Annie fumbled about in the store cupboard until she found a bag of cable ties. She pulled on her raincoat—though there was no chance of the hood staying up—and fought her way round to the front of the kiosk. It took three tries before she managed to fasten the shutter closed and pull the cable fast through the hooks. The rain lashed at her back as she checked the rest of the locks on the other windows, the wind undecided whether to flatten her to the walls of the café or sweep her out to sea. The crash of waves behind her was deafening; salt spray stung her eyes and lips. Half blinded, her hands red raw from the cold, hard rain, she secured the rest of the windows, including Alfred’s, since he was tucked up in the shelter in the next town. Thank heavens for small mercies, she thought, and silently gave thanks for John’s tenacity in preventing him from being out in this storm.
“Need a hand?” Maeve yelled. Annie hadn’t heard her pull up in the tumult caused by the storm.
“I’m just finishing up!” Annie shouted back. “Go on in and warm up.”
She heard Gemma shriek and looked round to see Maeve trying to push Sally’s wheelchair against the wind, while Gemma leaned her full force against the door to stop it slamming shut so they could get in. Annie tightened the final cable tie and pushed her way against the wind, nearly falling into the café behind the windswept women.
Gemma gave a kind of hysterical laugh that was mirrored by the others.
“I’ve not known a storm this bad for twenty years!” exclaimed Maeve. “Had to help the girls get the sheep in the barns, poor old things were at risk of taking off.”
“I’m glad you were driving tonight, Maeve,” said Gemma, shaking her coat out and hanging it up on the hook behind the door. “I don’t think I would have been able to do it.”
“It wasn’t fun,” said Sally. “My car was all over the place coming down here, I think it was only the shingle on the promenade keeping it from skidding.”
“God, yes!” agreed Gemma. “I thought that. I could hardly see a thing through the rain, it was coming down so fast!”
Sally was mopping her face with her jumper. Annie handed round clean tea towels for blotting hands, faces, and hair.
“Smells good in here,” said Maeve, handing her coat to Gemma to hang up and taking a seat.
The others mmm’d in agreement.
“If the weather gets any worse, I’m camping out here for the night,” Sally joked.
“You can sleep in Alfred’s spot, since he’s gone civilian,” said Maeve.
Sally looked inquiringly at Annie, and Annie explained.
The women took their places. Four editions of The Tenant of Wildfell Hall in various states of repair were placed on the table. Spirits were high this evening, not least because of their adrenaline-fueled journey down to the Nook. The boisterous storm was making itself heard in the café, so that they needed to talk louder than usual to be heard, and the draft was enough to keep the candles permanently a-flicker, but it felt warm and cozy in the orangey glow of the lamps.
Maeve filled everyone’s glass with hot dark-fruits punch, while Annie sliced the pizza she’d made and brought it steaming to the table.
“I mean,” said Gemma, pulling at a long of string of mozzarella still attached to her pizza slice, “it could have been a lot simpler if Helen and Gilbert had just been honest and frank with each other from the start.”
“Would have made for a shorter story, though,” said Annie.
“I kind of like the way the story meanders itself out, like a lazy river,” said Sally.
“Nice touch, with the whole thing being written via letters and diaries,” added Maeve. “A good way to split narrators.”
“The whole thing was making me ache because Helen and Gilbert are clearly in love, but so many misunderstandings are keeping them apart,” said Gemma.
“Well, you weren’t supposed to leave your rat-bag husband in those days,” said Annie.
“Unlike you,” Maeve guffawed through a mouthful of garlic bread.
The women laughed.
“Only I won’t be rushing back to nurse him when he gets knob-rot!” Annie said.
“Ooh, but who is your Gilbert?” asked Gemma, winking exaggeratedly.
Annie flushed.
“Aye-aye,” said Sally. “What’s all this, then? Got a fella, have you, Annie?”
At that moment, the café door crashed open; the wind caught it and slammed it hard against the wall. The women screeched and the candles blew out. John stood in the doorway, windswept and soaking.