Greengage Shelf

by Emma Sterner-Radley

  Rachel’s mouth popped open, but she didn’t answer.

  Laura filled in by saying, “I know her! She went to school with us, didn’t she, Rach? She’s a year younger than us. Blonde. Tall. Works at the ferry office?”

  “Yes, she comes here all the time and usually hangs out at the bar with me,” Rachel said, grabbing a fistful of her hair as if she wanted to yank it out. “She was buying me drinks that night when I got so sloshed. Oh, god. What about her?”

  Kit pushed her glasses up her nose. “Shannon told me that after you’d finished throwing up all over the hallway that night, you talked a lot about her.”

  “I did?”

  “Yep, you were saying how you’d talked about TV shows and movies you both watched when you were little. Also, about the music you loved then and people you knew from school. Basically, how much you had in common since you were the same age.”

  “I don’t like where this is going,” Laura said, giving Rachel a sour glance.

  “Neither did Shannon,” Kit confirmed. “Because after you raved on and on about how much you had in common and how great it was to spend the evening with Sophie, you said that she’s gorgeous and—I quote—that ‘her arse is top shelf’.”

  Rachel screeched and face-planted onto the table.

  Laura turned to Kit. “Wait. ‘Top shelf?’ What does that mean?”

  “High-class or superior, I suppose. I think it comes from alcohol being the best stuff if it’s kept on the top shelf at a bar?”

  From the surface of the table they heard Rach repeat the words ‘top shelf’ over and over again in a voice packed with regret.

  It struck Kit that now yet another part of her life was connected to the word shelf or shelving. One: shelving books was part of her job. Two: Laura had asked if they could shelve their relationship while Maximillian was around. Three: Alice’s bookshelf had been meddled with. And now, here was the issue of Rach’s drunken babbling about an attractive woman’s arse being “top shelf” hurting her insecure girlfriend.

  Life is weird and full of coincidences, she thought.

  Rachel sat up again. “I do like talking about things we eighties and nineties kids remember, but I do that with anyone my age, including you two. It doesn’t take away from how much I adore dating older women with all their knowledge, strength, and humble confidence. I love that Shannon is older than me.”

  “Well, she still worries about it,” Kit pointed out. “So much so that she feared that if you talked about that evening, you might realise that Drunk You was right and that you wanted a younger, curvier woman.”

  Laura gave Rachel a disappointed look. “I have to say, who can blame her after your ‘top shelf’ comment?”

  Rachel put a hand over her eyes. “I remember ranting about Sophie’s looks and her amazing arse, but I meant it as in that I’m jealous of her body and especially her much rounder, thick bum. I’m not bloody attracted to her. She’s not my type. Shannon is.”

  “You should probably be telling her that, sweetheart,” Laura said. “Because it seems as if Shannon isn’t sure.”

  Rachel stood so quickly that she almost knocked her chair to the floor. “I will! I have to explain that I absolutely don’t fancy Sophie. I mean, she’s not even butch! And she wears pink slippers out in public!”

  “Go tell her,” Kit cheered. “When you do, you might want to say sorry for throwing up in the hallway and on Shannon’s favourite shoes, without apology or regret.”

  Laura winced. “Yes, and for blaming that on Shannon’s cooking.”

  “Bloody hell.” Rachel reeled. “Yes, I need to apologise for all of that. Also, I’ll buy her new shoes. And, um, I don’t know… Crucify myself as an apology? Where the hell should I start?”

  Kit locked eyes with her. “Rach…You start by telling her that you’ll never leave her for someone else. You start by telling her that she’s perfect for you and everything you could ever want.”

  Rachel swallowed, nodded reverentially, and then ran towards the bar so fast she almost upended tables and chairs. She shouted to the blokes being served by Shannon that this round was on the house because she had to talk to the bartender in private.

  Then, she fell to her knees in front of Shannon and howled, “If you will talk to me, that is? I don’t blame you if you don’t, babe. Kit told me what I said and did that night, but I promise I have explanations for all of it.”

  Shannon looked around, aware that the whole pub was staring at them. “Okay, sweetheart. Stand up, and we’ll go talk about this in the kitchen.”

  When the door had closed behind them, Laura leaned closer to Kit. “Do you think Rachel can fix this mess?”

  “I think Shannon is absolutely mad about Rach and that the feeling is mutual. So yes, with apologies, explanations, time, and some of that generous communication they usually pride themselves on, they’ll be fine.”

  Laura gave her a quick kiss on the lips. “Well then, that’s one problem you have seen to. Now you can focus on the missing book.”

  Then she went back to sipping her gin and tonic, leaving Kit to think that she had one more issue to solve. The one where Maximillian was not only putting a dampener on their romance but also taking advantage of Laura’s kindness. The worst part was that Kit couldn’t see a way of fixing the situation without hurting him or asking Laura to go against her nature and conscience. Should she even try to fix this? Perhaps she should give it more time. After Maximillian felt better, they could come clean to him.

  She drank her beer, hoping that a solution might be found at the bottom of her pint glass. If not, at least she’d have an excuse to get a refill.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Gossip and a Quivering Moustache

  Kit was having lunch at Tea Gage, the greasy spoon that liked to put on airs and pretend it was a posh cafe. Sadly, while the artwork and fancy tables looked the part, the food disputed any such ambition. There had been nice, posh paninis last year, but the mainland bakery who made them hiked their prices up. Kit was now grimacing at the stale white toast which was soaking up the grease from her scrambled eggs. At least it had come with Gage Farm greengage jam. Kit smeared some on the unsoaked toast and took a bite. The welcoming sweetness of it filled her mouth, leaving a hint of crisp tartness lingering on her tongue afterwards.

  It amazed her city-dweller mind that she’d been on the island with these greengages when they were still growing. No doubt she’d seen them on the trees while taking walks with Laura, before the perfect green ovals had been picked and mushed into this tiny pot of jam.

  She blew on her steaming tea and found her place in her book. It was the library’s copy of Jules Verne’s Journey to the Centre of the Earth. If this story was going to stay so important for the mystery, she should probably reread it, although the current description of different kinds of stones and minerals was putting her off a bit. At the age of thirty-one, Kit had shrinking patience for books that bored her.

  She was about to skim a bit about sedimentary deposits when the bell above the door chimed and in came two women in their fifties. Kit glanced up at them simply because these days it fascinated her to see people on the island that she didn’t know. Greengage had about six thousand residents and yet she seemed to run into the same peculiar but lovable cast of characters. However, her fascination faded fast. While the women were strangers, they were talking about someone with whom Kit was very well acquainted.

  “Well, it would be that annoying, fussy, heirloom Charlie Baxter, wouldn’t it? He always manages to be in the middle of some sort of scandal,” the first woman was saying.

  Her friend gave her a reproachful look. “It’s not his fault that someone tried to steal his cufflinks.”

  The first woman sniffed. “No, but it is his fault that he’s making a meal out of it and causing a scene. Besides, no need to say someone. We all know it was that spoiled Caitlin Caine. Anyway, do you want to eat here or not?”

  They marched past Kit, so she never
heard the answer, not that she cared about that. She took another bite of jam-drenched toast, chewing it while she thought about the important part of that conversation.

  Not only Charlie popping up in island gossip, but Caitlin Caine as well! Huh.

  She put the book down and instead scooped up as much scrambled egg as her fork could hold, suddenly eating faster.

  Wonder what happened with his cufflinks. Knowing Greengage, it’s probably something bizarre. Still, none of my business. It’s just another weird coincidence that I heard about it.

  She ate some more egg, washing it down with her black tea. Then she felt the corners of her mouth pull into a smile as the decision formed.

  Be it a coincidence, be it gossip, be it something I shouldn’t be worrying about on my lunch break, Charlie counts as a friend and Caitlin stealing stuff relates to what I’m helping Alice with. I have a reason to snoop—I mean, look into it.

  If there was one thing Greengage had taught her, it was that her flaw of being nosy could be used for good. Besides, no one was perfect, and there were worse vices than snooping.

  She shovelled a final forkful of egg into her mouth, drained her tea fast enough to burn her throat, and put the book in her rucksack. She waved goodbye to the owners and the place’s stink of grease and baked beans.

  Checking her watch, she was thrilled to see that she’d have just enough lunch hour left to go see Charlie.1

  When she got to the edge of the high street, she saw Charlie’s bachelor pad of a terraced house. He was pacing outside it, bowler hat on and moustache quivering. He was arguing with someone even shorter than himself. Kit peered round him and saw the platinum hair of Caitlin Caine. So, she was still at the supposed scene of the crime. If that was what had happened here. You never could trust gossip, though here on Greengage, you couldn’t trust logical deduction either.

  Kit got closer and shouted, “Hey, Charlie! You all right?”

  “No, Kit, I am most certainly not. This miscreant was in my house trying to convince me to sell her my old Jaeger-LeCoultre watch.” His pitch was rising as he spoke, and so was the colour in his wrinkled cheeks. “I went upstairs to fetch it and heard her rooting around downstairs. When I returned, she was cupping my favourite cufflinks into her thieving little hand!”

  He was pointing at Caitlin, whose gaze was fixed on her posh, bejewelled sandals.

  Charlie’s moustache twitched as he screeched, “Well, urchin! Do you have anything to say?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “No, you haven’t,” he shot back.

  They all stared at each other in silence for a moment. What did you say to that?

  “But you asked! And I do. I can explain everything,” Caitlin finally said with incredulity.

  “No, you can’t,” Charlie carried on, now the colour of a tomato with sunstroke.

  “I can,” Caitlin said, now with confusion.

  He shook his head violently. “No, you can’t.”

  It was all very serious, so Kit wasn’t at all amused by the interaction. No, of course not. Not even by Charlie hopping from foot to foot and getting louder and redder by the moment. Or Caitlin’s puzzled face. Not amused at all. Well, not outwardly, at least.

  Kit put a hand on Charlie’s shoulder, easily done considering his height. “I understand why you’re upset, but for your heart’s sake, try to calm down, Charlie. Will you let me see if I can help?”

  She waited for his nod of approval before turning to the youngest member of the Caine family. “Caitlin, please tell us why you had those cufflinks.”

  The teenager stared back down at her sandals. “I was only looking, all right? My dad says that cufflinks should’ve been buried with the Victorians, but I like old shit like that. You know, stuff with history that’s been cared for. That’s why I wanted to see the stupid, old watch I came there for.”

  Kit tried to catch the girl’s eye. “So, you weren’t going to take the cufflinks?”

  Caitlin kicked the pavement. “No. I only wanted to check them out. See how, like, heavy they were. I’ve been trying to explain that!” She whinged and fidgeted with her bleach-frizzed hair. “Ugh. I’m sorry, okay? I’ve been bored this week and trying to find stuff to do and look at.”

  Charlie’s moustache shuddered again. “It is a nuisance that children are not in school over summer. Especially if they are going to spend all that time stealing from the elderly.”

  “I don’t steal shit, okay?” Caitlin roared. “People keep saying that because they’re jealous that my family has money. I mean, it’s not like I need to steal. My dad would buy me anything I wanted.”

  Kit wondered if she should point out that there were many reasons to steal. Hell, the fact that Caitlin’s parents gave her everything she could wish for, and thereby robbed her of any chance to long for things, could be a reason why she was trying to obtain things on her own. Or it could be causing her to act out, in this case by stealing. Still, Kit had no experience with teens, wasn’t a social worker, and in general had no idea of what she was talking about, so perhaps it was best to keep quiet. This girl needed to talk to someone, though.

  “Speaking of your father, I called him, you know,” Charlie said. “He’s on his way. He shan’t be happy when he hears about this.”

  “He’s never happy,” Caitlin muttered, her arms over her chest and a blush creeping from her neck up to her cheeks. When she noticed Kit watching her, she scowled and seemed about to cry. Everything in her body language screamed that she wanted to be alone.

  Kit gave her a moment to collect herself by taking her glasses off and polishing them. She couldn’t understand why, if Caitlin’s parents were so willing to spend money on her, they didn’t instead spend time with her. Surely then they’d see that the stealing was a warning sign? Maybe Caitlin needed something useful to do with her time or just some attention. Perhaps she was lonely. Who could say? Again, Kit wished someone would take this girl under her wing. She just didn’t think it should be her; Kit had always been bad at talking to teenagers and she wasn’t really role model material.

  As she watched Charlie pace while keeping an eye out for Phillip’s car, she heard the unmistakable sound of sandals slapping against pavement.

  Caitlin had run off.

  “Damn,” Kit said under her breath.

  Charlie was next to her, hopping on one spot so that his perfectly polished wing-tipped brogues tapped a frantic drumbeat. “Yes and also ‘curses’ and ‘damnation’ and… and… well, bugger it all!” He rushed off inside.

  “Wait, where are you going, Charlie?”

  “To call the police! I don’t care if nothing was stolen. This is all wrong, and I don’t know what else to do,” he all but squeaked.

  Kit watched him scurry into his house. He might not know what to do. Kit, however, did. “Man, I hate running,” she muttered.

  Then she took off sprinting in the direction Caitlin had vanished.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The Inevitable Chase Scene

  Kit might hate running, but the lack of a gym on the island and her therefore enforced evening runs had prepared her for this moment. By the time Caitlin was bent over and wheezing on the roadside outside of the city centre, Kit was still going strong. In fact, she’d caught up with Caitlin much quicker than either of them had expected.

  Kit stopped in front of her. “Hey, are you okay?”

  “No, I’m a thieving idiot who doesn’t even low-key cover her tracks,” Caitlin panted with a hollow laugh.

  “Well, since we’re being honest… I think you wanted to be found out.”

  Caitlin glared at her. “What? Why the fu—”

  Kit cut her off before the profanity was completed. “Look, no matter what you wanted, here we are. Oh, and running off really did you no favours. Why don’t we go back and talk to Charlie?”

  Caitlin stood and wiped her forehead. “No. He called my dad, who will be disappointed with me again.” She hesitated. “When Dad’s di
sappointed, he won’t talk to me or even look at me. Or let me go out to see my friends, not that they want to see me.” She kicked a pebble.

  Kit watched the stone roll away, trying to figure out what to say. She wished Laura were here; she was so much better with people. Or maybe Rach? Kit let her gaze travel back to Caitlin. Perhaps she didn’t need to talk to another woman since she had her mum and her gran. Maybe she’d listen more to a man, like a father figure? Did gender matter in these things?

  “I’m sure you just need to talk to your friends. They’ll be happy to see you. And maybe if I help explain to your dad, he won’t be so disappointed?”

  “Doubt it. He thinks you’re an idiot. No offence.”

  Kit chuckled. “None taken. He’s not really a hero of mine either.”

  “He’s shit. So why do I…” Caitlin sighed. “Why do I always want his approval? It’s the only reason I work hard to get good grades, and why I compete with everyone in my class.”

  Kit thought she heard a car in the distance, but didn’t want to interrupt Caitlin as she added, “And that makes them hate me. That and my shitty habit of nicking their stuff.”

  “So, you do take things then?” Kit asked, hoping she was being sensitive enough.

  “Yeah. I suppose.”

  “Um, okay. Are they expensive things or just anything that’s around?”

  “Are you trying to figure out if I’m a klepto? Mum thinks I am. I don’t know, sometimes I take stuff because the owner made it too easy, so they don’t deserve to have those things. Sometimes I don’t even realise I’m doing it.” Caitlin stuffed her hands in her pockets. “The book was different.”

  Kit jolted. “The book? Do you mean your gran’s copy of Journey to the Centre of the Earth?”

  “Yeah.” Caitlin appeared to age five years in a second. “I didn’t nick it because I wanted it. Or, you know, just as a reflex. I mean, this time I was actually asked to take something. I was helping.”