Chapter Thirty-One
Saskia
The interview with the local illustrator couldn’t have come at a better time, really.
After her emotional chat with Kivi, Saskia hadn’t been able to help running away.
It was a fight-or-flight instinct, and she’d already done enough fighting with Kivi for one evening, so she opted for the latter.
When she got back to her bedroom and sat down on the bed, she’d lifted her hands to see that they were shaking.
Her legs felt like jelly, her heart was pounding, and her mind was keeping up a constant stream of Oh my God oh my God oh my God oh my God.
I can’t believe I just did that.
Saskia’s… eating proclivities had been her most closely guarded secret of all time.
She’d gone to great lengths to hide them, even going so far as to fabricate fake family emergencies during uni society dinners so that nobody would notice her disappearing.
She’d never dreamed of telling anyone, ever.
And yet all it had taken was a little gentle pressure from Kivi, and she’d caved and blurted it all out with nary a moment’s hesitation.
Okay, yes, Kivi’s pressure had been about as gentle as a juggernaut.
But somehow she’d pressed the right buttons, found the crucial combination for the lock – and the box was opened.
The trouble was… Saskia feared it was more of a Pandora’s box.
She would never forget that look of pity mixed with horror that had adorned Kivi’s face.
There was no way the woman would ever look at her the same way again.
She would probably – and quite justifiably – run for the hills.
Which wouldn’t bode well for their burgeoning friendship, or indeed Saskia’s silly schoolgirl crush.
To her surprise, she found that it was this thought that troubled her more than the loss of image.
Which was ridiculous. Which was out-of-character. After all, she wasn’t gay. Probably.
And so it was with relief that she woke up the following morning to a phone call from local illustrator Charlie Rucker.
She’d found him on the web a couple of days ago – he’d illustrated books by several prominent children’s authors over the years, and he was based just a stone’s throw away from Miltree.
A chance email had led him to call her – he was game for an interview, and told her he’d take her to the setting of the famous Cornish Creamery series near Lygate.
Perfect timing, Saskia thought as she quickly got ready. If I can endeavour to be out all day, I won’t have to face Kivi until tomorrow.
In the event, she wasn’t out quite all day.
Mr. Rucker met her at his family farm, and spent a good hour and a half giving her a tour, complete with anecdotes which he linked back to various scenes he had illustrated.
They then had brunch at the farm café, and Saskia perused the little farm shop, half-debating whether to take something back for Kivi, a little bottle of homemade wine perhaps as an apology.
But no, an apology like that was best given in person, using words as opposed to material belongings.
Plus, it was alcohol that had loosened her tongue anyway, so perhaps wine might not be the best fit…
They were finished by two-thirty. So much for getting dinner with him.
Saskia burned a bit more time by having another coffee in the café while she typed up her notes, since she preferred to interview with pen and paper rather than the annoying tip-tap of a laptop keyboard.
And then she decided to detour via Lygate shopping centre on the way back, because her laptop charger was starting to fray and she didn’t fancy being electrocuted any time soon.
By the time she pulled over at a small convenience shop about ten minutes outside of the village, it was four o’clock.
She really wanted to be out until after dinner – so another three hours.
But what could she possibly do to fill that time?
In the absence of any immediate inspiration, she went into the shop itself.
It couldn’t have been more different from Mr Elliot’s archaic little greengrocers – pop music played from a speaker overhead, the fridges glowed with bright light, and there was an atmosphere of…
well, life. She was greeted cheerily by a colleague with short purple hair and a ‘they/them’ badge displayed prominently on their lapel. No name badge, though.
Feeling pretty conspicuous since she didn’t actually need to buy anything, she found herself wandering the aisles with a faint feeling of panic brewing.
Kivi’s expression was still etched onto her brain, despite all efforts to avoid it, and Saskia’s heart started thumping in time with the honking background music.
That hug though… that had been addictive, if unexpected.
What would a kiss feel like? What would-
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
A man’s voice rent the air, smashing straight through Saskia’s reverie.
On pure instinct, her feet took her at speed in the direction it had come from, until she reached the till area.
There, a red-faced middle-aged man was standing, poised like The Incredible Hulk, shouting incomprehensibly at the ashen-faced young girl behind the counter.
As Saskia surveyed the situation, what the man was saying became clearer.
“This always happens in this fucking shop! Can none of you count? I very clearly gave you a twenty-pound note. Not a ten. They’re two different fucking colours! Are you blind, or just stupid? Open up that till and give me my change, this instant.”
The girl appeared to be wearing some sort of walkie-talkie, because she pressed a button and murmured something into it.
Saskia was just about to step in when the purple-haired person from earlier came flying out of the warehouse, rushing for the till before placing themselves between the young girl and the angry man.
“Now, then, what’s going on here?” Their voice was soft, the man continuing to shout his abuse over it, so they repeated the question twice until he finally stopped for air.
“She gave me the wrong fucking change! I gave her a twenty, she gave me change for a ten! I just need a ten-pound note out of the till, but she’s refusing to give it to me!
This is actual theft, you know? I could call the police – I could sue for this!
And I know you. I’ve seen you before. You’re in on it too, you stupid old bag!
You did the exact same thing to me, and you sure as hell ain’t gonna like the consequences if you don’t give me my money, you hear? ”
Finally, he seemed to run out of air. The colleague was standing, arms folded, eyebrows raised in a cool and placid expression. But underneath it, Saskia could see fire and stone. This was not a person to mess with.
“Finished?” Their voice was soft as ever, and a Scottish accent began to make itself known. “Or are you going to keep shouting at the young eighteen-year-old shop assistant? Such a gentleman.”
“Now look here-”
“No, you look here. You may know me, but you don’t seem to realise that I know you.
We all do. You’ve been here before, and you’ve tried this shit before.
It doesn’t wash. Want me to check the CCTV?
We have a camera right there.” They pointed above the till, at a small camera that pointed down.
“A very detailed one. Complete with audio recording. Want me to check it, Steven? And send it to your boss at the estate agent in Lygate?” Now they laughed.
“If you’re going to try and scam a shop, at least do it somewhere where nobody is likely to know you.
Now take your shopping and get out. You’re banned. ”
“You can’t ban me, you stupid bitch. It ain’t even your shop!”
“I’m a member of the management team. I have full consent from the store manager to ban whoever the hell I like if I deem it necessary. Now, will you go quietly, or do I seriously have to take time out of my day to email Simon Myers?”
The man stared at the colleague for a moment, then stepped forward.
For a moment, Saskia thought he was going to hit them, but he simply barged them out of the way to grab his bag.
He stormed off without another word, and Saskia’s focus zoomed out to see a group of customers had assembled to watch the fracas.
The purple-haired shop assistant immediately went behind the till to murmur something to the young one, and as one, the group of customers (including Saskia) offered a round of applause.
The purple-haired assistant took over the till while the young one went out the back, and Saskia grabbed the nearest thing to hand (a packet of sweets), so that she could join the back of the queue and have an excuse to talk to them.
“That was spectacular,” she said as she handed the sweets over.
“Why thank you.” The colleague’s eyes twinkled, and up close, Saskia could see they were a bit older than she’d originally thought.
Probably mid-fifties. “That utter berk has tried it before. He did the exact same thing to me about a year ago. I didn’t have the guts to stand up to him then, but I’m a different person now.
Promoted and solidified. He won’t get away with that shit any longer. Pardon my French.”
“I’m a writer,” Saskia found herself saying.
“A freelance journalist, and a blogger. I’m down here on business for the next few weeks.
Would you consider being interviewed at some point, for a piece about the abuse of shop-workers?
I’ve just been commissioned, and I feel like it’s kismet that that just happened. ”
“Sure, why not?” They smiled. “I’ve been in this job for twenty-odd years – I’ve certainly got a wealth of material at my fingertips.”
They exchanged emails. The colleague wrote theirs down on a scrap of receipt paper, and Saskia took it from them, thankful that their name was in it.
“Well, thank you, Jean.”
“Actually, I finish in forty-five minutes. My wife is working late tonight, so if you’re happy to wait, we can chat over dinner.”
“Why not? I’ll wait for you in my car outside.”
“I’ll look forward to it!” Jean smiled again, and even winked, but their focus was already on the next customer.
What a badass, Saskia thought as she walked away. Then, just as she reached the door, a display of flowers met her eye. Pretty!
Fresh-cut flowers were certainly not the worst way to apologise to Kivi.