By Any Other Name Read Free Page A

across as at all suspicious. And snow is coal-black.
    Mum sighs as we get to the path leading to the main street. ‘It’s harder than you think, isn’t it?’ She shakes her head. ‘They talk you through it all, but when you
actually have to do it for real, that’s quite another matter.’
    ‘She was nosy.’
    ‘Dad says we’ll have to get used to that – neighbours wanting to know our business. Apparently even strangers at bus stops will do it.’
    ‘Really? That’s just weird.’
    Mum laughs, rubbing Katie’s hand because my sister is still whimpering faintly and gazing at her in confusion. ‘When your father first moved south, he couldn’t get used to how
unfriendly he found people there. I used to tease him that he was the oddball and that it was all down to a diet of black pudding and tripe when he was a kid. You don’t remember his mother of
course, but she was the type of woman to force-feed a child offal.’
    ‘Ew!’
    Katie’s ears prick up. ‘Ew!’ she says. ‘Ew! Ew! Ew! Ew! EW!’
    Mum rolls her eyes at me and I mouth, ‘Sorry.’ But Mum lets Katie
Ew
all the way to the shops because at least now she’s forgotten about having her hand yanked.
    I scan the main street: two bakers, a butcher, a couple of hairdressers and a beauty salon, three cafés (one also moonlighting as a restaurant), a couple of general stores, a post office
and a pet shop. And that’s just the shops on this street. There are more on the road leading up to the church, but I can’t tell what they are from here.
    The village looks very clean. I notice that immediately. There’s no sign of litter and the pavements look almost scrubbed. The main street is like a photograph from a country magazine.
There aren’t many people about, but the ones I can see also look scrubbed, and freshly pressed too. Wholesome somehow, like the seeded, uber-nutritious bread Mum used to buy before Katie
mutinied and decided she didn’t like bread with ‘bits’ in it and we had to go back to the flabby white stuff. Katie screaming at her toast at 7.30 in the morning is much worse for
us than a few slices of white bread.
    ‘EW!’
    The whole queue in the baker’s shop turns to look at us as Katie yells when we walk in. Even the woman serving at the counter looks up. My cheeks flush hot as they stare at us.
    ‘Yargh!’ Katie squeals at them. It’s a friendly noise, a kind of hello, but I’m not sure they realise that. Mum keeps a firm hold on her hand, but I let her go so they
can join the queue.
    ‘Cake!’ Katie spots them straight away: slices of gateaux, carrot cake, chocolate fudge, Victoria sponge. Her face shines with excitement, but the queue frowns as one.
    ‘Yes, cake.’ Mum points to the shelves. ‘And bread.’
    ‘Bread!’ Katie points too. Then she squints at the loaves until she finds what she’s looking for and her pointing finger tracks her find. ‘No bits!’
    ‘Correct. That’s white bread.’
    ‘White!’ Katie grins. ‘No bits.’
    The frowns on the faces around us deepen. They don’t know what to make of this horrible, spoilt child. I stand behind Mum and Katie, my face sour. Who do they think they are to look down
their noses at us?
    The woman at the front of the queue picks up her carrier bag from the counter, casts a last scathing look at Katie and leaves. We all shuffle forwards.
    ‘Doughnuts!’ Katie says in her too-loud-for-a-shop voice. She’s spotted the contents of the glass case under the counter. Her favourite is there, with custard filling and
chocolate icing on the top.
    There’s a definite tut from the queue, and a cool wave of disapproval – I can almost feel it freeze my hot cheeks. And then I get a prickle of hate over my skin. How stupid are these
people?
    We move forward again and Katie squeals. We’ve edged closer to the doughnuts and she wants to share her joy about that with the rest of the shop. And now, finally, there’s a flicker
of doubt on their faces –
Is