by Jenny Kane
Seconds later, a short woman with long, curly red hair, far wilder than Kit’s own bobbed red locks, wearing a pair of dungarees, a thick jumper, and a broad smile, was approaching the table.
‘Kit? Is that you?’
‘Erin!’ Kit stood up and returned the offered hug.
‘I’m so pleased you could come. You’re a lifesaver!’ Sitting opposite her colleague, the writer smiled even wider. ‘My real name is Charlie – Charlotte. Some people round here call me Charlie, and some call me Erin. I like both, but I thought I should warn you.’
‘It’s OK, I guessed. I met your gran earlier; only I didn’t realise it was your gran at first.’
‘Gran’s great, isn’t she? She usually calls me Lottie, just to add to the confusion.’ Charlie nodded her thanks as the waitress placed two new drinks on the table. ‘I assume that as you haven’t run back to the airport and immediately taken the next flight back to London, Alice hasn’t been too intimidating?’
‘She’s very … determined.’
Charlie laughed. ‘Yes. Determined is a good word for it. Alice is very good at her job. She’ll get this festival to work whatever the obstacles. She always wins the day, does Alice.’
Kit noticed an edge to Charlie’s voice, but not wanting pry so soon after meeting her, changed the subject, ‘It’s such a shame you can’t help run the festival. The Love-Blind Boy is one of my favourite novels. And you’re the most local author, of course.’
Charlie began to fidget, and Kit saw that she had hit a nerve. Deciding to move the conversation on, Kit picked up her coffee. ‘I spend nearly all my working in a café in Richmond.’
Grateful for the obvious change of topic, Charlie immediately felt more comfortable. ‘I heard you were a coffee shop writer. Don’t you find you daydream all day, and get nothing done?’
‘Sometimes, but mostly I keep my head down and write. Plus of course, if I get stuck for ideas, all I have to do is look around. Inspiration is never far away.’ Kit pointed to one of the shelves of Highland cow ornaments. ‘Those, for example; don’t they scream out the plot to a children’s story?’
Charlie laughed. ‘They sure do. How about Harry the Tartan Cow?’
Kit lifted a fabric tartan cow from the nearest shelf. It was adorable. She knew her teenage daughter would love it, even though she’d deny it hotly if asked in public. ‘I think I’ll take this for Helena.’
‘And you’ll tell her to call him Harry?’
‘Definitely!’ Kit sipped her coffee, ‘And then there’s the castle. It’s stunning. Have you ever written about it?’
‘Not so far, but I know what you mean. Crathes demands stories.’
Sharing her previous thoughts, Kit said, ‘I bet Walt Disney would kill for it.’
‘Funny you should say that. They say that Disney based his fairytale castles on the ones here in Aberdeenshire.’
‘You’re kidding?’
‘Nope. It was Craigievar Castle, a few miles from here, which inspired Sleeping Beauty’s castle. It’s got turrets, and it’s even pink.’
‘For real?’
‘Yep. At this very minute you are in the middle of a square of castles, all of which are cared for by the National Trust. There’s Crathes, Drum, Fraser, and Craigievar. They’re all different, all beautiful, and with the exception of Drum, they all have fairy tale turrets.’
‘I hope I get time to visit them when Phil comes up.’
‘Phil?’
‘My husband. He’s coming up so we can go exploring the week after the festival. Our twins are seventeen, so they’ll be able to cope without us; although my friend Peggy is keeping an eye on them. Do you have a partner or children? You’re so young compared to me; it’s weird knowing so much about the writer you, but not the real you! Hope you don’t think I’m being too nosy?’
Smiling, Charlie said, ‘Not at all. I’m single, child-free, and thirty.’ She drank the remainder of her coffee, ‘I tell you what, I’ll drive you back to the castle when you’re ready, save you getting a bus or a taxi. I’ll give you a potted history on the way if you’d like me to.’
‘I’d love that. Thank you.’ Kit picked up her bag, before suddenly recalling her reason for being in Banchory in the first place. ‘I can’t, though. I’m supposed to be sweet-talking the local newspaper editor for Alice.’
Rolling her eyes, Charlie said, ‘He’ll be fine. All you have to do is be polite, kind, and honest. Don’t demand stuff and he’ll do anything that’s good for the region. Demand and he’ll pretend you don’t exist.’
‘And Alice always tends to demand?’
‘It’s a technique that works well with the big papers in the cities, but local places need a lighter touch.’
‘Will the same thing work with the bookshop guy? I’m supposed to sweet-talk him too.’
‘Oh, John’s alright. You’ll like him.’
‘Do you know him then?’
‘A bit. He’s been very kind to me with book signings in the past.’
Kit studied her new friend carefully. Suddenly she was sure Charlie wasn’t ducking out of the festival because she wanted to. ‘I don’t suppose I could persuade you to talk to John for me? Alice has landed me with heaps of other stuff to do already as well.’
Charlie stared at her hands for a moment, ‘Alright. To say thanks for coming all this way to save the day. But I can’t promise it will work.’
Filled with relief that Charlie had been right, Kit emerged from the newspaper’s office with a promise of a pre-festival report in the paper the following week, including a copy of the programme, and a reporter had been detailed to cover the opening and closing of the event itself.
‘I take it from your relieved expression that it went well?’ Charlie asked as they walked to her car.
‘He was lovely. I didn’t even have to turn on my inner Katrina Penny.’
Charlie laughed. ‘I sometimes use Erin when I need to be braver, but it must be nice to have an erotic alter ego to take over when you need it – much feistier!’
Kit laughed. ‘It can be very useful, although as I don’t write that way anymore, I’m finding channelling her sexy “don’t mess with me” attitude harder these days.’
Pleased she had something positive to report to Alice after her first mission, Kit suddenly felt tired as she slid into the passenger seat of Charlie’s little Nissan Micra. ‘I thought you all drove 4x4s up here?’
‘Only the people who live in the serious countryside have those – plus the people who think it’s cool to be seen to own them, of course.’
Kit nodded. ‘Bit like in London then.’
‘Almost exactly the same, but with prettier views.’ Charlie pulled out of the car park, and within minutes they’d left the town and were winding their way past woodland and the remains of an old railway line that was now a cycle path. Every now and then, Kit would catch a glimpse of the River Dee glistening through the trees on her right-hand side, while the treeline thickened to her left.
Trying to distract her thoughts as she drove, hoping she didn’t bump into Cameron once they arrived at the castle, and had to go through the humiliation of him not having a clue who she was again, Charlie gave Kit the promised potted history of the castle.
‘The land Crathes sits on was given as a gift to the Burnett of Leys family by Robert the Bruce in 1323.’
‘That’s an impressive pedigree.’
‘The Burnett family was really powerful in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, and over that time they built a timber fortress on the land, but it wasn’t until 1553 that they started to build the stone tower house that’s there now. And even then the construction was delayed due to political problems caused by Mary Queen of Scots, so it was ages until it was finally finished. You wait until you see inside. The painted beams in the Muse’s Room are incredible.’
As the car turned up the castle driveway, Kit was about to comment on the glorious scenery, but stopped when she saw the cloud that had passe
d over her friend’s face. ‘You alright, Charlie?’
‘Yes, sorry. I was just thinking.’
‘I’m holding up your writing, aren’t I?’ Feeling guilty about taking up Charlie’s time, when the very reason she wasn’t helping with the festival was because she had so little time left to get her book written, Kit asked, ‘When’s your deadline?’
‘Thirty first of December.’ Charlie smiled, ‘But honestly, you aren’t holding me up.’ She gestured to the right, ‘Here we are.’
As the castle tower came into view, Kit found herself impressed all over again as she took in the silver glint of the pinky granite walls, just as Cameron came into view on the gravel drive before them.
‘Oh, that’s handy. Cameron can show me where my lodgings are. Alice took my luggage, but she didn’t tell me where I was staying.’
Not commenting on Alice’s lack of social graces, Charlie said, ‘Then would you mind me being a bit rude, and dropping you off so I can get back? I promise we’ll have a proper catch up soon.’
‘No problem. Good luck with the bookshop guy.’
With a renewed suspicion that something else was going on with her friend beyond finishing her novel, Kit waved as Charlie’s Micra dashed away.
Chapter Eight
Tuesday November 24th
Telling herself she was doing this for Kit and the festival, not for Alice, Charlie pushed open the door of The Deeside Bookshop.
Instead of being greeted by John, she was surprised to see a much younger man behind the counter. Having never known the shop without John in it, Charlie was immediately concerned. ‘Um, hello, I wondered if I could speak to John, is he OK?’
‘He’s very OK, thank you. Soaking up the sun in New Zealand, in fact.’
‘Oh.’ Not sure what to do, Charlie decided she’d dive straight in anyway. If John trusted this man to run the shop in his absence, then he must be alright. ‘Could I have a quick chat about the literary festival at Crathes? I know Ms Warren has already approached the shop, but I …’
The man, who Charlie guessed must be in his late thirties, ran an exasperated hand through his short hair. ‘I already told your colleague, I can’t help. What Ms Warren is asking of me is not cost-effective. Although I wish you luck with the festival, the tactic of sending her prettier colleague to get me to change my mind is not going to work!’
Prettier colleague? Charlie felt thrown. No one ever thought she was prettier than Alice.
‘I assure you no … tactics are in play. I’m only helping out today because I’m a friend of one of the other organisers, and I have a more sensible and, I think, more realistic proposition for you than Alice did. I will tell you about it if you would like to hear it; if not, I’ll leave you in peace to stare around your customer-free shop!’
Rather taken aback by the edge to her tone, the tension in Charlie’s shoulders unknotted a little as, to her amazement, the man began to laugh.
Placing the books he’d been holding on the counter he said, ‘I’m sorry, forgive me for being abrupt. My name is Gervase Potter; I bought John out a few weeks ago. This little empire is now mine.’
Tilting his head to one side, giving Charlie the impression he was enjoying the view, he added, ‘I would very much like to hear your proposal. How about we discuss it tonight over a drink at Scott Skinner’s? I haven’t made it there yet, and I hear it’s a nice pub.’
With her brain privately grappling with the concept of being asked out for a drink by a handsome man who liked books, Charlie replied, ‘It is nice. I often go to Skinner’s to write when I need a change of scene from my desk at home. Oh, I’m Charlie, by the way. Charlie Davies.’
‘I’m pleased to meet you, Charlie. So, you write?’
‘Yes.’ Charlie pointed to the bookshelves, ‘I’m over there somewhere.’
‘You are? Who are you, then? I mean, who else are you?’
‘Erin Spence.’
‘The Unbrave Heart Erin Spence?’
Charlie’s pulse started to beat faster. He didn’t immediately connect me with The Love-Blind Boy. ‘Yes. Yes that was my first novel.’
‘I love that book.’
‘You’ve read it?’ Charlie was shocked. ‘Forgive me, but you don’t look like you’d be into women’s fiction.’
‘I’m not as a rule, but my ex-girlfriend had the audiobook and we played it on a long journey once or twice. I enjoyed it. You have a very perceptive view of the male side of things.’
‘Really?’ Charlie could feel herself blushing, ‘Thanks. It’s kind of you to say so.’
‘Not at all. That drink tonight, then? Eight o’clock? With a meal as well, maybe?’
‘To talk about my idea for the festival?’
‘I’m making no promises, because I think I’d rather talk about you.’
Charlie’s head buzzed with contradictory thoughts. Had she been right to agree to go out with Gervase? Only this morning she’d been thinking about how she felt about Cameron being back, and now she was going on a date with someone else. A part of her knew she’d only said yes in the hope that Alice and Cameron might see them. But so what if they did? Cameron isn’t going to be jealous, and I don’t want him any more anyway. And Alice wouldn’t notice in her current mode if I walked around naked with a pineapple on my head.
A new thought entered Charlie’s head. Was there any point in going out with another man until Alice had gone home? Gervase would only have to see them standing next to each other and it wouldn’t be her that he wanted to take for dinner anymore.
Suddenly, Charlie stopped moving. She knew she was being ridiculous, but somehow the thought of how Alice was always going to be there to eclipse her wouldn’t shift.
Aware she was blocking the flow of Christmas shoppers, Charlie forced her legs to work, and walked briskly to the Bridge of Feugh.
The Feugh had been Charlie’s mentor for years. When she’d first moved to Banchory from Aberdeen, a lone Englishwoman with her father’s shockingly Scottish hair and her mother’s ample curves, she’d stood on the stone bridge, staring into the fast-flowing water and asked if she’d been right to stay in Scotland rather than returning to London. With every question she’d thrown into its depths, like pebbles in a pond, foam would bubble and splash out answers.
She still made regular pilgrimages to the Feugh, sometimes to watch the water, sometimes just to laugh at the rabbits that played with cavalier abandon in the car park. It was always full of tourists in the summer months, hoping they’d timed their arrival right to see one of the Feugh’s famous salmon jumping upstream. Whatever the season, the rush of the water, and the pattern of the sun or rain playing on it, would soothe her soul.
Gripping the side of the bridge, grateful that the icy road meant traffic was avoiding it, Charlie thought back to how she’d pleaded with the black water, first to make Cameron love her, then to least remember who she was. Then five years ago she’d begged for her heart to stop aching when he’d gone away.
Today, as the ice and frost fought for supremacy on the tips of the rocks which stuck out above the play of the water, Charlie’s brain replayed all the years she’d hidden in Alice’s shadow. While there was a certain safety in hiding behind a brighter, more confident, prettier friend, the time to extract herself from that shadow had long passed, and somehow Charlie had missed it. This current situation was her own fault.
The cold had forced the fish to the bottom of the water, and as she stared, straining to locate any sign of life, Charlie was surprised that it wasn’t Cameron’s face reflecting back at her in the ever-changing shape of the river as usual, but that of the new owner of the bookshop.
‘Should I be going out with him tonight?’
Charlie whispered the words into the water, aiming them, as she always did, at the highest point on the river’s horizon. She could imagine them tumbling through the granite assault course until her troubles and emotions were washed away by the occasionally tranquil, but frequent ferocity of the rive
r, leaving her lighter somehow.
As her latest question bobbled beneath her feet, the image of Gervase, his grey-speckled brown hair, his blue check shirt rolled to the elbows, revealing arms which weren’t thick with muscles like Cameron’s, but were pleasantly shaped. His six-foot frame, tall, slim, and yet broad, towered over her five feet four. The overall impression Charlie had got from Gervase was genuine interest. Not just in ‘Erin’ and her books, but the real her.
The river echoed into Charlie’s head as she stared downwards. ‘He knew about your first book. That’s a man worth talking to if nothing more.’
Charlie inclined her head at the bubbles on the rivers surface, ‘But he could be pretending to be nice to get a better deal for the bookshop during the festival.’
This time the reply tumbled faster over the rocky course. ‘He isn’t Alice.’
The thought was abrupt and echoed around her head as Charlie concentrated on the depths. ‘Alice is my friend. We’ve had so much fun together over the years. I’m just hurt that she didn’t believe me about how Cameron blanked me, that’s all.’
‘Ambition has dulled her generosity of spirit. It’s your turn now.’
‘My turn?’ The idea seemed so fresh, that Charlie found herself holding the side of the bridge tighter as the water offered one final instruction.
‘Help Alice. She’s become lost.’
‘Relax, woman!’ Charlie told herself as she wrapped a dark red cashmere scarf around her shoulders instead of her usual tatty blue one.
Brushing her hands down her jeans, she pulled on some knee-high boots. The necessity of having sensibly soled boots for the frosty pavements meant they had to be flatties. The lack of high heels added to the ‘this is not a date’ angle she was aiming for; an aim which was at odds with the excitement Charlie couldn’t deny was rising inside her as she walked towards the pub. Telling herself firmly to stop acting like a teenager, she plunged her gloved hands deep into the pockets of her duffel coat.
The night sky was so black and clear that the stars shone like suspended snowflakes. The beauty of it instilled Charlie with a flicker of hope. Perhaps it was a good omen that her first ‘not really a date’ in six years would go well. In fact, it had been seven years since she’d had any sort of proper date.
