Greengage Shelf

by Emma Sterner-Radley

  Kit groaned and leaned her head onto Rachel’s shoulder as they walked. “In that case I’m going to need a stonking big glass of Diet Pepsi and vodka with my quesadillas.”

  “It’ll be on the house, little miss detective,” Rachel said with sympathy. And perhaps the faintest hint of amusement.

  Chapter Seventeen

  A Very Howard Birthday Bash

  Kit sat on a foldable chair on Greengage’s main square, watching her girlfriend work the crowd. As always, Laura shone with the beauty of her good-natured personality and that warm smile. The sun above tried to keep up, but Kit was proud to see that it was failing.

  It was nice to see Laura smiling today of all days, considering it was her birthday. Less nice was that Kit was sure the smile was for her guests.

  “Oi, lovely birthday lady!” she said, poking Laura’s thigh as she walked by.

  Laura stopped, quirked one of those auburn eyebrows and then made a big deal of adjusting her skirt, even though Kit’s prodding hadn’t moved the garment in the slightest.

  “Do you mind?” Laura said before returning her eyebrow to the starting position.

  “Sorry, baby. I needed to get your attention,” Kit said with as much love as she could fit into the words. “We haven’t spoken all day. On my birthday it was just you and me and that picnic on the beach. On yours, all of Greengage seems to be involved and demanding your time.”

  Laura scanned the crowd. “Not all of Greengage, dearest. I estimate that about two hundred people are here right now. Still, folks will come and go. That’s why I decided to have the celebration here on the square and not up at Howard Hall.”

  “I’m sorry, but I still don’t get why you’d celebrate your birthday by having a big-arsed tent with refreshments for the whole island. It must’ve cost a fortune.”

  “It’s a marquee, my love, not a tent. Besides, I’m not feeding everyone. It’s first-come, first-served. If we run out of cake or the Gage Farm juice and cider, the celebration is over. Then you, me, and a chosen few will go back to Howard Hall for cocktails and dinner. Later tonight, it’ll be—”

  Kit crossed her arms over her chest with a smirk. “Go on. I dare you to say, ‘you and me’ when you know Maximillian will be hanging over us like a raincloud.”

  “It will be a more quiet affair, was what I was going to say,” Laura said, not looking at Kit, but smiling and nodding to a man on the other side of the square who was waving at her.

  “Uh-huh. Are you at least having fun, honey? You haven’t had time to sit down for ages.”

  “Having fun? I’m,” Laura seemed to be searching for an answer written on her shoes, “feeling content and relieved, I suppose.”

  “Relieved?”

  “Yes. Relieved that everything is going to plan, and everyone seems to be having fun. We have enough refreshments, the brass band has promised to play at least twice during the event, and the weather held out.”

  Laura paused to shake hands with a woman around their age who interrupted to say happy birthday. When the woman left, Laura picked up again. “Also, I’m relieved that people can’t say that the Howards used to treat the island to big birthday bashes but stopped to have all the fun for themselves behind my back.” She stopped again, this time to do a 360-degree turn and scan the entire square. “Granted, this is nothing compared to the parties my parents and the generations before them had for their birthdays, but at least I can relax knowing that everyone will see that I made an attempt and that I didn’t snub anyone.”

  Concern for her girlfriend niggled on Kit. “So, ‘relieved’ is as close as you’re going to get to ‘having fun,’, then?”

  Laura lifted her chin and avoided eye contact. “I don’t see why you’re being so confrontational about this.”

  “Babe, I’m not being confrontational,” she said gently. “I only want to make sure that you have a good time on your birthday. You know, making sure that you think about yourself for once.”

  She worried that there was a hint of wanting Laura to spend time with her too, but she quashed that thought. Her worry for Laura was greater than her own need.

  Laura blinked at her. “A Howard birthday belongs to the island as much as to the person having the birthday. That’s the way it’s always been. Anyway, I am thinking about myself in a way. Like I said, I’d feel horrible if I knew that people were complaining behind my back.”

  “In my experience, shitty people will talk behind your back and bitch about pretty much everything anyway. However, if this party makes you feel better, it’s the right thing to do.”

  “I’m glad you see that. As an outsider, I know a lot of this doesn’t make sense to you, but Greengage always had two leading families, the Howards and the Stevensons. We represented the island. That came with benefits, but also with responsibilities.” She paused to reach down and push Kit’s glasses up for her, stroking her face as she did so. “We may not live in that sort of society anymore, but some things remain. Besides, it makes me happy to see people having a good time. It also makes me happy to see so many smiling faces wishing me a happy birthday. It’s nice to share an important day with Greengagers. They’re important to me.”

  “Fine, weirdo. Do it your way,” Kit said with a wink.

  Laura huffed at the word weirdo but didn’t comment.

  Kit reached out to officially smooth down Laura’s skirt but unofficially get to touch Laura’s leg. It was a tiny, hesitant moment of skin to skin, but Kit needed it. Her hand lingered for a heartbeat, and Laura inched closer to show that the touch was welcomed.

  “Look at it this way, my dearest Londoner. If I marry you one day, you’ll be a Howard, and the island will probably expect you to throw a birthday bash like this one.”

  Kit pulled her hand back as if she’d been burned. “What? Bollocks. No one would expect an introverted, city-dwelling librarian to do that, would they?”

  Laura didn’t answer but gave an enigmatic smirk, adjusted Kit’s shirt collar, and then walked away with a taunting sway to her hips.

  Bugger me, but it’d be worth the nightmare to get to be married to that woman, Kit thought.

  Laura only made it about four steps before Ethel stopped her to wish her a happy birthday. Kit overheard her recalling when Laura had turned five and had pink bows in her hair, which got eaten by one of the petting zoo’s goats.

  Kit leaned back a little, enjoying a light breeze and the sun on her face. The realisation that Maximillian’s, and his kids’, hatred of crowds meant they wouldn’t show up here warmed her almost as much. She leaned back further and heard the foldable chair give an ominous creek. She eased up on the lean with an embarrassed look around. That was when she spotted Liam.

  He was one of the few people who hadn’t dressed up. In fact, Kit doubted he had even combed his hair, though perhaps that was one of those hairdos that was meant to look unkempt but actually took lots of work and hair products. He seemed like the type who’d put a lot of effort into making it look as if he hadn’t put any effort in. She watched him load up three glasses of cider and then empty them one by one. When done, he placed his hand over his mouth to cover a loud burp and then sauntered off towards the bandstand where the brass band were unpacking their instruments.

  Kit got up. After all, as the birthday girl’s partner it made sense that she would check on the band. If she happened to have a quick chat with Liam about the missing book and the will, to see if he was more talkative after all that cider, who could complain?

  She arrived at the bandstand just in time to hand the trombone player the handkerchief he’d dropped. The trombonist thanked her, and she put on her biggest customer service smile and said, “No problem. Thanks for playing for us today.”

  When she turned back to where Liam had been standing, he was gone. She spun around, trying to catch a glimpse of that ash-blond hair and the black Imagine Dragons T-shirt he was wearing. Nothing.

  A voice which could probably give the trombone a run for its money boom
ed, “What are you gawking at?”

  Kit didn’t have to turn to recognise the owner of the voice. “Hello, Mabel, I was looking for Liam Soames. He was just here, and now he’s vanished. I think he made a run for it to avoid me and my questions about the missing book,” she said distractedly.

  “Don’t be silly, girl. That slattern of a lad rushed off to do what he always does at big public events,” she lowered her voice, “have what the Scottish used to call Houghmagandy 1 with one of the married women. This time, I wager it was Jacqueline Caine.”

  Kit spun to face her. “Jackie? Really? Are you sure?”

  Mabel sniffed. “I should say so, considering I saw the two of them cooing like lovebirds at the east entrance to the square about ten minutes ago. No doubt they were planning when to sneak off together.”

  Kit chewed her lower lip. “Huh. Thanks for telling me.”

  With the speed of a whip, Mabel’s hand flew out to tap on the trumpet held in the nearest musician’s hand. “You! As the trumpeter, you must be the person I need to speak to about volume.”

  The reedy trumpet player shuffled back. “Mrs Baxter. How nice to see you.”

  “Yes, yes,” Mabel said with a dismissive grimace. “That’s all very polite. About the volume…”

  The trumpeter swallowed. “Yes?”

  “As a service to your community you must play quieter, except for the parts which we struggle to hear.” She waved her hand in the air as if swatting away a fly. “You know which ones I mean, I’m sure. They must have taught you about this in toot-toot school.”

  The trumpet player, who was now very pale, croaked out, “Toot-toot school?”

  Kit put a hand on Mabel’s arm. “Uh, perhaps you should go over to the cider bowls. I think I saw Charlie causing a fuss over there. I know you’ll want to keep an eye on him so he doesn’t sully the good Baxter name.”

  Mabel drew herself up and steamed off without a word. Kit hoped Charlie would excuse her for getting him in trouble with his powerhouse of a relative, but, in all fairness, he probably was causing a fuss somewhere. He was also more used to dealing with Mabel than these poor musicians.

  “Thanks,” the trumpet player breathed.

  “Don’t mention it. Just follow her orders and remember what you learned in toot-toot school,” Kit said.

  While they were both laughing, Kit could hear a posh voice with a Scottish lilt saying, “You look ever so handsome in that roll neck.”

  It took her a second to place the voice as belonging to Jacqueline Caine.

  “Excuse me,” Kit said to the musician and hurried off to locate Jackie. It only took a moment as she stood right behind the bandstand. Her hand was on the shoulder of—Kit squinted to see in the bright sunlight—Anthony Caine!

  She stopped in her tracks. What did this mean? She tapped her fingers against her thigh. It meant Jackie hadn’t left with Liam. It also meant that she was flirting with Anthony, since she now let the hand on the shoulder caress down Anthony’s chest and stay there. Kit peered closer to see how he’d react and saw him correct his glasses with a cocky grin. He said something which Kit couldn’t make out.

  He’s not nearly as loud as Jackie. Probably because he isn’t half as drunk as her. Man, she can barely stand. She must’ve had more than cider.

  Jackie jolted and took out a phone which was clearly vibrating. “Ugh, it’s your brother,” she slurred.

  Anthony tensed and began staring around the area. “I should go before he comes looking for you. You know how he tends to get the wrong idea.”

  Jackie gave a shrill laugh. “Aye, but I also know how it pleases you that I fancy you more than him. Poor little Anthony. Always the second child. Always looking to be chosen first. Why not stay here and let him see that I prefer you?”

  He glowered at her with disgust. “I don’t know what you mean by all this nonsense. It must be the alcohol talking. You reek of it. Perhaps you should check yourself back into that clinic, Jackie. I’m going home. These modern Howard affairs are a farce.”

  He marched off, leaving Jackie there stumbling in her towering high heels. She was giggling to herself, but there was no amusement in it. It sounded more like desperation to Kit. Suddenly she felt like she was watching something private. Shame burning her cheeks, she walked back to the crowds on the other side of the bandstand.

  She took in the happy families and all the pets playing on the grass. Anything to cheer herself up and stop her from brooding about the bookshelf mystery and this messed-up family. Perhaps Phillip was right: searching for the book had made her pry into their lives too much. She ignored that thought by watching two big blonde girls spraying each other with water pistols on the other side of the square. Leslie Stevenson, Aunt Sybil’s main nemesis, came over to try to calm them. Or maybe egg them on, which would be more in line with her personality.2

  Kit never found out which one it was as, right then, gentle hands were placed on her lower back and fanned out to clasp each side of her waist.

  “Only a few more hours, dearest,” Laura whispered in her ear. “Then it’ll be dinner for five or six. Then a quiet night of drinks, reading, and generally cosying up in armchairs for you, me, and Uncle Maximillian.”

  Kit felt her smile go from ear to ear. “And when he leaves the room to do a wee or to refill the brandy bottle? What then, babe?”

  “Then I’ll expect you to put your book down and get ready for some quick but intense groping and/or cuddling,” she answered before placing a kiss in Kit’s hair.

  Kit put her hands over Laura’s and tightened the embrace. “Oh, I’ll be ready, birthday girl.”

  There they stood in their own quiet corner of the hubbub, neither of them breaking the embrace—Laura at the back, holding Kit tight and gently snuffling her nose through her pixie cut; Kit leaning into it and thinking of ways to get Maximillian to leave Howard Hall that night. Maybe she could get Aimee to call him and tell him he’d win a lifetime supply of taxidermy stuff if he went to the Himalayas right away? Now there was a thought.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Skulking and How They Met

  A couple of days later, Kit was in the library, pondering if the man she’d seen skulking outside the library on her lunch break was Anthony Caine. He had been some distance away, but still… walks like a duck, talks like a duck. Or was it quacks? And was it a duck or a hen?

  Idioms were soon forgotten as she’d spotted someone else now. This time there was no doubt who it was. From the corner of her eye, as she served a mum and her well-behaved kid, Kit saw Shannon lurking in the sci-fi section. Why was everyone skulking around today? More to the point, why was she skulking around there? Shannon wasn’t into sci-fi or books. Unless Rach had asked her to go find some books in which women took their clothes off. Or more likely, took each other’s clothes off. Kit’s librarian brain started reeling off sci-fi books with female sex scenes before she could stop herself. Obviously, Shannon wasn’t here for a book.

  When the mum and kid left with a pram full of books, Kit strode over to the skulking pub owner. “Oh, hey! I thought that was you. You all right?”

  “I’m fine, thanks, Kit. You?”

  “Yep, work is pretty quiet as you can see. I’m savouring it as we have ‘baby rhyme time’ in an hour. This place is going to be manic.”

  Shannon smiled. “Sounds like I came at the right time then.”

  “You did.” Kit braced herself against the bookshelf. “In fact, you saved me the effort of figuring out how to approach you about something.”

  “Oh yeah?” Shannon’s surprised tone was belied by her wary body language and jerky movements. They both knew why she was there, and they both knew where this conversation was going.

  Kit cleared her throat. “Look, I won’t beat about the bush. There’s a ginger extrovert milling about in a state of depression because the woman she loves won’t talk to her. That’s the obvious topic of conversation here, right?”

  Shannon’s handsome face scrol
led through the full range of human emotion before she emitted a faint “yes.”

  “Rach adores you, you know.”

  “Yes, she does, and I adore her even more. That doesn’t mean that she won’t annoy the living daylights out of me on occasion. Or that she doesn’t hurt me sometimes.”

  “Ah. Well, that sounds like something you might want to talk about?”

  Shannon squinted her eyes closed. “It is. I’m… not sure I’m ready, though. I’ve been struggling with this for a while.”

  “I know. It’s okay. There’s no hurry.” Kit adjusted her glasses, trying to think of something to say until Shannon was ready. “How did the two of you meet, anyway?”

  She opened her eyes, and her whole posture relaxed. “It was about seven years ago, at a charity cricket match that my mum organised to raise funds for a rundown nursery.”

  “Rach played cricket? I’ve heard her say sports are for people who can’t dance.”

  Shannon chuckled. “Oh, she wasn’t playing. She was manning the drinks stand, handing out glasses of weak squash and cups of water.” Shannon’s gaze moved to the window, turning wistful. “I’d seen her around. She’s hard to miss with that wild, red hair, her enthusiastic charm, and those come-hither-eyes. But I never gave her much attention. She was so much younger, so popular, and a total stunner.”

  “What changed?”

  “That cricket match was awful. It was cold and wet out. Everyone got muddy and more or less drenched by the persistent drizzle.”

  “Yikes.”

  “Exactly. Still, the day went from nightmare to dream when I saw Rach tip her head back and laugh at a young woman’s comments before saying, ‘I’m not going to hit on you just because I’m into women. You’re not nice enough, Julie. Sod off.’ Or something to that effect.”

  They both chuckled before Shannon continued, “Not only had she told off a homophobic ex-friend without offending anyone—she has a way of being breezy like that—but,” she ran her hand over her short afro while searching for words, “this gorgeous goddess was gay. Openly gay. Here on Greengage! Josh and Matt were the only non-straight people I knew here other than me at the time.”