by Mona Marple
“I’ll take it,” Dorie said. “Will you wrap it for me and I’ll get myself a coffee?”
“Of course,” Sandy said. “You go down and I’ll bring it to you.”
There was a small till in the far corner upstairs, and while gift wrapping wasn’t strictly a service she had planned to offer, it surprised her how many people requested it, so she had kept a selection of wrapping paper behind the till. The till itself was usually not manned, with all customers being served at the cafe till downstairs, but as the shop grew increasingly busy, Sandy expected she would have to man the upstairs till full-time soon.
“Excuse me?” A voice called as she worked at wrapping Dorie’s book.
Sandy glanced up to see a man standing in front of her. His hair was bedraggled and his trousers were worn and dirty. He carried an old, and bursting full, bag for life in his right hand. “Can I help?”
“Go’a job?” The man asked, stepping closer to Sandy. She stepped back before she realised she had. The man noticed and stepped back himself, putting more space between the two of them.
“Excuse me? A job? I haven’t seen you around before.” Sandy said although she knew that was a silly comment. He didn’t appear to have any money to allow him to be a regular visitor for coffee and cake.
“I ain’t been around before. Just looking for a job, lady, nowt else.” The man said, holding his hands up as if Sandy had accused him of having a gun.
“I… erm… I haven’t got any jobs at the moment, I’m afraid.” Sandy said. “I can offer you some lunch, though, if you’d like?”
The man eyed her. “Your customers wouldn’t like me down there with them.”
“That’s not true,” Sandy said although it was. Waterfell Tweed could be an old-fashioned village, and many people’s opinions on homelessness were not that nice. “But I can get something brought up here if you’d prefer.”
“Nah lady, don’t worry. All I need’s a job.” The man said, already walking away. Sandy watched him, saw how he lingered over the aisles as he walked away, stopping to touch books. He picked up an illustrated poetry anthology and ran his fingers along the cover.
“Wait, what’s your name?”
“Anton. Anton Carmichael.” The man said, without turning back to her.
“Give me a second,” Sandy instructed, picking up Dorie’s wrapped book and scurrying past the man and down the stairs. The cafe was bustling, and both Coral and Bernice were taking orders and serving up food. Sandy slipped behind the counter and picked up a brown bag, then selected a large slice of chocolate fudge cake for it. She pulled a loaf of bread from beneath the counter and sliced two thick doorstep slices, slathering them in butter and adding lettuce, plenty of bacon, and tomato. Then, she sliced the sandwich in half and placed that in another brown bag, and made a large coffee in a takeout cup.
“You’re not having your lunch now, are you? We’re manic!” Coral called, whizzing past her with a single dirty plate. Coral was brilliant front of house with customers but her ability to balance the dirties needed work.
“No, don’t worry, this is for someone else.” Sandy called as she walked through the busy cafe area and up the stairs.
A few people were milling around the bookshelves, some with stacks of books piled high in their arms. The sight of her book stock being enjoyed always made Sandy’s heart swell.
“Anton?” She called out, peering in each aisle. She looked for him in travel and topography, in science and self-help, in children’s and cooking. He was gone. Finally, she stood by one of the sash windows that overlooked the village square. It was raining, it had been all day, and the temperatures were approaching freezing. Just as she was about to give up, she saw a scruffy figure of a man walk past the butchers and then disappear from view.
She gave a deep sigh and returned downstairs.
“Are you ok?” Bernice asked, noticing Sandy’s face as she returned to the kitchen.
“I think we’ve just had a homeless man in,” Sandy said, standing at the counter and still looking out of the shop window.
“Did he steal anything?” Dorie called. She was sitting at her usual table, polishing off a sausage sandwich.
“No!” Sandy cried. “He wanted a job, actually.”
“That’s what they do,” Dorie said. “It’s called the cover. They get you talking, lower your guard, and then take what they’ve been eyeing up.”
“That’s very judgmental, Dorothy.” Sandy scalded.
“My Jim told me, so it’s not judgmental, it’s a police-corroborated fact,” Dorie said, her posture straightening with pride as it always did when she spoke about her son.
“She’s right,” Bernice said. “We all need to be more careful, there’s more crime now.”
Sandy rolled her eyes. Apart from the murder of Reginald Halfman, the village had remained it’s usual, crime-free, sleepy self. “What crime?”
“There’s so much rubbish,” Coral said, and Sandy couldn’t argue with that. The village square was unusually messy, it had to be said.
“I’m not sure that leaving rubbish is a huge crime, and that could be the teenagers. They’re always loitering around waiting for the bus.”
“It’s the squatters,” Dorie said, chewing her last mouthful of food. “Lovely sandwich as always.”
“What squatters?” Sandy asked.
Dorie sighed. “For a woman so involved in the community, you don’t pay enough attention to what’s happening.”
“She’s got a point,” Coral said. “Everyone knows about the squatters.”
“I’ve been busy,” Sandy said in exasperation, and it was true. She had bootstrapped the extension as much as she could, and that had meant moving all of the books herself, buying the bookshelves at auction and assembling them herself, painting the upstairs herself to freshen it up, and giving the upstairs carpet a shampoo treatment - herself. “Will someone tell me what you’re all talking about?”
“The Manor’s been taken over by homeless people, they’re squatting in there,” Coral said. Although she had left her journalist career behind her to come and work in the cafe, she still enjoyed breaking headline news when she could.
“The Manor? Are you serious?” Sandy asked. Waterfell Manor was home to the Harlow family, wealthy and generous benefactors of the village. Following their daughter’s arrest for murder, Benedict and Penelope Harlow had announced they would be leaving the village for some time to spend time with their son, Sebastian, who was travelling the world.
“It’s an awful business,” Bernice said, her voice quiet. Bernice, like Sandy, was not one for village gossip.
“Surely the Manor wasn’t empty, though? What about the staff?” Sandy asked. The Harlows had employed a team of staff, including a full-time housekeeper.
“There’s only Pritti, the others were hired as needed,” Bernice said.
“I don’t understand how this could happen,” Sandy said. She was fond of the Manor house, it was such a part of the village.
“Word spreads among these people,” Dorie said.
“Excuse me for a moment,” Sandy said. She sprinted up the stairs, thinking of Dorie’s certainty that Anton Carmichael would have been in the shop to steal. Sandy darted through the bookcases until she reached the poetry section, her heart beating in her chest until the familiar pattern caught her eye.
She pulled out the anthology that Anton had been looking at earlier.
It was still in perfect condition.
**
Sandy was going to spend a rare evening at The Tweed. The village’s pub rarely offered much more than cask ales and a roaring fire, but the landlord had announced his plans to try out a quiz night.
It had been a hectic day in Books and Bakes, and Sandy would have preferred to be changing into her pyjamas and curling up with her latest novel, but she didn’t like to let people down.
By the time she pulled up outside her cottage, her sister Coral was standing on the doorstep.
�
��I’m sorry!” Sandy called, as she parked up. She locked the car and unlocked the door, letting Coral enter first.
“What happened in here? It looks like a bombsite.” Coral said, looking at the piles of clothes laid out on the settee.
“I’m having a clear out,” Sandy said. “I haven’t worn any of these clothes for years.”
“I’m not surprised - size 10!” Coral laughed, holding up a pair of tiny jeans. “When were you ever a size 10?”
Sandy felt her cheeks flush. “I got those to motivate me when I was trying to lose weight.”
“Ah, that old trick. Never worked for me.” Coral said, tossing the jeans back over the settee. “Anyway, you’re fine as you are.”
“I know,” Sandy said, and she meant it. Her body was wobbly in places, but she didn’t let it bother her.
They were disturbed by a knock at the door. Sandy padded back into the hallway and opened the door. In the few moments that she had been inside with Coral, it had started to rain.
“Awful weather!” Her best friend, Cass, exclaimed, darting in the house. Her sister, Olivia, stood behind her, biting her thumb nail.
“Come in, Olivia, don’t get wet.” Sandy said. She had spent a few evenings with Olivia since her arrival in the village, but didn’t feel like she knew the girl yet. She had initially thought she was sullen, but realised that she was actually painfully shy. She reminded Sandy of herself as a teenager; awkward and self-conscious.
“Evening!” Coral called. She was examining the rest of the pile of clothes, looking at each item before tossing it down.
“It’s pouring down out there,” Cass told her. “I’m not driving, I need a glass of wine after this week. Ooh, these are nice.”
“I’m having a clear out,” Sandy said. “Help yourself if you want anything, any of you.”
Cass joined Coral in examining the clothes, while Olivia hung back by the door.
“These look brand new,” Cass said, holding up the pair of jeans that Coral had already examined.
“Never quite right for me,” Sandy said, with a smile.
“They’re nice.” Olivia’s little voice came.
“Take them,” Sandy said. “You’d be doing me a favour.”
Coral eyed her but said nothing.
“Shall we get going or have a drink here before we set off?” Sandy asked, as Olivia moved into the room and joined Cass in looking through the clothes.
“If we stay here for a drink we’ll never make it out the house. Let’s go.” Coral said.
“Ok, well I’ll drive. I’m only drinking mocha in this weather anyway!” Sandy said.
The four of them piled into her old Land Rover and made the short drive to The Tweed, finding a parking space on the road nearby. They sat in the car for a few moments after they had parked, none of them too keen to open the doors and get wet again.
“I wish you’d lived in the Bahamas, or somewhere,” Olivia whispered to Cass in the back seat. Everyone laughed.
“Waterfell Tweed is beautiful,” Cass said, her bright pink lips bursting into a smile. “Wet, and windy, but beautiful.”
“Come on, we can’t hide out here all night,” Coral ordered, and the four doors opened. The women all broke into a run, bursting into The Tweed with such force that the landlord looked up from pouring a pint.
“All right, ladies?” Tom Nelson asked.
“Better now we’re dry!” Sandy said with a laugh. Tom nodded and returned to serving.
The pub was busier than normal, but there were a few tables left. Coral lead the group to a booth near the fire, and they all removed coats and sat down.
“Love your dress,” Cass said to Sandy. Cass was very interested in clothes and make-up, while Sandy didn’t have much time for those concerns. It was surprising that the two had been best friends for so long, considering how different their interests were. While Sandy was devoted to her bookshop and cafe, Cass ran a nail salon, and there was no better example of their different interests.
“I think you bought it for me,” Sandy said, with a laugh. It was a 1940s style dress which ballooned out in the skirt. She’d had it for a few years but didn’t have much chance to wear it.
“Yes!” Cass exclaimed. “Didn’t I get a matching one? You should have said and we could have matched!”
“I’m so glad you didn’t,” Olivia mumbled and everyone laughed.
“Drinks?” Coral asked, already standing up. She was always the leader in a situation, even if all it came down to was organising a group of women to order their drinks.
“I’ll have a mocha, please. In a big mug, if Tom’s got one.” Sandy said, passing a few pound coins across the table to her sister.
Coral and Cass both ordered wine, and Olivia asked for a hot chocolate.
“How’s school been?” Sandy asked Olivia.
Olivia groaned.
“Don’t listen to her,” Cass said, her eyelids fluttering under heavy coats of mascara. “She came home on Monday buzzing about it. And she’s done her homework every night without being asked.”
“Yeah, it’s alright I suppose.” Olivia agreed. Maybe there was a part sullen teenager to her after all, Sandy thought to herself.
“What’s your favourite lesson?”
“English, but when I choose my college classes I want to do law,” Olivia said, her cheeks burning with a self-conscious heat.
“Law? Do you want to be a lawyer then?” Cass asked, the revelation coming as news to her too.
Olivia nodded.
“What kind of lawyer? You can do all sorts with law.”
“I’d like to do human rights,” Olivia said, her voice a whisper.
Sandy and Cass looked at each other and raised their eyebrows in surprise. Olivia had had a tough life, being removed from her mum when she was a young child and placed in care before running away to find the sister she had never met.
“That’s amazing,” Sandy said, reaching over and giving Olivia’s hand a squeeze. Olivia looked at her and smiled.
“Well, we’ll do everything we can to help you,” Cass said, although her expression gave away her concern.
“Help with what?” Coral asked, returning to the table with the glasses of wine. “He’s bringing the hot drinks over.”
“Nothing,” Olivia said, returning her gaze to the table. Sandy shrugged at Coral, who knew enough about teenage girls to let it go.
“Here we are ladies, a hot chocolate?” Tom Nelson asked, appearing at their table.
“Yes!” Olivia said, raising her hand as if she was in class.
“And the mocha must be yours, Sandy, nobody else drinks these.”
“Really?” Sandy asked in surprise. She loved nothing more than a mug of hot mocha.
“Nah, I only buy the sachets for you. And I used the biggest mug I could find.” Tom said. Sandy looked at him and felt herself blush. He was a fine looking man, tall and muscular. He returned her gaze and met her eyes for a moment longer than was comfortable.
“What was that about?” Cass asked as soon as he moved away from the table and returned to the bar.
“What?” Coral and Sandy asked in unison.
“You and The Hunk! Since when do you have chemistry with Tom Nelson?”
Sandy felt her cheeks burn. “Keep your voice down, Cass, I don’t need any rumours starting like that. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“He is a hunk,” Coral said, taking a sip of her wine.
Olivia screwed her face up in disgust.
“I think he’d have asked you on a date if we hadn’t been here.” Cass said.
“Don’t be silly. I’ve known Tom for years.” Sandy said, although to her surprise, when she looked up at the bar, Tom was looking right at her. He grinned and then returned to his work. And Sandy’s stomach did a flip of excitement.
“We’ve all known Tom for years, but he’s on the market now.”
“Is he?” Sandy asked, trying to sound more nonchalant than needed w
hich had the opposite effect. Although she had known Tom for years, she only knew him to exchange pleasantries with. He never visited the cafe and she rarely visited the pub, unless she was catering a wake, so she couldn’t call him a friend, let alone a close friend.
“Did he get rid of that awful woman?” Coral asked.
“That’s what I’ve heard,” Cass said. “And it seems he’s ready to move on. What a catch he would be.”
“The quiz will start in five minutes, please make sure your table has a Team Name!” Tom’s voice came booming out through a microphone.
“Oh no,” Cass said, looking past Sandy to the front door. “Don’t look now.”
Sandy did what anyone told not to look would, and turned around to look. To her surprise, the young man who had admired the poetry book in her shop had walked in the pub. He looked bedraggled, and his clothes were soaking wet. He spoke to each table for a moment, finally reaching their own.
“Can ya spare any change?” He asked, not making eye contact with them.
“No, you shouldn’t be in here begging,” Cass said, folding her arms.
“Hold on Cass. We can all fall on hard times.” Sandy said, reaching into her handbag. “What do you need money for, Anton?”
He looked up at the mention of his name. “You’re the book lady. I need money because nobody’ll gimme a job.”
Sandy’s cheeks flushed with guilt. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help with that. Here, take this.”
He held out his hand and she placed a £10 note in his palm. His mouth cracked into a smile. “Thanks, lady.”
He moved on to other tables.
“You know him?” Coral asked, her nose wrinkled with disapproval.
“He came in the shop yesterday asking for work,” Sandy said.
“I hope you said no,” Cass said.
“Yeah, I did,” Sandy said, although she wondered if she had made the right decision. Her shop was busier than ever and he needed a helping hand. Her £10 wouldn’t go far for a man who lacked even the basics.
“He’s staying at the Manor,” Olivia said, her contribution to the conversation surprising the others.