Wednesday September 24th 2025 #2
“I’m serious about this. I realize we’ve been a bit heavy-handed here. This isn’t just a shop, it’s a community center. We need to make sure the changes reflect that, as well as making money.”
Galoshes folded her arms. “And tell Doc to tone down the wankery.”
I burst out laughing. “I might word it differently, but all right—we’ll keep it simple to begin with, shall we?”
After a long, agonizing moment, Galoshes nodded once.
“Really?” I said, my voice a bit too shrill. “You won’t block us at tonight’s meeting?”
“I wouldn’t block you,” Galoshes said, affronted.
“Right…”
“But I think Baptiste’s objections on animal rights grounds might be revoked, now you mention it.”
“Animal rights?”
“All that butter.”
I laughed again. Galoshes remained entirely straight-faced, adjusting her glasses, but there was maybe a hint of warmth in those eyes. Progress, definitely.
Just read back over all this and feel so great about it.
Have got somewhere with Galoshes! She still doesn’t respect me, of course, but who cares?
(…I care. Enormously. Find it hard to think about anything else, actually.
But progress is progress, and at least now while I’m obsessing about impressing Galoshes I can do it next to the Bramblebay Farm Shop coffee machine.)
Next job is harvest festival planning. Ormer does harvest festival in a big way—there’s a tractor procession, orange leafy wreaths on every door on the Rue, the chocolate shop sets up a stall on the harbor selling gingerbread and pumpkin-spiced hot chocolate…
but Bramblebay Farm has never been involved.
Which is ridiculous. We should be at the heart of harvest festival. We’re a farm! There is no harvest without us! So, buoyed up by coffee and biscuit success, am plotting new festival schemes while Red manages the till. Thinking donkeys should be involved. More soon.
Returned to the shop floor to find Red nowhere to be seen.
That girl does a disappearing act like nobody else—often find she has vanished when Toby is around, and then reappears as though she was never gone—but nonetheless was quite surprised.
She was supposed to be in charge while I stepped out to think about donkeys.
Then heard the sound of sniffling. Crying, unmistakably.
Crept toward the till. Red was crouched behind the counter, curls falling forward, shoulders shaking with sobs.
“Oh, Red, what is it?” I asked, coming around the counter to duck down beside her.
She jumped. “Shoot,” she said, tugging her sleeves over her hands to wipe her face, expertly dodging her piercings. “I’m so sorry, Charlie, I was just taking a minute, if I’d heard the door open I would have…”
“Don’t worry about it. Hang on.”
Hopped up and flicked our sign to CLOSED. People could wait a minute for their pumpkins and leeks.
“What’s going on, honey?”
She was sitting cross-legged on the floor now, staring miserably at her own feet.
“Please talk to me. Are you OK?”
“I’m fine.” She wiped her cheeks again. “I’m so sorry to be making such a fuss.”
“Please don’t say that. Do men make a fuss?”
She paused for a moment. “No, they never do, do they?”
“Right! So we’re not doing that, either. You’re upset. I’m sure you’re upset for a good reason. Even if the good reason is ‘my hormones are doing a mad dance today because my period is due.’ ”
That got me a little smile. I leaned to pinch her a pack of travel tissues from by the till. Would put them through later. Or just steal them, maybe, since apparently we are all quite chill about borrowing from the shop when need be.
“I can’t talk about it,” Red whispered. “There’s nobody I can tell. I’ve not spoken to my parents since they kicked me out, and my brother lives on the other side of the planet, and he never picks up when I call him anyway…”
Leaned in to hug her, and let her cry into my shoulder.
“I promise I’ve known my fair share of everything going dramatically wrong, and I’m a great listener. And a great keeper of secrets. I won’t tell a soul anything you don’t want me to tell.”
She pulled back slowly and reached for the pocket of her hoodie. Her hand stayed there, clutching something.
“I don’t know what to do,” she said miserably.
“That’s OK. Maybe I’ll know.”
“I can’t say it.”
“That’s OK, too. You can write it down. Mime it. I’m excellent at interpreting all forms of expressive dance, too.”
Was staring at the hand in her pocket—felt sure that when she brought it out, saying anything wouldn’t be necessary. Could see her loosening up a little. After a long moment, she gave me the bravest wobbly smile as she pulled her fist from her hoodie and showed me what was inside.
A pregnancy test. Two lines.
My heart did a small, guilty hiccup. But just a small one.
Six months ago, seeing a positive pregnancy test in someone else’s hand would have made me wretched with jealousy, then full of shame at not being able to feel joyful for them.
Then would descend into panic as I went through the same old cycle of thoughts: what if I’m not with the right man, what if he’ll never want kids with me, what if I never have this?
Then I’d probably spend a day trying to convince myself I didn’t want it that badly anyway, and there was plenty of time, and it was fine, I was fine, it was fine to wait.
I know myself so much better now. If I’d realized back then how anxious I can get about other people’s opinions of me, I’d have clocked that I’d spent the last decade tiptoeing around wanting kids in case I freaked out my boyfriend or he thought I was being (God forbid) Too Much.
I’d have recognized that I do want a baby, a lot, and don’t want to wait.
Sitting there with Red, it was easy to let the envy pass through me and drift away again, because I understood it.
I’ve forgiven it. Even better: I’ve taken this choice into my hands.
No more subtle hinting and desperately hoping.
No more letting a man decide when it’s time.
I’m doing this on my own. I’m in control.
So I smiled at her. “Red,” I said softly. “You’re pregnant.”
She burst into another flood of tears, leaning into me again. It was a totally awkward mess of a hug, but she didn’t seem to mind, so I held her as best I could on the shop floor and let her cry.
“Oh, honey…Do you not want—”
“I do. I want to have the baby,” she whispered into my shoulder. “But…Charlie…”
Ding! went the little bell above the shop door.
We sprang apart in a flurry of tissues. I tried to stand, ended up getting stuck under Red’s knee, bashed my elbow on the counter, belatedly realized her hair was caught in the button on my shirt collar, and by the time this impromptu game of Twister was over, Marly was there, leaning over the counter, staring down at us with a perplexed expression.
“Are you two…”
She trailed off. Her gaze had landed on the pregnancy test lying on the flagstones between us.
I looked at Red’s face. In the split second of silence, she gave a tiny, pleading, desperate shake of her head.
I turned to Marly. “That’s mine,” I said. “Sorry. That’s mine.”
Swiped it up and shoved it in my pocket. Silence stretched.
“If you could just pretend you never saw that, I’d appreciate it,” I said to Marly.
The enormity of what I’d just done was sinking in. Marly was studying our faces. Red’s was tearstained, while my makeup was presumably unsmudged.
“Red found the test in the bathroom,” I said. “She was upset because she didn’t know whether to speak to me about it.”
This was actually totally excruciating. Yes, I’ve made peace with the envy, but pretending to be pregnant when it’s something I want so badly my heart aches…that’s a whole other ball game.
“Charlie…there’s no midwife on the island,” Marly said to me, her eyes serious. “Doc Laurry is lovely, and brilliant, but he’d be the first to say he doesn’t specialize in women’s health. We don’t recommend anyone stays on the island if they’re pregnant.”
Ah. I glanced at Red. Her hands were twisted together and her bottom lip was shaking.
I knew she was staying at the B&B, earning her keep by working here. Knew she couldn’t go home to her parents. And I guess I knew why she didn’t want Marly to find out she was going to have a baby.
Which meant that for now…I was going to have to keep up another lie.
And this lie…Oh, this lie hurt.