by A. E. Radley
“No. But I celebrate Hanukkah. And Rajesh doesn’t really celebrate anything ever, Muslim or not. He’s not a good example for you, walking around cursing ugly Christmas lights and looking like the Grinch after a long bath to get rid of the green.”
“And the furriness.”
Ethel shook her head. “My dear, handsome as he is, we both know Rajesh Singh is furrier than even that… unique dog of his.”
Kit could only shrug at the truth of this. Then Ethel had led her into a shop and over to the Christmas isle. Ethel had made her buy the tinsel, the candles and yes, even the Santa gnome thingy. Which she had proclaimed “a precious little lad”. He was staring at Kit right now, berating her for not having bought him any friends.
“Look mate, you’re supposed to bring me holiday cheer, so don’t give me that look or I’ll plonk you out in the weeds in the garden,” Kit growled at him. Then she went to the kitchen to make tea for one, grumbling about how much she hated living alone.
She stopped her hand before it had time to get a tea mug out. Perhaps she should have a glass of Gage Farm’s Greengage Mulled Wine. After all, it was as much to blame for Laura’s absence in her life as the Christmas market. Kit might as well get her revenge on it by drinking it dry. It would also give her a reason to text Laura and let her know if she liked it or not. Sure, she had promised to leave Laura alone with her paperwork regarding the Christmas market. But Laura, being a sweetheart and in love with Kit, wouldn’t refuse Kit a quick phone call.
A little bit merrier at that thought, Kit poured herself a full glass of the mulled wine. Then she went back into the living room with the glass in one hand and a book in the other. Fully prepared to drop the book the second she had finished the wine and had an excuse to call her girlfriend.
As she passed the Santa gnome she muttered, “I don’t care if you are my only company at the moment. You still don’t get a glass, you ugly sod.”
THE THREE WISE GAY COUPLES
The next evening Kit was on a barstool in Pub 42, watching the owners, Shannon and Rachel, bicker behind the bar. They’d been the first openly gay couple on the small and old-fashioned island of Greengage. The second had been the two blokes they owned this bar with, Matt and Josh. And the third, Kit was chuffed to say, was her and Laura. Three couples - that was it. Not enough for a Pride parade but more than Kit had assumed there’d be when she first arrived here last spring.
Sipping her Diet Pepsi, Kit tried not to eavesdrop on the two women’s conversation. Still, it was obvious that as always, it was Rachel who was upset. No surprise there. She wore her heart on her sleeve and was very vocal about if anyone scuffed up against it. In general, Shannon and Rachel were like a lot of May-December couples. The younger partner, Rachel who was about Kit’s age, was the impetuous and passionate one while Shannon, who was somewhere in her late forties was more patient and willing to compromise. Right now, Kit saw Shannon place her hand on her short afro and blow out a long breath. Something which only seemed to infuriate Rachel further.
In response, Rachel turned to Kit. “I’m right, aren’t I?”
Kit squirmed. “Uh, I wasn’t listening. I was busy looking at you and thinking what a cute couple you are.”
“Stop trying to cheer me up,” Rachel snarled. “I’m pissed off because the three idiots I run this place with want to set up a stall at the Christmas market and sell drinks. Like we aren’t already worked off our feet here?”
Shannon held up her hands. “All we’re saying is that it would be a great way to network and to find new customers. You know the older and more conservative islanders aren’t sure about us. They find us intimidating because we’re queer and this place looks more like a restaurant than a classic old man’s pub. This would be a form of outreach.”
“An expensive and time consuming one, babe. We have neither the extra funds or the extra time,” Rachel whinged.
Kit tapped her fingers against her glass, trying to suppress her tendency to get involved in people’s business and fix things. It felt like she should stay out of this one.
“Seems everyone’s getting involved with this Christmas market,” Kit said. “Even the volunteers at the library have been bugging me to let them sell our old stock there. I had to explain to them that Greengage library was certainly not paying for a spot at the market. I’ve seen the prices of them.”
“Exactly,” Rachel cried. “They’re bloody expensive, Shannon! Kit should know, she’s sleeping with the person who’s taking the money for setting up in one of those log cabin thingies.”
Shannon turned to Kit. “Are we actually buying some sort of log cabins? Why not just have tents with heaters?”
Kit shrugged. “They’re wooden huts. Laura says the island’s event committee wants a certain aesthetic. To make it cosy and pretty for any tourists we hope to attract.”
“Also, heaters or no heaters, it’s winter. You’d still freeze your arse off in a tent all day,” Rachel muttered.
“Yeah, that too,” Kit agreed. “But mainly it’s to make it look quaint. After all, the main reason for doing this is to steal the tourists from the other, more tourist-friendly islands. Apparently, our mayor made a deal with the next island over’s councillors to cheaply rent these log huts.”
“Don’t they need them?” Rachel asked.
Kit swallowed a mouthful of her drink. “No, they usually have a Christmas market but they ran out of funds this year and so cancelled it. Which they only declared in mid-November, when Greengage’s events committee heard about it and started pressuring the committee’s leader, Laura, to arrange a market.” Kit took her glasses off and rubbed the bridge of her nose before adding, “A market should be should be planned for months, not weeks. There are permits to get, sellers to herd, supplies to gather, and confusing regulations to follow. All which has to be done to get the market up for around the middle of December. Like Laura didn’t have enough on her plate with the upkeep of a crumbling Edwardian manor, orchards and the family company. Not to mention the launch of the mulled wine.”
A man walked up to the bar and signalled that he was ready to order. Rachel went to serve him. Shannon looked to Kit, her kind face suddenly downcast.
“Ah mate, I’m sorry Laura’s so busy. Oh, and I’m also sorry you had to hear our little spat. Rachel is testy these days. About everything.”
Kit sucked air through her teeth. “She’s not feeling the holiday cheer, then? Maybe she and I should start a club.”
Shannon gazed at her girlfriend, who was making small talk with the man she was handing a pint. Rachel then started putting her ginger hair up in a ponytail while saying something which made the customer laugh. Kit had rarely met someone as easy going and likely to cheer people up as Rachel. Still, you could see from her body language that right now she was forcing the joviality.
Shannon sighed. “I’m not sure the holidays are the biggest problem. There’s something a little more personal.”
This time, Kit couldn’t stop her interest in solving problems braking to the surface. She cared too much about these two not to offer help now.
“Shannon. Tell me to mind my own business if you like but… is it personal as in ‘I can’t talk about it’ or personal as in ‘I would like to chat it out with a friend?’ Because if it’s the latter, I obviously volunteer.”
Shannon looked at her for a while, tapping her fingers against the bar. “Well, if you’re sure you don’t mind getting involved?”
“Not at all. It’d be nice to have a project to stop me brooding on missing Laura and possibly being alone for Christmas. Besides, you guys helped Laura and I get together, I’d like to return the favour in some small way.”
Shannon looked around the pub and then leaned over the bar so her face was a hair’s breadth away from Kit’s. “All right. However, it’s not something I can discuss here and now. Can I call you later?”
Kit’s was going cross-eyed because the other woman was suddenly so close. In a theatrical whisper
she replied, “Sure. Or we can meet at midnight in an abandoned alley and say the code phrase ‘the sapphic ducks fly low in autumn’ or something?”
Shannon stood back and frowned. “Kit, I’m being serious.”
“Yeah, of course. I’m sorry. Call me whenever.”
Shannon gave a curt nod. Then she peered at Kit and said, “don’t take this the wrong way, mate. You know I think you’re a good-looking woman. But might it be time for a haircut? I mean, I know the surprising pain of maintaining short hair, being butch isn’t as low-maintenance as people think. Although, you’re more like soft butch.” She looked Kit up and down. “Like a lambswool kind of butch. Or a cottontail butch?”
Kit didn’t get involved in the label discussion, instead she ran her hand through her pixie cut, black hair. Yes, it was getting wispy at the back and sticking out weirdly.
Well, that’s embarrassing. Thank goodness someone told me.
Kit sighed at yet another sign that she hadn’t seen her girlfriend enough. Laura would’ve subtly mentioned that right away. Just as she always pointed out when Kit’s normally quite pink cheeks were redder than usual, always making it sound like the sweetest compliment.
Or when she tells me that my glasses are smudged and takes them off, wipes them and then oh so gently puts them on me and says “there. Can you see me now, dearest angel?”
Suddenly Kit was getting choked up. Which was a bloody ridiculous. Not dignified at all.
She stood up. “Yeah, you’re right. I’ll book a hair appointment. Thanks for that and for the drink. I’m gonna go hunt down Laura. Busy as she is - I need to talk to her.”
Shannon gave her a knowing smile. “Of course you do. Go make her take a break and kiss her dizzy. Oh, don’t forget to get her a brilliant Christmas present.”
Kit pulled her coat on, eyes already on the door. “I got that a month ago. It’s a bracelet she was admiring at a jeweller’s. Almost cost a month’s pay but she’s worth living off porridge for a while.”
Shannon chuckled. “I doubt she’d let you live off porridge. Anyway, you hurry off and speak to your squeeze. I’ll call you a little after midnight. If you’re asleep I’ll try again tomorrow.”
Kit wrapped her scarf around her neck. “Smashing. Bye!”
She hurried out while already calling Laura. No reply on the mobile. With freezing fingers she dialled Howard Hall’s landline number instead.
A warm, soft voice answered, “Laura Howard speaking.”
Kit breathed out one heartfelt word, “baby!”
PINKY WHERE ART THOU?
Kit was asleep when the phone rang. More interestingly, in Kit’s opinion, was that she was asleep in the master bedroom at Howard Hall, naked and spooned in Laura’s safe embrace.
Kit scrambled for her phone on the bedside table as fast as she could. Laura hadn’t had much time for sleeping lately and so any hours she could get tonight should be undisturbed.
Kit clicked ‘answer’, grabbed a blanket from the end of the bed, and snuck out of the bedroom before answering, “hey Shannon.”
“Hey Kit. Sorry it’s so late.”
Kit walked further down the hallway to not be heard, shivering violently despite the blanket she was wrapped in.
Stupid freezing Edwardian manor house.
“Not a problem. So, can you talk about the ‘personal’ thing now?”
“Yes. I won’t beat about the bush. It’s something that’s gone missing and Rachel seems convinced I’ve lost it.”
“Okay. So that’s why she’s cheesed off. What exactly is the thing?”
“Well, that is what makes it personal. And why I’m calling you now and not telling you in the pub.”
Kit wiggled her toes to keep them warm despite the cold wooden floor. “I’m intrigued. Go on”
“It’s… Pinky.”
“It’s what now?”
“Pinky.”
Kit rolled her eyes. “Yes, Shannon, I heard what you said. I just don’t know what a pinky is? As in a pinky finger? Or some sort of pink plush toy?”
Shannon groaned uncomfortably. “Toy is about right. But there’s nothing plush about it. Look this is very intimate, you can’t tell anyone.”
With a clue of where this was going, Kit closed her eyes. “Of course. All secrets are safe with me.”
A few seconds passed in chafing silence.
Shannon sighed. “Pinky… is Rachel’s favourite strap-on.”
“Right.”
“It vibrates.”
Kit scratched an eyebrow. “Okay.”
“And it’s pink.”
“Makes sense.”
“And Rachel loves it because she says it’s… well, the exact right size. Hits the right spots, you know?”
“Uh-huh,” Kit said, aware of that her voice had gone up in pitch.
“This is too much information for friends, right? Especially ones who’ve only know each other for a few months.”
“No, no. It’s fine. I think we’ve both met those couples who tell you a hell of a lot more than this after only knowing you for a couple of hours. Especially after a few drinks. But we’re a little too—”
“Sober,” Shannon interrupted.
“I was going to say English. But sure that too. I suppose it’s more accurate to say that we haven’t had the sort of friendship where we talk much about our sex lives.” Kit opened her eyes and squinted up at the high ceiling. “But maybe that should change. After all, Pinky sounds pretty awesome. Maybe I should’ve asked Laura to buy me one for Christmas,” Kit joked.
“See, that’s the thing. All the online shops I checked no longer stock this exact model. They have plenty of other ones but Rachel likes this one because as I said it…”
“Fits perfectly,” Kit supplied. “And you can’t guarantee that these others will, even if they’re the same size, because most strap-ons are different in their bends and shapes. I get the picture.”
“Then you know what has to be done,” Shannon said seriously.
“Original Pinky must be located.”
“Exactly.”
Kit blew out a breath. “Well, the first thing to ask is where Pinky could’ve gone. I assume you’ve scoured the house?”
“Top to bottom. At least once a day for the last five days.”
“Okay, I hate to ask this because we’re again stepping into territory where we haven’t ventured, but when was Pinky… last in action?”
“Five days ago. We used Pinky at night and then I washed it before going to work in the morning.”
“Gotcha. And you don’t have a cleaner?”
“No.”
“Hm.” Kit chewed the inside of her cheek. “Any visitors?”
“I figured you might ask that,” Shannon said. “We’ve had Matt and Josh over for after-work drinks twice, Rajesh popped in while walking Phyllis three days ago, Steve Hallard and some woman he met online popped in for tea on Sunday, and yesterday Mabel Baxter came in to complain because our Christmas decorations were too merry.”
Kit gulped as the image of Mabel popped into her head, a woman as wrinkly as a raisin with constantly pursed lips and a knitted hat pulled down halfway over her eyes year-round.
“Blimey, I hope it wasn’t Mabel who took it.”
Shannon muttered, “Tell me about it.”
“This woman Steve brought over. You don’t know her?”
“Not at all. He barely knew her since it was a blind date. A failed one, I’d say. I think he was taking her for a stroll and popping into the houses they passed because the date was awful and he was bored.”
“Okay, I’ll find a way to chat to Steve about this woman without revealing what I’m looking for. It makes sense that she would’ve nicked Pinky, though. If the date was that bad, she might’ve needed it, if you know what I mean.”
“Aaaah Kit! I don’t want to think about anyone else using it. “
“Fine, fine. Sorry. Anyway, I’ll start with chatting to Steve. Have you talked to Mat
t and Josh at all?”
“Yep, I tried to fish for any sign they were having a laugh. You know, pranking us or something.”
“And?” Kit asked while pulling the blanket tighter.
“No joy. They seemed perfectly innocent for once. And in all honestly, they’re both terrible at keeping secrets. Especially amusing ones. They’d start giggling or teasing me if they’d taken Pinky, I’m sure of it.”
“So they’re probably in the clear. Okay, keep an eye on them. I’m pretty sure Rajesh and Mabel aren’t the stealing types. They wouldn’t want Pinky or recognise what it was either. Oh, there’s a point. Was it just the dildo part or the whole harness?”
“Only the vibrating dildo. The harness is wash proof, so it went into the washing machine and then safely back in the box.”
“Right. Well I’ll—”
There was a creak. Kit squinted into the dark, wishing she’d put her glasses on. Was that a door opening at the other end of the hallway? A click of a light switch and the sconces along the hallway came on.
Bollocks.
“What on earth?” Tom mumbled while shuffling closer.
“Shh! Your sister’s sleeping and I’m on the phone!”
“Ah, Kit, it’s you. Are you pretending to be a ghost? For a moment I thought you were my great-uncle Edmund, who’s supposed to haunt Hoard Hall but he was humongous.”
“Huh? What are you on about?” Kit looked down at her body wrapped in a white blanket. “Oh, right. Yeah. Funny. It’s a blanket though, ghosts use sheets.”
“Fair point.” He yawned. “So, my virtuous sister got a woman into bed again? She’s getting more cherry pie than I am these days.”
Kit’s tired, distracted brain tried to focus. “What do you mean by cherry pi— Ah, right.” She gave him a death glare. “Firstly, I’m the only one in her bed. Secondly, bugger off! I’m on the phone.”
He scratched his armpit through his striped Jack Wills pyjamas. “Calm down, I only got up to get some water. Enjoy your phone call. I’ll see you over breakfast, unless you get thrown out because Little Miss Perfect is busy,” he sneered.