Rosie’s head dropped as she stroked Mayhem’s fur. He looked up at her and then stalked off with a growl. “Sorry, Mayhem.” Rosie whispered.
“What’s wrong?”
Tears poured down Rosie’s face. She brushed them aside, but more came. Charlotte found a box of tissues and brought them to her, holding them out and sitting quietly to let Rosie cry. She swallowed to push down her responding empathy. Two people crying wasn’t going to be a good look.
Mellow climbed onto Rosie’s lap and tapped at the tears with her soft paw until Rosie had to laugh at her. With a handful of tissues, she dried the tears and blew her nose.
“Mayhem didn’t like me spilling tears on him. But you,” Rosie kissed Mellow’s head, “you are a comfort.”
“I’d wondered why he told you off.”
Charlotte returned to her chair. Her heart went out to the other woman. Talking about her deceased husband and missing Trev had taken its toll.
“I feel a bit silly.”
“Tears are good for you. They remove toxins amongst other things.”
“Wish I could remove Octavia so easily.” Rosie leaned back in her wheelchair. “What she said feels like a threat against the bookshop.”
“Rosie, you own that building?”
“Yes. The whole of it, upstairs and downstairs.”
“And the rates and stuff are all up to date?”
“Where are you going with this?” Rosie asked. “But yes, not a bill unpaid.”
“I don’t know her. Maybe she makes sweeping statements about people’s livelihoods all the time, but if she can’t touch the bookshop as an entity, then is she the type to try and stop customers shopping with you?”
Rosie held her hand out for Charlotte’s empty glass and went to the bar. “She has some influence. The book club, for one. She is in quite a few organisations for that matter. Presumably, she can say negative things about the shop and turn people off.”
“People who don’t know you. Anyone who is a customer is hardly likely to change their buying habits based on the whispers of a grumpy woman.”
“Small town rumours can be…lethal.”
“Lethal?” Charlotte accepted the refilled glass. “Thanks. That’s a considered word.”
She was certain Rosie wanted to tell her something but wouldn’t.
“Of course, I mean it could be the demise of a business. Look what some of them tried to do to the Christmas Tree farm. And I was speaking to a friend earlier who was up there to buy a tree and apparently they are getting almost no business.”
“Perhaps it is just so close to Christmas?” Charlotte sipped her drink. She was enjoying these early evening chats here in this lovely home, even when they did become emotional.
“True. But Abbie made a comment about Darcy having to borrow some money to pay for the truck and helper to install the roundabout tree. Council aren’t paying him until next year.”
“That’s outrageous!” Charlotte was certain her blood pressure just rose. “How can we help? I’m happy to buy groceries and take up, but will they accept them?”
Rosie shrugged. “You are so sweet, but I don’t know how they’d respond. It would be nice to pull a whole package together for them, apart from the books already earmarked for Lachie.”
The phone rang.
“Let it go to message.” Rosie said. “I’ll call them later.”
For a while, they chatted about the shop and decided to again rearrange the front display window to entice more shoppers. Charlotte updated Rosie on the Facebook page, leaving out the negative review. No point upsetting her even more today.
“Why does Octavia think I’m Trev’s girlfriend?” Charlotte had to ask. It had niggled at her all day. “Apart from the day he brought me to visit you, we’ve never been here together.”
“Think about who else was in the shop that afternoon.” Rosie said.
“Oh. Glenys. But she thought I worked there.”
“And once she found out you didn’t, she put her own slant on things.”
“Well, I need to correct that.” Charlotte’s fingers tapped on her glass. “Which might also take the teeth out of Octavia’s bite.”
“Love that saying. But why bother? Your relationship with my son is nobody else’s business, darling. Not even mine.” Rosie grinned. “Although I’m all ears if you ever want to talk about him.”
“Nope. Nothing to tell. Now, I might head home and see what I can make for dinner.”
“You’re most welcome to stay.”
“Thank you. I have a bit to do though and need to practice cooking. You have no idea how ordinary I am when it comes to culinary arts.” Charlotte took her glass into the kitchen and washed it. “So, don’t ask me to cook anything for Christmas. I do salads though.”
“Then, salads it is. Two if you have time.” Rosie led the way to the front door and opened it. “I love having you here, Charlie. You’re a good girl.”
How could Charlotte tell her otherwise?
This time there were no strangers in masks outside the bookshop. No patrol car crawling past, or Sid smoking across the road. It was still light so maybe that was the key. Get home in light and stay inside.
How ridiculous.
Charlotte opened her laptop and searched a recipe site she’d found the other day. She might practise her salad skills for next week. Recipe selected, she dug around in the fridge. Everything was there except feta and Greek salad wasn’t going to work without it.
At the bottom of the stairs she stopped. Almost dark, and by the time she returned, it would be. She glanced up the stairs, then shook her head and hurried to the street.
She rushed into the supermarket. Feta in hand, and a tub of yoghurt to go with some fresh fruit, she waited at the checkout. Two people ahead of her was a lady whose groceries had been packed into a bag, but her payment was rejected.
“I’m so sorry, I was sure this card had enough on it. I’ll find some cash.”
The cashier rolled her eyes.
Charlotte realised it was Abbie and bit her lip. Would she allow a
