Blooming Women

4. Presentiment

Dear. Listen to me: this is important.

Samantha's actual voice broke in over the memory.

I have been trying to gain access to the mind of your captor whilst you have been distracting her; I am ashamed to admit I have had no success: at first I thought her strongly psychic, then I thought her simply moronic – and that gave me my clue: her mind is... vegetative. Or earthy. Not vulgar you understand, but... of the earth. And vegetation, of course. This – Samantha sounded as if she was announcing her own, skilful, discovery of a magnificent rarity – is a Dryad! Or perhaps, technically, a Karya, if I may derive the word to mean a nymph of the hazel grove, basing my assumption on the shape of the surrounding vegetation; I do believe she can sense me and so, in her turn, believes that you are terminally ill.

'Oh BLOODY marvellous! Well. Let's. Let's keep that to ourselves for now? We might need the surprise.'

I concur Dear. This does put you in an awkward position.

'Me?! What about you?'

Samantha had the decency to sound abashed. I have already passed beyond The Veil, Dear; I could, in a pinch, make my own way home.

'Oh thanks a heap.'

I would like to remind you that I have an obligation, decreed by Providence,  to see you married; to do so you must be alive: the Church and, indeed, the Civil authorities, are firm upon this point. There is also a perfectly good vehicle I would prefer to travel home in, only yards away. I shall assist as necessary.

'Thank you. That's big of you.'

Samantha ignored the sarcasm.

We are a team, Dear, and employed by Her Majesty upon that basis.

'So you had an argument and a... sandwich? And this Georgie went to... hospital? I don't understand,' prompted the voice from the darkness of the thicket in front of her, and Amber realised she had been quite for far too long.

'Quick – shall I tell her you had a presentiment?'

I think not, Dear. I feel the revelation should be kept in reserve; we cannot be sure that admitting the presence of one such as myself to a creature that is so very much alive might bias her opinion.

'Do you now anything  at all about Carry... whatsits?'

Karya, Dear; I have a knowledge of  The  Greek Classics in which Dryads of various types feature.

'Will that get us out of this any sooner?'

I hope to gain valuable insights as you converse with the creature.

That meant 'no'.  Amber paused, shivers rattling her knees and making her shoulders curl in; the tip of her nose was beginning to suffer, but not as much as the hand stuck out in front of her.

'I. I'm. I'm just getting everything clear in my mind. Of course, we weren't expecting any problems, but I had to wait for my friend; she's really looking forward to having a baby, and not just because it'll get rid of the backache—'

Focus! Gloss over my Presentiment and tell the story from there.

Samantha's 'Presentiments' tended to be correct, even if they were supremely undetailed; they also seemed only to work with respect to men, usually when something good looking was about to show up; if Samantha said they should leave rather than show a little more leg, it meant hot water, not a hot man.
Samantha had been off scouting, which Amber took to mean invading the minds of the women in the garden centre and pursing ghostly lips at the auras of the men, and Cloud had seen a carousel at the edge of the toy section where Amber had left her plugged into a set of headphones, previewing whale sounds and nursery rhyme CDs while she, in turn, browsed  as calmly as she could and kept one eye out for anything that might cause A Presentiment, half the other for Cloud, who was probably due another run to the toilet at any minute, and the rest of her attention examining crockery and kitchen gadgets. Looking up, she noticed a pestle and mortar of polished, honey-coloured stone. It was gorgeous. It also wasn't the sort of thing you would expect to actually use and would have been ruined in a dishwasher, so of course Amber had to take a look. Stretching up to the shelf, she snagged the pestle, but found the bowl too awkward to lift one handed.

'Told you women were meant to stay in the kitchen didn't I? Natural isn't it? I'll get that for you...' 

A pair of white-sleeved arms came from behind, reaching up with her, and an overlarge stomach pressed into her back, joggling with obscene suggestiveness.

Amber's body contracted in revulsion and her sound of disgust merged with Samantha's A Presentiment I said, Dear.

Amber's pestle arm fell sharply.

It wasn't planned any more than a squeal and a shake of a wrist might be on finding an over-large spider clutching the back of a hand; there was a muffled Thock and the stomach removed itself, accompanied by the obligatory squeal. The brief silence that followed was broken by the a sound of a bull entering a china shop and receiving disappointing news: Georgie, kneecapped with what was, effectively, a granite cosh, keeled over as his right leg gave way beneath him.  He swivelled involuntarily, unable to save himself, and ploughed into the shelves of utensils, which dominoed against the display of humorous coffee mugs beyond, as he collapsed.Amber found that she was cringing, head tucked down, shoulders and ears nearly touching, one and a half eyes screwed closed.
The crash settled, surprisingly without the roinroinroinoinoinnnnn-clatter which the destruction of a pile of plates might be expected to finish with and, for a moment, there was Muzak-overlayed stillness.
Amber's lips silently formed a phrase.

Oh Fuck.
Dear!
'All right! Oh DEAR! Now isn't the time to try and teach me manners—'
No! Quickly! Put back the weapon and walk away! Perhaps you had better expunge your fingerprints...
Dithering slightly, Amber yanked a sleeve over one hand, juggled the pestle into its grasp, polished the handle on her other sleeve and half pitched the small club back into its bowl, before peering around the newly created edge of the display.
Georgie was lying in the wreckage of shelving and crockery, whining and clutching his knee; his hat had slipped over his eyes and, thankfully, the humour of the scene had been served, not by a last, clattering plate, but by the addition of a small sign which now perched on top of his stomach.
Delightful to touchA wonder to holdBut if it gets brokenConsider it sold.
'Oopsie.'
Amber skipped lightly away down the aisle, trying not to look gleeful.

Stop! Walk! CCTV Dear! Turn right! Now look innocent – Well do your best for me ... you may now look.

People were homing in on the accident scene, Cloud's friend from the till included.
'What's happened?'
'I couldn't say, but they're paying for it...'
'I hope they're insured.'
'Bound to be.'
'I dunno, these places are pretty squeaky about money – look at the prices!'
'Strewth, it's 'im from the kitchen!'
'Worr, no wonder it made a bang!' There was delighted male laughter.
Amber covered her mouth, eyes wide. Only a century of time and a pair of heaving shoulders separated her from the perfect illusion of A Young Lady, Properly Shocked At Being Asked To Witness Reality.
We must find Cloud and leave, Dear. Immediately.
'With you on that! She was...' Amber glanced around 'This way!'
Amber walked quickly, laughter mostly suppressed.
'Wait. Did you say there's CCTV? Aren't we—'
I believe there is a spot uncovered by the cameras exactly where we were standing, Dear.

'Well that was lucky.'

I suspect it a less providential and more the work of your attacker, if you consider his approach.
'Ohhhh. The pervy little—'
There is Claudia, Dear.
Cloud was standing with headphones on, nodding happily to a CD of nursery rhymes entitled It's Never To Early To...  and oblivious to the drama unfurling only two rows of birthday cards away.

'Can't you call her Cloud?'

Perhaps after she is married; I cannot, as yet, forgive her parents for naming their child Claudia Skye.

It took a moment to convince Cloud it was time to leave, especially with an ear-catching commotion going on so close by. Cloud looked mutinous until Amber reminded her about 'the baby' and that getting upset might, in some nebulous way, harm him; they progressed in a stately fashion out of the garden centre, both studiously ignoring the beginnings of Georgie's explanation, which veered suddenly into an heroic attempt on his part to save the shelves and away from his first indignant 'she hit me!' Either version was going to be trouble, and Amber suspected that there might be awkward questions which would degenerate into an ugly argument with the only evidence being her word against Georgie's over what had happened. It wasn't that she minded arguing, it was the possibility that she might not win that took her into the car park for a speedy exit.
'I see.' Said the shadow in front of her, as the cold worked another inch beneath Amber's skin, causing another bout of shivers. 'Can I ask a question?'
'Yyyy... Yyy... uh huh?'
'What's a sandwich?'