Just Business

Chapter Nine: Marcia

Turner Cottage was a quaint bungalow a short walk away from Mainstreet. Of course, it was not legally called Turner Cottage, but no Challyton local would know what you meant if you mentioned popping around 46 Edgebath Drive. Turner Cottage and its pink roses were another town staple, more so since Nana Matilda had retired and could no longer reliably be found at the bookshop. Locals knew the door was always open to anybody no matter what they needed. Help with anything from a cake recipe to vigilante justice could be found within.

Nana Matilda had been born in Turner Cottage, and still called it home today. Her husband (and Marcia's grandpa, although he preferred to be known by his first name) Rudy had long ago accepted his role was to adapt to his wife's life, and not the other way around. Nana Matilda often claimed they were the first couple in England, if not the world, where the husband took on his wife's surname after marriage. She did not mention that this was because Rudy was estranged from his own family, and was eager to shed that part of his life anyway. Or that taking on that family name made Matilda's father a lot more comfortable handing over Page Turners to the young couple. There was also the fact that this claim was utterly unsubstantiated, but Nana Matilda never let details like those get in the way of a good story.

"Marcia, stop loitering!" Matilda yelled out the living room window. Marcia was sitting in her car, wondering how she was going to tell her Grandparents about the events that had transpired over the previous few days. Telling Ivy and Ally had been scary enough. There had been confusion, then understanding, then far too many comments from Ivy about what could happen between Marcia and David after long nights of working together.

"Coming Nana," Marcia called when she finally got out of the car. She had a box of Nana Matilda's favourite homemade strawberry tarts clutched to her chest, and a bottle of buttery Chardonnay in her bag. Her sword and her shield. Time to go and face the dragon-lady.

Inside, Marcia took off her shoes and made her way to the kitchen.

"Hiya Poppet," Rudy said, standing to kiss her.

"Hi Rudy," she said. He took the tin and gestured for her to sit down.

"What have you brought for us?"

"Those Lavender infused strawberry tarts," Marcia said, watching as Nana Matilda's head shot around. "For dessert after the roast."

Sunday roast was a Turner family certainty. Come hell or high water, the meat would go on at exactly midday, followed by potatoes, parsnips and all other seasonal veg. Marcia couldn't remember a time when they didn't gather around the heavy cherrywood table each week. Of course, her parents moving for work and her younger brother Marcus leaving for University meant the table was a bit less crowded, but it still felt like home. The absences had done nothing to affect Nana Matilda's portioning, so Marcia always went home with boxes of meat and vegetables. She had become very good at repurposing leftovers, creating a variety of meals from the scraps.

"You spoil us," Rudy said. "I'll pop them in the fridge for now."

"Sure," Marcia said. "Why don't you put this in there as well?"

She produced the wine and handed it over. Matilda's eyes narrowed, and her hand fell to her hip. Shit, Marcia had been rumbled.

"You're being too nice," Nana Matilda said. "It's not my birthday."

"Do I need an excuse to be nice to my wonderful Grandparents?" Marcia asked. She had already been caught, she might as well lean into the compliments.

"Of course not. But being nice would be either bringing wine or the tarts, not both. The tarts are a faff to make and you drink red, not white and especially not chardonnay. Maybe if you'd bought that nice easy cake and a nice chardonnay, or the tarts and a pinot noir which you would prefer. But those tarts and that white mean somethings going on."