No. 5 Move to the country
one
August
When Aunt Jemma died, I swore I’d get rid of the frilly net curtains in the living room, they’re ugly as fuck, I just never got round to it.
A fact I’m grateful for as I stare through them at the moving truck across the road.
It’s official, the old village shop is sold and being taken over.
By a stranger. My teeth grind and my nostrils flare.
“You reckon they’ll keep it as a shop?” my sister Joanie says, coming to stand next to me at the window, munching obnoxiously loud on crisps from the open family sized bag in her hand. My family sized bag she pulled from my cupboard. I was looking forward to those.
“Apparently they’ve put in a request to change it to an eatery,” Elijah, my best friend, and another cupboard raider, says, a cup of steaming instant noodle in his hand as he steps up to my other side.
“Do you people not have food at home?” I grumble.
“No,” Joanie answers simply.
“You called me over here in the small window of my day I have for lunch,” Eli says.
“I didn’t call you over,” I argue. I totally did. He gives me a flat look telling me he’s not buying my bullshit.
“What kind of eatery?” Joanie asks around a mouthful of half chewed potato.
I snatch the bag from her to find less than a handful left at the bottom and start eating them myself. “We don’t need another restaurant.”
“We don’t have one!” Joanie throws her hands up, the annoyed screech of her voice waking up Darcy, the other thing I reluctantly inherited from Aunt Jemma. The shaggy grey mutt sits up in his bed in the corner and shakes his head, collar tinkling with the movement.
Turning my head, I glare at Joanie with incredulousness and sharply gesture to my other side where Eli slurps loudly on his noodles.
“The pub?” Joanie screws her face up. “That hardly counts.”
“That’s not very supportive,” I scold her, but I have no other arguments.
Marge runs the kitchen at the pub; she’s in her seventies and works in her slippers.
She’d probably have a cigarette constantly hanging from her mouth, too, if Eli hadn’t flat out told her smoking was in no way allowed inside the building.
She’s rough around the edges, tough as old boots, and shows up to work when she wants.
Meaning no one can plan a meal out in advance because you never know when food will be available.
She also doesn’t cook, per se. She can fry and use the microwave. That’s it.
“I think we can all agree another restaurant would be a blessing for everyone,” Eli says, not at all concerned about the prospect of a competitor.
My head swings between them, angry neither of them seem to be as put out by the newcomer across the street as I am.
“We should go introduce ourselves,” Eli says.
Joanie and I probably have twin expressions of absolutely not as we stare back at him.
For different reasons though; Joanie just doesn’t really like people, I just don’t like this person—whoever they are.
“You do remember we’re pissed someone else is taking over the shop, right?
” I implore my best friend for a little bit of solidarity.
He rolls his freakishly green eyes at both of us and puts his noodle pot down on the windowsill.
I bet he just leaves it there. Such a slob.
“You two are miserable fuckers. I’m going to say hi to our new neighbours, stay here if you want, although you know you’re doing Port Doone a disservice by being so unwelcoming.
” He points an accusatory finger at me and, although that little dig won’t bother Joanie one bit, he knows he’s getting to me.
Our little village of Port Doone is my home, and I’d feel disloyal to misrepresent it.
Doesn’t mean I can’t be grumpy about it.
“Fine,” I snarl before pouring the remnants of my fancy crisps in my mouth and scrunching the empty bag up to toss it away. “Come on,” I snap at Joanie.
“Why am I being roped into this?”
“Because I’m not leaving you alone in my house; you swapped the sugar in the pot for salt last time.”
She cackles, steepling her fingers in front of her like a poorly written villain. Anyone would think she was the youngest but Joanie’s three years older than me and in no way more mature.
“Okay, but I’ve got to leave in twenty minutes to pick Connor up from school.”
“Why isn’t he getting the bus?” I ask, swiping Eli’s noodle cup up to throw away on the way out.
“Eurgh,” Joanie groans. “He’s been banned from the school bus for a week for sticking his chewing gum in some girl’s hair.”
“Oh Connor,” Eli sighs next to me.
I shake my head and try not to dwell on the disappointment of my nephew’s behaviour. Instead, I put my arm around Joanie’s shoulders and give her a light squeeze of consolation. She gives me a strained smile in return.
Without further protests, she follows Eli and me out the door and across the narrow road to where the moving truck is pulled up on the curb, leaving barely enough room for cars to pass.
If Mr George in his beat-up old Land Rover tries to come through, someone’s losing a wing mirror.
The clacking of Darcy’s claws behind me alerts me to the fact he’s considered this a family outing and therefore incomplete without his presence.
The other side of the truck reveals cardboard piled high on the pavement.
The door to the cottage attached to the old shop is wide open and next to it, is a brightly dressed butt bent over and rummaging inside one of the boxes.
They seem to hear us approach and pop up to a stand, revealing the person attached…
and I have no idea what to make of them.
Hair clipped close to their head, the few millimetres left bleached yellow blonde.
They have some kind of eye makeup on in swirling patterns over their eyelids in a neon green, and rings in both the centre and one side of their nose as well as a single earring on one side, dangling down like a mini dagger.
Wearing a knitted golf vest in neon pink with nothing underneath, a scattering of tattoos shows on their arms. They’re slim and wiry, tall for a woman but short for a man.
Baggy jeans with brightly coloured chains draped between the belt loops and heavy Doc Martens complete their look.
And they assess us with the same level of scrutiny I’m giving them.
“Hello,” they say cautiously, voice deeper than I was expecting.
“Hi,” Eli greets with his usual cheeriness. “We just wanted to come by and welcome the new neighbours.”
“Okay,” the stranger says. “You’re all going to be neighbours?”
“That’s right,” Joanie says.
“Are you guys in some kind of polycule?”
“A what now?” Joanie frowns.
“Oh, no,” Eli laughs, not offended by the fact this brightly coloured newcomer just suggested I was in a three-way relationship with my sister and best friend. “They’re siblings.” He points to Joanie and me.
“I see,” the one who still hasn’t introduced themselves says. “It’s just you all came out of the same house and I’m getting some weird co-dependency vibes.”
Are they for real? Who the fuck comes to my village and starts talking shit abo—
“Well, you’re probably not wrong there,” Eli laughs. The fucker’s not even offended. “It’s quite a tight knit community here, we all depend on each other.”
“That’s very Stars Hollow of you.” Newbie smirks, and I get a hot anger in the pit of my stomach. This colourful smirker is making fun of us, even though I have no clue what Stars Hollow is.
“If it’s not for you, you’ve moved to the wrong place,” I grit out, doing nothing to hide my distain, arms coming to fold over my chest.
The stranger snaps their amused gaze to me, taking in my stature and arching an assessing brow. I’m waiting for them to comment on my height just as everyone does when they first see me, but they just look me up and down and grin. “I see we’re not all smiles and rainbows.”
I’m about to rip them a new one when another voice interrupts my tirade. “Oh my God, I think my boobs are sweating.”
Out the open door of the cottage comes a woman, shorter than her companion, and wearing far less clothing; just short-shorts and a tank top.
Purely because of her words, my gaze dips to the cleft of her cleavage where, yep, a bead of sweat trickles between her tits.
Really nice tits. The newest member of this little gathering stutters to a halt when she sees us standing with her friend, a pink blush colouring her cheeks when she realises her statement was heard by four sets of ears and not one.
“Oh, hello,” she says, full lips curving into a sweet smile and her hand coming up in an awkward wave.
Her hair is bubble-gum pink, swishing in a long ponytail tied high on her head.
When her eyes land on me, they’re the deepest blue.
She looks up at me, her expression morphing into shock. “Woah, you’re really tall.”
Keeping my face otherwise blank, I arch one brow. “Great observation. No one’s even said that to me before.”
She jerks back in surprise. “Really?”
“Babe,” the colourful one says. “Remember we talked about sarcasm.”
“Oh right,” Pink Hair giggles. “Sorry, it’s been a day, my brain is frazzled.” Holding out a hand to me, she smiles so wide and bright, it feels like the sun’s been turned up, not that I let myself be drawn into the warmth. “I’m Bea.”
I look at her offered hand, keeping my arms folded tight to my chest and the moment grows awkward for a second before Eli jumps in to save the day. Chivalrous prick.
“Hi, I’m Eli, this is Joanie.” He gestures to my sister, who gives a polite smile, then he slaps me on the shoulder.
“This is August, don’t pay him any attention.
He was born with a stick up his butt and we’re still waiting for it to be removed.
” He clenches his fist in front of his mouth and forces his voice to crack. “Any day now.”
Joanie snorts next to me and Bea’s friend cackles loudly. “I like you,” they say to Eli, who dips his head in a modest bow.