The Chilbury Ladies’ Choir

‘Hello there, Miss Paltry,’ Mrs Tilling called as I darted to the lane. ‘You should have been with us today for the meeting.’

‘We were just saying how uplifting it was,’ added Mrs Quail, her round face puce with pleasure.

‘Oh, how marvellous,’ I said, keeping a distance. A crowd had gathered outside the shop, all in green uniforms like pecking budgies, and I was stuck listening to their nonsense for a few minutes. It was ridiculous. How a bunch of women can honestly believe that a cake sale and some raggedy sewing can win a war, I have no idea.

‘Lady Worthing was there,’ Mrs B preened. ‘We have been so fortunate to have her as our benefactor.’

The baby boy in the black bag began snivelling, quietly at first, and then louder, and I knew I had to leave. Now.

‘Must dash,’ I said, making off.

‘What was that noise?’ Mrs Tilling said with a start, looking around the green.

‘Oh, the ducks are such a menace at this time of year,’ I said cheerily. ‘They keep me up half the night with their mating rituals,’ I added with some quick thinking.

‘Oh,’ she said primly. I’m sure she’d consider any allusions to reproduction inherently coarse.

Only then a distinct baby’s cry came from my black bag, and she glared at it, her mouth open to speak, yet unable to decide what to say.