‘Who was that strange woman you were talking to?’

I asked my sister whilst peddling wearily on the back seat of our tandem. We had just been to a Birthday party, and I had noticed her having an involved conversation with an odd woman in a dazzling green dress.

She was the first person to catch my eye as I walked into the room, both the colour of the dress and the way her hair had been dyed was conspicuous. The hairstyle had given a modern look, complimented by the vivacity of her make-up.

‘That was Augusta Harrowby. She lives about three miles from us along the Canal road. You remember the lane we always cycle past but never go down? She asked us to tea on Saturday. Seemed like a nice old sort.’

‘Old?’ I said, mildly perplexed. Ms. Harrowby must have been all of twenty-five.

‘Positively Antique,’ laughed my sister. ‘That was her husband in the green suit. I thought he spoke to you. Kept winning pass-the-parcel.’

‘I saw nobody in a green suit,’ I replied, beginning to flag after the consuption of too much cake. ‘But it was a right old crush. I was squashed next to that ‘out there’ entertainer in the strange mask for what seemed like hours. Hardly said anything, just smoked a pipe!’

‘I tried to rescue you. I wanted to bring Augusta across, but her cats wouldn’t budge.’

‘Cats?’ I said between hefty yawns. ‘Did they have cats?’

‘Dearie,’ said my sister in the evening twilight, ‘you must have seen the cats, there were about twenty-five of them.’

‘No,’ I sighed ‘I saw no cats.’

‘Well never mind,’ said Cyd, ‘you’ll get to meet them all on Saturday.’

The Harrowbys lived along a cobbled lane so picturesque it could have been taken from the lid of a chocolate box. Cyd and I, who were keen bicyclists, had never ventured down there.

It looked inviting, but also seemed to suggest wherever the path eventually led to would be the exact opposite of our intended destination.