To Chris, it feels strange to find himself in the midst of all this. He’s never once been to the Book Festival. This rarefied square, surrounded by investment firms and the First Minister’s official residence, never felt like a place where he belonged. Growing up, he and his friends always dismissed this festival as a place for posh folk. But now, looking around from a spot just in front of the café, he has to admit it’s pretty nice, and friendly, though the Irn-Bru is definitely overpriced. It’s a grizzly day, but there are still kids running around, clumps of people chatting over coffee and pastries, and one man in a navy jumper, doing a very Scottish thing and plunking himself down in one of the deck chairs, despite the weather, to read his new book. This change in perspective startles Chris. Is it because he’s so different from that rough lad he used to be, or has he, as he has with other things, judged the festival a little too harshly? Hard to tell. Maybe both.
* * *
Inside the café, unaware of Chris outside, taking the measure of his future audience, Susan wonders if a slice of millionaire’s shortbread is what she needs to really perk up. It was a full day at the busy restaurant yesterday, and today she spent the morning with her nephews, so Meg and William could have some time to talk, which they’ve been doing a lot of lately. Susan tells herself this is a good thing, even if it means she spent hours shepherding three excitable boys between Julia Donaldson and Barry Hutchison events. She saw the boys get their books signed, then handed them back to their parents (who returned from their brunch holding hands and looking like they had not been shouting, which is an improvement) and went in search of coffee. And sugar. She needs something because Chris’s event is in an hour, and she doesn’t want him to think she’s bored when all she really is is exhausted. That’s if he can even see her, from his spotlit perch at the front of the tent. He probably won’t. All the same …
“Can ye no’ just get a proper cuppa tea now?” the woman in the line beside her wonders aloud. Hands on her hips, she frowns at the array of fancy herbal teas on display.
“I think you have to ask special,” Susan says, laughing.
“Course you do.” The woman rolls her eyes. “Edinburgh,” she grumbles good-naturedly.
“Not from the city, then?”
“Oh no, I’m Leith, born and bred. Put it behind me, though. I live near Aberfeldy now. I’m only here because my brother’s got some event and, ya know”—she shrugs—“Family.”
“I do know,” Susan agrees. “It’s nice of you to come. Who’s your brother?”
“Chris Baker.”
Susan starts. “Chris Baker! Why, then, you’re Beth!”
Beth eyes her beadily. “And who’re you?” she demands.
“Oh, sorry, yes, that was silly of me.” Susan smiles and offers a hand to shake. “I’m Susan Napier.”
Beth’s eyes narrow, and she moves her hands from her hips to a tight cross over her chest. She looks Susan up and down very slowly. “So,” she says at last, “you’re the bitch.”
Susan lets her hand drop. A few people crushed in around them overhear Beth and stare at Susan, as if to say, “Oh, so that’s what a bitch looks like.”
“Yeah,” Susan agrees. “I guess so.”
“Ya did a real number on my brother, ye ken?”
“I do. And I very much regret it, believe me. I was in a really bad place then.”
“And what about the place he was in? All he was dealing with at your family’s bleedin’ restaurant, with that arsehole chef out to get him, and then you abandonin’ him and your aunt firin’ him and his best friend gettin’ killed—”
“Sorry, what?” Susan cries, trying desperately to catch up. “My aunt fired him? Why? And his friend was killed? Is that … was that Mollie’s son?”
Beth blinks at her, and her face changes. The rage leaves it, and now she just looks puzzled. “You didnae know,” she murmurs.
“No! They told me he quit and left London. But that was after I completely screwed everything up and treated him like …” Susan closes her eyes, trying to collect herself. They seem to be drawing something of an audience now. People probably think this is an improv Fringe Festival thing. She drops her voice and leans toward Beth. “You’re right: I was a bitch and I ruined everything, and I kick myself for it every single day, believe me. But what’s this about my aunt firing him? She had nothing to do with the restaurant!”
“Best ask her that,” Beth responds.
“I will!” Susan yanks her phone out of her pocket and dials her aunt’s number as she and Beth step out of the line, all refreshment forgotten.
“Hello, darling!” Kay trills. “How’s the Book Festival?”
“I need to talk to you,” Susan replies. “Are you around?”
“I’m having lunch with some people on George Street. Could probably tie it all up in about half an hour?”
“Fine. Can you meet me here, by the café?”
“Is everything all right, Susan? You sound tense.”
“There’s something I need you to—”
“Susan!”
Susan jumps and Beth breathes, “Jaysus!” at the sound of Lauren’s shriek.
“Susan!” In order to get a better view of the room, Lauren has climbed up onto the low dais where authors sit for book signings. She leaps off and races in Susan’s direction. Her face is pale, eyes red and wide with fear. She grabs the hand Susan isn’t using to hold the phone. “Susan, I need you!” she wails. “Something awful has happened!”
“We’ll talk later,” Susan tells her aunt, ending the call. Beth is watching this with some interest. Susan wraps an arm around Lauren’s shoulder, draws her a little apart from the crush of people, and speaks in a soothing tone. “Hey, hey, it’s all right. Whatever it is, we’ll get it worked out. What’s happened?”
“I can’t, I can’t,” Lauren gulps. “Not here.”
“Okay, okay.” Susan glances around for a quiet spot.
Beth raises her eyebrows and says, “Think I’ll be off now. Nice meetin’ ya, Susan.”
* * *
As Beth wanders outside, Chris is still there waiting.
“Thought you went to get tea,” he says, noting she’s without.
“Och, too much fuss.” Beth shrugs. “Ye’ll no’ believe who I met.”
“Oh?”
“Susan.”
Chris’s chest seizes. “Susan Napier?”
His sister nods. “In the flesh.”
“Oh, Christ, what did you say to her?”
“I didnae say anythin’! What’d you think I’d do?” Beth scrunches up her face in annoyance. “As if I can’t hold my own tongue! She’s no’ as bad as I thought she’d be.”
“No,” Chris agrees. “I may have given you a … poor impression of her.”
“For sure you did! Gave her a fright, I did. And let slip about that harridan of an aunt of hers tossin’ ya out. She didnae ken a thing about anythin’. I think her aunt’s in for quite a hidin’ later on.”