Charlie said something generic—“I’m so sorry,” maybe, or “Sorry for your loss”—but the way she said it had real weight. The sorry of a person who knew that sorry would never mean enough. Whatever else Charlie is, she’s someone who’s lost people.
“Inheriting the farm when I was still a teenager was alot,” Rosie said. “I was so out of my depth. Sometimes I think I still am, even since meeting Marly and having her here with me to run the place. It’s partly why we decided to recruit someone to manage the farm shop—it’s so much more than just a place to sell our produce, but we weren’t able to give it anywhere near the time and attention it needs. Imported goods cost a fortune here; locals really rely on us to sell food and products that are made on the island. The producers rely on us, too.”
“No pressure,” Marly added dryly.
We were going to meet the committee of local producers on Thursday night, apparently—Rosie said they were excited to get to know us, and Charlie chirped about how great it would be to get their input on potential changes to the shop.
“Ah, it’s not so much about…input,” Rosie said delicately.
“The local producer committee has a veto on any major changes to the shop,” Marly said. “You’ll need their approval to make any significant alterations. And any major spends need their sign-off. That’s how things work here. It’s a community shop, after all.”
Charlie and I exchanged a glance. Not to sound like I want to be farm shop king, but wasn’t this island feudal until about five minutes ago? I’m already having to share decision-making withmy female counterpart. I could do without a democratic committee with veto power.
“Wonderful!” Charlie said. I’d never heard her sound so insincere, and that was really saying something.
When the time came to leave, Marly put a hand on my arm to stop me as Rosie and Charlie headed for the tractor.
“Look, I know Rosie’s got this whole thing about how you and Charlie were called here for a reason—her usual kooky stuff,” she said, with unmistakable affection. “But this islanddoescall to a certain kind of person. The fact it’s got its own ways and its own government, fewer rules and restrictions…the fact it’s pretty much a little rock in the middle of nowhere and nobody gives a damn about it…It appeals to a particular type, that’s all I’m saying. There’re a lot of people here who’ll know what it feels like to want to get away and start over somewhere where life’s a bit different.”
I thanked her, but she wasn’t finished.
“There’re a lot of people here who know what it feels like to hit rock bottom, too,” Marly said. “Me included. OK? You need something—anything—you ask.”
Maybe it was the hangover, but my throat felt tight. She doesn’t even know me. She didn’t have to say that.
We began to follow Charlie and Rosie back toward the tractor through the orchard, Ginger dashing ahead of us, ears wet from the grass.
“Holds her cards close to her chest, that one,” Marly said, nodding to Charlie. “I wonder why.”
Charlie looked like some sort of advert for Ormer right now, fingers trailing through the branches above her as she walked in her pretty flowery dress with the picnic basket tucked under herother arm. It was hard to imagine she could be up to anything genuinely nefarious. She looked too…bucolic.
“She’s miserable, anyway,” Marly said. “I can tell you that much.”
“Charlie? Miserable?”
I stared at the woman walking ahead of us. She looked like she might be about to break into a skip. Even her hair was perky.
“I know a wounded woman when I see one,” Marly said. “And that girl has history. Whatever it is she’s dealing with…it’s broken her heart.”
I don’t know what to make of that. It’s easier to manage this woman’s presence ineverypart of my new life when I can tell myself I don’t need to feel bad for her. But I don’t like the thought that Charlie might be miserable. And I don’t like that I want to know why. Her past is none of my business, just like mine is none of hers. Right?
So long,
Charlie Jones
Peak District, one year earlier
It’s funny how life turns out, Charlie thought. She was not at all interested in cycling, for instance, and yet here she was at the crack of dawn (eight thirty a.m.) in a bike café in the Peak District, queueing behind two elderly men in skintight Lycra holding forth about wind speeds. She glanced back at her table, where Oliver and Fearne sat, both sweaty and energized from riding, and her heart warmed. She would follow those two anywhere, even if it meant a disgustingly early start and coffee that smelled faintly of bike oil.
Oliver looked particularly gorgeous—his cycling gear clung to the tight muscles of his shoulders and upper arms, and his hair was all mussed from his helmet, giving him a surferish bed-headed look. He caught her eye and gave her one of his trademark tiny smiles. Oliver could smile without really moving his face at all. He justprojecteda smile, capturing the essence in his eyes and the very slightest rise to the corners of his mouth.
It was easy to read his general expressionlessness as placidity—she had when Fearne had first introduced them—but he was actually very funny and warm. Just understated. Subtle. Charlie, who had never been described as understated, had found his calmness almost intoxicating: spending time with Oliver was like taking awarm bath or going to a yoga class. They’d been dating for three months now, and Charlie felt her brain chemistry was forever changed as a result. It was still chaos in there, but spending so much time with Oliver had made her realize how overstimulated she often was, and how much it benefited her to occasionally sit with someone in companionable silence.
“Make it a hazelnut latte!” Fearne yelled at Charlie across the café. “No, sorry, back to gingerbread! A gingerbread mocha!”
Charlie grinned. Fearne was perhaps the reason why Charlie had never experienced much companionable silence before. She was the closest thing Charlie had to a sister—something Charlie would never have said in front of Brianna, who would definitely have taken offense. But her relationship with Bri was so complicated. And Fearne had come first: Brianna was a friend from secondary school, but Fearne had befriended Charlie when she was an odd, lonely six-year-old on the playground bench, the one everyone whispered about, even the parents.She’s adopted, you know. Did you see her crying at parents’ evening? Miss Braddery says she’sgot “issues.”
Fearne was effervescent, exuberant, high on life. She swept Charlie up and loved her unconditionally, something Charlie had never experienced before and found frankly life-changing. Fearne’s mind seemed to match Charlie’s, too—they both thought at 1.5 speed, with too many programs running at once.
