Chapter 23

Chapter Twenty-Three

K iera was back at the Jam Pot, coffee on the go, reading the next Miss Marple book in the series. Every now and again she would look up to see Seymour chatting with a customer, or pushing a lock of hair behind her ear. There was a gentle ease with which Seymour related to people, something Kiera had felt herself.

Returning to Miss Marple, Kiera considered the quiet way in which the hero of her book sat in the background noticing things, and saying very little. Until the crucial moment. She would think about the stories of the village of St Mary Mead and apply what she’d learned to murder most dastardly. She looked up again to see Seymour efficiently wiping down the tables, her oversize jersey pulled up above her elbows, exposing her slim forearms.

“Hi,” said Seymour. Kiera had been caught watching her. That wasn’t the plan.

“Hi,” said Kiera, “sorry, I was miles away.”

“Ah, St Mary Mead, I see. A good place to escape to.” Seymour rested her finger on the table by Kiera’s book .

“It really is. Although it got me thinking about the benefits of people-watching. Do you think if there was a murder in Kings Heath you’d be able to use your café-running expertise to solve it?”

Seymour laughed. “Gosh, well, only if it was done in the library with an espresso accoutrement.” She nodded towards the library over the road. There were tulips waving in the spring wind in a municipal box outside its windows.

“I suppose so. Oh to be as wise as old Miss M, though,” said Kiera.

“We sort of got cut off last time we spoke,” said Seymour. “Sorry about that. How are you?”

“Good, thanks,” replied Kiera, putting a book mark into her novel and closing it. “And how about you? I feel like after my gaydar fail, I need to reassess you as a person.”

Seymour laughed. “I’m not sure there’s much to know, to be honest. I love this little café, and Jack and I work well together.”

“But there’s no Mrs Seymour?” asked Kiera, although she tried to remind herself that Seymour was a good few years younger than she was, and she didn’t want Seymour to think she was trying to chat her up.

“No. Not for a while.”

“That seems like a shame, especially with your budding sleuthing skills. Tell me you at least have a cat,” said Kiera, thinking of Mr Chips, who was her constant companion regardless of the situation.

“Afraid not,” said Seymour. “I realise that makes me a failure, especially in the eyes of the Kings Heath Lesbian Mafia…”

Kiera dissolved into giggles. “Is that really a thing?”

“Ha, I don’t know, but all of my friends here and about seem to be deeply committed to their feline companions. And, a s we know, here in the Heath one is only ever three metres from an ex, or an ex of an ex.”

“Oh, good heavens,” said Kiera, “now that’s scarily true. When my ex-wife and I were first married, we were forever bumping into a former girlfriend of mine. It was fine, we’d parted on good terms, but it all got a bit silly when it happened for the third time in the same week.” It was odd relaying a story about Chrissie that didn’t involve the traumas of the past year or so. It wasn’t unpleasant.

“Well, happily, I haven’t really dated anyone local. I feel like it should be a rule,” said Seymour, “café etiquette. No one wants to order coffee from their ex.”

At that moment, Lou walked in. Kiera had texted to say she was going to the Jam Pot and to slip out for a sneaky drink if she fancied a chat.

“Hey, hun,” said Lou. “I need toast and Nutella, stat!”

“On it,” said Seymour, retreating to her counter and leaving Lou and Kiera to it.

“She’s a sweetie, isn’t she?” said Lou, nodding at Seymour.

“Mmm, hidden depths, methinks,” said Kiera.

“I guess we all have those. Although today my depths really only consist of trying to get my kids to let me wash their sodding hair. Why is it always so hard?” Lou sighed. “Come on then, latest exploits, please?”

“So,” said Kiera, going red, “no actual exploits, but there has been flirting. And maybe some vanilla sexting.”

“Whoop!” said Lou. “That definitely makes my journey worthwhile. Thank you. Now, you’re going to have to tell me what vanilla means. Is it a lesbian thing?”

“No,” said Kiera, laughing, “it’s really not!”

“Hmm, I’m putting it into the Urban Dictionary,” said Lou, doubtfully. She fished her phone from the bottom of her ba g and set about her task. “Oh,” she said with audible disappointment. “Unexciting, normal, conventional, according to this.”

“See?” said Kiera.

“You say that, but I don’t think Dan and I have ever sexted, so I reckon that already upgrades you from vanilla. I want all the gory details, please.”

Seymour came over with Lou’s toast and Kiera felt oddly uncomfortable about their conversation. She brushed the feeling aside and proceeded to provide edited highlights of the last few days’ communications. Lou snorted at the account of the up-nostril photo.