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After Nancy had settled down, I took Christina to the village square which was overlooked by the vicarage. During the Summer Festival, the community garden at the vicarage was set up with several standing tables, and Olivia would bring baked goods to the vicar, Harold, who had volunteers help passing the treats around.
The square itself was filled with market stalls where the villagers could sell whatever they wanted for the next ten days. It was what drew in most visitors to our small Cornish village. Throughout the day and early evening we would have horseshoe throwing competitions. Tomorrow would be the writer’s panel. The daily activities were a bonus; the best part was that we had a reason to all spend time together during these long summer days.
Christina and I walked past the ice cream truck—I was trying very hard not to eat too much since I still hadn’t started working out—and headed to the first stalls. We passed people selling candles, wind chimes, and different kinds of chocolate which made my stomach growl.
I wanted to ask Christina if she was okay after seeing Alistair, but she was very focussed on all the items in front of us, so I didn’t ask. I knew from personal experience that a broken heart required time to heal, and there were moments you wanted to talk about it and moments you wanted to pretend it had never happened. Whatever she needed, I would be there for her.
“Oh, look at those,” she said as she pointed to small, delicate soaps with sweet scents that drew us closer.
“Hi, love,” the woman owning the stall, Patty, said. She had a cute shop with all sorts of knick-knacks not too far from me. I had no idea she was into soaps, but I didn’t frequent her shop much.
“These are very ‘in,’” Christina said to me as she picked up a purple piece of soap and smelt it. She closed her eyes and moaned. “This is so good, smell.” She pushed it under my nose.
It smelt like lavender and lilac. “It does smell good.” To me, most soap smelt great, so paying four pounds for a tiny piece of soap made no sense, but Christina bought three different ones with a twinkle in her eyes.
We moved on and checked out the other stalls while the sun shone relentlessly on our heads. I realised I hadn’t put sunscreen on, and I would probably end up with red shoulders and a red nose. It was the middle of July and the second week that the flat and my bookshop had needed air conditioning. The only thing that made this heat bearable was the excitement surrounding the Summer Festival. Although I didn’t particularly like summer, I loved the togetherness that these next ten days brought out in Castlefield. Not that it wasn’t already a close-knit community, but even more so with things like this.
Beth, our hundred-and-two-year-old resident, was also outside. She was sitting on a bench in the shade with Jessica and Phoebe on either side of her. They had bought her—and themselves—an ice cream and were doing their best to eat it before it melted.
Not far from them were four people who, after a moment, I recognised as the mystery authors I’d be doing a reading with tomorrow. I pointed them out to Christina.
“Well, let’s go say hello. I’d love to find out if they’re just as weird as you are.” She giggled.
“I’m not that weird,” I said.
“Last week you put a lot of ketchup on your hands and stomach, then walked around to check out the ‘blood spatter.’” She raised her eyebrows.
“Ah, yes. That is weird,” I said as we approached the group.
“Not to me,” Detective Black muttered beside me.
“Hello, I don’t know if you recognise me from our Skype session, but it’s me, Maggie Matthews.” I gave an awkward wave as I looked around the group. If four people were enough to make me nervous, I wasn’t sure how I’d do at the reading tomorrow. In fact, I was dreading it, but it was part of my job.
“Ah, dear Maggie,” the man named Carl Scranton said, as if we were long lost friends. He was chewing chewing gum, just like he had when we had Skyped. I recognised him by his bright copper hair and broad grin. During our collective Skype session he had also domineered the conversation. He was certainly not shy.
“An absolute delight to see your gorgeous self in person.” He gave me a sticky kiss on my cheek that lasted a little too long for my liking and then planted one on Christina’s. “And who are you?” he asked her.
“I—I’m Christina,” she said.
“And Christina, these are the others,” I said, as I pulled her away from Carl. He was a mystery author who had written only three books over the past twenty years, but they had been received relatively well. He had also won an award a few months ago, but I’d never heard of him until my agent mentioned him. My agent had also warned me that he had a tendency to flirt with anything that crossed his path. He was in his late forties, with an unnatural tan, and despite the blazing heat, he wore a cotton jacket and jeans. I didn’t appreciate the way he was staring Christina up and down, and I had never wanted Pandora, the psycho chicken, by my side as much as then. I would gladly have picked her up and thrown her in his face.
Luckily, that wasn’t necessary. There was another man around his mid-thirties, as well as a blonde woman of that same age and a younger one, in her early twenties. The blonde woman was named Wendy Cohen, and her husband and sometimes co-author Gregor Bykov had long dark hair that he had tied in a long braid. The young woman was named Sophia Taylor. She had black hair that was clearly dyed and some streaks were lighter, as if she’d missed them when colouring her hair.
We spent the next few minutes discussing the festival and Castlefield, and then we went on our way again. The group themselves split up as well, since Carl had spotted a group of lovely ladies to chat up. I wasn’t sure if the other authors were relieved or not. They had all known him longer than I had. Apparently, they were part of the same writing group. I had considered joining one of those once, but realised I had enough trouble dealing with Detective Black’s comments about my writing.
“Well, then,” he said, “learn when to place commas, and I’ll leave you alone.”
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ABOUT AN HOUR LATER I was fed up with the scorching sun that was trying to burn me alive, so I headed back in the direction of the shop. Christina had already returned twenty minutes earlier to relieve Eddie from his bookshop duties, so he could have a long break. He was throwing horseshoes with Sophia. She was giggling at something he said, and it could have been due to the sun, but I was fairly certain he was blushing. I smiled at the sight as I kept walking and bumped into someone.
“So sorry,” I muttered and stared into Alistair’s eyes.
“No problem.” He smiled at me, his hands in his pockets. “Having fun?”
Detective Black popped up next to me. “Play it cool. Definitely don’t think about his lips.”
“Yes, it’s a lip—I mean lovely first day of the Summer Festival. Not much has changed since we were teens, huh?” I said and cleared my throat, hoping he hadn’t noticed my slip-up.
“I suspect only we have changed.” He looked around, then back at me. “How are you?” His voice was soft, his stare penetrative.
“I’m fine. Business as usual. How are you?”
His dark eyes scanned my face. “Good. I’m doing...good.”
We stared at each other. The space between us slowly filled with the unsaid, like a balloon about to burst.
Alistair broke the silence. “Do you think—” He was interrupted by the sound of Pandora’s battle cry and the screams of innocent Summer Festival goers.
We turned to see the red chicken chasing two middle-aged women with shopping bags.
“Excuse me,” Alistair said. He ran to the nearest market stall that was selling wicker baskets and straw brooms. He picked up one of the brooms and dashed to the other side of the market from where the women ran our way, shrieking as Pandora chased them with fluttering wings. She really was evil. She probably slept on the bones of her defeated enemies.
“Hey,” the owner of the stall called, but as he watched Alistair run over to Pandora, he followed the scene with interest. Just like many others who stopped what they were doing to see if the detective would survive the oncoming blood bath.
The women ran on while Alistair reached them and moved the broom out in front of Pandora’s path. She tried to jump over it, but Alistair moved it up as well and gently brushed her back. She let out a shriek and tried to go for his legs. He anticipated that move with the broom and blocked her. This went on for a while. It was like watching a chicken dance with a broom. Eventually she became bored and stalked off.
The locals, who knew all too well how terrorising Pandora could be, started clapping. The two women who had been on the run from her homicidal tendencies returned to Alistair to thank him. He stood there holding the broom as he chatted with them.
“Wow, he really is something,” the man from the broom stall said.
“He is,” I said.
“Maybe you should throw some cold water over yourself,” Detective Black said.
“That would be nice, considering the fact that the sun is trying to melt me.”
“What?” the man from the stall asked.
“I don’t like Alistair. What? Nothing.” I dashed off to the The Wicked Bookworm where there was air conditioning, which I desperately needed. I was clearly becoming delirious. Alistair watched me go. It was probably best if we didn’t get too chummy.
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LATER THAT EVENING Christina and I had dinner at the pub. During the Summer Festival it was always busy in The Rose, but we found a spot by the half-open window. It was still light out, but there was a gentle breeze that occasionally made the ivy on the side of the pub tremble.
Eddie was by the bar with Sophia, so I guess they hit it off today. The other two mystery authors were on the other side of the bar, chatting, while Carl was entertaining a group of people. He was too far away for me to hear what he was discussing, but he made wild gestures and occasionally a roar of laughter emerged from those who were hanging from his lips.
We ordered food from Callum, who was dressed stylishly as ever in his bow tie and silk shirt. It was too busy for him to be texting his new boyfriend, a professional skier from Canada, but otherwise that was exactly what he’d be doing. He was only working at the pub to pay for his acting lessons. One day he’d leave Castlefield, become famous and forget us all.
When Eddie spotted us, he came over and brought Sophia along. “Hi, guys. Have you met Sophia yet?” he asked.
She gave us a smile. “Yes, I’ve met them already.”
“Sit down.” I pulled out the chair next to me, so that Eddie could sit down. “How are you enjoying your first day in Castlefield?” I asked once they were settled.
“It is such a cute village. The cottages are beautiful, and so is the scenery. I was a bit nervous about tomorrow, but everyone is so nice, I’m looking forward to it now.”
I wish I could have said the same. I was still dreading having all those eyes on me. It was just easier dealing with fictional people. Not that I expected anything bad to happen, but technically there was the possibility that people would start laughing at me. Or maybe Pandora would terrorise the crowd and chase everyone away.
“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself. I hope Eddie has been good to you.” I grinned at him.
He kicked me under the table as his face adopted the colour of a tomato.
Sophia chuckled while Christina bit her lip, presumably to stop herself from laughing.
“He has been very nice, indeed,” Sophia said and flashed Eddie a smile. If she kept it up, he would become so red he could stop traffic.
“Your first book recently got published, didn’t it?” I asked in order to make conversation. I already knew this from our Skype session.
“Yes, that’s right. It’s about a female private investigator who solves a string of murders.” And she continued to tell us more about it. Eddie seemed interested in everything she said and nodded enthusiastically every now and then.
There was another burst of laughter from the group that Carl was sitting with. We all looked up.
“He sure likes talking, doesn’t he?” I said to Sophia.
“Yeah. He loves attention. Which is also why he’s so excited for tomorrow. I also don’t think his latest book did so well.” Her cheeks reddened. “I’m sorry. That was mean.”
“No, not at all,” Eddie said. “Not if it’s simply a fact.”
“Even so.” She shrugged.
“Are you close with Carl? Are the others?”
“Wendy and Gregor have known him for a while. I met him about two months ago. When my book was published I wanted to join a local author’s club, and that’s how I met them. We basically help each other brainstorm, or sometimes beta read each other’s work. It’s more like a support group.” She laughed.
It sounded nice, not that I needed a club like that, I already had my support group.
“And where are you from?” Christina asked.
“Devon.”
Eddie and Sophia also ordered dinner, and we stayed for another hour, but the pub got busier, and I had promised to help Harold. Yesterday around this time, I had helped him put up balloons on the gate around the cemetery. Today I would help him hang up birdhouses. Every few years he’d hang up new ones, not because there was anything wrong with them, but because he liked building them. He painted doors and windows on, though I doubted the bright colours would attract the birds. Not that it mattered; it brought him joy.
I left the others at the pub for a drink while I went outside. As I headed toward the vicarage I heard footsteps behind me. I picked up the pace, but so did the person behind me.
“You really should start carrying weapons. Maybe bring a broom with you,” Detective Black said.
Someone touched my arm.
I swung my handbag around, but it got blocked by the person’s arm. It happened too quick for me to see who it was, but I kicked him.
“Ouch, Maggie. It’s me,” Alistair said. He hopped on one leg as I lowered my handbag. “Does being violent run in your family?”
I chuckled. “Oops. Sorry.”
He rubbed his leg and stood up straight. “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“That’s okay. Now I got to show off my fighting skills. I could be an extra in an action film.”
He laughed. “Yes, you’d be kicking bad guys’ butts with your handbag.”
“Don’t mock the handbag, it’s how Nancy lost her eye.”
His mouth fell open. “Really?”
Now it was my turn to laugh. “No.”
“How did it happen?”
“That depends on what mood she is in when you ask her. Will you walk me to the vicarage?”
“Of course.” We continued to walk side by side. It was significantly cooler now, though still warm.
“I liked the way you handled Pandora today,” I said to him.
“Yes, well, we couldn’t have her attack those poor women. I still can’t believe a chicken can do so much damage. Maybe I should arrest her and scare her straight.”
I laughed as I pictured Pandora in handcuffs. “How did it go with that girl, Emblyn?”
“Her dad is some hotshot businessman. He barely gave her the time of day. He said she was grounded for a month and then took a phone call. I think the girl was acting out to get his attention. I saw that a lot when I was in uniform. Parents have a great influence on the behaviour of their children.”
I swallowed. In my case I hoped my mother had as little influence on me as possible. It wasn’t her fault she had mental issues, of course, but she had caused certain scars that weren’t so easy to heal.
“Are you excited for tomorrow?” he asked after a moment of silence.
“Yea—err, no. I’m nervous.” I bit my lip as I thought about standing there in front of those people.
“What are you nervous about?”
“Just all those people staring at me. And don’t tell me to picture them naked, that would be even worse.”
He chuckled. “Yeah, that advice doesn’t work. What you could do is smile and force yourself to look around at the faces. Then you’ll see that it’s really just people looking at you, nothing more, nothing less. Then you focus on what you’re reading while occasionally glancing in the direction of someone you don’t mind looking at. Someone you feel comfortable with. A lot of friends will be part of the audience, so you can use that. If I were you, I wouldn’t be too worried. One smile from you, and they’ll all be putty in your hands.”
I looked at him. “That’s very sweet of you.”
“Just being honest,” he said.
We reached the gate to the vicarage. “I appreciate it.”
“That’s what friends are for. Right?” His eyes searched mine. The answer was clearly important to him.
The smart thing was to say that he wasn’t my friend. At least, not until Christina was officially over her broken heart. Not to mention that I wasn’t sure if we could be friends; I was attracted to him. Being close to him would only mess with my head.
I smiled at him. I would let him down gently.
“Yes, we are.”
Damn it.
“Yes, you really let him down easy,” Detective Black said with an eye roll.