Greengage Shelf

by Emma Sterner-Radley

  Kit’s pulse picked up. “Okay.”

  “And then,” Ethel’s milky blue eyes grew wide, “Alice said that Journey to the Centre of the Earth’s theme was why she chose it to hide her will in it.”

  “Hide her will?” Kit squeaked.

  “Yes! She said she was planning to take it to the bank when her arthritis had subsided enough to let her walk there. Meanwhile, she kept it in that book so that her family wouldn’t snoop.” Ethel paused to shake her head with woe. “She’s not trusted them for years, which should tell you all you need to know about them as Alice is usually a trusting soul.”

  Kit’s mind was hurtling in several directions, like a cat on catnip chasing imaginary mice. A will! That was an excellent reason for stealing the book. Who would do such a thing, though? A person’s will is such an important and personal thing. She remembered Anthony keeping the missing key a secret and Phillip’s lack of care for his mother’s autonomy.

  Yes, maybe them? If so, was it one of them acting alone? Surely they weren’t working together if Anthony felt such sibling rivalry as Rajesh claimed? Maybe one of them was in cahoots with Jackie, but if so, which one? Her husband or her brother-in-law and possible lover?

  Kit gave herself a mental slap. Slow down, woman. You’re making assumptions. Ask more questions.

  “Ethel, do you know what was in the will? For example, who would stand to benefit the most?”

  “No, afraid not, dear.”

  Kit’s shoulders slumped. “Oh.”

  Ethel tapped a crooked, wrinkled finger against her lip. “I may not know for certain, but I can always venture a guess. When you’ve lived for as long as I have, and have a habit of watching people, you tend to become quite good at these sorts of things.”

  Mabel snorted with derision, but Kit ignored her. “Sure, take a stab at it. Goodness knows I have no clues myself.”

  “Well, first of all, you might want to trust Alice’s instincts, bubelah. She knows these people better than anyone, and she’s a good judge of character.”

  Kit smiled at being called the term of endearment before replying, “Alice thinks it might be Phillip since he really wants her to stop digging in this.”

  “I bet she has other reasons, too,” Mabel muttered. “That man is arrogant and condescending.”

  Ethel nodded but didn’t look convinced. “I must say, though, both Phillip and Anthony are quite well-off, so they don’t need their inheritance. Perhaps Jacqueline or little Caitlin took the will to see if they benefited directly or only through Phillip?”

  Kit chewed the inside of her cheek. “I guess that’s possible.”

  “Then there is the unfortunate Liam,” Ethel said. “That lad always had a knack for getting into trouble. He’s just turned twenty, and he already seems to have given up on himself. Such a shame.”

  “Do you think he could have taken the book with the will?” Kit asked.

  Ethel tapped her finger on her lip again. “Perhaps. Somehow, though, I doubt it was for his own benefit if he is the culprit.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Yes, why?” Mabel echoed. “The straw-headed boy is a delinquent.”

  “No real reason. Instinct, I suppose. A feeling you get when you’re around a person long enough. If we’re being honest, I think instinct is what’s driving Alice to think the main suspects should be her darling sons.”

  “I said that she thought it was Phillip,” Kit amended. “Not both sons.”

  Ethel shrugged her bony shoulders. “Whatever you can suspect Phillip of, you can usually suspect his little brother of as well. Anthony always wanted what his brother had. He also tended to do what his brother had done before, even if it got him into trouble.”

  “Sometimes I’m happy I’m an only child,” Kit said, her mind wandering to what Laura’s nuisance of a brother was currently up to. How could he even afford to go to Monaco, never mind get arrested there? Being arrested surely cost a pretty penny in a place like that.

  “That can get lonely, though, can’t it, bubelah? It can leave marks in your heart that you must carry with you into your adult relationships?” Ethel said with that knowing, kind smile of hers.

  Kit’s cheeks burned. “Yes, I suppose it can.”

  Ethel put a hand on her forearm. “I shall tell you another thing: what you said about Mabel earlier is true. She has missed you, and so have I.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Kit saw Mabel suddenly become fascinated with the ground and her big boots.

  “We must all take tea soon,” Ethel urged. “I’ll buy you a crumpet, you’re looking thin.”

  “I’ll scoff it down with glee,” Kit promised. “You always know what’s best for me. Last Christmas and Hanukkah proved that.”2

  Ethel looked pleased. “Well, you’re far away from family and friends. We must look after you, especially now that Laura is otherwise engaged.”

  “We should be off. It’s far too hot,” Mabel sniped.

  Kit leaned closer to Ethel. “If I told her it’d be cooler if she took off her boots, woollen coat, and that hat, would she bite my head off?”

  Ethel gave a conspiratorial wink. “She’d most likely tell you to go boil your head. It was her favourite expression when we were younger.”

  “Ha! Of course it was. I’ll let you make your getaway without any suggestions then.”

  Ethel grinned. “Clever girl.”

  Kit kissed Ethel’s cheek again and got a pat on the shoulder before the wispy woman wafted away in the wake of her steam-locomotive best friend.

  As if summoned by magic, Rajesh popped out from behind a statue. “You know what’s next, don’t you?”

  Kit eyed him with suspicion. “No… What?”

  “Time for a walk over to Widow Caine’s cottage to talk about that will she hid.”

  Kit snapped her fingers. “Of course! Make Phyllis stop eating that begonia and we’ll go right away.”

  A short while later, they arrived on Nettle Road. A nearby lawnmower sounded like it was on its last leg. Competing with its noise was a song by Pink blasting out from an open window nearby. Kit hummed along to it as they knocked on Alice’s quaintly three-ledged, sage-green door.

  “Lots of noise around. No wonder her windows are shut tight,” Rajesh noted.

  Kit nodded in reply.

  Despite the heat, Alice’s windows were closed and the curtains drawn. In fact, the whole cottage seemed dark and quiet. When Alice finally answered the door, she was dishevelled and blinked at the sunlight.

  “Kit! Rajesh! Dear me, I’m afraid you caught me having a bit of a kip.”

  Kit gave her a broad smile. “Great idea! I love a good nap. I’m sorry to wake you, but we have something important to talk to you about, and I know you don’t always answer the phone.”

  “Of course. Come on in,” Alice said and stepped aside. “I’m sorry that I am so awful at answering the telephone. It’s just that these days it’s often someone trying to fool me into handing over my pension or to sign up for something I don’t need.”

  “Fair enough,” Kit said. “Answering the phone to people I don’t know makes me a bit socially anxious at times, so I get your reluctance. Besides, this might be easier to talk about face to face.”

  They were shown into the living room, where they took a seat after declining drinks and snacks. Phyllis plonked her considerable weight on top of their feet and began snoring as only old dogs can.

  “We’re not going to take up too much of your time, Alice,” Kit said. “It’s just that I was talking to Ethel Rosenthal, and she recalls you saying that you’d put your will in that missing Jules Verne book. Is that right?”

  Alice was worrying at the hem of her cardigan. Wasn’t it too warm today for a cardigan? And were the buttons done up incorrectly?

  “My will?” she murmured. “In the book? In Journey to the Centre of the Earth?”

  Rajesh leaned back. “That’s what we were told.”

  Alice was quiet
for a moment. “The will. Yes, it was in there. Hm. Yes, it was, wasn’t it? It’s not anymore, of course.” Her voice sounded hoarse and uncertain.

  Suddenly it struck Kit: Alice was still half asleep. Their hostess drifted over to a wooden box on a side table. Rajesh and Kit watched her take out a small pair of scissors and cut a thread sticking out from her cardigan’s hem. All this was done with slow, sluggish movements and the occasional stifled yawn.

  “I’d ask to come back later if I were you,” Rajesh said in Kit’s ear. “When you’re our age, it takes a long time to wake up after a sleep.”

  “Good idea,” Kit whispered back. “Um, Alice?” she asked in a louder voice.

  “Yes, dear?”

  Kit heaved the snoring Phyllis off her feet. “I’ve remembered that I have an errand to run. Would it be possible for us to discuss this later? Perhaps even with your family present?”

  “Hm?” Alice blinked at her a few times. “Yes. Naturally. My family. That would be a good idea. Then you could draw your own conclusions about them all. I’ll find out when they’re free and then ring you to let you know when you should come by.”

  “Sounds great,” Kit said, getting up from the plush sofa.

  Alice smothered another yawn. “I would imagine it will be after dinner some evening, since Phillip and Jackie often dine with acquaintances of theirs.” She stared into space. “I’ll serve some nibbles and drinks, I think. Yes. It’ll be lovely.”

  “I’m sure it will,” Kit said.

  They said their farewells and Alice saw them out. When she’d closed the door behind them, Kit dragged her feet out to the pavement.

  “Are you all right?” Rajesh asked while patting Phyllis’ head.

  “Huh?” Kit turned to him. “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just that seeing Alice so out of it made me wonder about her memory and state of mind. Should we trust her completely regarding that book and the will that was apparently in it?”

  Rajesh frowned. “I don’t think you can judge her memory or her mind from the fact that she was struggling to wake up from a nap on a hot day. She’s no spring chicken.”

  “No, I guess not.” Kit linked her arm with his. “Anyway, let’s get on with our day.”

  “Only if it includes ice cream.”

  “Brilliant idea, young Master Singh! A cheeky ice cream is bang on what we need.”

  “Oi, I don’t like this modern obsession with the word ‘cheeky,’ Katherine. I object to being called ‘young Master Singh’ even more.”

  Kit laughed. “Fine, I’ll make it up to you by buying you an ice cream.”

  “Agreed. But only if it’s a Mr Whippy and has a flake in it. And that we find Phyllis some nice, cold water.”

  “It’s a deal,” Kit said as she led him towards more ice cream-filled pastures.

  Chapter Ten

  Barbie Balloon

  At six on Wednesday night, the day’s bouts of summer rains had finally stopped, but the leaden sky appeared ready to tear open again. Those fat clouds promised a shower right on your head if you looked at them funny.

  Sheltering from said clouds was one reason Laura currently had Kit backed up against the glass of an old-fashioned phone booth. Another was that they’d been walking hand in hand through town and somehow begun reminiscing about the first time they made love. A third one was that this phone booth was out of the way and completely devoid of Maximillian Howard.

  Kit was aware that the glass and red metal were all that kept her, and her profoundly amorous girlfriend, away from public sight. They were on a street which back in the island’s heyday must’ve been a busy side road, despite now being all barred-up storefronts and one single charity shop hanging on for dear life. As the charity place was closed, no one was around. So that was fine, right? Still.

  Should Laura be kissing her like this in public?

  Should Laura be running her hands up Kit’s hips and sides like that?

  Oh! She definitely shouldn’t be grabbing on to certain attributes like that.

  “Babe, slow down,” Kit panted, although her treacherous hands seemed to be pulling Laura closer.

  In her ear, Laura whimpered. “I’m sorry, dearest. I’ll stop.”

  “No, don’t you dare stop! Just slow down a bit.”

  “I’m trying. It’s just so hard because you’re so sexy. Your perfect, fit body feels so good, and goodness, how I’ve missed touching you.” Laura sighed, her hot breath caressing Kit’s ear and cheek in a way which made her wonder if her knees had been replaced with marshmallows. Laura whispered, “A few more seconds, and then we’ll return to decent behaviour. For now, I need a little more of you.”

  Kit couldn’t argue with that. She needed Laura, too. In fact, she ached for the physical reminders of their love, even if a pay phone was digging into her side. Wait, was that the phone? Things were getting far too intimate. Then Laura moaned and Kit forgot all about phones, or whatever it was, poking into inappropriate places.

  “Yes. A few moments more,” Kit said and took firm grip of her girlfriend’s bum.

  Laura nibbled at her ear, and Kit whimpered.

  Laura pushed their hips and breasts against each other, and Kit moaned.

  Laura’s right hand slid between them, and Kit… yelped!

  She wasn’t yelping at what Laura was doing but at a sudden appearance on the other side of the fogged-up glass. It was a pink helium balloon with a Barbie doll’s face on it. Holding it was a small, elderly man with a moustache.

  Charlie Baxter, of wheelbarrow fame,1 knocked on the glass and shouted, “Hello? I say, are you all right in there? This glass is rather steamed-up. Are you stuck, sir or madam?”

  Laura turned the colour of a piece of chalk that’s been in prison for the past decade. Though she was the one who had instigated this steamy situation, she was also what some would call a good girl with a constant worry about what people thought of her. Not to mention that she was a pillar of society and a recognised role model for Greengage’s youngsters. This somewhat clashed with running your hands and mouth all over the local librarian in a cramped public space.

  Kit rubbed Laura’s upper arm consolingly as she replied, “Hi, Charlie. We’re fine. We, uh… I needed to make a call, but my glasses were foggy, so Laura came in here to help me dial.”

  It sounded feeble to Kit, but Charlie, like so many other Greengagers, wasn’t much for logic on the best of days. He waved and then chirped, “Ah, hello, Kit! Good evening, Laura. Splendid. I’m glad you’re not in a spot of bother. Look here, I bought a balloon.”

  “I can see that. Barbie. Unexpected choice,” Kit said and cleared her throat. She was trying to sound normal but was aware of her beating heart, her equally pulsing crotch, and the auburn-haired beauty in her embrace who clearly wanted to sink through the ground.

  “I’d say the whole balloon is unexpected, what?” He boomed. “Imagine me with a balloon! It’s a birthday gift for my neighbour, Mrs Shaw’s niece.”

  Kit took a deep breath. “Great! I’m sure she’ll love it.”

  “Oh, rather! Anyway, I should leave you to make your phone call. Pip-pip.”

  “Pip… uh… pip.” Kit said, once again doubting if Greengage existed in the same time or space as the rest of the world.

  Laura put her hand over her eyes and giggled.

  Kit started adjusting her T-shirt, which was all out of place. “What? Are you laughing at us getting caught? Or, well, semi-caught?”

  “No. The balloon. He said it was for Mrs Shaw’s niece?”

  “Yes.”

  “Jessica Shaw is sixteen! Not young enough to want a Barbie balloon or old enough to laugh at it in an ironic way. Dear Charlie hasn’t made as good a choice as he believes. I would have told him, but I was too panicked.”

  Kit leaned her head back onto the phone booth’s wall. “Sixteen? Oh, and Pip-pip? Honestly. This island. These people.”

  Laura’s face fell.

  Kit gripped her shoulders. “Babe? What’s
wrong?”

  She was quiet a while longer before asking, “Is it too much for you? Greengage, I mean. Do you want to move?”

  Kit grabbed her shoulders. “Honey, no! I love the amusement factor and how sweet and wholesome it is here most of the time. I’ve never seen anywhere this gloriously weird. Plus, it grows the most charming women.” Kit let her hands slide down from Laura’s shoulders to her plentiful chest. “Grows them very nicely.”

  Laura quirked an eyebrow at her. “While I appreciate being on this side of the objectification, I thought we were meant to stop that? Heaven only knows who might walk past next.”

  Kit retracted her hands, taking her time with it, because those hands really wanted to stay put. “You’re right, as always.”

  They shared a quick kiss.

  Laura watched Kit from under her long eyelashes. “I was being serious, though, dearest. If you ever want to leave, return to London or something, then you have to let me know. I want you to feel at home and be happy. Completely and utterly happy.”

  “I want to stay here,” Kit stated, leaving no room for doubt.

  Laura beamed. There was really no one else in the world who could embody that expression. When she was happy or relieved, Laura Howard beamed. It left Kit breathless. She kissed Laura again.

  Of course she wanted to stay. Not only because she’d grown to love the bizarre island and its six thousand interesting inhabitants, but because Greengage was in Laura’s blood. After all, her Howard Hall, with the attached Gage Farm, was the crown jewel of the island. Laura’s ancestors were some of the first people to settle here, and she seemed to know every person who lived here now. Furthermore, there was the fact that Laura loved this place, with all of her big heart. Kit wouldn’t take Laura away from Greengage for any reason other than physical safety. Even if the lack of exotic food, city culture, and sensible people could be a bother.