Full English

by Rachel Spangler

  “You can set your heat to come on at various times, or leave it running, and the same is true for the hot water,” Ciara explained. “You can leave it boiling in the tank all the time, or turn it on and off when you need to do some washing or want to soak in a hot bath.”

  She let slip a small groan. Why hadn’t she noticed these controls before? Probably because she hadn’t known to look for them.

  “You poor thing,” Diane tutted. “You’ve had a time of it, haven’t you?”

  “Yes, what an ordeal, moving across an ocean by yourself to where you don’t know a soul,” Esther added.

  “And to a house you’ve never seen,” Ciara said without judgment, but it didn’t matter.

  Emma’s panic began to rise again. They weren’t saying anything she didn’t know, but having someone else state those facts only brought home the absurdity of what she’d done. She looked from one of them to another, and then around the house. She had the essential pieces of furniture, but there wasn’t a single picture on the wall, not a pillow or throw on the couch. Everything was a bland sort of beige, and she hadn’t bothered to unpack any of the meager personal effects she’d brought from home. She didn’t even know how to turn on the hot water.

  What must they all think of her?

  As if reading her mind, Reggie smiled broadly and said, “I think you’re brave.”

  She shook her head, almost frantically, unable to speak around the knot of emotions in her throat.

  “Yes, you are, dear,” Esther said, as the kettle began to gurgle behind them. “You’re quite the adventurer.”

  “Come on now,” Diane urged quietly, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder and guiding her into a chair. “I can’t even imagine the jet lag and the disorientation that come with a move like you’ve had. You must be exhausted.”

  She nodded. She was tired, but for so many more reasons than jet lag. Shame settled over her again. These women had no doubt come searching for a famous author, someone creative, glamorous, engaging. What she would’ve given to be that person, both for their benefit and her own. Instead, she’d revealed herself to be a barely functioning excuse for a bestseller. Now they were all making excuses for her out of kindness or embarrassment, which was more compassion than her wife, or rather ex-wife, had managed to do on her way out the door.

  “Let’s fetch you a cuppa and get out of your hair,” Diane said, and Esther whisked one of the teacups they’d brought into the kitchen.

  “Here.” Reggie pushed the plate of scones toward her. “Put the clotted cream on first.”

  “No,” Diane and Esther both called in unison, then laughed. “We put the jam on first, then the cream.”

  Reggie stood behind them, shaking her head in mock horror, and Emma smiled at her, a genuine smile that stretched her cheeks in unfamiliar ways.

  “It doesn’t matter how you do it,” Ciara said lightly, then added with a grin, “so long as you judge people who do it differently.”

  “That’s a true British hobby,” Esther said, setting the tea in front of her, “which is why we won’t stay around long enough to see how you take your tea. We wouldn’t want to think less of you for using too much milk until we get to know you better.”

  With that she patted Emma’s arm again and turned to go. The others all took the hint and moved toward the door.

  “I left our phone numbers on a notepad on the kitchen counter in case you need help with anything else around the house,” Diane said as she left.

  Emma started to stand, but Ciara waved her off. “No need to get up. We managed to barge in on our own. We can find our way out. I’m sure we’ll meet again when you’re all rested.”

  “We all go to the Raven every Friday before tea,” Reggie said. “You should come and talk about visiting my school.”

  “Reg,” Ciara warned, as she wrapped an arm around her daughter’s shoulder and directed her toward the door.

  “Nice to meet you,” Reggie called, and closed the door behind them.

  “It was nice to meet you, too,” Emma replied, though she doubted they could hear her now. Then again, she hadn’t made the statement out of politeness, so much as her own surprise.

  As she split a scone in half and reached for the red jam, she pondered the fact that she had enjoyed meeting them. She’d enjoyed having some life in her new home. Despite Diane’s last comments about the tea, she hadn’t felt judged at all. She spread some clotted cream on one half of the scone then put the jam on top, before turning to the other half of the scone and assembling it in reverse order. Surveying them both, she smiled remembering the horror on Reggie’s face and picked up the one with cream on the bottom first.

  As she bit into the scone, all other thoughts vanished from her mind, no memories, no comparisons, no words. Closing her eyes and tilting her face toward the light streaming in from the conservatory, she basked in the glory of her scone. It melted in her mouth, the flavors mingling— creamy, buttery, sweet, and soft. Maybe soft wasn’t exactly a flavor, but the scone made her certain it should be.

  She shoved the entire half in her mouth in a series of near ravenous bites, then greedily reached for the other. She tried to slow down enough to notice the variations between the jam and clotted cream layering, but she could tell no difference once the scone passed her lips. She didn’t know which version she preferred. All she could process in the moment of complete food abandon was that no matter how she applied the topping, the scone tasted amazing. Like, life-alteringly delicious. If her mouth hadn’t been full, she might have laughed a little at the hyperbole, but nothing felt like an overstatement in that moment, because for the first time in over six months, she was taking pleasure in eating something.

  Chapter Three

  A hand snaked its way up Brogan’s bare back and gave the tired muscles at her shoulder a tantalizing squeeze. She closed her eyes and leaned back into the touch.

  “Are you sure you have to work tonight?”

  She sighed, knowing the answer was yes, but she didn’t want to say the word any more than Julia wanted to hear it.

  “We could call down for room service and watch a movie . . . or not.”

  Mostly it had been a whole lot of “or not” for the last week, though they had watched a banal superhero movie and shared breakfast in bed on more than one occasion. Most of all she’d enjoyed the rare occurrence of waking up with the same person more than two mornings in a row, but their time together was coming to an end. Julia would go back to London the next morning, and Brogan would miss her. Or at least she’d miss having someone around to do things with, other than work. She and Julia didn’t seem to share any real interests other than sex and food, but that was something. And she wasn’t likely to have that again for at least a month when tourist traffic began to pick up for the season. Of course, when the tourist traffic picked up, so would her many jobs.

  And still, none of those facts changed the reality that she had to go downstairs, both to tend bar and to keep herself from getting too comfortable in the bed of a woman who’d be gone tomorrow. “It’s Friday, which means Friday Club at the pub for locals.”

  Julia lay back on the bed. “Sounds thrilling.”

  Brogan smiled and pulled on her jeans, knowing Julia wouldn’t find the village tradition enjoyable in the least. All the inside jokes and small-town gossip would be lost on her, and even if she could follow along, she’d find the inner dealings of their lives to be trite and tedious. In a way that made everything easier because it meant Brogan didn’t have to feel guilty about not inviting her.

  Grabbing her white Oxford shirt off the floor, she turned the sleeves right side out as she searched for her bra.

  “What time do you get off?” Julia asked, then snorted and sat up. “Off work, I mean.”

  “Pub closes at ten, but I’ll start cleaning up a little earlier if no one’s in after we stop serving food around eight. With any luck I’ll be able to turn the key in the lock and sprint right upstairs.”

&n
bsp; “And what if I order room service before then?” Julia asked, her voice coy. “Would you bring it up to me?”

  “Maybe, depends on how busy the bar is.”

  “And what if I promised to be naked when I open the door?”

  “Then I’ll be sure to send Charlie and tell him it’s an early birthday present,” Brogan teased, then laughed as she located her bra under the duvet they’d kicked off the bed. “Really, though, don’t make any assumptions about room service tonight. I can’t make any promises.”

  Julia fell back to the pillows. “No promises beyond coming back here for one more night, right?”

  Brogan checked her reflection in the mirror by the door before stepping back to kiss her once more. “Aye, I can promise that one if you can.”

  Julia gave her a little shove. “I suppose we’ll both take what we can get while we can get it.”

  The sentiment was still echoing through Brogan’s ears as she checked the taps of real ale behind the bar. Taking and getting were fluid concepts in her life, as fluid as the tides in the estuary and as seasonal as the company she kept. She rarely gave the patterns much more thought than she’d give her work calendar, but hearing Julia put things so bluntly on the eve of her departure tweaked something inside her she couldn’t quite place.

  “Hey, stranger.” Ciara pushed through the door to the pub, and a slew of children huddled in behind her. “Where’s Charlie?”

  Brogan shrugged. “Haven’t seen him today, but I’m sure he’ll be along any minute. Not like he’s got anything better to do on a Friday night.”

  “Especially when I owe him for babysitting two weeks in a row,” Ciara said with a smile. She turned to the kids. “You lot can grab some crisps and go down to the park if you want.”

  A cheer went up from the three younger ones, who didn’t even shed their coats before taking their snacks and freedom on the run, but Reg hung around.

  “You getting too big for the park?” Brogan asked.

  Reggie shook her head. “I’m going to wait for Lily and James to get here.”

  “If they’re counting on their dad to drive them, you might be waiting awhile. Archie’s never shown up at a reasonable time for anything in his life.”

  “You’d think he lived in London instead of five miles up the road,” Ciara said, shedding her coat. “I haven’t seen him in over a month.”

  Brogan rolled her eyes and put on an air of false importance. “You know his work’s important. You know he’s very busy.”

  Ciara snorted. “You know he thinks he’s the Duke himself instead of one of his employees.”

  The door to the pub swung open again, stopping them short like a pair of girls afraid their older brother might have heard them having a go at him, but it was only Diane and Esther bustling in ahead of Tom.

  “Good evening,” Brogan called and moved to the tap, pouring an ale for Tom and two ciders for the women.

  “What’s the good word?” Brogan asked, leaning on the bar as she passed the pint glasses to the regulars in the corner booth.

  “The same two words over and over again for three days,” Tom groused. “Emma Volant.”

  Brogan’s heart gave an involuntary jump she didn’t want to examine. “Oh?”

  “They bombarded her earlier in the week.”

  “We didn’t bombard,” Ciara said calmly. “We went over to welcome her to town.”

  “And good thing we did,” Esther added. “The poor darling might have sat there in the dark and cold, half-starved for weeks.”

  “Half-starved?” Brogan asked, remembering the sacks of food Emma had purchased.

  “Have you seen her? She’s wasting away,” Diane said, “and her stomach growled so loud I thought she had a dog behind her.”

  “What do you expect?” Reg jumped in. “She can’t work a kettle or a hot water tank or her light switches.”

  “Wait, how many of you went over there?” Brogan asked. A picture began to form in her mind of half the town barging in on Emma. She didn’t know the woman well, but from their limited encounters, she didn’t seem like the kind of person who’d enjoy impromptu visitors.

  “Just the four of us,” Ciara said, “and don’t you start in on us, too. Between our spouses and our mother, we’ve heard enough about not overwhelming our new famous neighbor. But you weren’t there. You didn’t see her. She’s already overwhelmed. We’d offer the same help to any new person in town.”

  “Exactly what I told Tom,” Diane said. “I know we aren’t supposed to treat her like she’s special because she’s rich and famous, but I’m not going to treat her any worse because of those things, either.”

  “You told her you ran the local book club,” Tom said. “Did you mention the book club didn’t exist until she moved to town?”

  Brogan laughed.

  “Look, I’m as game as anybody about getting her to stay and bring us a little bit of notoriety beyond beachcombers and property flippers,” he said, laying both his hands on the dark oak table, “but let’s not pretend we’re vying for sainthood here.”

  “Not sainthood.” Esther clucked. “Basic human decency. I’m telling you, rich or not, that girl is lost. She’s scared. She’s got big, wounded eyes, and a smile too tentative for someone so pretty and talented.”

  “And young,” Diane added. “No one her age should look so bone-tired.”

  Brogan couldn’t argue with the hint of protectiveness she heard in their voices. In fact, she felt a wave of relief at knowing she wasn’t the only one experiencing a surge in those instincts when it came to Emma. Maybe she inspired them in everyone she met.

  Just then Charlie walked in, his jacket open at the front and his hair tousled from the wind.

  “What’d I miss?” he asked. He turned to Ciara. “Aside from two weeks’ worth of babysitting money.”

  “It’s good to see you too, baby brother.” Ciara pulled a few bills from her purse and handed them to Brogan instead. “Take whatever you need to cover his tab, and then pass the rest over to him.”

  “Ha ha,” Charlie said sarcastically, and snatched the bills from Brogan. “I paid the tab last Friday, and I picked up some grounds-keeping work in Newpeth on Monday, so I’ve been eating all of Archie’s food all week.”

  “Ah, good on ya, Charles,” Brogan said, with a smile and the hope that her fridge wouldn’t be empty by the time she got home tomorrow.

  “Wait.” Ciara held up her hand. “Why didn’t you know that?”

  “Huh?”

  “You haven’t seen Charlie all week? You live together.”

  “Busted.” Charlie laughed and pulled a stool toward the corner of the bar closest to them. “You want to try to dance your way out of this, or should I spill?”

  Brogan gave a pointed glance at Reggie, and Ciara got the hint. “Regina, please go check on your sister and brothers.”

  Reg knew better than to object when her mother used her full name, but that didn’t stop her from scowling on her way out the door. All the adults sat quietly until the kid was out of earshot, but Tom raised his eyebrows suggestively as he asked, “Did tourist season start early this year?”

  “Come off it. A friend of mine is up from London. We’ve been catching up is all.”

  “Not catching up on sleep, if those red rings around your eyes are any indication,” Esther said, causing her to look away, and everyone else to laugh.

  “All week, Brogan?” Ciara asked with a mix of disbelief and amusement. “Where do you find the stamina?”

  “Says the woman with four kids.”

  “Runs in the family, eh?” Tom asked, turning to Charlie.

  He shook his head. “They must’ve used up all the suave parts of the gene pool before I came along. Brogan has more luck with women than I can even dream of.”

  “Aw.” Esther patted his cheek. “You’ve got a good face, Charlie. Brogan, why don’t you help your brother out?”

  “He’s beyond help.”

  Charlie laugh
ed. “Come on, Brogan. Tell us your secrets. Who’s the girl? How’d you win her over? What can you possibly do to keep women hopping trains all the way from London to spend a whole week in the Raven?”

  “Yeah,” Diane said. “I actually want to know the answer to that question, too. Help us live vicariously through you.”

  Desperate to dodge having to answer, Brogan made a giant leap for a redirect. “I thought you were living vicariously through Emma Volant. What happened to helping her find herself and save the town from oblivion and holiday let agents?”

  “Nice try,” Ciara said. She sipped her cider.

  “Actually.” Tom drew out the word. “She might be onto something. If the Volant woman is as sad as you say, and we want to get her out and about, but not so out and about that she leaves, why not find her a local fella to lift her spirits and put down some roots?”

  Diane and Esther both smiled at each other, then at Charlie, but Ciara held up her hand. “Don’t even think about it, Charlie. I read some articles about Ms. Volant before we went over there. Not to snoop, mind you, just for conversation starters, and she’s very recently divorced . . . from a woman.”

  Everyone sat back in their chairs for a few seconds as the same idea seemed to dawn on them simultaneously, and then one by one they slowly turned to smile at Brogan.

  Her chest tightened, and her face flamed as the implication of the conspiratorially hopeful gazes settled over her. Finally, she spit out the only word she could manage. “No.”

  “She’s pretty,” Diane said.

  “And talented,” Esther added.

  “I think she’s probably very sweet.” Ciara’s tone made it clear that was a more important criteria for a big sister.

  “Who cares?” Tom laughed. “She’s rich.”

  Brogan shook her head. Not that she could argue with any of their reasoning. In less than ten minutes together, she knew Emma Volant was everything they said, and likely much more, which meant this was one fantasy she wouldn’t entertain. “No thanks.”