The Insect Rosary by Sarah Armstrong Read Free Book Online Page A

additives. It was their last chance to show that he didn’t need any medication, that his diet could eliminate the worst excesses of his behaviour. In fact, she thought, Agatha’s plain cooking was probably exactly what Hurley needed. She just wanted to add a few different vegetables and fruit, that was all. And some chocolate to hide in the suitcase, under her clothes. And beer for Elian, who fetishized European lager in the way Budweiser used to be cool in England. She chose one with monks on the front as it seemed to be even more European, although she’d never have thought that when she lived here.
    Hurley had a Snicker and dropped it into the basket.
    â€˜Half today and half tomorrow, OK?’ she said.
    He shrugged and went to look at the magazines. She chose eight bottles of beer from the alcohol aisle and then put two back. They had to carry whatever they bought. When they brought the car they could get more.
    Hurley appeared at her side again. ‘That man was talking but I don’t know what he said.’
    Nancy looked over his shoulder. The man looked cross and was putting a magazine back into its slot.
    â€˜Never mind,’ said Nancy, ‘he was probably just being friendly.’
    They took the basket to the counter and paid, Nancy looking at each note carefully to make sure she gave the right amount. She could have used her card but wanted the familiarity of the money, the thick, colourful notes and different shaped coins. It made her think of pocket money and how much she used to value pound coins, and weren’t all the silver coins smaller, somehow thinner?
    She bagged up the shopping in parachute thin plastic bags and left the shop. Elian was waiting outside.
    â€˜I finally found some reception and then my phone died.’
    â€˜I told you to turn it off. Looking for reception wears down the battery.’
    â€˜There’s no point repeating it, is there? I just told you what happened.’
    â€˜I got you some beer.’ She looked at him. ‘Where’s the backpack?’
    â€˜I thought you were bringing it.’
    â€˜Where,’ she tried to flap her arms, ‘exactly would I have hidden that?’ She held out one bag to him.
    â€˜Don’t they have any paper bags?’
    â€˜Why don’t you go in and ask them if they supply paper bags for American tourists?’
    â€˜Well, ten thousand Elvis impersonators can’t be wrong.’ He looked at the bag. ‘This is really going to hurt my hand.’
    Hurley searched in Elian’s bag and then Nancy’s bag for the Snicker.
    â€˜And you thought that was a good idea?’ Elian continued.
    â€˜Yes, I did.’
    â€˜Didn’t the dietician –’
    â€˜Yes, I know.’
    They set off back down the road.
    Â 
    Nearly back at the house, a plastic bag stripe scoring her palm, Nancy remembered the stones in the field. She assumed they were still there, but hadn’t checked from her bedroom window. Elian and Hurley wouldn’t have known, even if they were there, from the road. The hedges that lined the field either side of the gate were thick and varied. The concrete posts which secured either side of the gate didn’t look like the entrance to a historical anomaly. She remembered that her father had loved these stones, had studied them and then been banned from ever coming near them.
    They placed their feet carefully, crossing the cattle grid, but Elian slipped and there was a crack. Beer began to drip from the holes in the bottom of the plastic bag.
    â€˜Brilliant,’ he said.
    â€˜See if there are any left.’
    He lowered the bag to the ground and pulled the handles apart. ‘Three down, one left.’
    Nancy groaned. ‘I’ve still got two.’
    Elian pulled out a large piece of brown glass and looked around for somewhere to put it.
    â€˜You can’t leave it lying around. It all has to come inside.’
    He put it back in the bag