This was becoming untenable.
“You must have had trouble with your lock upstairs last night and had to come into the shop to find a warm place to sleep,” he offered. He knew there were no problems with the locks on the buildings, but the back window as a bit of a loose cannon. He highly doubted that he had left the storeroom entry unlocked, but he was determined to protect this lovely criminal from divulging her story to the generous eyes and ears of Belinda. “You made a wise decision by coming in here, rather than ringing my daughter in the middle of the night. I don’t know if you’ve met Nora yet, but she is not one to be trifled with. Waking her up, at this stage of her pregnancy, would not go over well.”
“Oh, I didn’t have trouble with—”
“And so, when you couldn’t open your own door, you wisely chose to try the storeroom door, which I must have left unlocked. A lucky oversight, in your favor. I would hate to imagine you trying to break into this old building in the middle of the night.”
She looked at him carefully. Her green eyes caught the gleam of the fire and sparkled with intelligence and light. She looked troubled, and he was afraid she was going to argue with him, but when he tilted his head toward Belinda her eyes widened and understanding spread across her lovely face.
“It’s all highly unusual,” Belinda muttered, unimpressed, but obviously torn between empathy for Agnes’ dead sister and her wounded sense of propriety. “What with all the kissing, and goings on.”
“I only kissed him once,” Agnes said. “And it was just… ethereal physicality.”
Oscar almost laughed out loud at the look of discomfort on Agnes’ face, but he managed to contain himself as Belinda charged ahead with her abandoned disappointment from their earlier conversation.
“My cousin,” she spat. She crossed her arms and sat back in the armchair. “That sounds like exactly the sort of thing Irenia would say. Well, let me tell you my dear, I had cast you as Mrs. Cratchit but oh no! Irenia wouldn’t have it and she changed the cast list without a word. Not one word of consultation to me, the Producer. So, you are now the Ghost of Christmas Past, although I can’t for the life of me see where ‘ethereal physicality’ has anything to do with it.”
Oscar sighed, nodded at Agnes, and began to make tea.
∞∞∞
Monday came and went and Agnes couldn’t help but smile every time she thought about having tea with Oscar and Belinda in front of a cosy fire, in her ripped yoga pants, discussing The Hobbit as an example of environmental literature.
She couldn’t remember a conversation that had tickled her more. Oscar with his deep calming voice looking at her as if she had just arrived from Middle Earth and he was delighted to be her first acquaintance, and Belinda chattering on like a merry little hobbit herself. Oscar had eyed the rip in her yoga pants when she finally excused herself to go upstairs, but for some charming reason he refrained from questioning her. He did pause and glance meaningfully at the window through which she had tumbled in the middle of the night, but his only indication that he knew she had broken in was a small smile and a wish for success unlocking her apartment door.
She hated to admit it, since he was at least a decade older than her, but he was incredibly sexy in a bookish, literary hero kind of way. He was so tall, she felt sheltered when she stood beside him, and it was lovely to watch the gentle kindness he bestowed on the diminutive Belinda Crawley and her outraged frustration with her demanding cousin.
Nick texted at noon.
#2 Make up with (or make out with!) Sexy Nick.
“No, no, no, no, no!” She dropped her phone onto the bed.
She was packing. She threw her things in her suitcase to get the hell outta Heartswell before Irenia made the cast list official. Her only plan was to get in her little car and drive.
Somewhere.
Somewhere where Sexy Nick wasn’t.
She glared at the phone as it buzzed again. She really didn’t know where she would go. She had closed up her apartment in Halifax and taken a year’s leave from her librarian duties at the Halifax Regional Library so she could honor her promise to Savannah and devote a year to commemorating her sister’s life.
And she really, really regretted contacting Sexy Nick.
Over a month ago.
“Hmph,” she grunted. She had found him on Facebook and sent him a message, explaining what happened to Savannah, and he waited an entire month to respond to her?
“You had a huge crush on him in high school, you know you want him.” Savannah’s voice echoed behind her eyeballs. “Who knows, maybe he’s single and horny and ready to commit. It’s been, what? Seventeen years since you’ve seen each other?”
And so, in the wake of the funeral, when the lawyer handed Agnes the folded piece of paper across his desk, she wasn’t completely surprised to see Nick’s name as an item on the bucket list.
-Sorry about Savannah. R U sad
She stared at the message.
Wow.
-Get 2gether
She dropped the phone onto her bed and backed away from the shocking grammar. No punctuation.
In high school, Nick had been the football star, the jock, the guy all the girls wanted to date. Had he been a good student? Agnes wracked her brain, trying to remember a lifetime ago. She had been in high school before cell phones were a thing. Judging by his current texting ability, she didn’t think she would have dubbed him Sexy Nick if she had seen his grammar. All she remembered were biceps and legs like tree trunks. And a chiselled jaw.
Ah, yes. The chiselled jaw. Impressive at sixteen.
She was about to message him back when the phone vibrated urgently and she fumbled it back onto the bed. It was Paisley.
“So, the cast list has been posted on the theatre door, and you need to go down there and make a big deal about how surprised you are that you’re the Ghost of Christmas Past,” Paisley said, sounding like a one-woman cheerleading squad. “I saw Belinda this morning and she was in fits that Irenia would find out she told you about the casting, so you have to pretend you don’t know.”
“Those ladies are a bit intense.” Agnes sat on the bed beside her open suitcase. If Nick was messaging her, maybe she should make the effort to see him? His profile picture on Facebook was of a truck. Did he still have the chiselled jaw? “I was actually thinking I would go home—”
“Not an option.” Paisley seemed to anticipate this development. Almost as if she had known Agnes for half her life. Agnes was at least fifteen years older than Oscar’s youngest daughter. Not enough years that she could be her mother, but definitely enough that Paisley shouldn’t be able to read her mind. “Nora will shit bricks if you duck out on the rental, and Dad likes you, and so.”
“And so,” she repeated. “Um…Dad likes me?”
“So, I’ll see you at the theatre. First read-through is tonight at seven. Maybe I’ll sit you beside Dad so you two can kiss some more.”
“Paisley.” Agnes tried to speak firmly. Like she did with unruly students when they came to the library and acted up. “I’m not interested in your father. He is much older than me.”
She paused while she felt Paisley waiting patiently.
“Um.” She couldn’t help herself. “How old is he, exactly?”
Paisley chuckled into the phone and Agnes felt like a schoolgirl caught sharing a crush.
“He’s exactly forty-seven. He’s been divorced for five years. Nora and I are his only two children. How old are you, Agnes, exactly. I’m betting… thirty-two?”
“Thank you.” Agnes smiled. Paisley was like a slippery silver fish you were lucky enough to land in your boat for a moment before she flitted off and swam away. “I’m thirty-five. Too young. For him. For dating your father. He’s much, much older than me.”
“Twelve years,” Paisley said. “That ain’t nothin’. Older men are hot.”
“Your dad certainly is.” Agnes gasped. “I can’t believe I just said that. Erase that comment. He’s old. Really,
really old.”
Paisley laughed, reminded her to be at the theatre at seven and hung up.
Agnes pulled out Savannah’s Bucket List, now slightly wrinkled around the edges. It definitely said perform in a Christmas Carol. It didn’t say audition, or watch, or run away from.
Perform.
And Oscar was in it too.
But he was seriously too old for her.
And Sexy Nick was probably still sexy despite his grammatical ineptitude.
She smiled as she unpacked her suitcase.
Six
“I don’t have any lines, Irenia. My presence is really not necessary at this point.” Oscar held the theatre door open for Irenia, who waved her hand in his face dismissively.
“It’s called a cast of theatrical players, Mr. Lake,” she said, a cloud of lavender tickling his nose as she passed. “A cast implies your presence. We will not discuss this further.”
Oscar sighed. He blamed Paisley. What had started as a request to help build the sets had turned into a nightmare of social engagements that now threatened to eat into his quiet evenings alone doing the New York Times crossword and having a glass of port with several chapters of Dostoevsky for company. He was half-way through the Brothers Karamazov and the book called to him from it’s spot by the fire when he locked up the Book Nook to make his way through the chilly evening to the theatre. Now he was expected to sit in a circle while the players read through their various parts, as if he had never heard the story before.
He could practically recite it line by line.
“Scrooge sat busy in his dismal counting house,” he murmured, wishing he was in his own dismal counting house if it meant he would be left alone. “I fear I become more Scrooge-like every day.”
“Now, now, Mr. Lake.” Irenia turned to face him, tugging off her gloves and giving him a withering look. “You know full well that Isaac LeRoue has been cast as Scrooge. Let’s leave our egos at the door, shall we?”
Oscar rolled his eyes, surprising himself with his overwhelming desire to simply turn around and walk out. Paisley would be disappointed. That was the whole reason he was here in the first place.
The cast gathered on the stage in a semi-circle of chairs each with an open script on their lap. Oscar’s eyes were drawn to Agnes, her nervous energy like an aura around her. Her head was bowed over her script, and she hadn’t taken off her coat or her scarf. Her knees were tightly drawn together, and she looked as if she were trying very hard to crawl inside of herself and disappear.
He knew that feeling.
She glanced up at him when he took an empty seat across from her. She blushed, her green eyes sparkling. Blushing was such a charming attribute. It was a shame she was so much younger than him.
He frowned. Where on earth did that thought come from?
She looked away abruptly. He hoped she hadn’t thought he was frowning at her. Much too young, he agreed with himself.
He was always quite pleased when he agreed with himself.
Irenia, Belinda and Paisley were engaged in a heated conversation on the floor in front of the stage. The entire cast fell silent as they raised their voices, oblivious to the people listening. Oscar watched his daughter cross and uncross her arms. She shifted from one foot to the other. It was hard to annoy Paisley, but if anyone could do it, it would be Irenia Crawley.
“You cannot possibly.” Paisley shook her head, causing her dangling earrings to jingle. “You are a woman.”
“My dear Paisley.” Irenia held her chin high, her spine ram-rod straight. “This is the theatre.” She trilled the word with a hackneyed British accent.
“Yes, and you are a woman. An old woman. In no incarnation of Dickens’ imagination ever was Scrooge cast as an old woman.”
Oscar cringed. Paisley; straight-talker, politically incorrect shit-disturber. He silently applauded her spirit.
“You cannot be serious, Irenia.” Belinda chimed in, rising to her tiptoes in her agitation. “We will simply recast the role with another man if Isaac is unable to accept the part. You are the Director, as you have made eminently clear to everyone multiple times. You cannot, I repeat, you cannot be Scrooge.”
Several of the cast members giggled, and several looked frightened. Irenia glanced up as if suddenly realizing there were other people in the room. She drew herself up to her full height and thrust her full bosoms forward as she regally climbed the steps to the stage.
Here it comes.
He tried to make eye contact with Agnes, to warn her of the impending sermon they were all about to suffer, but she was watching Irenia in stunned wonder.
“My theatrical family.” Irenia threw open her arms. Those sitting nearest to her were forced to lean back in their chairs. She waved her cell phone at them like the flag of a conquered nation. “I have, this very moment, received communication from our erstwhile Scrooge. It comes as a great disappointment that I must inform you that our very own Isaac LeRoue has tragically been forced to abstain from accepting the prestigious and exalted role of Scrooge—”
“Isaac threw his back out this afternoon while he was vacuuming and he can’t be in the show.” Belinda hustled onto the stage, shoved Irenia to the side and whispered to her fiercely so everyone could hear. “I am the Producer, Irenia. It’s my job to handle production issues.”
Irenia continued as if Belinda were a gnat buzzing harmlessly at her side.
“It therefore behooves me to make an enormous sacrifice and fill the vacant role myself—”
“Oh, for goodness sake.” Belinda stomped a small foot, causing a tiny cloud of dust to rise from the stage. Oscar merely watched the drama unfold. Dostoevsky didn’t hold a candle to Irenia and Belinda Crawley. “She wants to be Scrooge.” Belinda looked imploringly at the cast members. “It’s utterly ridiculous. First of all, she’s a woman.”
Irenia hunched her shoulders slightly to restrain her heaving bosoms.
“And second of all, who will be the Director if she isn’t?”
Belinda spoke to the assembled cast, looking each in the eye as if daring one of them to step forward.
Agnes slowly raised her hand, looking like she was staring at a nest of vipers and had just stuck her foot into it. “Belinda, why don’t you be the Director?”
Oscar smiled. Young, but considerably competent.
“My dear.” Irenia interrupted as Belinda stood staring at Agnes with one hand to her throat and her mouth open. It had obviously never crossed her mind that she could direct what was rapidly becoming a gender-switching classic. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I don’t think it’s ridiculous,” Paisley piped up, moving to stand beside Agnes’ chair. “Belinda is awesome. The only ridiculous thing about this is you thinking you can be Scrooge.”
Belinda shook her head, twisting her fingers together and looking very much like she wanted to punch the new Scrooge.
Irenia laughed. A cold, tinny sound that convinced Oscar that she probably could pull off the role of Scrooge without too much difficulty. “Now, now, thespians. Let’s not go mad.” She put her arm around Belinda and led her to an empty chair where she sat her firmly down and thrust a script into her hand. “Belinda, as the Producer, which is a vitally important role, if I may say so myself—Belinda will take notes while we read our parts.” She continued as if the conversation were over, which it did indeed seem to be.
“The stage manager takes the notes, Irenia,” Paisley said dryly, waving her clipboard with a tight frown. “And that would be me.”
“Oh, pish posh. You both can take notes.” She spoke as if indulging a group of children. Belinda glared at her but said nothing. “Now! Bah! Humbug!”
∞∞∞
Savannah would have enjoyed the rehearsal. Agnes was surprised to admit it, but she had actually found it quite fun herself. Watching Mrs. Crawley and Belinda spin in circles around each other was like being on the set of a daytime soap opera. She was glad it was over though. She lay back on the comfy sofa, cong
ratulating herself on her successful completion of rehearsal number one. She had even moved around on stage, like she knew what she was doing.
And Oscar was very encouraging.
“I think you should ask Irenia if she intends to rappel you down from the heavens, for theatrical effect,” he had asked her, smiling with his kind eyes.
“You don’t really think she will?”
“I wouldn’t put it past her.” He’d winked at her and she realized he was kidding. She liked that he would take the time to kid with her.
She was on the verge of sleep when her phone tinkled from where she had dropped it on the floor. She groaned as she reached for it.
Sexy Nick?
But this time, he was calling instead of messaging. How did he get her number? She wouldn’t be able to judge him on his spelling if they were speaking.
“Agnes! Long time. Bet you’re glad to hear from me.” His voice was deeper than she remembered it, although she didn’t remember ever actually having many conversations with Nick in high school. He’d had the chiselled jaw and she’d had armfuls of library books. The only thing they’d had in common was a mutual appreciation of his biceps.
“Hello Nick, I don’t know what possessed me to message you—” Lying was good, right? Sexy Nick didn’t need to know he was number one on her dead sister’s bucket list. “You and Savannah were friends, and I thought you would like to know about her canc—”
“Damn shame, damn shame,” he thundered. He had a voice that was about to sell her a used car. “Thought you might like to get together? Go over old times.”
She wracked her brain for old times they might revisit. She came up empty.
“High school? Memory lane?” He sounded desperate.
“That’s all right, Nick.” She tried to giggle, to put the conversation safely back in the realm of a silly fancy, a momentary lapse. “I thought you might have heard about Savannah, and I just wanted—”
“Damn shame. Damn.” He sounded deeply offended by the shame of it all. The death of a girl he barely knew and hadn’t spoken to for over a decade. Agnes sighed. Maybe Nick was really a saint at heart.
Love Like the Dickens: A Heartswell Harbour Romance Page 4