Seeing her sister's battered old Land Rover pull up outside through the window, Kamile sighed and picked up her bags; she had not been looking forward to this trip, firstly because she didn't really get on with Myra, at 32 the buxom redhead was almost 6 years older than her so they didn't really have that much in common and secondly she hated staying at Honeysuckle Cottage, the place had always given her the creeps when she was a child. It had belonged to their great aunt Dora and every summer during the school holidays their mother had always sent them both there for a couple of weeks.
Then, a few weeks ago Dora had passed away, leaving the two siblings the cottage in her will, so their mother had suggested that her and Myra should go up there and spend a couple of days sorting the place out, getting it ready to sell; plus she had said it would give them both chance to talk. Reluctantly she had agreed to it and now there was Myra beeping her horn impatiently outside.
"Alright alright, I'm coming!" the younger sibling snapped, checking herself in the mirror one last time; standing at around 5' 4" and sharing the same vibrant red hair colour as her sister, she pulled it into two pigtails and slipped on her sunglasses. She then picked up her bags once more, stepped outside and locked the front door.
"Ohh very practical!" Myra yelled over, smiling and shaking her head at the very short denim shorts and tight white t-shirt, "we're supposed to be working, remember?"
"It's called style sis, you wouldn't understand."
"Yeh whatever Kammy, come on get in."
Dumping her bags in the back, Kamile settled into the passenger seat and pulled on her seatbelt.
"Still got the old rust bucket then?" she smirked.
"There's nothing wrong with this old Landie," Myra chirped proudly as they pulled away, "it's nearly 40 years old and I bet it will outlive your crappy little Clio by a good long way."
"Well at least my car's not covered in mud," the younger sibling scoffed.
"I live on a smallholding, what do you expect?"
"Hmm yeh well, you could still try cleaning it every now and then."
"I simply don't have the time," Myra shrugged.
Tutting and rolling her eyes, Kamile cast her eyes over her sister; as per usual she was wearing her wax jacket, jeans and boots, her hair scraped back into its usual straggly ponytail. Even when she was younger, Myra had always been a practical outdoors type, by the time she was 21 she had moved out and bought the smallholding with the money their late father had left her, growing a few crops and keeping a small amount of livestock, just enough to turn a small profit. Although the years of hard work had left her looking slightly older than her 32 years, it had given her a very powerful looking physique, with a bulky upper torso and thick chunky thighs. Kamile couldn't remember the last time she had seen her dressed in anything remotely girly or seen her with a boyfriend, although she could vaguely remember someone when she was still living at home, but it didn't last long, she just seemed to be the sort of person who enjoyed her own company.
"How's Mark then?" Myra asked as she turned down the lane for Willvington.
"We've split up."
"Bloody hell! Not again?" the older sibling laughed, "What over this time?"
"Nothing," Kamile scowled, "he can just be so immature that's all."
"Oh dear, did he hide your favourite Barbie doll again?" Myra smirked as they drove through the centre of the village.
"Oh ha ha, piss off Myra!"
"Oh come on Kammy, get a grip; you know damn well you can be just as bad as him," Myra giggled, "you're like a pair of kids; it's about time you both bloody grew up."
"Look, I don't want to discuss it, just drive," Kamile huffed, folding her arms.
"Alright alright, calm down."
Sighing, Kamile looked out of the window; she'd never liked Willvington, she thought the people were either weird, creepy backward yokels or snotty nosed bastards who looked down on anyone who had a pound less than them. Driving past the church and The Swinging Witch pub, Myra turned into Honeysuckle Lane.
"Well, here we are then," she smiled as they pulled up outside the cottage.
"Thank God for that; my back's killing after being in this old heap for nearly an hour," her younger sister groaned.
"Oh stop moaning you mard arse, come on," chirped Myra.
"Alright, I'm coming," Kamile sighed, grabbing her bags and following her sister.
Turning the key, a reminiscent smile spread across Myra's face as the door opened with its familiar creak; picking up the pile of junk mail, the pair made their way into the kitchen at the back.
"Yep, there it is, that same old horrible smell," said Kamile, pulling her face, "boiled cabbage."
"Hmm yeah," smiled Myra, making her way back towards the sitting room; she had just stepped through door when a loud scream came from the kitchen. Rushing back through she found her sister standing on a chair near the back door.
"Kammy?...What's up?"
"Mouse!...it's a fuckin' mouse!"
"Where?"
"There! Are you fuckin' blind?" Kamile shrieked, pointing at something by the fridge; stepping over, Myra picked it up and burst out laughing.
"You daft cow! It's just the end of an old dish mop, here catch," she giggled, tossing it at her younger sibling.
"UUUGH!...PISS OFF!"
"Come on, let's get started," smiled Myra, shaking her head.
"Alright, what do you want me to do?" Kamile sighed as she got down off the chair.
"Well, you can start packing up the stuff we want to keep in the living room and I'll sort out the kitchen."
"Okay, what time are the house clearance people coming on Monday?"
"About ten, I think," replied Myra as she rooted through the cupboards.
"Oh right."
The pair spent the rest of the morning packing away Aunt Dora's belongings and throwing out the rubbish, hardly uttering a word to each other.
"Right, I'm just nipping out for a ciggie," said Kamile, coming into the kitchen.
"Still smoking then?" Myra tutted, shaking her head.
"Yep."
Stepping out through the back door, she took a cigarette out of the packet and lit it. Looking down to the bottom of the garden a chill went down her spine as her gaze fell on the old dead ash tree, it's gnarled twisted branches giving it a somewhat sinister appearance. Nobody knew why Aunt Dora hadn't had it cut down, it had been dead for as long as anyone could remember; even when Kamile was a child she refused to sleep in the back bedroom because it was overlooked by it. Taking one last drag, she stubbed out the cigarette and went back inside.
"What are we doing for dinner?"
"Dunno," Myra shrugged, "fancy going the Witch?"
"Not really, but I suppose it'll have to do," Kamile sighed, "come on then."
"Okay."
Shrugging off her wax jacket to reveal a navy blue t-shirt and stepping out through the front door, Myra walked off down the driveway and out along the lane, her younger sister tagging behind.
"Aren't we going in the Landie?" she asked.
"No we're not, it's only down the bloody lane; God you're a lazy little git," Myra laughed.
"Huh, more like you didn't take it so you can get pissed," Kamile sniped back.
"Oh shut up and stop dawdling."
About ten minutes later they arrived outside The Swinging Witch; stepping inside, they found the usual clientele of what Kamile referred to as 'country bumpkins' dotted around the bar, who had stopped talking and were now staring straight at the two women, probably more at Kamile than Myra because of what she was wearing.
"Arf' noon ladies, what can I get you?" asked the bushy bearded landlord, finally breaking the silence.
"Erm...can I have two pints of Foster's please?" asked Myra.
"Aye love, that'll be four eighty please," he smiled as Kamile stood closer to her sister while a man dressed in tweeds sat in the corner huddled over his pint of bitter studying her intently.
"Do you do food?"
"We've got some ham and cheese baguettes left, do you want them?"
"Erm okay, we'll have two and two bags of cheese and onion crisps please," said Myra.
"That's another four ninety please love," he said in his gruff tone.
"Thanks."
Picking the food and drinks up off the bar, the pair went outside into the beer garden.
