Page 18 of The Payback Plan
Maybe he’d been out for a walk with his owner and they’d called?
Pulling out the Get Shit Done list she’d torn from the fridge, Paige did some research on the Marks and Spencer site trawling for gluten free/vegan items and jotted down some things she could grab and cross-referenced them with her Instagram recipe folder.
This was her usual MO. She was neat and ordered andgot shit donein a very neat and orderly way. She didn’t create mess and chaos. She fitted in, she flew under the radar.
But she had to admit that playing the flibbertigibbet was fun.
Picking up the phone, Paige looked at Oliver’s reply.
OPT OUT!!!
She laughed out loud this time. Whoever thought tone couldn’t be conveyed through text was wrong.
Wondering how far she could push him before he blocked her ass, she was interrupted mid-thought by the bell over the door dinging and a group of about a dozen women entered chattering away. There were older, sporting varying shades of grey hair – from hip grandma to light purple – and were all in active wear and joggers, some even holding hand weights.
Collectively, they checked their smart watches and compared stats. Had they all been out for a walk together? If so, go them. The only place on a shitty day like today as far as Paige was concerned was inside with something warm to drink.
Tea. Or whisky.
One of the women wandered over to the window, standing the other side of Paige’s table to look over at the view as she unzipped her puffer vest. ‘I never get tired of this sight,’ she murmured as she stared at the vista.
As there was no one else around, Paige assumed she was talking to her. Or possibly herself. Who knew? ‘It’s very special,’ Paige acknowledged. ‘Do you live in the area?’
‘Oh yes.’ The older woman turned sparkling eyes on Paige. ‘For the past sixty years.’
Her accent wasn’t West Country so she wasn’t a Cornish native. ‘How wonderful.’
And it was. Paige wasn’t trying to be facetious. As someone who’d been relatively rootless for the past four years, staying in one place appealed to her in ways she’d only just realised she’d been ignoring.
‘You’re not from around here?’
‘No.’
‘Tourist?’
‘Not really. I’m staying with a… friend of a friend. I’m here til March.’
‘January’s not the best time to come to Cornwall.’
Paige laughed as she looked out over the shifting menace of the Atlantic and the low skittering grey cloud. ‘No.’
‘Still, you get to know the real Cornwall in off season. When the town’s not flooded with tourists.’
‘Dorry, you want your usual?’ someone called from the counter and the woman replied, ‘Yes please,’ before returning her attention to the window.
‘You in some kind of walking club?’
‘That’s right. Every Tuesday without fail.’
‘Even on days like this?’
‘We’re the local WI. Our mothers and grandmothers were WI. They kept this country fed through two world wars. WI women aren’t scared of a bit of weather.’
Paige didn’t think it had been Dorry’s – Doris’s? – intention to make her feel so very millennial, but she had. She looked over at the group of nattering, happy women. Even from across the café their spirits seemed indomitable.
None of them would have driven the ten minutes into town. None of them would have been cowed by a bastard ex. They’d have probably hatched a plan to do away with him and bury his body where nobody would ever find him. But then they hadn’t had phones with cameras back in the day.
Or PornHub.
