Chapter 12
Jess
Jess shakes her umbrella out as she crosses the threshold of the library. It’s hailing again, and the snap of cold in the air has chilled her exposed skin. She shakes out a shiver as she closes the door behind her.
Dawn levels her with a look, and Jess shrugs. “Tom was late back. What was I meant to do?”
Dawn rolls her eyes as she picks up a bowl of popcorn (salted, not sweet) and indicates a bottle of nonalcoholic bubbly on the desk. “Bring that through, would you? We’ve got five minutes before Betty arrives. She’s always early.”
It’s nearly seven o’ clock on the fourth Thursday of the month, and on this Thursday, without fail, Woodsmoke library holds a book club. This month they’ve been reading The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern, which has felt particularly apt for this time of year. Jess fell into the book the first week of October, inhaled it, and turned the final page five days later. She even ordered a hardback copy, deciding it was one of those books she wanted to keep around, like a favorite sweater or the family cat.
“I’ve written the questions down this time, made ten photocopies,”
Jess says to Dawn as she unscrews the lid on the bubbly and pours a few inches into ten plastic cups. “There. We’re ready for them.”
They always take over the crime section of the fiction area, dragging the comfiest armchairs and low tables over to form a haphazard oval. There’s been a book club night at the library for as long as Jess can remember. Her mother used to attend when Jess was a little girl, and now she still comes with her quietly gossipy circle. These four of the original group—her mother, Sylvia, Hayley, Annie, and Greta—are all hanging on to middle age. Greta is the only one of the four to have given in to gray hair; the rest have embraced varying shades of auburn hair dye, liberally applied once a month at the hairdressers off the main square. The four friends have been thick as thieves since primary school.
The book club was one of the reasons why Jess so desperately wanted to work at the library one day. She had watched her mother’s car leave the drive, the headlights dipping as she turned off toward that side of town. Jess would wait up, clinging to the railings of the banister on the landing, waiting for her mother to get home from the meeting. Waiting for her mother to tuck her into bed so she could hear her thoughts on the book the group was reading. One day Jess wanted to choose the books and host this club. She wanted to be a part of the life of the library, which as a child seemed like pure magic to her.
Newer members of the book group include Betty, with her thick green-and-red wool hat and truckload of opinions; Rashid and Diane, the couple who insist on bringing their aging black Labrador, Lucy; and Gregory, who Jess is fairly sure just turns up for the free snacks. Gillian, with her flyaway hair and absent-mindedness, is an occasional member who turns up so she can catch Jess at the end to gossip. Jess and Dawn make ten (occasionally eleven, with Gillian). The group hasn’t welcomed a new member in years.
Betty shambles in first, slapping her dog-eared paperback copy of the book on a side table next to her favorite armchair. “I have thoughts,”
she announces, polishing her glasses with the edge of her cardigan. As Betty launches into a long-winded moan about circuses, Jess wonders if she should have shirked the library rules and brought along a bottle of wine.
Then Rashid walks in, Lucy rambling at his side before collapsing at his feet for a snooze. “Diane couldn’t make it.”
He shrugs apologetically. “Got the sniffles, and she wants to be better before our ten nights in Fuerteventura.”
Jess’s mother, Sylvia, wanders in with Hayley, Annie, and Greta. They clutch matching Kindles with aubergine-polished nails and take small sips of the bubbly while reminding Jess of what a “very good job”
she does keeping up the book club each month.
Gregory slinks in last, grabs the bowl of popcorn, and proceeds to eat half of it before passing it to Rashid.
“Cheers, mate. What did you think of the book?”
Rashid asks.
“Can’t say I’m a fan of World War I romances, but I tried my best,”
Gregory replies.
Jess stifles a snort as Dawn presses her lips into a thin, disapproving line. Then, unexpectedly, Gillian rambles in, rummaging in her tote bag for a battered paperback copy of the book. “Sorry, everyone, nightmare leaving the house. Good book, though, isn’t it?”
She takes a seat right beside Jess, and Jess is reminded of all the times at school when Gillian would sit too close to her, or bump into her as they walked side by side. Gillian never quite got the hang of personal space. Jess smiles at her, pushing down that old, familiar irritation, and lifts her chin to beam around at the gathering with her best librarian smile.
“Well, now we’re all here, I’ll just pass out the question sheets . . .”
She shuffles around the circle, heading out the sheets of paper, as everyone pulls out reading glasses to have a look or, in Gregory’s case, to fold the paper into quarters to use as a coaster for his second glass of bubbly. “Who’d like to start?”
Jess manages to keep the conversation focused on the book for a decent fifteen minutes.
Then Betty mentions the frost. “Early this year. Everyone’s saying it.”
She pops a piece of popcorn into her mouth. “I bet it’s something to do with the Morgans.”
“You blame everything on the Morgan women, Betty,”
Hayley says. “Not everything in this town links back to them. Didn’t we all have a lovely summer?”
“Tricia Richmond lost her voice for a month!”
Betty says, aghast. “I wouldn’t imagine she called it a good summer.”
“Tricia had a cold,”
Sylvia explains, side-eyeing Jess. “Now, shall we get back to the discussion?”
“Early frost decimated my squashes,”
Rashid says. “I’m with Betty. All seems a bit odd.”
Jess sighs as Dawn tries fruitlessly to turn the conversation around. “What do we all think about the themes in the book—”
“Of course, it’s because that young Morgan girl has returned,”
Betty says firmly. “I always said she’d be trouble.”
“Always a little strange in school,”
Gillian agrees. “Haven’t seen her, though, have we, Jess?”
“Carrie Morgan is just carrying out Ivy’s wishes,”
Annie says, shooting Jess a reassuring look. “The Morgans may be a little . . . different, but you can’t blame them for a change in the weather.”
“What about Cora’s warnings? The rock salt?”
Betty clasps her hands in her lap. “Handing it out from a little wicker basket, she was. Knocked on almost every door in Lemon Yard. The Evanses, the Simpkins . . .”
“She has a point, I’ve heard that book is full of spells,”
Gregory begins. “Actual spells. And curses.”
“Can we return to the actual book we’re discussing tonight please?”
Greta says, but then adds, “Cora Morgan gave me a tonic for my cat last year, perked her right up when the vet couldn’t do anything. I’m sure that if we can’t say anything nice, we shouldn’t say anything at all, hmm? Besides,”
Greta says, her gray bob bobbing as she taps her Kindle with a nail, “I was about to make a point.”
“You and your points.”
Rashid sighs.
Annie narrows her eyes as the four best friends draw together. “And what is that supposed to mean?”
As the book club descends into jabs and gossip, about the frost and Cora and Carrie, Jess sinks deeper and deeper into her armchair. She thought Carrie’s return might not affect her. She thought that, just maybe, they might avoid each other all winter. But it’s clear that Carrie is invading every part of her life already. Sylvia catches her daughter’s eye, raising one eyebrow before winking at her reassuringly. Jess raises her shoulders an inch to shrug in return, as if to say, What can I do?
Gregory leans over to her. “Great popcorn tonight, Jess. Could we have some crisps as well next month, do you think? I’m very partial to prawn cocktail.”