The Chrysalid Conspiracy by A.J. Reynolds

the more colourful aspects of her mind.
    The morning continued in fits and starts. Most of the customers were pleasant and Rayn soon learned to cope. Lucy didn’t even remark when she heard Rayn explain to a woman who was complaining about the lack of choice in the village that, to those who believed the world was flat, Tether’s end was very near the edge.
    The afternoon slowed with the weather and it gave the girls time to clean up so they could finish when they closed the shop for the day.
    After a quick phone call, Bridie arrived laden with a selection of Chinese food from the takeaway. Lucy paid her from the till and they sat around the table and enjoyed their meal.
    Amelia lay in bed that night, wondering about her mother’s phantom cello. She dismissed the idea that there was some psychic connection between them and put it down to coincidence.
    But as she drifted off to sleep, she remembered that when her mother had mentioned hearing a cello, she’d had the sudden urge to reach for her sword. But what sword? “Oh Turdles,” she muttered and fell asleep.

Chapter Five
    Her little green digital clock was sniggering at her this morning. It was as if she’d been the victim of some elaborate practical joke and it was enjoying the moment.
    “You are so dead,” she told it.
    She was looking forward so much to seeing Rayn and Bridie’s caravan and meeting their animals, she was determined not to let anything spoil her day. It was just getting light and some stars were still visible in a clear and healthy looking sky. It’s going to be a nice day, she thought.
    She woke her mother, and although she was running a bit late, she didn’t stint on the care and attention she gave her. When Lucy was up and dressed and heading for her workshop she stopped to speak to her daughter. “It’s nice to see you have something else to do on a Sunday, Amelia”.
    Amelia skidded to a halt. She had been hurtling down the stairs dressed in her tracksuit and pulling on a pair of woollen gloves.
    “Oh Mum, I’m so sorry. Do you want me to stay with you today?” she said. That horrible feeling of guilt crowded in on her.
    Lucy knew she meant it. Her daughter always put her first. Too much really , she thought. “What!” she cried, “And spoil my day? Get out of here!”
    “But you’ll be on your own, Mum. That’s not right.”
    “It’s fine. George will be over later. He’s cooking a Sunday roast. So get Bridie and that crazy daughter of hers over here by about four. Now, out!”
    Once outside Amelia was thankful there was a clear blue sky, it was calm and sunny with that edge of late autumn. Jogging the length of the wide village green, originally a cricket pitch with its avenue of ancient trees, protected by the ring road, now little more than a car park with the shops and businesses that backed onto the river on her left while, on her right, the row of old stone cottages, the thirteenth-century church, the primary school and the edge of a more modern housing estate that swept back into the countryside, eating everything in its path.
    Easing to her left she crossed the road and ran down Millers Lane, where a row of picture postcard thatched cottages with their beautiful gardens angled off to the right to square off the village. She ran down the lane and was almost immediately into open countryside.
    She loved being down here by the river and even though it was sluggish and discoloured from the recent rains she jogged easily alongside of it. With no pressure to get back, the sheer freedom of mind and body matched the open freshness of her surroundings. She felt that she was truly a part of the vast panorama of life itself.
    Nigel didn’t turn out on Sundays. Amelia was free to run later, when it was light, and she didn’t need her ‘Shining Knight’. She missed him though. He knew exactly when to push the pace or ease up and she also knew that she wouldn’t be doing the rigorous exercise workout he’d normally put her