When they’re finally composed Lucy Lou slaps Lucia’s arm playfully. ‘Don’t speak ill of the dead. I’d never have poisoned my Gerry. No, he’d have simply up and “vanished” one day.’ A machine-gun cackle escapes the diminutive woman, who wears one of those plastic visors that casts a hue of neon blue over her complexion.
‘Vanished?’ Lucy’s brow crinkles.
‘You know, the old “he went out for a pack of cigarettes” malarky. Much less messy,’ Lucy Lou says.
‘Ah, got you. No, “Officer, there were no warnings, he emptied the bank account and I haven’t seen him since.”’
‘Yes!’ Lucia nods. ‘Your Gerry was the quiet type who just might have up and vanished of his own accord. Not like my Harry, who’d have preferred his death to be played out like a locked room murder mystery, not the rather mundane ending he actually had. Dying in his sleep? It’s almost offensive for a man so vibrant as he was. Sometimes, I tell people he got hit by a train and allude to the fact that I pushed him. He’d have got a kick out of the shocked gasps it provokes.’ Lucia wears a faint smile, her eyes glazed as if lost in a sweet memory and not the dark reality she’s talking about.
I laugh and am met with three hard frowns. I mean, they’re talking about how they’d murder their husbands if they weren’t already dead and I’m the one on the receiving end of a hard stare? Is this a case of a quirky lot of island expats using gallows humour to ease their grief? Not that they look especially sad. Could it be that the Seychellois sun is restorative and this is some kind of… coping mechanism?
‘Ah – right. So what made you decide to pack up your lives and retire here?’
‘One day in the dead of a cold British winter – is there any other kind? – we got to talking, reminiscing about the summers we spent here when our kids were teenagers and how much fun we all had. And how it was a real shame our grown-up kids never wanted to holiday with us any more.’ Sadness flashes across Lucia’s face.
‘Always too busy, you know how it is when you’ve got a young family and work pressures,’ Lucy says.
Lucy Lou nods. ‘So we thought this might be our last chance to retire on our terms, our way, back at the place where we met aeons ago.’
‘Best thing we’ve ever done.’
‘Hands down.’
The resort really is the place of last chances, no matter what form they come in.
‘And our cunning plan worked. The kids visit us more here than they did back home!’
‘Ha! I love that. Now, can I help you ladies find some books?’
‘Yes,’ Lucia says affirmatively. ‘We’re looking for a few of those funny, dark, feminist serial killer thrillers. You know the type, where they off bad men and dispose of their bodies in a sausage factory. You don’t feel an ounce of guilt because the world is better off without men with malicious intent. Have you got any of those?’
Dark humour is having its moment in publishing and I for one am here for it. ‘As long as you’re not using them as a how-to manual, I’m sure we do.’
The women laugh uproariously. ‘Forgive us, we had a couple of Bloody Marys at breakfast and they’ve gone straight to our heads.’
‘Yeah,’ Lucy says. ‘The waitress did offer us the non-alcoholic version – a Bloody Shame!’ At that they double over in fits of hysterical laughter and it’s impossible not to be swept along in their silliness. What fun it must be to retire to a tropical paradise with your best friends where you conjure better ways your husband could have died…
‘I take it you didn’t opt for the non-alcoholic version?’
‘No bloody way!’
* * *
The day flies by, with me helping guests find books and acquainting myself with the stock. When there’s a lull, I find the book orders and make a start on calling them.
‘Hi, this is Harper from the Barefoot Bookshop. Your order for, ah,How to Tell if your Cat is Plotting to Kill Youhas arrived.’ Gus left a note about a book supplier in Victoria on the island of Mahé that carries stock we can get quite fast when Michel does a helicopter run there. However, if they don’t have the titles guests are after I’d need to order from the UAE, UK or US and with that comes a lengthy wait. Stock control is at the top of my list to make sure there’s always a healthy range available, including quirky titles like this customer has managed to secure.
‘Oh, thank you!’ an American voice gushes. ‘I need to get that book read before we get home, for obvious reasons.’
I laugh and am met with silence. She’s joking, right? ‘You have some concerns about your cat?’
‘Some! It’s lucky I got to the island in one piece. She’s a Maine Coon, the most gorgeous-looking feline you ever did see, but behind her regal beauty lies a cat who is premeditating homicide, I’m telling you. No one ever believes me because she’s sweet as pie when I have visitors, the very epitome of a love bug, but as soon as they leave, the claws come out. I love her and all, but when I close my eyes at night I do wonder if that’s going to be the night, if you know what I’m saying. Finally, I’ve found a book that can help! The vet of course thinks it’s all in my head – she had the audacity to recommend that I go see someone to talk! My cat has got everyone fooled.’
‘Yikes,’ is all I can think to say. ‘I’m just not sure this book will have the answers you’re searching for… From what I’ve heard it’s more satirical.’
‘Ooh, that’s not good. Well, can you deliver it anyway, Harper? I may as well read it now that I’ve paid for it.’
‘Deliver it?’
