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Brenda led Margaret Campbell into the treatment room set up for massage therapy. It was beautifully decorated in tranquil pastel shades of green and blue, with large potted plants to break up the space. It was one of the most tasteful spas that Brenda had worked in.
“Do you mind if I make a couple of calls before we get started?” Margaret asked as she dumped her handbag on the upholstered chair.
“Sure,” Brenda said. “Would you like me to get you a nice cup of green tea while you wait?”
“Please tell me green tea isn’t made with grass,” Margaret said.
Brenda burst out laughing. “No, it isn’t made with grass. Why would you think that?”
“I saw something on telly about all that health fad stuff. They were doing yoga and drinking grass.”
The penny dropped. “Wheatgrass. Very different from green tea. Trust me, if you like normal tea, you’ll like green tea.”
Margaret gave her a sceptical look. “If it’s just the same as normal tea, why don’t we just have normal tea?”
“Green tea is heathier. Less caffeine. Lots of antioxidants.”
“Health fad stuff,” Margaret grumbled.
Amused, Brenda went to fetch the tea, but added a plate with a couple of French fancies on it to take the sting out of the healthy tea. When she came back, Margaret sat in the rose-pink armchair pressing buttons on her phone.
“My son-in-law, Lake, showed me how to set up a conference call on loudspeaker so I wouldn’t have to ring all the women in my knitting group individually. It saves a lot of time, especially as some of them can’t shut up. A five-minute call can take an hour.”
“Sounds like a good son-in-law.” Brenda put the tray down on the table beside Margaret and saw her face light up at the sight of the yellow and pink iced cakes.
“You’re a doll,” she said before a voice came over the speaker.
“What’s up?” someone said, then more chimed in, saying hello.
“Right, we’re all here,” Margaret said. “We have an emergency.”
“What kind of emergency?” one of the women asked. “Is it something we need the police for? Because I can call in Matt.”
“No, we don’t need your son, Heather,” Margaret said. “I’m at the spa and he’s standing outside the building. If I need him, I can just shout out the window.”
“Why are the police at the spa?” another woman asked. It sounded like she was eating.
“Because of the demonstration.” Margaret listened to the sharp intake of breaths.
“Those bloody idiots didn’t go ahead with that plan?” the same woman said.
“Aye, that they did, Shona.” Margaret pulled a stool over and put her feet up. “They’re camped outside right now. They’ve got banners and everything. And Morag MacKay has set up a pie stall.”
“I wondered why the bakery was closed today,” a different woman said. “I was hoping it was a death in the family—hers.”
“Jean!” someone snapped, and Brenda hid a smile behind her hand.
“Don’t tell me you aren’t all thinking the same thing,” Jean said.
“Anyway,” Margaret cut in, “Morag got here, saw there was a demonstration and jumped on the bandwagon.”
“She wants men in the spa too?” Heather sounded confused.
“No. She’s protesting there being a brothel in town.” Margaret covered the phone and whispered to Brenda, “I suppose it’s too late to put a shot of whisky in the tea?”
Brenda just looked at her.
“Aye, I thought so. Not sure it’d come under the banner of ‘heath food,’ anyway.” Margaret sounded so disappointed that it was hard to tell if she was still joking or not.
“We have a brothel? I didn’t know that.” Brenda recognised the voice as Jean, and she seemed quite excited by the prospect.
“Morag is talking about the spa,” Heather snapped. “You know what Morag is like. She probably heard something she didn’t like and assumed it was sex-related.”
“Maybe if Morag got some, she’d stop being so obsessed with making sure everybody else didn’t get any,” Shona said.
“She thinks the spa is a brothel because they offer massages,” Margaret told them. “I’m waiting for a massage right now and I can tell you there is nothing sexual about it.”
Brenda started laughing. “No offence, Margaret, but if something sexual was going to happen, I’d hope it was with Josh McInnes or maybe Mitch Harris. A, because they have the right equipment and B, I have a thing for an American accent.” As well as for Scottish chefs who didn’t know she existed.
“Don’t we all,” Shona said on a sigh.
“Who’s there?” Heather asked.
“Oh, ladies, this is Brenda, my massage therapist.” Margaret grinned at Brenda. “Say hi to the women of Knit or Die.”
Brenda did as she was told, then leaned against the set of drawers behind her. “Do you want me to leave until you’ve finished your call?”
“No,” Margaret said. “We’re talking about sorting out the men and getting rid of the protest. You can stay for that.”
“We are?” Shona sounded hopeful.
Margaret nodded, although none of her friends could see the move. “That’s why I’m calling. Jodie is upset about the demonstration. She’s worried the men will put people off the business. She was even talking about asking Mitch for legal help to get rid of them.”
“She doesn’t need Mitch,” Heather said. “My boy can run them back into town.”
Boy? Brenda mouthed to Margaret.
“Heather’s son is the town’s entire police force,” Margaret explained.
“He’ll sort that mess right out,” Heather said.
“Jodie already tried that. The protests are legal and Matt can’t do anything. That’s why I called you lot. We need to mobilise the resistance.”
There was a squeal. “I’ve always wanted to resist something,” Jean said. “Can we wear berets?”
Margaret made a circular motion at her temple, letting Brenda know that she thought Jean was off her head. “You can wear what you like. What we need to do is hit back at the men where it hurts. If we distract their attention away from the spa then they’ll leave the place alone. They want a war of the sexes, then I think we should give them one.”
“I love it!” There was a loud whoop of delight.
“We need to target all the predominantly male events and areas in town.” Heather was obviously the practical one.
“Aye, like the Domino Boys’ meeting room at the library,” Jean said.
“They don’t meet there anymore,” Heather said. “The guy who replaced Caroline doesn’t provide chocolate biscuits. They’re meeting in the pub.”
“Okay.” Margaret took a deep breath. “I can’t talk right now. I have to get my massage done. I thought we could meet up at dinnertime.”
“Not at the pub,” Shona said. “All the men will be in there, stuffing their faces and patting their backs over a day spent protesting.”
“You’re right. We’ll meet at my house,” Margaret said. “I need you to bring all the spare knitting you have lying around with you to the meeting.”
“Spare knitting?” Heather said.
“Trust me,” Margaret said. “I have a plan.”
The women said goodbye and Margaret hung up. She took a sip of her tea, made a face then plonked the cup back on the tray. She then set about demolishing the cakes.
“Do you knit?” she asked Brenda.
“Never learned.”
“Do you want to learn? The Knit or Die club is looking for new members. Younger blood.”
“I’ll have a think about it.”
Margaret considered her for a minute as though she was trying to figure out if Brenda was stringing her along or not. “How about you become an affiliate member in the meantime?”
“Affiliate member?” The over-the-top innocent look on Margaret’s face was a sure giveaway that she was up to something.
“We’re all getting on a bit. I just celebrated my sixtieth. I’m not as flexible as I used to be.” She looked Brenda directly in the eyes. “It makes it difficult to break and enter when your knees creak. And if any of us had to climb a fence, or a drainpipe, there’s a good chance we’d pull something doing it. We could use some muscle.” Brenda’s jaw fell and Margaret rushed on. “For the war, you understand. We don’t go around breaking into places willy-nilly. We only do it when the cause demands it. And really, is there a bigger cause than equality? Ours, not the men’s. Men are equal enough.”
Brenda blinked several times before she grinned widely. Moving to the Highlands was turning out to be the best decision of her life. “You’re in luck. I have mad breaking and entering skills. I can pick pretty much any lock.” She didn’t tell Margaret that she’d learned the skill in order to get out of the closet her ex-boyfriend used to lock her in after he’d beaten her. As far as Brenda was concerned, you had to take the good out of any given situation. So her time with Clive had been horrific—at least she’d picked up some skills from the experience. Okay, not all of them were useful—like how to curl up in a way that minimised the damage from a fist and how to alphabetise your pantry (a major obsession of Clive’s). Now that she thought about it, maybe there wasn’t much of a positive side from her years with Clive.
Margaret whooped, bringing Brenda out of her contemplation. The woman’s eyes lit up. “I knew you’d be perfect for our group.”
Brenda liked that. It sure would be nice to fit in somewhere. “Can I bring a friend?”
“More the merrier.” Margaret stood. “I knew instantly that you’d fit right into Invertary. It takes a certain type of person to really make a go of it in this town.”
“Friendly?” Brenda guessed.
“Bonkers,” Margaret said. “You have to be stark raving mad to fit in here.”
Brenda handed Margaret a robe and pointed to the dressing room. With a spring in her step, Margaret went to get changed. Brenda figured she was excited about planning her war. And when she thought about it, Brenda was kind of excited too.