls, tell me honestly. Could you ever do it with a Winnie?’

Robyn shook her head. ‘It’s just too posh. I mean, unless he’s from a family weirdly obsessed with bears. Oh, this is Winnie, and have you met Paddington, Rupert, Yogi and our youngest, Gentle Ben?’

Freya nodded. ‘Seconded. Sorry, Winnie.’

Eliot presented another three candidates for their consideration – unlucky-in-love Gerard, who at thirty-four had been divorced no fewer than four times; Paul, who was forty-three but only interested in women twenty-five or under (‘And ladies, please don’t waste my time and yours – no munters’), and handsome, grinning Bradley, who had a passion for collecting lawnmowers. ‘What’s Wrong With Him?’ was voted a success and added to the official list of club games.

‘Okay, hobbies,’ Freya said. ‘Robyn, how’s the plan to replace sex with crochet going?’

‘It’s going well, in that I’m not having any sex, and badly, in that I’m crap at crochet.’

‘Well, keep practising. El, how about you?’

‘Not so well. I joined a film club at the village hall.’

‘Okay, and…?’

‘They’re having an Idris Elba season. How am I supposed to not think about sex when there’s Idris Elba?’

‘Hmm. I can see how that might be rough. Maybe try something a bit less stimulating, like vegetable-growing.’ She banged her gavel. ‘Right, we’ll catch up again next week. Meeting adjourned.’

2

When Robyn headed out for work the next morning, Will was on his driveway, scraping ice off his windscreen.

‘Morning,’ he said with a cheery nod, entirely unembarrassed at being caught in his Oscar the Grouch lounge pants and dressing gown.

Robyn wished she felt as relaxed as he seemed to be. Despite the November chill, she could feel the colour rising in her cheeks as she thought about the last time she’d seen him. Or rather, the last time he’d seen her. A whole damn lot of her.

‘Morning,’ she said, summoning her brightest smile. ‘Dress-down Friday at the surgery, is it?’

He laughed. ‘No, just thought I’d better tackle the ice before I jumped in the shower, give the antifreeze time to work its magic. I’m at the Glen this morning. So, did you have a good time yesterday?’

She stared at him. ‘I’m sorry?’

‘It’s meeting night on Thursdays, isn’t it? The Shag Marry Kill Club?’

Robyn laughed. ‘Oh, that. For a minute I thought you meant – you’re way behind, Will. The Mid-Nineties Sean Bean Appreciation Society replaced The Shag Marry Kill Club yonks ago.’

‘Freya’s idea?’

‘Yeah, she made us switch after retro Beany kept cropping up as her shag choice. She’s got her own gavel now, you know.’

‘Heh, I bet she loves that. So are you guys still Beanying?’

‘No, after Eliot broke up with Jackson and we ran out of episodes of Sharpe we changed to The Happy Singles Club. We haven’t quite finalised the official club badge design yet, but otherwise it’s going well.’

There was a moment’s awkward silence as Robyn’s unasked question hung in the air. Not so long ago, Will would have been welcome to join the three of them for their regular Thursday pub night. But now… now everything was weird.

‘I’d better go,’ she said at last. ‘I have to brush Cerberpus before we open, otherwise she gets mange.’

‘The glamorous life of a folk museum curator, eh?’

‘Technically, I’m only a folk museum steward, but I appreciate the promotion.’

‘What’s the difference?’

‘The money, I think.’

‘Ah.’

She shrugged. ‘To be honest I’m lucky to still be in a job. Not many backwater museums like ours have a full-time steward these days. Most run on a volunteer rota.’

‘How come ours has one then?’

‘Some of the exhibits are pretty valuable, hard as it is to believe.’ Robyn sighed. ‘Still, it does feel like I’m one budget review away from redundancy. If visitor numbers don’t improve, the council might even decide to close us and house our stuff elsewhere.’

Will looked up from his de-icing. ‘Bloody hell, are things as bad as all that?’

‘Other than the odd tourist, we’re like a ghost museum.’ She managed a smile. ‘Anyway, I’ll stop boring you with our woes. I’d better go get the place smartened up. Eliot’s bringing his class over this morning.’

‘Hey,’ Will said as she turned to leave.

‘What?’

‘I’ve been meaning to ask, would you be free a fortnight Wednesday for a thing?’

‘What type of a thing?’

‘I got talked into helping at the senior citizens’ Christmas social at the village hall. Wondered if you fancied pitching in.’

‘Senior citizens’ social?’ Robyn pulled a face. ‘Yes, well, fun as that sounds, I’ve actually got some unsightly facial hair I need to epilate that night, so…’

He shrugged. ‘I just thought it’d be nice to hang out. I hardly see you any more.’

Again, the wave of guilt. Again, the sharp stab in her gut when she looked at Will – good old Will, who she’d known since they were both eight years old – and saw his brother’s charming, treacherous face looking back at her.

‘I’d have thought you saw plenty of me yesterday,’ she said, attempting a light-hearted tone.

‘Come on, Bloom, what do you say? Yesterday was all well and good, but it’s the other bits of you I miss.’

She flushed. ‘Look, Will, I’m sorry we’ve not seen much of each other lately. Just… you know.’

‘Yeah, I know.’ He smiled sadly and turned back to his car. ‘I guess I’ll see you around then. And try not to worry, eh?’

‘Easier said than done,’ she muttered as she headed in the direction of Kettlewick Castle.

The castle was, in fact, not a castle at all but a two-storey cottage in the village’s main square. The name had been the original owner’s idea of a joke. The cottage sat right opposite the war memorial and one on from Cockburn’s corner shop.

The whole place was a bit of a joke really, although Robyn would go full Scrappy Doo on the ass of anyone who had the chutzpah to say so. Only she and her Aunt Felicity had that right, earned through years of polishing the creepy wax dolls and brushing down their star exhibit, a stuffed cat with three heads they’d christened Cerberpus.

‘Morning,’ Felicity said when Robyn got in. She was hard at work, applying generous squirts of Windolene to the glass cabinets.

Robyn smiled at the lively old lady, clad in one of her homemade tie-dye dresses. She could never fathom why Felicity chose to spend her retirement volunteering in the world’s naffest folk museum, but she was grateful for the company.

‘Morning,’ Robyn said. ‘All set for today?’

‘Oh yes, the precious lambs of Year Three will be joining us, won’t they?’ Felicity said, pulling a face. ‘I’d better check our supplies of squash and arsenic don’t need topping up.’

‘At least we’re getting some guaranteed custom. If the council gets wind of how few people we’ve had in this month, they might finally decide to pull our funding.’

‘They wouldn’t dare,’ Felicity said, looking fierce under her long silver tresses.

Robyn sighed. ‘I wish we could afford some new exhibits.’

‘What’s wrong with the ones we’ve got?’

‘Nothing, except that everyone round here’s seen them a hundred times over.’ She pulled up a chair behind her desk. ‘A new exhibition might go some way to bringing in more customers.’

‘Could we put in an application for extra funding?’

‘I’ve applied for every pot going. It’s so competitive now, little museums like ours never seem to get a look-in.’

‘Our time will come, you’ll see.’

‘I hope you’re right.’

Robyn shoved the mess of yarn and crochet hooks on her desk to one side and seized gratefully on a mug of coffee that seemed to be for her. Felicity glanced up from her polishing.

‘So, my duck, how did you get on at the doctor’s?’

‘Medically? I won’t know for two weeks. Socially? I’ll never live it down.’

‘Oh dear. It didn’t go and do something odd while you were having it looked at, did it?’

‘If by it you mean my vagina, then no.’ Robyn grimaced. ‘They assigned me the wrong doctor. Will had to examine me.’

‘Young Dr Barnes, eh?’ Felicity shrugged. ‘Well, that doesn’t sound so bad. He’d be welcome to give my bits the once-over.’

Robyn smiled. ‘Really, you’re trotting out randy old lady? You’re not going to get a rise out of me with that, you know. It got old with The Fast Show.’

‘I don’t know why I still bother trying,’ Felicity said, laughing. ‘I know you pride yourself on being unshockable.’

Robyn took a sip of her coffee and coughed. ‘Bloody hell, Aunty, what’s in this?’

Felicity grinned. ‘Just a nip of bourbon. I thought you might need a pick-me-up after yesterday’s ordeal.’

‘Fliss, it’s half-eight in the morning! I can’t be drinking on the job. The kids’ll be here soon.’

‘It’s only a tiny bit – help settle your nerves.’ She shot Robyn a keen look. ‘You know, I wasn’t entirely joking before. Handsome lad, Will Barnes.’

Robyn took another sip of coffee, grimacing at the taste. As soon as Fliss wasn’t looking, she’d pour it down the sink and make a proper cup. The last thing she needed was the Kettlewick Primary kids telling their parents that the museum lady reeked of booze first thing in the morning.

‘And my evil ex’s exact double,’ she reminded her aunt.

Fliss shrugged. ‘A good-looking man is a good-looking man. How did Will feel about it?’

‘Oh, he was all professionalism, with a few jokes chucked in. He’s good at that stuff – knowing what to say to put you at ease.’ Robyn blinked into her coffee. ‘I’m worried, Aunty. Worried it might be something… bad.’

‘Don’t be daft.’

‘It’s not daft though, is it? You remember Grace Barnes.’

Felicity hobbled over to rest a hand on Robyn’s shoulder. ‘Robyn, you’re a healthy young woman with many years ahead of you. That’s all that’s worrying you – you so rarely get ill that one little change in your body sends you into a panic.’

‘Has it ever happened to you?’

‘Sweetheart, I’m seventy-six years old. I’m in and out of doctors’ surgeries more times in the week than you need to visit the little girls’ room.’

‘But has this ever happened to you? Have you ever had any bleeding where you didn’t know the cause?’

‘No,’ she admitted. ‘But it’ll be nothing, I’m sure of it.’ She pressed a small gemstone into Robyn’s hand. ‘Here, I brought you this.’

‘You know I don’t believe in that crystal stuff.’

‘But I do. Take it for me, eh? I’ll feel better knowing it’s with you.’

‘Oh, go on then.’ Robyn gave the hand resting on her shoulder a pat. ‘Thanks for caring, Aunty.’

Felicity drew one finger over the stone. ‘Clear quartz, for healing. I’m sure you won’t need it, but just keep it in your pocket. Can’t do any harm, can it?’

‘I suppose not.’ Robyn slipped it into her pocket and stood up. ‘Okay, let’s get the place spruced up. The little poppets of Year Three will be here in an hour.’

*

Robyn was trying to occupy her mind with the granny square blanket she was crocheting when she heard the chatter of young voices outside. Eliot poked his head through the museum door.

‘Are you ready for us, Ms Bloom?’

She put her crocheting down and stood up. ‘Yeah, in you come.’

Eliot beckoned to the gang of seven- and eight-year-olds lined up behind him. ‘All right, you lot.’

The kids piled in, a couple of parent helpers bringing up the rear.

‘Okay, gang,’ Eliot said in his bossy teacher voice. ‘We’re very lucky to have the castle to ourselves, so I want you all on your best behaviour while Ms Bloom shows us some interesting things from Kettlewick’s history. No wandering off, talking out of turn or generally being a pain in the backside until we get back to school. Understand?’

‘Yes, Mr Miller,’ the kids chorused.

Robyn stifled a smirk. It was weird seeing her friend doing his job, like a real grown-up.

‘Hello, everyone, and welcome to Kettlewick Castle Heritage Museum,’ she said to the group, who were already casting underwhelmed glances around the exhibits. She nodded to Felicity. ‘My lovely assistant, Miss Heath here, will hand out some Treasure Trail sheets and then we’ll—’

A hand attached to a brassy-looking ginger lass shot into the air.

‘Why’s it called a castle when it’s not then, Miss?’ she demanded.

Eliot frowned. ‘I think Ms Bloom would prefer to answer questions at the end, Laurie. You’ve been told before it’s bad manners to interrupt.’

‘But I put my hand up!’ Laurie’s lip started to wobble. ‘I did it like I was s’posed to, didn’t I? Put my hand up, didn’t I? Don’t see why I’m in trouble if I put my hand up.’

‘It’s okay, I don’t mind answering questions as we go.’ Robyn flashed the little girl a smile. ‘It’s not a very interesting story, I’m afraid. The house was known as Kettlewick Castle long before it was a museum. I think the man who built the place thought it was funny.’

‘Why?’

‘Well, because it’s not a castle. Just an ordinary house. It’s a joke, you see?’

Laurie pondered this for a moment. ‘I don’t get it,’ she said. The other kids nodded in agreement.

‘I guess it’s not a very funny joke,’ Robyn conceded. ‘There was no TV in those days so people had lower expectations when it came to comedy.’

The children stared at her blankly.

‘No TV?’ one lad whispered to his friend. ‘What did people even do?’

‘Aha!’ Robyn seized gratefully on the prompt. ‘Funnily enough, that’s one thing you’re here today to learn about. The Treasure Trail sheets please, Miss Heath.’