Part 05: Penelope the Preacher woman…

Penelope the Preacher woman.

Olive skidded around a sharp bend, came into sight of her garage, and shot the car into it with practised judgement. The tyres squealed, and she almost rammed the back of the garage with her front bumpers. She shut off the engine, climbed out quickly, gathered her new possessions from the boot, and raced back toward her house.

From the cover of a bank of alder bushes, she peered out. She couldn’t risk another meeting. Fortunately, the evening was growing dusk. Two chattering teenage girls shuffled down the lane; spoilt brats who spend their time riding around and tending their horses. Snotty nosed toffs with more money than sense. The girls passed the gate of number three Flintstone Terrace and half halted, half kept going, sniggering and pointing.

Olive couldn’t hear them, but she knew what they were saying. The gossip was all over the hamlet: That’s where the hermit lives; what’s her name? Penelope, a religious freak who never comes out till evening; some preacher woman who rejects material objects; a long-lost twin of Olive the flirt; both of them crazy in their own way.

The two girls ambled on, their peals of hilarity blurring with distance. Hidden behind the alders, Olive rubbed the palm of one hand with the fingers of the other. The palm was moist with nervousness. But she grinned. Her ploy had them all fooled.
 
To be continued… 
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The real world:
 
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Like to know more about Alf, Bert and the rest of the gang? You can read their chaotic history in What on Earth.
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