And now Harriet and Josie were in the midst of this family drama, when everything was beyond their control.
“What do you want me to do?” Harriet asked, resigned to Eugenie never believing her.
“Get them back.”
“Get what back?”
“All the papers!”
“Where did they even come from?”
“Don’t play stupid.” Eugenie shook one of the sheets in the air. “I know you’re not from here, but publishing trash like this is… is… so inappropriate. No one in Upper Chewford likes you or your paper.”
“Mum!” Josie gasped.
Harriet stared at Eugenie, processing the words, but not able to grasp the meaning entirely. The people in the village had seemed to enjoy the missing ginger ads, and many of the locals had carved out time to sit down for interviews, several of them speaking candidly with Harriet, as if grateful someone took an interest in their lives. But, overall, did everyone in Upper Chewford wish she’d leave? Was Eugenie’s assessment correct?
How was it possible Harriet had woken up with a sexy woman in her arms, and within hours, her cousin had shown up announcing she was pregnant and Josie’s mum had told Harriet she wasn’t wanted in the village?
It was like the universe was adamantly opposed to Harriet experiencing any type of lasting joy.
Finally, she said in a dejected voice, “I’ll do what I can about the papers.”
Theo burst through the front door, holding one up in the air. “The Ginger George Blotter!”
Harriet couldn’t determine if Theo was upset or thought it brilliant. The only part she could focus on was Theo, who was worse than any of the gossipers in Chewford, had already read the blotter. It was only a matter of time before he spread the contents far and wide.
Eugenie met Harriet’s gaze, the publican’s eyes burning a hole into Harriet’s soul. If all wasn’t lost, Harriet couldn’t see a way out of the conundrum. What was a good crossword puzzle clue for tits up? Titanic? The Hindenburg? San Francisco Earthquake? The Irish Famine? Black Plague? The Blitz?
Was it a bad sign that every example that came to Harriet’s mind involved hundreds of deaths and vast human suffering?
“Hi, Harry,” Clive said as he entered the pub, his head not held as high as usual.
“Clive.” Harriet seemed to pronounce every letter in his name as a way of an apology. “I’m—”
Clive waved for her not to say another word. “I’m sure Eugenie has abused you enough.”
That she did, but Harriet attempted to shrug it off. “I’m sorry you’re caught up in whatever this is.” She wanted to state unequivocally she had nothing to do with it, but the words wouldn’t come. “I better go.”
Josie walked with her to the door. “You coming in tonight?” She wrung her hands.
Harriet wasn’t sure if Josie was strangling her hands out of frustration about the blotter or if she wanted to strangle Harriet still thinking she was somehow involved. Also, there was the Eugenie problem. Even before today, Eugenie hadn’t been a fan of Harriet. Even less so now.
Harriet finally said, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Can we talk?” Josie glanced around. “Not here.”
“Where?”
Josie sighed. “I’ll text you. Something’s come up that we should discuss.”
Harriet didn’t like the sound of her voice or the look of defeat in Josie’s eyes. “I can’t kick the feeling that everything under the sun is out to get me.”
Josie started to speak, stopped, and then finally choked out. “Please tell me you had nothing to do with this.”
Harriet stared, gobsmacked. “I don’t even know what to say to that. Even you think I’m involved.” Harriet let out a tortured breath. “Perhaps this isn’t the place for me after all.”
When Harriet walked through her front door and saw her cousin, she knew she was in for more trouble. Camilla sat on the sofa with The Cotswolds Chronicles spread out in her lap. This was highly unusual and a great indicator that her cousin was one step away from losing her mind. Harriet needed to exude calmness so Cam didn’t pick up on the shitstorm swirling throughout the village. And what good would it do to unburden herself on her cousin, who was dealing with so much more than Harriet? So what if Josie didn’t believe in Harriet? Camilla was pregnant. Her life would never be the same. How did that compare?
Harriet, though, wanted to curl up in bed and have a good cry.
Not quite yet.
Camilla’s puffy eyes tore at Harriet’s heartstrings and stiffened her resolve to stay strong.
“What’s another word for guillotine?” Camilla asked.
“Behead.” Harriet watched Camilla fill in the letters in the crossword. “How are you feeling?”
Camilla sniffled, but her eyes lit up as she filled in another answer. “I thought the puzzle would take my mind off things, and I’d already solved the sudoku.”
“I thought you hated puzzles.”
“I do. Maybe it’s a pregnancy thing.” Camilla shrugged.
“Are you hungry? Should I make something?”
“What do you have?”
“Admittedly, not much. But we can get fish and chips. There’s a great place on the square. It’s called The Plaice to Be. Get it? Plaice?” Harriet gave it more consideration. “Can pregnant women eat fish and chips?” That’s right, Harry. Focus on these elements to get you through everything.
Camilla shrugged again. “How in the world would I know?”
“You’re pregnant.” Harriet couldn’t stop herself from pointing out the obvious.
“I’ve only known for a hot minute.”
Harriet looked it up on her phone. “Okay, according to the internet, cod, plaice, and haddock are acceptable. Does that sound good to you?”
“You just said I could.”
“I meant do you want fish and chips? Or, are you experiencing morning sickness? That’s more prevalent in the first trimester.”
“Not really. And greasy food always appeases me when stressed, as you know. Can you bring it here? I don’t want to be seen in the village.”
“If you want some fresh air, you can wear a floppy hat.” Harriet tried to picture Camilla wearing an ugly gardening hat. Should Harriet don one now that she knew no one wanted her in the village?
“I just had my hair done.”
“Right. How foolish of me.”
Camilla returned to the crossword. “What’s the answer to five across?”
Harriet responded with honesty, “I can’t even remember my brother’s name at the moment.”
“That’s dramatic of you. My life is falling apart. Not yours.”
Yet it seemed like everything around Harriet was crashing down.
Chapter Thirty-One
The vibe in the pub was difficult for Josie to get a feel about. One group in the front debated who had penned or contributed to the blotter. Another group claimed there could be more useful blotters, like a tourist watch or who was cheating for the December to Remember decorating contest. So far, Josie hadn’t detected too many angry women who’d been named and shamed. That was the part Josie couldn’t wrap her head around. If her name had appeared in it, she’d want reparations, or she wouldn’t leave her house again. Or both.
Granted, most of the women mentioned in the blotter were older. Did being implicated in a sex scandal at their age in the likes of Upper Chewford count as something to brag about? Was this the difference between life in the political eye, like the politicians she worked for, and a village? Josie, though, had fled the US to put a sex scandal in the rearview mirror, and she had no desire to wade through another quicksand that sucked everyone in, including her uncle and Harry.
When people thought of the area, they probably pictured charming cottages, rolling green hills, and adorable sheep standing on stone walls waiting for a tourist to snap their photo. That was the wildest it was supposed to get in Upper Chewford. What Josie was experiencing was more
like a reality TV show designed to shock and awe the masses. “The Ginger George Blotter,” Josie muttered under her breath as she wiped the bar with a wet rag.
“Doom Bar.”
Josie looked up at William in his usual mismatched outfit and scarlet tie that seemed more outrageous than it should. “Sorry, William. I didn’t see you there.”
“Doom Bar,” he repeated, pointing at the tap as if Josie hadn’t poured him a pint before.
At least, William was the same, making Josie feel somewhat better about the world. “Take a seat, and I’ll bring it out to you.”
He retreated to his leather chair, the fire crackling, Winston on his bed.
Josie grabbed a bag of cheese and onion crisps for the man and delivered both with a slight dip of the head, receiving one in return. These were the interactions Josie wanted from now on. Nonverbal. She almost had to laugh given her previous career as a speechwriter. Life was hilarious in a devastatingly ironic way.
The job offer tumbled around her mind, knocking into every hidden corner. Should she accept? Decline? Catch the next flight to hear them out?
“Whoever is keeping tabs on Clive, I suggest you tail me instead.” Theo stood in the middle of the pub with his chest puffed out. “I see more than one woman a night.”
There were some murmurings throughout the pub. Most unbelieving, but Josie detected several older women taking note as if they wanted to book some time with the pompous prick. Is that what became of people after divorce or the death of a partner? Going from one sexual conquest to the next? Wouldn’t they prefer to find someone steady in their life? But how many lucked out like her parents, finding the person who truly got them?
Or was Josie’s image of her parents all wrong? Had she simply forgotten all the fights? Had they hidden it from her? Earlier, Josie saw a side of her mum that shocked Josie into near inaction. Had her father seen that on a regular basis? Was it ever possible to know what happened in anyone’s relationship?
Agnes, in her usual pub attire, which was probably what many would consider church clothes, made an appearance, her eyes flitting to William and then to her usual table, which was taken by tourists.
“Hello, Agnes. Gin and tonic?”
The older woman nodded.
“We should put a plaque on your table saying it’s always reserved for you.” Josie reached for the gin bottle. “The leather chair across from William is free. Take a seat, and I’ll bring you the drink.”
Agnes remained frozen.
“Go on. We’re expecting a tour group soon, and there won’t be a free seat.”
With a submissive expression, Agnes followed Josie’s prodding.
Maybe this was the true purpose of Josie coming to the village. To help two old people find love and companionship, not find true love herself. If Josie couldn’t be happy in love, then she could help others find their soul mates. Should that be her motto? I can’t find it for myself, but I can for you. Trust me.
Harry edged into the pub as if worried she’d be shot on the spot. Her eyes landed on Josie, who gave her a helpless stare back. Why had Harry chosen this moment to appear? Was it a sign? What did it mean? Josie noticed her mum, sitting with some of the regulars, tossing Harry a sickening stink eye.
Harry, to her credit, didn’t completely melt into the floor despite Eugenie’s intensifying glare. She made her way for Josie. “Hi.”
“I wasn’t expecting you tonight,” Josie said as if that was the only acceptable statement considering the past twenty-four hours. Then she added in a softer tone, “What can I get you?”
“Gin and tonic.”
“What type of gin?” It was as if Josie couldn’t remember simple things, even Harry’s gin preference, which usually would be a no-brainer.
“Uh, you choose.” Harry made a flick of her fingers as if saying all simple questions were unanswerable. They were on the same page in this matter.
“Okay.”
“Any chance we can slip out for a private word? I really need to talk to you.” Harry’s eyes implored Josie.
Josie glanced at her mum. “It’s pretty busy right now.”
Harry took in the crowd. “So it seems. I’m sorry... it can wait.”
Josie sighed. “I don’t know...”
“You’re working. I get it.” Harry showed placating palms.
Josie couldn’t reconcile the Harry sitting before her with the type to print the blotter, especially after she’d stopped running the ginger ads. Josie should at least hear Harry out. “I should get a break in an hour or so.”
Harry consulted her watch. “Eightish, then?”
“Or thereabouts.” Josie was kicking herself for delaying the inevitable. Learning if Harry was involved or not. “Would you like to sit at the bar? Keep me company. I can give you my copy of the paper to work on the crossword. Wait. That was stupid. You—”
“That’s okay. I already helped Camilla with it.”
“Is Camilla here?” Clive seemed to pop up from the floor, like Harry had stepped on the end of a rake.
“Sadly, no,” Harry said, her gaze on Josie’s face.
“Shame. She’s the only person I want to see tonight.” Clive sat next to Harry.
This seemed to snag Harry’s full attention. “Really?”
“Yeah. She’s the only one who gets me.”
“Again, Clive, I’m so sorry this is happening. I tried to find the source of the blotter, but I don’t even know where to start.” Harry’s hand was on his shoulder, but her attention was on Josie.
Clive stared deeply into Harry’s eyes.
Harry clutched the front of her shirt. “I promise you. I had nothing to do with it.”
This appeased her uncle, and truth be known, Josie believed her, too. Harry was many things, but not a convincing liar.
“Thanks for trying to find out who was behind it.” Clive blew out a breath. “Who knew the missing ginger jokes would lead... to this?”
Josie appraised Clive’s drooping shoulders and sallow complexion, making him look so unlike the Ginger George described in the blotter. Whoever devised the concept had finally found Clive’s kryptonite. Perhaps, in the long run, this would be the best way to end the madness. Josie, though, wasn’t sure her mother would see it that way. Not at the moment, with the buzz in the pub surrounding the blotter, although unlike her mum’s fears, the pub was much busier than usual. Another sad fact about scandal. It did sell.
An even worse thought infiltrated Josie’s mind. When her mum attacked Harry, Josie didn’t rush to Harry’s aid. No, Josie stood there, dumbfounded. How could Harry respect Josie now? To add insult to injury, Josie asked if Harry had been involved. The image of Harry’s agonized look flashed in her mind.
But how to apologize? No words besides I’m sorry came to mind. How could a speechwriter completely fail in the apology department? Maybe she should call her ex Andrea, the apology queen, for tips.
“Clive, can you hop back here so I can sneak a cigarette with Harry? I’ve been trying to resist the urge, but I’m losing the battle.” Josie knew how pathetic that sounded. It was hard enough knowing Harry knew Josie’s weakness; she didn’t want her uncle to know Josie’s fears about journalists and women were rearing their ugly heads, toppling her shot at happiness.
“Of course. Don’t let your mum catch you,” he warned, adding, “although, it might help me if she did find out.”
“My own uncle!” Josie laughed. God, it felt good to laugh. Surely, all was not lost if laughter still existed in the world.
“You know I’d never throw you under the bus.” He fluttered his eyelashes, doing his best impression of innocent but failing miserably.
“I have no doubt you would. Luckily for me, I’m a grown woman, and if I want to smoke, I can.”
“Yeah, I keep telling myself that, as well. Your mum, though, has a way of making me feel like I’m a naughty kid who can’t do anything right.”
“I feel ya, which is why Harry and I are slipping
out back.” Josie beckoned Harry to join her in the kitchen.
They exited through the delivery door.
Josie lit up almost immediately. “Thank God all the tourists are ordering the fish and chips. It might mask the smell.”
“I had some for lunch. Not here. The place on the square.” Harry shuffled her feet, tucking her hands into her sleeves to stay warm.
Josie nodded, unable to think of something to add to that.
Harry glanced about. “Is there a way we can move farther afield? I need to tell you something, and I really don’t want to risk anyone overhearing.”
Josie took another drag. “Why am I getting the feeling I’m not going to like what you have to say?”
“Because it’s that kind of day.”
They crossed the river, past a block of houses, and ended up on a strip of grass in the middle of the square. Given the busy holiday season, people had spilled out of the two pubs on the square, but they huddled close to the entrances, nowhere close enough to hear whatever Harry had to say.
When it became clear the woman needed some prodding, Josie said, “I’m so sorry for what I asked earlier. I should have known you wouldn’t have anything to do with—”
“I’ve given it a lot of thought.”
Josie braced for the inevitable.
“And I understand why you had to ask, given how your career went up in smoke because of an unscrupulous journalist. If I were in your shoes, I’d ask, too.”
Josie waited for the final word that even though Harry understood, she couldn’t be with someone who didn’t trust her. But Harry just stared into her eyes.
“Are we okay, then?” Josie asked.
“I think so.” Harry looked relieved for a brief moment. Then her eyes clouded over again. “There’s still the issue that your mum hates me. I’m not welcome in the village—”
“Don’t believe the village part. Mum tends to think she knows a lot more than she does. I know, for a fact, many here like you. Me, most importantly.”
A Shot at Love Page 22