the cupboard under the stairs. “What we looking at?”
Mary winds an arm around her daughter’s waist. “Just happy.”
Gemma pecks her on the cheek. “Happy enough to give me some pocket money?”
Mary laughs. “There’s twenty quid in my purse.” As Gemma rushes off, she shouts after her, “I want change!”
22
GEMMA
The village square is quieter today, as if the cooler weather has convinced people to stay indoors. I like it better this way, away from prying curious gazes. I can take my time and explore the shops. First, though, I find the bus stop and check the times. There is only one bus that comes this far and it runs three times a day only; once in the morning, once at midday and once late afternoon. The morning bus leaves at seven fifteen. Knowing my luck, I’ll only have one of the morning classes, which means I will either have to go in early each day and hang about, or ride my bike to the town three miles away.
I sigh. I can’t wait to start driving.
Timetable memorised, I head across the square to a small, interesting looking shop with colourful tapestries in the window display. The bell jingles as I enter and a young girl about my age looks up from the counter. The interior is filled with ornaments, and wind chimes hanging from the ceiling. It’s quirky and pretty, the kind of place you could spend ages exploring.
The girl is still watching me.
“Hi,” I say.
“Hi.” She looks me over with assessing brown eyes. “You the Learmonth girl?”
I nod.
“Cool, what’s it like, the house?”
I shrug. “Okay.”
She winds a ribbon of brown hair around her finger. “You seen any ghosts?”
“Seriously?”
She shrugs. “They say it’s haunted, you know, the house, that old Henry and Karenhaunt the place on account of her killing herself and her baby.”
Whoa, now that is new information.
“Jen!” An older woman, probably Jen’s mum, emerges from the back of the shop. “I’m so sorry,” she says to me. “Jen was born without a tactful bone in her body.”
“It’s okay. I’d like to know more, if that’s alright?”
The woman’s lips turn down. “You don’t really want to be putting stock in local rumour and superstition.”
She speaks as if she isn’t part of the local bracket. So I ask, “Have you lived here long?”
“Five years, but if you’re not born here, or you don’t have family here, then you’ll never be local. Aside from that, it’s a good place to live, a little eccentric at times, but peaceful.”
“Well, come on then.” Jen jerks her head. “It’s almost lunch time.” She lifts the barrier leading to the back of the shop and I duck through.
We’re in a kind of small kitchen-type room. There’s a kettle, a small counter top, electric cooker, a tiny on-the-counter fridge and a table with four chairs.
I’ve been given a glass of lemonade and Jen is unwrapping a Victoria sponge.
“You like cake?” Jen asks. “You look like you like cake.”
“Jen!” her mum admonishes, but I just laugh. I’m used to this. I have a solid body. My hoody and trackies just make me look fat.
“This is all muscle.” I hold out my arm.
“Really?” She reaches out and squeezes it. “Wow, you work out?”
“I used to play hockey and football for my school.”
The tinkle of bells fills the room and her mum slips out to the front of the shop.
“So you’re a lesbian?”
I choke on my lemonade. “Seriously? Playing hockey and football does not make someone gay.”
She cocks her head. “So you’re not a lesbian?”
“No, but my mum is.”
“Maybe you could be a lesbian and you don’t know it?”
“Trust me, if I was a lesbian, then I would know.”
“But did your mum know? I mean, she had you. Did she have you with a bloke?”
“My mum’s bisexual.”
“Now that’s just greedy.”
I stare at her for a long beat and then her lips quirk and we both burst out laughing.
The cake has been eaten and the lemonade drunk
Mary winds an arm around her daughter’s waist. “Just happy.”
Gemma pecks her on the cheek. “Happy enough to give me some pocket money?”
Mary laughs. “There’s twenty quid in my purse.” As Gemma rushes off, she shouts after her, “I want change!”
22
GEMMA
The village square is quieter today, as if the cooler weather has convinced people to stay indoors. I like it better this way, away from prying curious gazes. I can take my time and explore the shops. First, though, I find the bus stop and check the times. There is only one bus that comes this far and it runs three times a day only; once in the morning, once at midday and once late afternoon. The morning bus leaves at seven fifteen. Knowing my luck, I’ll only have one of the morning classes, which means I will either have to go in early each day and hang about, or ride my bike to the town three miles away.
I sigh. I can’t wait to start driving.
Timetable memorised, I head across the square to a small, interesting looking shop with colourful tapestries in the window display. The bell jingles as I enter and a young girl about my age looks up from the counter. The interior is filled with ornaments, and wind chimes hanging from the ceiling. It’s quirky and pretty, the kind of place you could spend ages exploring.
The girl is still watching me.
“Hi,” I say.
“Hi.” She looks me over with assessing brown eyes. “You the Learmonth girl?”
I nod.
“Cool, what’s it like, the house?”
I shrug. “Okay.”
She winds a ribbon of brown hair around her finger. “You seen any ghosts?”
“Seriously?”
She shrugs. “They say it’s haunted, you know, the house, that old Henry and Karenhaunt the place on account of her killing herself and her baby.”
Whoa, now that is new information.
“Jen!” An older woman, probably Jen’s mum, emerges from the back of the shop. “I’m so sorry,” she says to me. “Jen was born without a tactful bone in her body.”
“It’s okay. I’d like to know more, if that’s alright?”
The woman’s lips turn down. “You don’t really want to be putting stock in local rumour and superstition.”
She speaks as if she isn’t part of the local bracket. So I ask, “Have you lived here long?”
“Five years, but if you’re not born here, or you don’t have family here, then you’ll never be local. Aside from that, it’s a good place to live, a little eccentric at times, but peaceful.”
“Well, come on then.” Jen jerks her head. “It’s almost lunch time.” She lifts the barrier leading to the back of the shop and I duck through.
We’re in a kind of small kitchen-type room. There’s a kettle, a small counter top, electric cooker, a tiny on-the-counter fridge and a table with four chairs.
I’ve been given a glass of lemonade and Jen is unwrapping a Victoria sponge.
“You like cake?” Jen asks. “You look like you like cake.”
“Jen!” her mum admonishes, but I just laugh. I’m used to this. I have a solid body. My hoody and trackies just make me look fat.
“This is all muscle.” I hold out my arm.
“Really?” She reaches out and squeezes it. “Wow, you work out?”
“I used to play hockey and football for my school.”
The tinkle of bells fills the room and her mum slips out to the front of the shop.
“So you’re a lesbian?”
I choke on my lemonade. “Seriously? Playing hockey and football does not make someone gay.”
She cocks her head. “So you’re not a lesbian?”
“No, but my mum is.”
“Maybe you could be a lesbian and you don’t know it?”
“Trust me, if I was a lesbian, then I would know.”
“But did your mum know? I mean, she had you. Did she have you with a bloke?”
“My mum’s bisexual.”
“Now that’s just greedy.”
I stare at her for a long beat and then her lips quirk and we both burst out laughing.
The cake has been eaten and the lemonade drunk
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