LOVE LETTERS AT THE BORROW A BOOKSHOP
by KILEY DUNBAR!
They reached the end of the strawberry field and Patti stepped ahead so she could unlatch the gate into the meadow for Austen to pass through.
‘Are you ready for this?’ Patti asked. ‘I reckon we’re the first ones here.’
‘We are?’ The light danced in Austen’s eyes. Patti had clocked they were brown the very first time they met, but up here on the promontory as the first rays of sunset were turning the sky pink, her irises shone a golden hazel. Patti resisted the urge to point this out, but she hoped Austen could tell she was getting a little lost in them.
‘Hold on,’ Austen said, taking her glasses off, and giving the lenses a wipe on the hem of her top that she’d tugged free. She’d definitelynoticed.
When she slipped them back on her freckled nose, Patti asked, ‘Better?’
‘Better,’ echoed Austen, and Patti swung open the gate.
She held back for a second, even though she hadn’t been down here for days and had only seen Minty’s pet project when the seedlings were in bud. She wanted Austen to get the first glimpse.
‘Oh my days!’ Austen was saying, holding her free hand to the pocket of her overalls like she kept her heart in there.
For the first few moments, all Patti could do was watch from her spot by the gate as Austen walked into the sea of silver foliage and blue starbursts of the cornflower meadow. The summer breeze made the blooms move in waves, mimicking the blue sea in the bay below. Leonid had had the idea of mowing short the grassy paths that criss-crossed the meadow so visitors could walk right in amongst the wildflowers, and Austen had made her way to one of the green entranceways now.
Patti daren’t take a picture on her phone, not without asking, so as Austen turned back to face her, delight written across her face, beckoning to her with a hand, Patti committed the moment to memory.
Austen was all in monochrome, with the suggestion of black ink scrolling across her back and shoulders in delicate tracery. The inconspicuously simple greys and black of her clothing made her freckles, light eyes and the auburn hints in her dark waves stand out in shocking contrast as the evening sun kissed them.
‘Are you coming?’ Austen was laughing, although not quite enough to snap Patti out of this dazed feeling.
Austen was now wading into the meadow, thigh-deep in blue, or at least that’s how it looked from here. Patti hurried to join her, plunging in between the rows, immediately hit by the buzz and hum of the hoverflies and bees flitting between the delicate thistle-like flower heads.
‘It’s beautiful,’ Austen said, as Patti caught up.
‘Even more than I thought it would be,’ said Patti.
‘Cornflower blue has to be the best blue. Like, how do you even describe it?’ Austen was getting swept up too.
‘I’ve no idea,’ Patti said. ‘Words are your thing. What have you got?’
Austen laughed and stooped to examine a patch of the raggedy stems, silvery-green, the colour of rosemary leaves, with fat diamond-patterned buds hiding beneath frilled disks of pointed petals layered and rigid like a ballet dancer’s tulle tutu, and at their centre, scruffy clusters of stubby, indigo stamens.
‘Umm.’ Austen considered them closely. ‘It’s like royal blue? But on a watercolourist’s easel? There’s a bit of iridescence in there too, maybe, making them sort of glow? I’d love to be a bee seeing these! I bet they give out some kind of amazing light spectrum we can’t see.’
‘I can kind of see something,’ Patti said, leaning nearer, clasping one stem for closer inspection. ‘Something that’s not quite there?’
‘Artists’ light?’ said Austen.
‘Maybe some things are so pretty you can’t describe them. Can’t even see them properly, if that makes any sense?’
Austen was looking at her now.
‘I have no idea what I’m saying, sorry.’ Patti laughed, setting the hoverflies zipping back and forth in silent frenzy.
‘No, I know what you mean. There’s a reason people say ‘words fail me’. There’s a reason people paint or take pictures.’
‘Should we take one now?’ Patti risked, but Austen was already there, reaching for her phone in her pocket, but pulling out only her notebook.
‘Oh! I must have left my phone at the shop.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll take it.’ Patti set up the shot, angling her arm to get as much of the scenery in as possible. She didn’t notice until she was looking at them both mirrored onscreen, but Austen had lost a little of her glow. She snapped the shot and quickly put her phone away again.
‘OK?’ Patti checked in again.
‘I don’t like being without my phone for long. Makes me feel a bit lost, you know?’
Patti thought she did but there was some added disappointment for Austen, she could sense it. She thought of Jowan telling her that Austen was forever messaging on her phone, even while serving in the bookshop. ‘You like to keep in touch, I get it.’
Austen lifted herself to standing again and Patti sprang up, too.
‘I think I see a patch of poppies over there,’ she was saying, showing no sign of wanting to leave yet, even if she was missing her phone.
Patti drained her glass and reached for Austen’s empty one. ‘I’ll carry these. Let’s go and look for poppies.’
The meadow paths formed a rambling maze and the poppy cluster was right at the centre. The pair wandered up and down the tracks trying to reach them. Some other visitors were entering the field now, couples walking hand in hand, snapping selfies and grinning.
Austen was clearly trying hard to make up for the awkwardness of a moment ago. A good sign she wanted things back on track.
‘Tell me about you. How did you end up in Clove Lore?’
‘There’s not much to tell. My sister and Radia ended up living here, kind of by accident, and I came to visit and I never left.’
‘What? You’re kidding.’
‘I wasn’t having the best time in London, I suppose. Or I was ready for a change. And I’d missed my sister, barely seen her in five years, so I jumped at the chance to be closer to her.’
‘I can see why it would be hard to leave. It’s so pretty here.’
‘You should see it in the winter, though. You don’t really know a place until you’ve seen it without any flowers and everything closed up. Some of the cottages have real fires and the chimneys smoke all winter. The whole place smells of coal and wood burning.’
‘I bet the Siren’s nice on a cold day,’ Austen said, and Patti was gratified to hear the dreamy warmth in her voice.
‘Oh, it is! When the fire’s crackling and there’s no tourists.’
‘Spoken like a true local.’
‘I suppose I am one now.’
‘You’re going to stay?’
This threw Patti. She’d been asked it before, of course; mainly by Joy, who’d got it into her head that Patti was staying for her sake, and that Clove Lore had been less of a choice and more of a convenience for her. There was the tiniest bit of truth in that, she supposed, but she’d never admit it to her sister. Joy still needed her. And a big part of Patti still needed her big sister, or at least, the daily reassurance that she was safe and happy after all those years not knowing where in the world Joy even was.
‘I’ll stay a while longer,’ Patti said.
‘Is there somewhere else you’d like to live, or work?’ Austen was really digging now, but rather than discourage her, Patti tried to answer truthfully.
‘I haven’t given it much thought. There was London for years, and working twenty-four seven, living with flatmates, always out somewhere, always busy. Then there was the dash to Clove Lore when Joy needed me, and then Minty needed someone to get her out of a hole with her business. You’ll be surprised to know she’s not the best at dealing with suppliers and tradespeople.’
Austen laughed and Patti caught sight of the tiny crinkle lines at the sides of her nose. She should have innocently thought they were cute, but the sight set off a tiny flame in her core. It wasn’t just cute.
‘You’re catching the sun,’ Patti said before she could stop herself, and she’d raised her fingertips to Austen’s freckled temple with no inhibitions kicking in to stop her.
Austen didn’t stop her either, in fact, she brought her own hand up to meet Patti’s and they both froze like that, nail tips touching the peachy freckled spot by her eye.
Austen was the first to break the soft, electric connection, looking down with a laugh, blushing.
‘What was I saying?’ Patti said, joining her in laughing.
‘You were telling me if there was somewhere else you’d like to be?’
‘Not right this second.’
‘No!’ Austen, mock annoyed, thumped her arm. It felt beyond amazing. ‘For work. Or to live?’
‘Right, right,’ said Patti. ‘I’ve not really been anywhere. I did always think I’d travel. Didn’t even make it to Ayia Napa with my mates.’ The space between them wasn’t quite so alive with the chemistry crackle of moments ago. Patti’s posture softened a little. ‘What about you? Are you staying in Manchester?’
‘No idea. You are supposed to know, though. People get kind of mad when you don’t have it all worked out the closer you get to thirty.’ Austen said the word in a deep, doom-filled voice and seemed delighted to make Patti laugh again.
‘Tell me about it. But you’re only twenty-three, twenty-four, right?’ Patti said, sweeping away the invisible judgy people making Austen feel inadequate.
‘I’m twenty-five.’
‘Ach, there’s loads of time. I’m two years older than you and I’m happy with my houseplants and my books, and all this…’ She gestured to the bands of pink clouds interspersed with tangerine now spreading over the whole panorama of the horizon. The sun was still a complete golden disk, half an hour from sinking, Patti reckoned – and she knew her Clove Lore sunsets.
Deeper into the meadow’s centre they progressed, chasing the patch of bobbing red poppies. It didn’t matter that there were others around; in fact, it made everything easier, taking the pressure off.
‘I wouldn’t mind visiting Paris,’ Austen said, and it sounded like a confession, so Patti treated it like one.
‘Then you should.’
‘I might. After this.’
Austen meant after her bookselling holiday, Patti knew. It struck a heavy note. She’d be leaving here in a week. She had dreams of going to Paris alone. Or more specifically, without Patti. Obviously. They barely knew each other.
Still, none of this stopped Patti saying, ‘I’d love to see Paris too.’
Austen seemed to let the meaning of this sink in. She must be aware Patti liked her. She wasn’t known for her subtlety. In the past, her bluntness had worked in Patti’s favour. Many, many times.
‘You’ve never been?’ Austen asked.
‘Never had anyone to go with. Paris seems like the kind of place you need someone to go with, you know?’
Austen said she did know. ‘When did you last have someone?’
‘Like a girlfriend?’ Patti blew out a breath and scanned the sky. ‘Ages ago.’
‘Really? Why’s that?’ Austen was scrunching her nose again, like she couldn’t quite believe it. Patti’s entire body answered the encouragement.
‘Dunno. I always had a girlfriend, all through high school, pretty much, and then college. Long-term stuff. I’m literally still friends with all of them.’
‘Oh my God.’
‘No, really. Aren’t you still friends with your exes?’
‘Oh, I’ve never really had a serious thing.’
Patti nodded. ‘I had unserious things too. Quite a lot of them when I first started going out in London. I went a bit overboard with it all, a dating frenzy.’
‘Wow!’ Austen laughed hard. ‘Sounds terrible.’
‘Oh it was!’
As they both laughed, Patti decided Austen didn’t need to hear about the year of dates or the one-night things that often turned into lovely weekends in bed but never came to anything more (and the next week she’d see the same girl with someone else at the same bar where they’d first got chatting, and the sense of rejection would send her reaching for her apps and the next hook-up). She’d circulated in the same pool for months and eventually got tired of treading water and never finding anywhere to rest. She’d wanted a girlfriend and somehow it wasn’t happening. Everyone was too busy enjoying themselves or they were falling hard and breaking up weeks later, over and over again. When she stopped going out nobody really missed her, at least that’s how it felt, and she’d been relieved to retreat into work and the peaceful routines of a homebody.
Patti and Austen had reached the centre of the meadow. Patti stopped to pick a red poppy, but when she snapped the stem, the petals fell off and floated to their feet. ‘Oh!’
Austen burst into laughter when she presented her with the bare fuzzy stem, its pepper pot head bobbing stupidly between them.
‘Thanks a lot,’ Austen said.
Patti stooped to lift two red petals, handing one to Austen and slipping the other into her own pocket.
Austen pressed the petal between two blank pages of her notebook before slipping it out of sight once more, neither of them remarking about the poppy after that, but Patti resolved to save the sight of Austen’s hand held against the book at her chest alongside her other picture memories of tonight, even if it all came to nothing.
‘There were people I liked,’ Austen said, suddenly picking up the thread of their conversation again.
Patti didn’t move, only planting her feet, facing her, letting her talk.
‘There was one girl at school I spent four years pining over. She was my best friend and I never told her how I felt. In the end it was too weird and too late. She ended up going out with one of our other friends. They’re still together. Haven’t seen her in years. Argh! It’s so cringe.’ Austen brought up her hands to cover her anguished smile, her eyes screwed up in mock shame.
‘Not at all. You were kids.’
‘Hmm.’ Austen seemed to be thinking about saying more, but let her hands drop to her sides, her gaze swinging away across the meadow.
‘Shall we sit?’ suggested Patti.
Down on the soft mown grass next to the red heart of the meadow, Clove Lore disappeared from view. Patti could only see the sky and they were obscured from the other meadow visitors. She checked Austen was happy with this, not wanting her to get spooked.
‘I’m good,’ she’d replied.
‘Is there, um, anybody now?’ Patti asked.
Austen took a while to answer. ‘There was… sort of, and there might be something…’ She stopped herself. ‘No, it’s not really a thing… it’s complicated.’
‘So you’re not single?’ Patti held her breath. She’d been here plenty of times before and it did not feel good.
‘No, I’m single, that’s for sure.’
‘OK,’ Patti exhaled hard and fell silent.
‘I always freak people out,’ blurted Austen. ‘I’m not good at face-to-face stuff, like dates and things. I get things wrong. Misunderstand things. It’s kind of my trademark.’ She mimed stamping something on her forearm. ‘Disaster,’ she added, her lips quirking at her joke; her eyes giving away how serious she was. ‘Nearly twenty-six and not adulting well.’
‘When’s your birthday?’ Patti steered the subject to a slightly happier place, determined Austen wouldn’t be sad tonight.
‘November the third.’
‘Oh my God, you are such a Scorpio!’
Austen laughed, her head bouncing back.
‘You are, aren’t you?’ Patti pressed.
‘I don’t believe in that sort of thing,’ Austen answered primly. ‘Mum does, though. She reads my horoscope every night at dinner, and she’s always like, “See, the stars said you’d do such and such a thing today and you totally did that!” Always looking for meaning in it.’
‘I don’t really believe in it either,’ Patti reassured her. ‘But I do believe in Scorpios!’
More laughter. Patti saw the way Austen’s shoulders were sinking and her eyes softening.
‘What are you?’ Austen examined Patti. ‘I bet you’re a Leo.’
‘Taurus.’
‘Close.’
‘Not really. What would your mum say about Taurus and Scorpio?’
‘Well!’ Austen seemed to stop herself saying any more, falling to scoffing and eye-rolling. ‘I can only imagine.’
Patti knew full well what it meant. They’d be unstoppable together. If she believed in that kind of thing. ‘Scorpios are creative,’ Patti threw in, saving herself from dying of too much blushing. ‘I know that much, and they can have laser focus, right?’
‘Yep, sounds about right.’
‘And they’re kind of…’
‘Go on, say it.’ Austen sat straight up, folding her arms.
‘They’re kind of…’ Patti bared her teeth comically.
‘Crazy?’ Austen suggested.
‘I was thinking… intense.’
‘Hmm, OK.’ Austen laughed once more.
‘I can hardly talk,’ Patti hastened to add. ‘I’m the original bull in a china shop. I charge before I think, most of the time.’
‘And I’m the overthinker. Nice to meet you.’ Austen had her hand out for Patti to shake.
After the initial clasp, Patti kept hold of her hand for a moment, amazed to feel Austen’s grip tighten into a soft squeeze until it became obvious they weren’t letting go.
A fuzzy-bottomed bee passed their noses, drawing their gaze in its wake to where it landed inelegantly on a blue flower head, bending the stem almost to the ground with its weight.
‘That is a chonky boy,’ Patti said admiringly, still dazed from the soft warmth of holding hands with this woman in the middle of a summer meadow.
‘A total bomb of a bee!’ Austen joined in. ‘I wonder if the word “bee” relates to bomb somehow. Big buzzing bombastic bees.’
‘The wordsmith Scorpio can’t help finding poetry in everything.’
The way Austen’s attention shifted from the bee to Patti made all the buzzing in the meadow stop entirely. The sun lit the seaward side of their faces, washing them in an apricot glow. It was Austen who shifted closer first. It had to be. Patti wasn’t going to be the one to make the move. She wanted to have no regrets from pushing Austen too far or too fast.
‘I’m glad you chose the bookshop holiday thing,’ Patti said, as Austen drew her curled legs against Patti’s, setting every nerve in her body alive.
‘Me too,’ Austen said, as their hands loosened their grip, instead travelling up the other’s bare summer-warmed arms.
Patti didn’t try to hide the fact she could barely breathe. She closed the last inches between them to brush her lips over Austen’s, taking away her smile and replacing it with helpless parted lips, and in one tortuous press closer, they were at last locked in a summer sunset kiss Patti would never recover from.
‘I like you,’ Patti told her in a sigh, and Austen kissed her back all the harder.