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Iris’s cottage is looking as idyllic as ever as I dash up to the front door, out of breath In fact, evenabout with her hens

“Hello” Iris is sitting on the front step with aof tea “You seem in a hurry”

“I just wanted to get here on tin of Nathaniel

“Nathaniel had to go and sort out a leaking pipe at one of the pubs,” says Iris, as though readingto make bread”

“Great!” I say I follow her into the kitchen and put on the same stripy apron as last time

“I’ve started us off already,” says Iris, going over to a large, old-fashionedbowl on the table “Yeast, ater, h Now, you’re going to knead it”

“Right,” I say, looking blankly at the dough She shoots lance

“Are you all right, Samantha? You seem … out of sorts”

“I’m fine” I will myself to concentrate “Sorry”

“I know people have h onto the table “But this is hoe make it the old-fashioned way You’ll never taste better”

She kneads it briskly a couple of times “You see? Fold it over, y”

Cautiously I plunge h and try to imitate her

“That’s it,” says Iris, watching carefully “Get into a rhyth stress,” she adds ry hu all your worst enemies”

“I’ll do that!” I e a cheerful tone

But there’s a knot of tension in my chest, which doesn’t dwindle away as I knead In fact, the et I can’t stopback to that Web site

I did good things for that fir

I was not nothing

“The h, the better the bread will be,” says Iris, co warm and elastic in your hands?”

I look at the dough in ers, but I can’t connect with it I can’t feel what she wantsabout like a squirrel on ice