Every Bookshop Needs a Cat (Fleckney Fields Series, Book 2)

Don't Snap Your Fingers On Me

Anya and Varya had tea, which Mrs. Little called 'supper,' in Anya's bedroom. Each of their rooms had an ensuite, and soon enough Anya was lying in bed, in her knickers and a tee. According to Sally's text that Anya had gotten a few hours earlier, the Fergusons had visited the farm, and a lot of everyone's belongings had been intact. Unsurprisingly, the county of Fleckney had an excellent volunteer fire brigade, which had responded to the fire promptly. There was no rush. While Varya had been recovering in the hospital, Anya had spent a bit on a few new clothing items, and she'd taken the clothes that they'd worn on that cursed day to the launderette. She'd promised her ex sister-in-law to stop by the farm soon and to pick up whatever of their stuff had survived. Sally had said nothing about their move.

Somehow, despite how eventful and emotional their day had been, Anya just couldn't fall asleep. She was comfortable; after all, this was the biggest bed, the best mattress, and the most luxurious bedding she'd ever lain on in her life. And yet.

Anya wasn't prone to idle fantasies. At least, the current Anya wasn't. It was possible that the teenage Anya - somewhat unburdened, only slightly disillusioned, and still mostly optimistic - had dreamt and imagined and thought of what if's. After her Mother's death, it had been just work and exhausted slumber. On top of it, she truly had had nothing to moon about.

She did now - and she fought it, and told herself that she was an idiot, and that she was only aggravating her ridiculous angst. And yet, here she was, the image - visceral, almost tangible - of sliding into his bed making her squirm on the sheets.

She would never act on it, of course. She'd never made the 'first move' even when in bed with Dom. She'd offered sometimes, staggering, and mumbling, and hinting rather than propositioning him directly, and never 'coming at him' physically - but it always came from the place of her trying to anticipate his wishes. She didn't find their intimacy unpleasant, not at all. They'd gotten together young, and of course there had been normal, healthy urges. It had just very quickly become something mundane, like hoovering or taking their rubbish out. And then he'd lost interest completely - and she didn't miss it.

When she was younger, the way such things had been discussed - although always in unexplicit terms and so ambiguously that sometimes one could hardly understand what the whole conversation was about - had always been about 'saving herself for someone special' or 'no one would want a toothbrush that has been used by others.' Most importantly, the thought had been drilled into her that men would never say 'no,' that it was in their nature to always try to 'get some' and it was the woman's job to dodge it. The Anya of today knew that the times had changed, and even before, she'd always felt that there was something fundamentally wrong in these outdated patriarchal ideas. After all, it seemed that neither men, portrayed as rabid animals, or women, compared to disposable household items, had been allowed no possibility of choice, consent, or freedom from being judged on their actions.

Anya peered at the canopy over her gigantic bed and sighed. If men weren't all wolves, did it mean that if she offered he could easily say 'no?' Even the sheer thought of it made her tense and painfully bite her bottom lip. Oh the humiliation...

There was an even more mortifying possibility: he could assume that her 'advances' were her attempt to solidify her position in his life, to prolong her stay in this house, and even to snooker some additional favours out of his Uncle. After all, hadn't Ms. Atieno assumed exactly that when she'd found Anya in the Ekollon for the first time?

Anya exhaled slowly and noisily - and lowered her feet on the floor. Mrs. Little had provided her with a checked wool dressing gown, thick and warm, lined with silk. Anya wrapped in the gown, tightened the wide belt, and made a few hesitant steps to the door, asking herself where exactly it was that she was going.