Full English

by Rachel Spangler

  “Why’s that?” his own heavily pregnant wife asked, shooting him a similar look.

  Brogan laughed. “Yeah, no experience there.”

  “Yet,” Neville corrected, as he cut a slab of roast beef for Ginny, who was sitting on his knee. “I still hold out hope your day will come.”

  “If the town has their way, it’ll come sooner rather than later,” Charlie said, then shoved a forkful of Yorkshire pudding into his mouth before going on. “They all want to hook her up with Emma Volant.”

  “Did you hear she’s coming to my school?” Reggie called from her place at the kids’ table.

  “Yeah.” Ciara frowned. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about how she talked Emma into going to Book Day. Please tell me she didn’t badger the poor woman to death.”

  “Mum.” The exasperation in Reggie’s tone suggested this wasn’t the first time Ciara had broached the subject. “I already told you.”

  “She didn’t do anything wrong,” Brogan defended quickly. “In fact, she turned down money even though Emma said she should name her price. Emma got off pretty easy, just having to say hello to a few kids instead of cutting a big, fat check.”

  “I don’t know,” Ciara muttered, as she covered the majority of her plate in brown gravy. “She’s got plenty of money to toss around, but last time I saw her, she didn’t seem up for public appearances.”

  “I think she’s getting her feet under her now,” Brogan said, then chewed on a piece of beef to give herself a little time to choose her words. She didn’t want to overstate anything. Emma had still certainly revealed moments of deep sadness, but she’d also smiled a few times, and in the sunlight, her hair had a little more luster and her skin a bit more color. Brogan couldn’t say anything to that extent with her merciless siblings gathered ’round, though. “She seemed happy in the garden.”

  “Wait,” Archie said. “You were hanging out with Emma Volant in her garden?”

  “We weren’t hanging out. I went over there to help Reggie with a few landscaping questions.”

  “But I did the work,” Reggie said proudly. “Emma and Brogan went inside and talked.”

  Brogan stifled a groan as her brothers’ smiles all widened in unison.

  “Well, well, well,” Neville said, as he lifted his pint of ale off the table. “Let me raise a toast to my new favorite, and hopefully richest, sister.”

  “Here, here,” Charlie echoed. “May your streak of never failing with women not desert you now.”

  “She may have a perfect record,” Edmond cut in, “but Emma Volant is no bored tourist in for a weekend romp.”

  Brogan’s teeth ground at the blunt assessment of the type of women who generally found her attractive.

  “I think he challenged you,” Archie said with a grin.

  “Come off it,” Brogan said, trying to stem the blush creeping into her face.

  “Are you really interested in her?” Liam asked.

  “Dad, they’re just taking the piss.”

  “That’s not what I asked. I wanted to know what you thought of her.”

  “She’s nice. Very kind, and generous, and good with Reggie.”

  “So, you’re interested in dating her?” he pressed.

  “No,” she said flatly. “I’m not.”

  “Is she ugly?”

  She shook her head, but before she could get a word out, both Ciara and Nora began to talk at once.

  “She could be pretty.”

  “She could use some sun, though.”

  “A bit of rest, too.”

  “And she’s too skinny.”

  “Way too skinny.”

  Everyone’s head swiveled from side to side as if watching a verbal tennis match while her sisters launched volley after volley, and the muscles in Brogan’s neck tightened with each lob.

  “She’s certainly not ugly, though,” Ciara said.

  “A little plain.”

  “And worn.”

  “And—”

  “And nothing,” Brogan finally cut in, and smiled in a way she hoped covered how agitated she felt. Turning to her dad, she said, “Emma’s very pretty, actually. Just under a lot of strain. She’d probably rather make some friends instead of having the whole town try to marry her off or treat her like a tourist attraction, though.”

  Everyone stared at her now, eyes wide, some of their mouths open.

  “Mummy!” Seamus kicked the table. “Wendell took my tay-toes. He put his hand in them and took them.”

  “Wendell,” Nora sighed, “did you steal your brother’s potatoes and eat them with your hands?”

  “You didn’t give me any!” Wendell wailed. “I wanted tay-toes.”

  “You can have mine.” Ginny palmed one of her own roasted potatoes and tossed it over Nora so it landed with a clatter on Wendell’s plate.

  “Ginny,” Neville scolded with a strong hint of laughter in his voice, “good little girls don’t throw food.”

  “Yes, Ginny,” Charlie said, tossing a quarter of a potato over to his nephew. “That’s a job for uncles.”

  “Charlie.” Nora rolled her eyes, but Wendell gave a little laugh, and Seamus joined in. Before any more parents could scold anyone else, everyone was chuckling, and Brogan was off the hook.

  As her breathing and heart rate returned to normal, she sat back in her chair and tried not to unpack all the feelings the topic of Emma had stirred in her. Why had she made such an outburst? She wasn’t the woman’s keeper, and nothing they’d said about her being rich or famous was untrue. And Edmond might have been joking in his insinuation that someone like Emma would never fall for someone like her, but he wasn’t exactly wrong, either. Emma was clearly smart and talented, and Brogan had seen a glimpse of passion in her when she’d spoken to Reggie about artists and inspirations. She might be in a dark place at the moment, but that spark would once again grow into a flame, and when it did, Emma would undoubtedly outshine anything Brogan could offer. Not that she wanted to offer her anything. It was only some silly town scheme to get them to-gether. Why was she even indulging their half-baked fantasies?

  She pushed back from the table and scraped clean a pile of plates before walking to the kitchen sink. She flipped on the water and stared out the back window at the blue expanse of sea rolling relentlessly toward the sandy shore. She must have stayed there longer than she’d intended, because when a hand reached around her to slap off the tap, she glanced down at a basin nearly overflowing with suds.

  “Sorry,” she mumbled.

  “No worries,” her mum said, giving her a little squeeze. “You’ve always been a daydreamer. It’s one of the things I love about you.”

  She smiled. “One of many, right?”

  “Absolutely.” Her mum pulled a towel from the counter and tossed it to her, then set about washing the first load of dishes. “You’re a good person, smart, hardworking, kind, and helpful. You always have so much to give to the people around you, and you give it freely.”

  That was laying it on a little thick, even by mum standards. She rolled her eyes and began to dry the pot her mum had rinsed. “You’re not trying to fix me up with Emma, too, are you?”

  Margaret chuckled and stared out the window.

  “What’s funny?”

  “I’d merely been thinking of you,” Margaret said gently, “but I do find it interesting that you were thinking of Emma.”

  £ £ £

  “You came!” Reggie exclaimed as Emma entered the large multi-purpose room at the Duke of Northland Primary school, flanked by the head of the PTA and the principal. Or not the principal, because they called them something else here. How had the woman introduced herself? How was she supposed to remember how to thank her properly if she couldn’t remember her title . . . or her name? Oh, good Lord, I’ve forgotten the woman’s name, too.

  This was why she didn’t like to do these kinds of events, especially without an agent or a manager of some kind to help her. The publishing house would’ve sent someon
e up from London if she’d asked. They would’ve been ecstatic to do anything to help her get out more. No event would be too small for them, which, of course, was why she hadn’t called them. No event was too small for them to make a big deal out of. If she’d told them she intended to make a public appearance, Reggie’s book report day would’ve become a three-ring media circus.

  So here she was, facing a room full of young readers. Alone, except for two adults whose names and titles she couldn’t remember.

  At least Reggie was beaming at her from the front row. Emma gave her a little wave, while silently praying she wouldn’t let the kid down. What if she tripped? What if she forgot how to speak? What if she had a panic attack and passed out and knocked herself unconscious, and—

  “Ms. Volant,” the not-principal said, “if you’ll have a seat on the stage, we’re still waiting on one more guest. Then I’ll make some announcements, and the kids will ask a few questions before you have a chance to walk around and view their projects.”

  She smiled and nodded like a fool as she took her seat on the low riser and clasped her hands in her lap before anyone could see how they trembled. Thankfully no one seemed interested in her as a flurry of activity occurred around the door. A woman carrying a clipboard pushed through the crowds, accompanied by a man holding a camera lens large enough to overcompensate for something, since it certainly wasn’t warranted by the size of the room. Finally, a young woman strode in, wearing jeans, a charcoal turtleneck sweater, and a brown corduroy vest. She’d pulled her long blond hair into a messy bun, which added a touch of librarian appeal to the hipster chic ensemble.

  The woman nimbly bounced up the stairs without so much as a glance around for directions, and taking the seat next to Emma, extended her hand. “Hello, I’m Vic.”

  A bit blown back by the wash of charisma, Emma managed to shake her hand lightly and say, “Emma.”

  “Wonderful to meet you. My mother is a big fan of your books.”

  “I do well with the mother market,” she managed.

  Vic laughed. “I wish I did a little better with them if we’re honest.”

  Emma was about to ask if Vic was a fellow writer, but before she could, the woman clasped a hand on her arm. “What’s the head teacher’s name? I’ve forgotten again.”

  “I have, too,” Emma admitted, feeling less guilty now. “Honestly, I’m glad you remembered to call her a head teacher. I knew ‘principal’ wasn’t right.”

  “Ah, yes, an American. I suppose we could refer to her as the headmistress in our opening remarks.”

  Emma’s heart hammered. “Were we supposed to prepare opening remarks?”

  “They always make me prepare opening remarks. I’m sure you’ll be fine, though.”

  “They?” Emma asked suspiciously, but before Vic could answer, the head teacher ascended the riser steps, and the room fell silent.

  “Children and guests, thank you for your attention. We are honored today to have not one, but two distinguished guests for our book report celebrations. I know some of you have prepared questions for them, and others are looking forward to showing off your hard work, but please go calmly to your projects after we dismiss and don’t linger about the stage.”

  Emma saw Reg frown and suspected she’d planned to do just that.

  “And please mind your manners at all times around our distinguished visitors,” the head teacher continued. “We want to show them we’re worthy of the name and crest that adorn our school.”

  What an odd remark to end on. Emma wasn’t quite sure why any child’s behavior would make her think less of some Duke or his crest, but before she could process any more, the head teacher said, “And now let me first introduce Lady Victoria Charlotte Algernon Penchant, eldest daughter to His Grace, the Duke of Northland.”

  If Emma had been drinking a glass of water, she would’ve sprayed it all over the floor, and she suspected she’d made a similar expression even though her mouth had gone completely dry.

  Lady Victoria Charlotte something or other? And she’d been shooting the breeze like she ran into royalty every day? How was she supposed to speak to a lady? Should she have bowed or curtseyed, or at least gotten to her feet in some sort of acknowledgment? The panic engulfed her again. What have I done? Why am I here? What was she supposed to say to the kids, to the head teacher, to the eldest daughter of the Duke of Northland?

  “Thank you, Lady Victoria.” The headmistress’s voice cut in, and the closest thing to royalty Emma had ever met flashed her a smile. Their knees practically rubbed together as the voice coming through the microphone said her name, and now all the children and teachers were applauding.

  She used the context clues to ascertain she’d missed her own introduction, and rose. Thankfully her knees didn’t give way in the three steps it took her to get to the podium, and she clutched either side for balance. “Thank you. You’re very kind to have me here today.”

  About two hundred little faces stared up at her, eager with anticipation and interest. There was something calming about their open expressions, so different from the inquisitive stares and whispered judgments she’d come to expect from their elders. They had no expectations, and all appeared as if they believed her capable of anything in that moment, and she found the idea strangely liberating.

  “And thank you to your head teacher, or indeed all your teachers for letting me come meet with you. I especially want to thank my friend Reggie.” She waved to the girl in the front row, who puffed out her chest with pride. “She’s the one who told me about this event and all the wonderful books you’ve been reading in preparation. I know your teachers have probably told you all I’m a writer, and that’s true, but long before I published my own books, I learned to love stories by reading the ones written by others. I’m sure some of us have some of the same favorites, but mostly I’m here in the hopes that your book reports will give me some good ideas for what I should read next.”

  There. Short and sweet, and while she hadn’t said anything overly powerful or inspiring, none of the kids had squirmed or yawned, and they all clapped again as she took her seat . . . next to the duke’s daughter, which felt a little bit like surviving the frying pan only to hop into the fire.

  “Well done,” Lady Victoria said with a nod. “Now bring on the firing squad.”

  Emma looked at her blankly, then back out at the audience, and sure enough, a line of children had formed down the middle row where the parent-teacher liaison woman appeared with another microphone. “We’ve selected a student from each year-level to ask a question of our two visitors. First up is Arthur McKay from year one.”

  Emma’s nerves were overridden by the smile, the name, and the shock that the bright red hair atop the little boy’s head inspired. He held the mic tightly in both hands, leaned so close his little nose almost bopped the top, and said in a clear, sharp voice, “What’s your favorite books from when you was little?”

  Lady Victoria smiled back at him brightly and accepted the microphone from the head teacher. “Arthur, you may know this, or you may not, but I live in the big castle in Newpeth, and we have lots of lions. Not real lions, mind you, but lion statues at the front gate, and lions carved into the walls, and lion heads peering down from the tops of the towers, and to be honest, I was a little frightened of them until my mum read me a book called The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.”

  A little ripple of excitement went through the audience, and she paused to let them have their moment of connection. “There was a lion in that book called Aslan, and he was not a tame lion, but he was a good lion, and once I got to know him, I liked our own lions a lot more. From then on, when I’d walk through the castle grounds, I’d pretend those lions were Aslan, and I’ll even let you in on a little secret, sometimes I still do.”

  The kids all laughed, and Emma joined them, marveling at Lady Victoria’s open and easy way with them.

  “So that’s why The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe was my favorite book.”
With that, she handed the mic to Emma.

  “Wow,” she said, unsure how she could possibly follow that. She started slowly. “I’ve loved so many books. And I did also adore the Chronicles of Narnia, though I’ve never lived in a castle, or even visited one. There aren’t a lot of castles in America, I’m afraid. The very idea of them seemed purely magical, which might be one of the reasons I first fell in love with another castle, one by the name of Hogwarts.”

  A few cheers went up among the older schoolchildren, and she smiled to know she’d scored a few points.

  “The wizarding world has always captivated me, with its mystical places, magical creatures, and all the epic adventures.” She turned to Lady Victoria and added, “Much like you, I’ve refused to grow out of my firm belief that there are witches and wizards among us, and I still keep an eye out for them everywhere I go.”

  Lady Victoria accepted the mic back and said, “Good choice, and for what it’s worth, I find it truly sad that you’ve never been to a castle. We’ve all been to the castle, haven’t we, boys and girls?”

  The children raised their hands and cheered once more.

  “All of you?” Emma asked with great dramatic effect.

  Lady Victoria nodded. “We hold a start-of-term picnic on the grounds every year.”

  “Maybe if I do a good job here today, you all will invite me along next year.”

  The kids clapped their approval of the idea, but Lady Victoria did them one better by saying, “I’ll see what I can do about getting you an invitation long before then.”

  Chapter Six

  Late April brought warmer temperatures and smoother seas along the northeast coast of England, and those two factors combined to bring the first groups of weekenders to the shores of Amberwick. More sun, more tourists, more work— thus was the cycle of the town, and Brogan in particular. Not that she’d reached the fever pitch of summer holidays, but the holiday hunters meant a few extra hours at the Raven, and Nora was due any day now, which meant more hours at the post office. And the return of the local flocks of puffins to their island sanctuaries just offshore meant more time on the water. The latter hardly counted as work most days, though, as sailing would always be pleasurable no matter how much she got paid.