A Shot at Love

by T. B. Markinson

  “I haven’t considered a trip there. Is there a reason I should?”

  “For someone who used to hobnob with who’s who, you’re remarkably ambivalent about life these days.”

  “I’m not sure that’s true.” Harriet used the pencil to scratch an itch in between her shoulder blades, doing her best not to think about a certain someone’s green eyes.

  “What about Christmas? Surely you’ll be here then.”

  “It hasn’t really pinged my radar yet. Are you planning a brunch or something?”

  “No. Why do you ask?” Camilla snapped her fingers. “Oh, I know. Saucy. Or sassy. How about the saucy minx?”

  Harriet swept some blonde hair out of her eyes. “What in the world are you talking about?”

  “A five-letter word for cute. Isn’t that what you asked?”

  “Right. Can’t use saucy minx, though. I only have five spaces.” Harriet tapped the pencil against her forehead again. “Sassy would work.” She filled in the letters. “Now I need a clue about being unlucky.”

  “Unlucky how?” Camilla leaned closer to the camera, making her head comically large.

  “Just unlucky, I guess.” Harriet had been thinking of Josie’s comment ever since they parted this morning.

  “I need more. Do you mean unlucky in life? Love? Getting struck by lightning? Hit by a bus? The list is endless.”

  “Love is too obvious,” Harriet said, not addressing the other types Cam listed.

  “Right. You want to drive crossword lovers insane. I’ve never understood the appeal. I’d rather bang my head against the wall.”

  “Words were never your thing,” Harriet said absently, her mind still puzzling out a clue.

  “They get me in trouble. Just the other night—”

  “That would work for nine down.” Harriet penciled in the word bard.

  “What would?”

  “Bard for wordsmith.”

  “That has nothing to do with unlucky.” Cam pitched her hands in the air, but only the tips of the fingers were visible on the screen.

  “I know, but when I said words, it spurred this clue. The crossword muse works in mysterious ways, but I never question her. It’s better to go with it.”

  “Are you even listening to me?” Camilla crossed her arms.

  “No. Was I supposed to?” Harriet bantered. “It would be helpful if you gave me a signal for the important bits I should pay attention to. Some of us actually have work to do.”

  “I’m starting to figure out why you’re alone. Women don’t like being ignored.”

  “If that’s the case, why do you keep calling me?” Harriet sipped from the glass bottle of her daily juice consisting of apple, carrot, lemon, ginger, and turmeric. She banished the guilt of purchasing the juice instead of buying all the ingredients and making it herself. If her business didn’t pick up soon, she’d have to forego this luxury and a few others. Another reason to enlist Josie’s help in setting up a podcast. Harriet’s juice habit.

  “You’re family. The blood flowing in our veins gives me permission to annoy the shit out of you.”

  “Mission accomplished.” Harriet jabbed the air with her pencil.

  Camilla’s smile proved she took the comment as a compliment.

  “What’s a three-letter word for emerald?”

  “Is that a trick question?” Camilla’s face twisted up in confusion.

  “Not overly tricky. It’s on the tip of my tongue.” Harriet tugged on her bottom lip, moving it side to side.

  “Gem.”

  “You’re brilliant!” Harriet filled in the letters. “Okay, I think I can make thirteen down bewitching. What’s a clue for that?”

  “Magical?” Camilla said unsure as if she once again thought Harriet was attempting to make her look foolish.

  “That would work, but I was hoping for something more like captivating.”

  “Why not use captivating. Or how about cute or ravishing?”

  “There’s already a cute clue, remember.” Ravishing conjured the wrong thought for Josie. She was stunning, but ravishing had too many ugly connotations to it. Harriet couldn’t associate Josie with anything negative. Not for the first time, Harriet rued her faux pas of stating Josie’s dimple was a defect. It was adorable. Everything about Josie was adorable. Even her brash Americanness. How was that possible?

  “Right.” Camilla laughed. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to craft a love poem of sorts via your crossword puzzle. Dropping nuggets for a special someone.” Camilla acted this out with one hand.

  Harriet bristled. “Don’t be absurd. This puzzle is no different than all the others I’ve crafted.”

  “Harry…” Camilla left the rest unsaid in the way she did when she thought herself overly clever.

  Damn. Becoming defensive was always Harriet’s dead giveaway, but she opted to brush it aside. “Camilla…?”

  “You’re impossible. I may just have to come up there to scope things out myself.”

  “I’m impossible?” Harriet chuckled. “If you believe for one second that I think you’re coming here for my benefit, you’re delusional.” Harriet glanced down at the lower third of the empty crossword puzzle. “What’s a clue for delusional?”

  “Harriet.”

  “Too obvious,” Harriet parried.

  “Is my room available this weekend?”

  Harriet looked into the camera on her laptop. “Your room? When did it become your room?”

  “I’m the only one who visits.” Camilla shrugged that it only made sense.

  Harriet conceded with a nod. “True. And, your first visit was only two weeks ago. Two visits in a year—that’ll be a hard record for anyone in the family to break.”

  “Please. It’s not like your brother will ever visit.”

  “You’re probably right. We’re not exactly close.”

  “You two are too similar to be close. We’re nothing alike. That’s why we get along.”

  Harriet laughed, knowing this was partly true. Most in the family didn’t bother much with either Harriet, the lesbian, or Camilla, the loudmouth, and this fact made them closer as a way of survival. “If you say so, but I’m well aware you’re only interested in coming so you can shag Clive again.”

  “Is that how you talk to your adoring cousin?” Camilla pressed her palms together and made eyes at Harriet.

  “Truthfully? Yes.” Harriet punctuated it with a firm nod.

  “You wound me.”

  Harriet slanted her head. “I sincerely doubt that, and you know it’s our thing.”

  “I’ll be there Friday night. Let’s have dinner at the pub.”

  “Just so you know, you might have to take a number. Clive’s in high demand. The missing ginger ads have spiked this week.”

  “The man needs to be tamed.” Her voice made Harriet think Cam had her sights on doing just that.

  “Are you saying you’re the one who’ll accomplish that?” Harriet wasn’t convinced a man like Clive could be tamed. Was that a family trait? Whoa. Where did that thought come from? Josie didn’t give off the philandering vibe at all, but should Harriet be cautious considering the ginger ads? Now there were two checks against Josie: being a spin doctor and philanderer.

  “Not a chance in hell, but I’ll enjoy the ride until he is. Learn from me—all’s fair in the shagging biz.”

  “You’re the role model for the twenty-first-century woman. No morals whatsoever.”

  “You’re grumpier than usual. Why?” Camilla seemed genuinely concerned.

  While Harriet appreciated Camilla’s rare sincerity, she wasn’t in the mood to have a heart-to-heart. “I’m not.”

  “I think you are, and it’s probably because no one has been down south to visit Miss Fanny in God knows how long.”

  “I don’t even know where to start with that.”

  “I’m aware. This Friday, I’ll help you get laid.” Camilla bounced around on the screen like a child on Christmas morning.


  Harriet made a gun with her right hand and pretended to blow her brains out.

  “You know we’re on a video call. I can see you.”

  “Oh, right.” Harry pointed her finger gun at Cam’s image, making an accompanying pow sound.

  “What do you have against sex?” Camilla asked, appearing flummoxed.

  “Nothing at all. It’s the complications that arise from it that I object to.”

  “You can be such a girl sometimes.”

  “I know. Have been since the doctor slapped my bum and shouted, ‘It’s a girl.’”

  “You know that’s not how it works, right? You were a girl before the slap on the ass.”

  “Wow! I had no idea!”

  “I really hope by the time I get there on Friday, this”—Camilla circled an index finger in the air—“has passed.”

  “What?”

  “Your grumpiness. If you won’t find someone to shag, at least buy a vibrator or something. You need a release. And soon. For all of our sakes.” Camilla ended the chat.

  Harriet scratched the back of her head with the pencil. “She’s insane. I’m not grumpy.” She spoke to the plaster gnome, which had an orange shirt and red hat, on her desk. Did Josie speak to inanimate objects? Did thinking a question like that place Harriet in lost her mind territory?

  Her eyes fell back to her work at hand. “Oh, enchanting. That’ll work for bewitching.”

  Chapter Nine

  The day after Josie returned from London, she sat in a small but trendy café in the village square. The owners had a thing for classic films, considering the walls were slathered with Charlie Chaplin, Cary Grant, Shirley Temple, and Greta Garbo prints. She’d just completed a run but hadn’t been back to the pub yet. The previous night, her mum had talked nonstop, trying to convince Josie to call Natalie, one of the Eugenie approved dykes in the area. Her mum acted as if Josie should snatch Natalie up or Josie would forever rue missing out on this woman like she was a golden ticket to the chocolate factory.

  Josie had to wonder why her mum never mentioned Harry as a possible candidate. True, she published the ginger ads, but was that the sole reason for her mum’s aversion. Josie smiled. The fact that her mum didn’t approve of Harry ticked her up the list of dating prospects. That was if Josie was looking to date someone, which she wasn’t. A fling yes. Relationship—full stop. They’d only caused her problems in the past. Besides, there was no altering the fact Harry was a journalist. Josie chanted in her head, Reporters are not my friend.

  Josie looked over the menu again, her stomach grumbling to refocus on the immediate need. The service, unfortunately, was on the slow side. She’d managed to order a tea but hadn’t been able to make eye contact with the waitress since to order her meal. To pass the time, Josie snagged a copy of Harry’s paper and attempted to solve the crossword. She found a pen tucked into the crack of the bench cushion as if solving this puzzle had been ordained by the universe to keep her from dying of boredom.

  A herd of tourists piled into the café, taking up the remaining tables. Josie hoped they were on the way out of the village, wanting a relaxing work night as it’d be her first night tending bar.

  Bard! Josie filled in the spaces.

  The door opened again, and Harry edged into the café. Looking but not finding a spot to sit, she started to exit.

  “Harry!” Josie shouted before her brain kicked in and she remembered her chant from moments earlier: reporters are not my friend.

  Harry glanced over her shoulder, smiling when she located Josie.

  Josie beckoned with a friendly wave. “Join me, please.” Again, her mouth and brain were on different wavelengths.

  “It’s packed in here.” Harry took a seat on the other side of the table.

  “I should warn you I’ve been trying to flag down the waitress for a good ten minutes, so I hope you aren’t starving.”

  Harry put a finger in the air, and the waitress stopped, smiling.

  “Coffee, please. Josie, are you ready to order food?”

  “I am. The full English breakfast, please.”

  The woman looked to Harry, who ordered the same.

  After the woman left, Josie said, “You’re like a lucky charm.”

  Harry’s shy smile was adorable, and it filled Josie with happiness, making her grin back at Harry much like a schoolgirl with her first crush.

  “Oh, do you know a five-letter word for cute?” Josie blurted.

  “Now who’s the cheater?” Harry playfully crossed her arms.

  “What?” Josie shook the pen at Harry. “Oh, right. You know all the answers.”

  “Only when it comes to my crosswords in the paper. The rest of the time, I feel like I’m out to sea.”

  “I’m not sure about that. You seem like you have your shit together. I mean, I’m sitting in a café in my running clothes and can’t even manage to order breakfast without your assistance.”

  “I wish your assessment was correct. Any chance you can let your mother know there won’t be any missing ginger ads in next week’s edition? I have a feeling she doesn’t like me much.”

  As a businesswoman, Josie was certain her mother would understand on some level the reason why Harry published the ads. Was there another reason for Eugenie’s aversion to Harry? “What does that mean?” Josie hadn’t meant to say that aloud.

  Harry, not privy to Josie’s inner thoughts luckily, looked confused. “In what way?”

  Josie thought quickly. “Are… are the women in this village done with Clive?”

  “Oh, no. Plenty wanted to place their usual ads, but I’ve shut them out.” Harry acted out slamming a door closed.

  Josie felt her eyes widen. “Can you afford to turn down the business?” Why did Josie care, considering the ads were about her uncle and her mum was worried they’d destroy the pub’s business?

  Harry shifted in her seat. “Time will tell.”

  “Is your decision solely because of my mum? If you want, I can talk to her.” It seemed odd that Harry was making this decision now. Had something happened while Josie was in London? Was there another reason?

  “I never felt great about accepting them. Well, truth be told, at first, I didn’t even know they were about Clive. After I learned, it made me feel too Rupert Murdoch-y. The Cotswolds Chronicles won’t ever be like The Guardian, nor do I want it to be like The Daily Mail. The ads were pushing me in that direction.”

  “You’ve listed the extremes between credible and trash.” Josie toggled her palms in the air. “It seems the middle ground has been swallowed whole.”

  Harry’s snort made Josie think Harry struggled with this dichotomy, making her newspaper endeavor even more of an uphill battle than Josie realized. She had to admire the woman sitting across from her, even if Josie thought Harry’s desire to unite people from all spectrums somewhat naïve.

  But her mind flickered to a book she’d read in college about World War II. What was the name of the book or the journalist who compiled the oral histories? They were much like the ones Harry included in her paper. Josie did look forward to each new addition of The Chronicles, curious who would be the feature story, feeling closer to the person after reading Harriet’s words when in reality the person was always someone she’d never heard of and probably would never meet. The power of personal narrative had always made an impact on Josie, and it was one of the qualities she believed made a speech not just good but one for the ages. Harry had a knack for getting a person to open up, and she was able to craft the words so the reader could feel the emotions behind them.

  The waitress set down their plates and hurried away.

  “Unlike the waitstaff, the kitchen is on top of things.” Josie eyed the food. “Shoot. I forgot to tell her to hold the grilled tomato. I hate wasting food.”

  “Do you like black pudding? I’ll trade you.” Harry laughed, showing both palms. “Just kidding.”

  “I can’t have your black pudding?” Josie asked.

&nbs
p; Harry furrowed her brow. “Do you even like it?”

  Josie nodded enthusiastically.

  “Do you know what it is?”

  “I do, but if you don’t mind, I prefer not to think about it. Let’s trade.” Josie motioned for Harry to take the tomato.

  “How can you like the pudding but not the tomato?” Harry shivered.

  “It’s a texture thing. Tomatoes are too squishy. Can’t eat bananas either.”

  “I’m with you about the bananas, unless it’s banana cake.”

  “Never had it. Is it like banana bread?” Josie took a bite of black pudding.

  “I’ve never had banana bread.”

  “Tell you what, I’ll make you banana bread if you’ll make me cake. We can have a Bake-Off of sorts.”

  Harry laughed. “You’re on, but I should warn you, baking is a family skill.”

  Josie rubbed her hands together. “Looking forward to munching on your cake.”

  Harry choked on her coffee.

  Josie grinned, enjoying how easy it was to be around Harry. Like they’d been friends for ages. “Sorry, I couldn’t help it. It’s possible I have an odd sense of humor that’s a bit sophomoric. I chalk it up to working with white males for the majority of my life.”

  Harry dabbed her mouth with a napkin. “Now that I’ve been warned, I’ll be on the lookout to avoid choking to death.”

  “That would be a shame. You’re my only friend here.”

  “I guess I can say the same.”

  “You’re friends with yourself?” Josie cracked.

  Harry shook her head. “You weren’t kidding.”

  Josie shrugged. “You coming to the pub tonight?”

  “It’s possible. I haven’t been in a few days while finalizing next week’s edition. I tend to hole up when working on a story.”

  “Sounds like you have a scoop.” Josie added more hot water to her tea.

  “Not really. But I’ve been interviewing a man who recently lost his wife of sixty-seven years. It’s been a struggle to get all the emotions on the page. The article is his final love letter to her, really, and I want to do it justice.”