A Wartime Summer by Rosie Meddon

Author:Rosie Meddon
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Canelo
Published: 2022-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 17

They hadn’t spotted her. Yes, she’d felt mean sneaking away without inviting Nessa and Bonnie to come with her but, tonight, she was hoping to just enjoy the beauty of nature without anyone enquiring about either her past or the direction of her future. And she definitely didn’t want any more of Mr Beer’s cider! Lovely though it was, even the small amount she’d drunk last night had left her this morning with eyes that felt like squares in round holes, and a slowness to her thoughts that she had struggled all day to shake. It was all right for Nessa; she was clearly used to alcoholic drinks. In which case, she should have known better than to ply Bonnie with it quite so freely. Poor girl. It was a wonder she hadn’t spent the night being sick. What terrible agony she’d been in at first light, though. Had Mr Beer noticed it was Nessa milking the cow instead of Bonnie, they had agreed to say the poor girl was bedridden with cramps. It took a brave man to challenge that excuse.

Arriving back at the river again, she spotted the patch of flattened grass where the three of them had last night lain to dry off. Somewhere here was the plant she’d come back to identify. It shouldn’t be hard to find because the flowers were the sunniest of yellows. In fact, yes, there it was, beneath those trees. She suspected it would turn out to be nothing more than buttercups, but she would check anyway, it being some time since she’d ticked off a new flower in her book.

As she edged her way down the bank, she could see that the leaves were large and dark and fleshy. Reminding herself of the need to be careful, she bent to examine the flowers; golden and glossy, they certainly resembled buttercups, but not so the foliage. Opening her book, she flicked through the pages until, almost by chance, she spotted an illustration entitled Marsh Marigold, the smaller print underneath reading, also King Cups. The drawing matched perfectly, as did the description: large mid-yellow flowers resembling cups, this plant most often colonises riverbanks, ditches, damp meadows, or the margins of ponds. Rising to her feet, she smiled. She was getting good at this: another plant identified. Although, by the look of the browning petals, only just in time. Flowers March to May/June, her book observed.

Having edged her way back up the bank, May glanced to the sky. There were more clouds this evening than yesterday, and the breeze had more of a freshness. Not that she minded; a cooler night would be good for her head. Who would have thought just a few mouthfuls of Mr Beer’s cider would have such a long-lasting effect?

Turning her attention to the water flowing languidly between the banks, she sighed. She should have thought to bring her towel; a quick dunk would probably have done her the power of good. She glanced over her shoulder. She supposed she could still risk it.

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