Chapter 10 #3
‘I’m Rosie,’ she tells us, looking around. ‘I run the café. Och, the state of the place…’
She genuinely looks distressed as she takes it all in.
‘We tried to help after Moira’s accident,’ she says, ‘but nobody could step in full-time. Plus Moira kept telling us all to stop bothering… she has her pride, that one, and she didn’t want to feel like a burden.
Said it was bad enough she was dependent on Joanne, never mind the rest of us.
Oh, you should have seen it here a few years ago… ’
I find that I can quite easily imagine it. Having now met Moira, even in her reduced state, I can picture what a special place she made this. How she would have offered a safe space for anyone who walked through the door, how her little world of books and magic would have been so graciously shared.
‘We’re going to clean it up,’ I tell her. ‘We’ll make it good as new!’
Brody shoots me a sideways look. ‘Well,’ I add, ‘maybe not that good – but better at least!’
‘Couldn’t get much worse, could it?’ Rosie asks. ‘These old buildings are lovely to look at, but they take a lot of caring for. If you stop paying them attention, they get their revenge. Like women.’
She makes her eyes wide as she says the last bit, and I have to laugh. She’s wearing bright red lipstick, and it shouldn’t work with her pale skin and vivid hair – yet somehow, it does.
‘I don’t know much about that,’ Brody replies, gratefully taking a mug, ‘but I do know a bit about maintenance. Pretty sure that if we find the leak, we’ll be able to patch it up. Give it a fighting chance.’
Rosie puts her hands on her curvy hips and smiles.
‘I’m loving your accent! And thank you. Even if she is selling it, I hate seeing it like this, and I know a lot of others will feel like that too.
If we can help, let us know. I tend to finish up at about four and then sort out the kids, but Xander and the other fishermen are often back earlier. ’
‘That’s okay,’ Brody says firmly. ‘We’re fine. Just fine.’
She looks slightly surprised at his response, but just shrugs. ‘Aye, okay then. You know where I am if you need more coffee. Or a bottle of Glenfiddich. Or some company…’
She gives him a saucy wink with her final words, and leaves.
‘She was flirting with you,’ I tell him, pointing a finger. ‘She likes you.’
I can’t say that I blame her. I mean, the man is sexy.
Not quite silver fox, but definitely giving off an older-but-hot vibe, and his stern expression somehow makes him even more attractive.
He’s a challenge, and some women like a challenge.
Not me, I tell myself. I find everyday life enough of a challenge without throwing brooding strangers into the mix.
‘Some ladies just like to flirt,’ he replies, untroubled. ‘She doesn’t mean it.’
‘Oh. You can tell, can you? You have some kind of cop radar?’
‘Yeah. That’s exactly what they trained us in at the police academy – how to spot a fraudulent flirt. I just know, okay?’
‘If you say so! I admire her actually. She’s so confident. If I behaved like that with a man he’d run a mile!’
I realise as I speak that it sounds like I’m fishing for compliments, which is not at all what I intended. He quirks an eyebrow at me and shakes his head. ‘You’re good just the way you are, Kate. Don’t try and be someone you’re not. It never works, and you don’t need to.’
With that he turns his back on me and starts poking at the walls. I try to ignore how broad that back is, and I definitely do not imagine what it might feel like to slip my hands under his shirt and touch it. No, that would be very naughty of me indeed…
I’m blushing slightly as I turn my attention to the heap of damaged books.
He’s right. They’re beyond help, and I pile them all into a black bin bag from a roll I found in the kitchen.
Even the bin bags were covered in cobwebs.
It’s grim work, and for once I’m glad I’m not the kind of woman who has fancy acrylic nails.
We go about our tasks silently, making some progress, taking a few breaks for coffee.
I pick up the pile of mail that I’d found lurking behind the door, and idly go through it. Most looks like junk, but some could be important. Important enough for me to use as an excuse anyway.
‘I think we should go and see her,’ I say eventually.
‘Who?’ he asks, distracted by a fast disintegrating copy of a Jackie Collins novel.
‘Mother Teresa. Who do you think?’
‘Right. Yeah. Sorry. I accidentally started reading this…’
I glance at the mouldy cover. Hollywood Wives.
‘That’s a good one. I read all her books when I was fourteen. I stole them off my gran’s bookcase, and they were pretty much all I had in terms of sex education. Life has been pretty disappointing on that front ever since.’
‘Maybe,’ he replies, crooked half-smile on his lips, ‘you’ve been doing it with the wrong person.’
I stare at him, feeling hot under my non-existent collar, and he adds: ‘And I say that in a totally not-flirting way. Shall we go see her then?’
‘Who?’
‘Mother Teresa.’
‘Oh! Right! Yes. Moira. We could take her post, and tell her we’re cleaning, and, um…’
He’s looking at me in a way that is doing nothing for my blood pressure.
Is he the one flirting now? No, he couldn’t have been.
It would break some kind of Brody Quinn code.
He was probably just being factual, and he was probably also right.
I’ve definitely been doing it with the wrong people, or more recently with no people at all.
Online dating seemed too terrifying, and I settled for being alone.
Now I’m wondering if that needs to change.
I can’t go on like this forever, a born-again virgin.
I look away from Brody’s probing gaze, and get my phone out to call Moira.
I haven’t checked it since yesterday, and the first thing I see is a Friday night special from my ex-husband.
It’s supposed to be what they call in the trade a ‘dick pic’, but he was obviously so drunk when he took it that it’s of his thighs and feet.
He still has one sock on, and I can see the toilet in the background.
Sexy stuff. I miss u, the message says. Can I come visit right now?
I shudder. That’s fairly typical of his behaviour when he’s had a skinful.
I do what I always do, and delete it without responding.
I’d feel bad for Vicky, his current partner, if I was a nicer person, but as she started her affair with him when we were still married, I find that I’m all out of sisterhood on that front.
‘What is it?’ Brody says, coming up behind me in a surprisingly stealthy way for a man so big. ‘You looked upset.’
‘I’m okay. It’s just my ex. Harry. He lives with someone else now, but when he’s drunk, he sends me messages. They’re, uh, suggestive? And sometimes they come with illustrations.’
I can tell he gets the drift straight away, and he lets out a little growl. ‘He sounds like an asshole.’
‘Well, yes. I suppose he is. I try not to let it bother me. I could block his number too, but maybe part of me enjoys it. Not in a wanting him back way, just in a gosh, look how pathetic you are, and look how small your willy is kind of way.’
He blinks, and looks like he’s trying to bite back laughter. ‘Willy. Good word. Moira?’
I nod, and dial her number. When she answers, she says: ‘Nurse Ratched’s Home for Spinsters, how may I direct your call?’
I hear Joanne scolding her in the background, and smile as Moira lets out a huge cackle. ‘Kate! How are you, my bonnie girl? And how is the big numpty?’
‘Uh… we’re on speaker phone, just to mention. I’m good, thanks, and so is the big numpty, assuming you mean Brody. We were wondering if we could call round for a visit?’
She agrees immediately, and we finish bagging up the dead books before we set off.
‘I’m a bit nervous,’ I say, as we look around at the now slightly less devastated room. ‘What if she’s annoyed with us? She said we could visit the shop, not, I don’t know, refurbish it!’
Brody lets out a snort of laughter. ‘We’ve cleared some rubbish, not recreated the place! It’ll be fine. She won’t mind. She’ll be pleased!’
He sounds confident, but I’m not one hundred per cent convinced. What if we’ve somehow stepped on her toes? Oh well, I think, as we close the door behind us – too late for worrying about that now. Though I suppose we could just go back in and empty the bin bags again.
By the time we arrive at Moira’s, walking up the hill in the sunshine, I am a mess.
I’m sweaty and dirty, my hands are patterned with bits of print that have stuck to them, and my hair is covered in dust. Brody doesn’t look much better, his knees wet from the floor, his face streaked with something dark and sooty.
Joanne lets us in, giving us a disgusted once-over, and Moira laughs out loud when she sees us.
‘Goodness! What have you two been up to?’
‘Uh, well, we were at the bookshop actually,’ I tell her nervously. ‘It’s a little dishevelled.’
‘And by dishevelled, am I to take it you mean a complete disaster zone? It’s been empty too long, I know. Ginny and the others tried to tell me how bad it was getting, but every time they did, I got upset. So they just… stopped, I suppose. Ignorance was bliss. Or at least ignorance.’
Brody shakes his head. ‘I get that, I do – but there’s no use sugar-coating it, Moira, it’s a mess. The leak’s done some damage, a lot of the books are gone, and I’m worried it’s going to get worse.’
‘Plus the little bell fell off,’ I add quietly. He’s right, there is no use sugar-coating it, but I still feel awful being the bearer of such bad news.
Silence greets us, and I wonder if she’s about to cry. ‘Och, no. The wee bell. That’s… well, that’s not good, is it? I knew it was probably bad, but I think I’d just been in denial…’
Joanne is lurking in the doorway, and she snaps: ‘Well? What can you two do for it?’