Work Text:
Last year Shona’s established life broke down, and then a lot of the world outside, while she canceled a wedding and cried on her sister’s bed and moved everything she owned twice, masked and distanced and scared. Huddled in her dreary new flat, eating contactless deliveries, facing her many fuck-ups.
She’s still there, and so are they; a year alone rubs your face hard in your mistakes. But one thing that didn’t fall apart was Trust Together. When she opens her laptop most weekdays, she has Charlotte, and Julie and their company.
After the drop, their client portfolios recovered and then some. Shona cried and then she worked, endless calls and emails and remote meetings. MOVING FORWARD, BUILDING THIS BUSINESS, like she wrote in those fucking notes that still make her cringe.
She grimaces in the mirror—God, her skin is a wreck—and spits out the toothpaste. Her phone buzzes by the bed, and she goes to pick it up.
It’s Charlotte:
Check your email
(Good news!!!)
Shona scrolls up to see a meme Charlotte sent earlier, and smiles wider. In the kitchen she pours a cup of coffee, then takes an egg from the egg duck—which also survived the move, and the storage, and the second move—and cracks it into a pan. As it sizzles, she opens the laptop on the counter and joins Charlotte’s meeting, which is just a view of her sofa and ceiling. “Hey,” she says. “What’s the good news? Jim want to interview us again?”
“No, better.” Charlotte leans into frame, tilting her screen, smiling. She’s in a green robe loosely belted over warm-looking pajamas. “Have you seriously not checked? It’s the Sustainable Investment Awards. We won. Look already.”
Shona tabs over, scrolls down. “Oh my God.” Sure enough, they have. “Dear Ms. O’Keefe … We are honoured to present your team with our Rising Star award … cordially invited to speak at our planned conference in August hosted by the Eden Project, or remotely … more information to follow, et cetera.” She raises her coffee. “Well, I’d say this calls for a drink, but.”
Charlotte lifts a mug in return. “We should go, don’t you think? I mean, by then things are predicted to open up. Knock on wood.” Her cat interrupts, filling the screen with striped fur. “Sorry.” She moves him away, her sleeve brushing the camera. “It could really raise our profile as a firm.”
Shona pushes back the inconvenient, vivid memories of that robe. And the sofa she’s on. And Charlotte’s smile and her sleep-hair. “Yeah, yeah,” she says. “Definitely.” She gulps the coffee, which is still too hot for it, and nods.
“I’ll have Julie book us something, tentatively.” Charlotte starts typing, curls falling in her face.
The sizzling from the pan changes. Shona turns toward it. “Shit, that’s my egg. Got to go. But this is fantastic. Chat later?”
“Okay, in a bit.” Charlotte laughs and her window goes black.
FRIENDS/COLLEAGUES, she’d written. And somehow they are now, and she should be grateful.
Maybe Charlotte’s still dating someone else. She hasn’t brought it up. She doesn’t deserve to know. Charlotte seems happy, the last thing she needs is more of Shona’s too-little-too-late-awakening shit, and it’s fine, it’s all fine.
She scrapes the slightly overcooked egg out of the pan and onto some toast, and takes a big bite. It’s fine, too.
Shona eats standing up while she clicks through the rest of her email. She’s almost done when her phone buzzes again: a FaceTime from Aine. It’s also great to see her stupid face, every time.
“Mammy told me she got the jab, so hey, she probably won’t die.”
“Don’t even say it, Aine.” Shona sighs.
“What? I’m just passing on the good news.” Aine turns her phone around. “And look, I was bored enough last night to do a home pedicure on me and Bradley.” She wiggles her toes. “Should’ve saved what we peeled off to show you, it was disgusting.”
“Beautiful. Oh, speaking of good news, guess what.” Shona pours herself more coffee, juggling the phone. “Trust Together won a Rising Star in Sustainable Investment award, and we’re invited to a conference. In the summer. You know, if we can.”
“Jesus Christ, Shona, that’s great! Are you going to go? Wait, with Charlotte?”
“I think so. I mean, we’re both invited speakers, so—”
“Oooh,” Aine says in a singsong, leaning into the phone. “Grand.”
“Shut up, you know it’s not like that. She’s not—”
“If you say so. Well, I’ve got a whole class waiting on my computer. Love you, Ms. Rising Star Investment Woman.”
“Love you.”
Shona spends the next few months absorbed in work and trying not to think about the conference trip, because it probably won’t happen. When her sleep isn’t restless, she has guilty dreams: of Vish sometimes, but Charlotte more often. It makes sense, she tells herself, because she sees Charlotte every day, but still. Guilty.
In one fit of frustration, she asks Aine to make her download a dating app, spends a few hours swiping through women who seem like perfectly nice people, and deletes it a week later. The next day, she orders herself a new vibrator, which helps her tension level in one straightforward way, at least.
Winter slowly recedes into spring outside her windows. She and Charlotte get the vaccine when their ages come up, helping each other through it with soup and biscuit deliveries. They go into the office occasionally, one at a time. And by summer, the trip is looking more likely—enough to start writing a speech together.
Then, suddenly it’s the Friday of, after work, and Charlotte’s climbing into her car double-parked in front of the office, with a dry-cleaning bag and overnight bag, ready to head out to Cornwall. Her presence a foot away, breathing and three-dimensional in the passenger seat, is more—affecting? overwhelming?—than Shona expected.
“You know, O’Keefe, I’ve never seen you drive before.” Her tone’s half teasing, half rueful.
“Well, my car’s been locked up since … you know, I moved.” Shona closes her door. “So, I think I can, but. Sorry, do you mind watching the navigation? I can’t really look at two things.”
Charlotte takes out her phone. “Yeah, let me find the place.” She taps. “Julie’s email … ah, ‘Historic Charming Fisherman’s Beach Fishing Executive Cottage, All Mod Cons.’ Do you think it was too optimistic to bring a swimsuit?”
“Wait, what?” Shona turns the key and pauses with the engine running. “Did you?”
“It does say ‘beach.’”
“God, I just packed work clothes.”
“I mean, probably was too optimistic of me. Who knows.” Charlotte sits back. “Anyway, this says you start by getting to the M4.”
Shona backs out and follows her directions to the motorway. London traffic hasn’t changed much, but Charlotte’s taste in music is still great, and she even sings along on a car ride, it turns out. Not the same harmony Aine likes, but more fun, in some ways.
And, watching the road and bitching about the cars and singing, Shona feels easier with her. It’s good, they’re still good. Almost like before. She relaxes and lets herself enjoy Charlotte’s company.
They stop at a service area as the sun is setting, and Charlotte buys them coffee and snacks. It’s well after dark when they find the place, after getting turned around on twisty country roads until they reach a village where the smell and sound of the sea are close. It’s one cottage at the end of a dark, narrow cobblestone street from the car park. The blue-painted door is fitted with a clashing modern lockbox.
“It says no owners on premises.” Charlotte sets her bags down, shines her phone on the box, and punches in the code.
The door creaks inward. “Thank God that worked, then,” Shona says, pushing through and finding a light switch. “Imagine being locked out here, at this time of night.”
The light illuminates a low-ceilinged, whitewashed kitchen, with a worn wooden floor, a deal table, and a tray of tea things below the curtained window. She drops her bags on the table. There are several more doors that might be closets, or not.
Shona crosses to one of the doors. “Just going to see what’s in here.”
The next room is dominated by a stone hearth. Mounted over the fireplace is a faux-weathered board reading, “What HAPPENS at the beach STAYS at the beach!” Shona groans. Across from it is a blue-and-white sofa with cushions shaped like starfish and shells. “This is the sofa bed, yeah?” she calls to Charlotte. “I’ll take it.”
“Found the stairs,” Charlotte calls back. “I think the bedroom is up there. I’ll check.” More creaking noises follow her upstairs and across the ceiling.
Shona pulls the cushions off into a pile and gives the fold-out mechanism a dubious look, then tugs on the bar to lift it. It stops short with a grinding squeal and a puff of dust. “Shit.”
The bed definitely seems broken. As Shona struggles with it, pulling one way, then the other, the pile collapses and cushions slide across the floor.
The door creaks to admit Charlotte, who’s shed her work blazer and loosened her collar, which Shona gives herself permission to kick herself for noticing. Charlotte looks from her to the sign, and bursts into laughter. “What are you doing?”
“The stupid thing won’t open.” Shona drops the mattress with another squeal of metal and starts to take her own jacket off.
Charlotte kneels down and peers at the mechanism, still chuckling. “I don’t think you’ll fix it tonight. I mean, text the owners, but this is useless.” She spreads her hands. “We could just share for now. If you’re comfortable.”
Surprise adrenaline floods Shona. “… You think?”
“It won’t bother me. The bed up there might as well be two. See for yourself.”
It does fill most of the room above, squeezed opposite a door to a little balcony, modern-sized in an antique space. Shona bites her tongue on a joke.
Charlotte sits on one side. “We could put a pillow down the middle, if you want to be medieval about it.”
“Ha, ha. No, I mean, I’m okay with it if you are.”
After retrieving her bags and taking her turn changing in the bathroom, Shona sets her phone on the nightstand, glances at Charlotte’s back, and climbs in gingerly near the bed edge.
“Oh, so, I’m up at six to run,” Charlotte says without turning.
“Right.” Shona reaches to switch off her lamp. “Yeah.”
It’s not like they ever really slept together before. Shona pushes away memories. Charlotte’s certainly moved on, or whatever therapists say, and maybe she’ll sleep before six.
Fortunately, she’s tired enough to manage, even in her awkward position.
The one she wakes up in is more awkward, though: rolled somehow into the center, slowly realizing she’s back to back with Charlotte, fitting against her in a warm line that feels really good until the knowledge sinks in.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Shona breathes. She inches her mortified body away from Charlotte’s hopefully sleeping one, all the way back to her side, and out of the bed. If she can make it before Charlotte sees her—
She closes the bedroom door carefully behind her, slips into the bathroom, and closes that door too. She looks for the shower, realizes in the morning light there’s only a bathtub, and curses louder.
“Shona? Are you okay?” Charlotte’s voice is faint through both doors.
“Fine!” Shona turns the water on to drown out further sounds. She manages to wash her hair in the bath, only bumping her head on the faucet once, and lets the heat soak away some of her embarrassment. When she comes out, the covers are turned back and Charlotte’s gone.
After she’s dressed in the suit she brought for today and thrown on some makeup, she makes a pot of tea with the things left in the kitchen and opens her laptop on the table.
About ten minutes into checking her email, Charlotte comes in from the back door in running clothes, early sunshine pouring in around her. “The beach out there is great, actually. Not exaggerated at all.” She unhooks her headphones and leans on the counter, catching her breath. In terms of effects on Shona’s mental state, it’s maybe not worse than last night, but not better.
“Hi.” Shona forces a casual voice, ready to apologize. “There’s nothing to eat, but ...” She lifts her teacup.
“Right, thanks.” With a quick smile, Charlotte heads for the stairs. “Down in a minute.”
After an interlude of footsteps across the ceiling, running bath sounds, and more footsteps, she reappears, dressed, with shoes in one hand. “It’s maybe not all mod cons, though. Someone used up the hot water.” She puts her free hand on her hip in mock anger.
“Oh, God, did I? Sorry. I am the worst. Sorry.” Shona reaches across the table. “I think the tea’s still hot.” She removes the seashell tea-cozy to pour another cup and pushes it toward Charlotte, steam rising.
Charlotte gives her a look and chews on her lip. “Well, I go first next time.” She sips the tea.
“Yeah, sure. Of course.”
Looking into the cup, she mutters, “Suppose a cold bath wasn’t so bad after that.”
“Good run, then?”
Charlotte drains her tea. “Yeah. Yeah, it was.”
There’s a crash from the other room. Shona jumps up to see the “What HAPPENS at the beach” sign has fallen face down on the hearthstones. “Jesus Christ.”
She brings it back to the kitchen, where Charlotte is laughing. “You should see your face. More to tell the owners.”
After they get all their work things to the car, Shona navigates the much-more-visible-in-daylight twisty roads, following signs and Charlotte’s direction to the conference venue.
“God, I could kill for a waffle.”
“There are supposed to be refreshments.” Charlotte looks at her phone. “Outdoors, they said.”
Ahead at a footpath crossing, two figures are waiting, outfitted for rambling with sticks and backpacks. Shona brakes for them, notices it’s two elderly women, and as they cross they take hands. The nearer one peers into the car, making rather sharp eye contact, then waves. Shona raises her hand. She can tell Charlotte noticed it, too.
“I mean, whatever they have,” she continues as they pass by the women. “Ugh, nerves make me fucking starving.”
“I know,” Charlotte says, almost in a tone she remembers, but surely it isn’t.
After finding the place and waiting in a long distanced queue for their Sustainable Investment 2021 schedules and badges, they split up for the morning sessions, as planned, to get the most information and networking out of this.
Shona’s first session is “Risk Thinking in a Radically Uncertain World,” in an open-sided tent in a field, with a podium in front. As she waits in her folding chair, sneaking bites of a wrapped cheese croissant, she automatically checks Find My iPhone. Of course there’s nothing, because she’s not tracking Aine anymore. And they agreed no calls this weekend, but she almost wishes Aine would call and distract her.
Someone says her name. She looks up to see a woman with short red hair, waving from the next seat over. “Hi! Shona O’Keefe? You probably don’t remember me, but I was at your women’s networking event, last year, or was it two years ago? God.” It looks like she’s smiling above a kicky patterned mask.
Shona swallows her bite of croissant and tries not to cough. ”Oh, yes, hi, thank you.” She realizes she’s reaching for a handshake and turns it into an awkward thumbs-up. “Who knows what time is anymore, right?”
“I really loved it, though,” says the woman. “You really started something. What about … your partner, er—”
“Charlotte? Yeah, yeah, she’s here with me, we’re still partners.”
“Oh? Well, good for you.” Her eyes crinkle again.
“I mean, we started a company together,” Shona says. “Let me give you our card.” She digs in her bag for one, gets to her feet, and hands it over. “We’re actually speaking here tomorrow, if you …”
“Oh!” The woman pulls out her schedule and flips to the next day.
As she does, the speaker up front begins to tap the mike. “Could everyone please take your seats?”
“Sorry—yeah, that one—sorry.” Shona backs up, giving another thumbs-up as the woman circles their presentation, and resumes her seat.
She takes a reasonable amount of notes on risk thinking, and grabs an outdoor coffee before the next session, so she has even more notes on private capital engagement in sustainable restoration.
At the noon break, she and Charlotte find each other near the recyclably-packaged gourmet box lunches, and go looking for a place to eat theirs. They settle on a table in one of the garden areas, a good distance from the general crowd.
A rising wind flaps Shona’s sandwich wrapper, and she pins it down with a elbow as she holds the sandwich. “So, I actually met a fan of ours this morning,” she tells Charlotte.
“Oh?” Charlotte’s eyebrows go up while she chews.
“She was at the first launch, can you believe it?” As the words pass her lips, Shona immediately regrets bringing up that night. Clouds move over the sun, as if to rub it in.
“That’s great,” Charlotte says neutrally, wiping her mouth.
“Yeah, I told her we’re speaking tomorrow, and she circled it on the schedule, so, you know, there’ll be one person there.” Shona laughs, a little forced.
Charlotte smiles and begins folding her wrapper into narrow segments. “Well, at my first session I had rather a brainwave about our client retention strategy…”
As she starts to describe her idea, a rush of wind is followed by pattering on the leaves, and then Shona feels droplets on her face. “Is that rain? Oh, God.”
Charlotte touches her own cheek. “It is.” The drops fall harder, the sky darkening. “Should we get under something?”
Around them, suited conference attendees begin hurrying back toward the domes and tents. Shona bundles the remains of her lunch into its box. “Shit. Knew I should have brought an umbrella.”
All the plants in this garden are below waist height, not even an arbor to hide under. As they stand up, the clouds truly open with a rumble of thunder and it begins to pour. Charlotte hugs her laptop bag to shield it with her body. “Come on!”
Shona follows her into the semi-distanced mass rush for cover, which turns into an increasingly wet queue of finance professionals holding jackets, newspapers, and biodegradable boxes over their heads, huddling around the curve of the main building.
Once they get inside, they have to wait again, dripping, for a chance to dry off in the ladies’ room.
“Didn’t they check the weather? Don’t they know what country this is?” Shona bends to dry her hair under the hand dryer.
Charlotte chuckles. “And for a bunch of market analysts, this speaks so well of our predictions.”
The rain doesn’t stop, and most of the afternoon sessions have to be canceled or moved inside, but they stick to their original plan and attend two panel discussions together. With Charlotte beside her, Shona does more whispering and laughing and rather less note-taking.
After the conference adjourns for the day, they run back through the rain to find the car, then sit damp and clammy until the engine warms up enough to use the heater.
Shona drives slow, with the wipers on full speed. Where the footpath parallels the road, they pass two figures walking, barely visible through the water sluicing off the windscreen.
“Was that the two old ladies from this morning?” Charlotte twists to look behind the car. “You know, who waved at us.”
“Was it? Oh, no.” Shona looks for a place to turn, but the road provides none, and the figures are already well behind them. “Shit, I can’t stop now.”
“It looked like them. Very determined walkers, I suppose.” Charlotte glances back again. “Might not accept a ride anyway.”
“Well, hope they make it home, bless them.” Shona leans forward, straining to see the road ahead.
It’s still raining when they park and hurry, heads down, along the cobblestone road to the cottage. Charlotte pushes through the door. “Right, I’m going to claim my hot bath now. See you later.”
Shona strips off her wet jacket and finds the hoodie she brought, then replaces the sofa cushions and sits down with her laptop. After a few minutes of bathing sounds from overhead, she puts in earbuds. After a few more, she gets up again and investigates the kitchen cupboards, finding more tea and instant coffee, sweetener packets, mismatched dishes, and grilling supplies. In the small fridge is a bottle of wine with the handwritten tag FOR OUR GUESTS. She takes it out to the coffee table with a couple of glasses.
Eventually, she hears water draining, and Charlotte comes down in a T-shirt and sweatpants with her hair wrapped in a towel.
Shona points to the bottle. “Our mystery hosts left that. Nice gesture.”
“Oh! That’s a point on their side of the ledger.” Charlotte blots and unwraps her hair, pours her own glass, and wanders around the room. “You know what else would be nice? A real fire. Can’t do that at home.” She kneels in front of the fireplace and starts arranging pieces of wood in the grate, then rearranging them. “Not like I know how to make one, of course.”
“I don’t know,” Shona says idly, then looks up. “I mean, if we can figure out Bluetooth, right?”
Charlotte strikes a match and holds it under the wood. It burns out. “I suppose it needs more kindling.” She adds a handful of twigs at the bottom of the stack and tries to light it again, without success.
Standing, Shona leans on the mantel. “Try smaller ones, maybe?” After several more adjustments and attempts, she tries a match herself that doesn’t catch. “Shit. You know what? I did see some lighter fluid in the kitchen, if you just want to ...”
Charlotte laughs. “Okay, why not.”
Shona goes to retrieve it. “Here.” She pours it over the wood. “Maybe, though, back up so, you know, I’m the only one who explodes.”
Charlotte gets to her feet. “No, no, team effort.” She takes the matches from Shona and strikes another. “Three, two, one …” She drops it in. A whoosh of flame warms their faces. “Yes!”
As the fire subsides to a normal level and the sticks catch, they high-five each other.
Charlotte gets her own computer and pulls a cushion between the fire and the coffee table. “That is so nice. Another point for this place.”
To eat while they work, they order in dinner from the nearby pub, which has a surprisingly extensive online menu with delivery. It all tastes reheated-from-frozen but serviceable.
As Shona is typing a client email, the sofa gets more uncomfortable and she feels something metal poking from underneath. She lifts up the seat cushion and yanks the handle again, but the broken mechanism doesn’t unstick. “Ugh, I forgot to text about this.” She searches for the hosts’ number on her phone.
“Oh, it’s fine for one more night, Shona, honestly.” Charlotte glances up. “Unless you’d rather deal with that than me.”
“No, I mean, of course not.”
“Sorry.” Charlotte’s tone softens. “Didn’t mean to be ...” She pauses. “So, before tomorrow, want to practice our speech for the millionth time?”
“Yeah.” Shona picks up her cushion and sets up across the coffee table from her.
They rehearse the speech, or rather Charlotte does her part, which is most of it, and Shona listens and prompts her. She’s animated and magnetic, even though Shona’s practically memorized the words by now. Then they trade questions back and forth to practice for the Q&A. Working with her this way, comfortable on the floor by the fire, it’s like their first meetings in Shona’s living room, when everything felt serendipitously right.
On a break in the conversation, Shona notices it’s getting late. “Hey, don’t you want to call whoever you’re dating? Um, the flowers woman, what’s her name?”
“Oh.” Charlotte pauses. “I’m … not. Didn’t I tell you?” She shrugs. “Who’s really dating these days, though.”
Shona chuckles awkwardly. “Right.”
“But let me show you what I can do.” Charlotte picks up her phone and opens an app. “I set up a camera at home to spy on my cat while I’m away.” She scrolls a bit. “Found him. Yeah, sleeping.” She holds it toward Shona. “Is it too cat lady?”
Shona leans to see the video. “… I don’t know.” She laughs harder.
“It is! Oh, God.” Charlotte breaks into laughter so that Shona can almost feel it.
“I mean, I think it’s nice. I like seeing him.”
Charlotte gives the sleeping cat a fond look. “Me too.” She sets it down. “Don’t you want to call Aine? I’m surprised she hasn’t called, actually.”
“Aine’s all right where she is,” Shona says. Seeing Charlotte’s expression, she adds, “Well, I don’t even know exactly where she is tonight. I hope she’s at home. But yeah, she’s all right.”
They’re both quiet after this, but something in the air between them subtly changes. Like a kind of possibility, drifting there.
Or Shona might be imagining it.
She tenses and gets up from the floor, gathering her things. “Okay, um, I’ll head up early. Good night, you know, if I don’t see you.” If I don’t see you? God.
“Okay,” Charlotte says. “Night.”
After falling asleep alone on her side of the bed, Shona wakes again closer to Charlotte’s, this time facing her, their knees brushing. She lies still, caught between fear and hope that Charlotte will open her eyes and say something, that she did feel something last night.
Charlotte’s lashes are long and dark on her cheek, her face relaxed, her breath slow. She doesn’t wake.
Well, it’s the last morning. Shona pulls herself away and reaches for her phone.
When she notices the date on the lock screen, her feelings are overtaken by confusion that increases as she swipes through it. “What?” She sits up, businesslike now, and shakes Charlotte’s shoulder. “Hey. Hey, Charlotte.”
“Mmm?” Charlotte stretches. “Shona? What’s going on?”
“Sorry, this is weird, but everything on my phone says it’s still Saturday. What does yours say?”
Charlotte climbs out of bed to grab hers. “Mine too.” She taps more. “That is so weird. What are the chances?”
“Maybe we need to … reset the internet connection or something.”
Barefoot in her sleep shirt and shorts, Shona goes downstairs, with Charlotte following. In the kitchen, the tea tray’s been refilled and the bin emptied. “They didn’t say there was daily cleaning,” Charlotte observes.
Shona finds the router in the cupboard where she saw it yesterday, and turns it off and then on again. Her phone still reads Saturday, August 7.
“I’ll just call the conference,” Charlotte says, lifting her own phone to her ear. “Hi. Yeah, just calling to confirm the time for the awards presentation today, because we’ve had some kind of tech glitch. … Not until tomorrow? You’re sure? All right, thank you.”
She looks at Shona. “According to them, the awards are tomorrow.”
Her general anxiety rising, Shona walks into the living room to call Aine.
“I thought we agreed on no calls this weekend, Shona.” Aine’s still in bed, holding the camera sideways.
“Sorry. Listen, just tell me what day it is, will you?”
“Saturday, the seventh of August. Doesn’t it say that on your phone? Did you fall down and hit your head, Shona? Isn’t Charlotte taking care of you?”
“Shut up. No, it’s just … the calendars here are fucked somehow. Never mind, go back to sleep. I love you.”
“Love you, say hello to Char—”
Shona ends the call and walks back into the kitchen. “Aine thinks it’s Saturday.”
“So does Julie. I had to apologize for waking her with such a stupid question.” Charlotte shows her Julie’s texts. She sighs, dropping her face into her hand. “Saturday was yesterday. I was here. You were here. We went to the conference.”
Shona nods. “If it was just me I’d think I was dreaming, or yeah, hit my head. But—”
“I don’t understand any of this.” Charlotte paces the kitchen. “But maybe we should go speak with them in person, about the schedule. If the awards really are today and we miss it because of some mix-up…”
With a clatter, the sign in the living room falls a second time. Shona goes to pick it up, uneasy with deja vu, and carries it gingerly to the kitchen table.
Upstairs, they wash and dress in quick turns. She’s further spooked to find her suit from yesterday back in the garment bag, apparently clean. “If this is some elaborate prank,” she says, pulling on the other one, “I’m going to murder Aine.”
“If someone broke in and interfered with our bags, maybe we should call the police. Or at least the hosts.” Charlotte braces her phone between ear and shoulder as she brushes her hair. “Their number’s just ringing. No response.”
“How did none of the reviews mention this?” Shona grumbles.
“We should go,” Charlotte says, pulling on her shoes. “I’ll try again from the car.”
There’s an umbrella in a stand by the cottage door, and just in case, Shona grabs it on the way out.
While Shona drives, Charlotte calls the hosts’ number several more times, then the police station. “They’re sending someone out tomorrow morning to take a statement.”
“If we’re not murdered by then,” says Shona.
At the footpath crossing, the same two elderly women are waiting with the same backpacks and walking sticks.
“We saw them before. That same couple.” Charlotte raises her hand just before the closer lady leans in and waves. Shona notices her hair is done in old-fashioned pin-curls.
The echoing feeling won’t let go of her. “Glad it’s not just me.”
At the conference, after they wait in a very similar if not identically long registration queue, the man at the desk is confused.
“My partner and I understood the Rising Star awards ceremony was today,” Shona says.
“I can assure you, Ms. O’Keefe, we definitely have that down for Sunday. There you both are.” He shows her the same schedule she received yesterday, and points to their names on it.
“Which is not today,” Shona says.
“No.”
“Right, just want to be sure.” She puts on a smile under her mask. “Thanks.”
Shona steps aside and pulls Charlotte with her. “Still don’t know what’s going on, but maybe we shouldn’t split up.”
“Yeah, let’s stay together,” says Charlotte.
At the Risk Thinking session, the redhead is there in the same seat. When Shona takes the next pair of seats with Charlotte, she waves to them more excitedly.
“Shona and Charlotte, right? You probably don’t recognize me—”
Shona waves back. “Hi! You were at our women’s networking event last year.” She mutters to Charlotte, “I told you about her.” Charlotte waves.
“Wow, yes! It’s great to run into you here. I loved what you both did.”
Shona explains again that they’re accepting an award tomorrow, points it out on the schedule, gives her a Trust Together card, and when the speaker asks her to sit down, she goes back to Charlotte.
“It’s exactly the same,” Shona whispers after he speaks for a few minutes. “I took notes.” She rummages in her bag for her notebook to show Charlotte. The pages are blank. She flips further—maybe she’s wrong about where they were—but the last thing there is her shopping list from Monday. Her stomach twists. “They’re gone.”
“This is too weird,” Charlotte mutters. She touches Shona’s shoulder. “Let’s check out my session.”
After confirming that Charlotte’s first session is word-for-word the same, as well as her second, neither of them has an appetite for lunch. They’re at a window to see the rain come in, at the same time, scattering attendees into the buildings in the same pattern, like clockwork. The only difference is them.
“Listen, do you want to get out of here? Can we?” Charlotte pushes away from the window.
“Christ, I hope so.”
In the car on the way back, Shona, still feeling queasy, has to grip the wheel hard to steady her hands. When she passes shapes in the rain that might be the same walking ladies a fourth time, she speeds by, too spooked to look closer.
Back in the cottage, Charlotte disappears upstairs with her phone, saying she’s calling her therapist.
Shona finds the wine bottle in the exact same spot in the fridge, with the same label. She uncorks it in the kitchen, trying not to think about whether she’s already consumed the same wine. She sits, staring into her glass, swirling it, for at least an hour until Charlotte returns.
“I was afraid to tell her all of it,” Charlotte says. “But it can’t be just my brain, because you’re here too.”
“Yeah, if it’s a brain thing, it’s both of us.”
“She said it’s probably stress, and I should eat something and get some sleep.” Charlotte accepts a glass of the wine and takes a seat at the table.
“I mean, we have both been stressed. The whole world’s been stressed.” Shona calls up Deliveroo on her phone. “So, right, food. What do you fancy ordering? Don’t say the same as last night.”
Charlotte splutters on a laugh. “God, no.”
They decide on a Thai takeaway place. It takes a while to arrive, but the ordinary-yet-different spread of curry, noodles, and more wine is calming, and the day’s unsettling deja vu feeling slowly dissipates.
While they eat, they obsessively search the internet for possible explanations and rank them in a list.
1. Stress
2. Dreaming/hallucinating
3. Folie a deux
4. Something?? in the water/air/food
“Or government experiments? Honestly, these all sound like something off the X-Files.” Charlotte sips her wine and types. “They even did a repeating day on that show. It was a really bad day.”
“Well, if we’re going there … this place could be full of ghosts. Guests who died on that sofa. Unfinished business.” Shona adds 5. Government experiments and 6. Haunted.
“Or just some ‘anomaly in the space-time continuum.’” Charlotte makes air quotes. “I have seen Star Trek, too.”
“Wow, nerd,” Shona says, laughing. “How do you spell that?”
“Says the one who suggested a haunted Airbnb.” Charlotte grabs for the list and writes 7. Time loop, with a flourish.
“Excuse me, I’m Irish. We know ghosts.” Still laughing, Shona gestures the wrong way with her glass and hits the broken sign on the table. Pain lances in her hand as the glass cracks, cutting through the tipsy warmth. “Shit!”
“Shona!” Charlotte stands up. “You’re bleeding.”
Shona opens her hand and winces at a long, shallow cut across her palm. She grabs a handful of napkins to catch the blood.
“I saw a first-aid kit in the bathroom. Stay there, I’ll get it.”
When Charlotte returns, she cups Shona’s hand in hers, peels away the bloody paper, and dabs the cut with rubbing alcohol as Shona grimaces. “God, ow. Thanks. Sorry.”
Her touch is deft and firm, as Shona remembers awfully well. “Hold still, I can’t see.” Her breath warms Shona’s fingers as she pulls out a chip of glass.
Shona keeps talking. “So, either our Airbnb ghost has no sense of humor, or it just hates the Irish, or ...”
“Both, obviously.” Charlotte presses gauze into the cut and wraps her whole hand around with tape. “There, I think that should stay.” She bites her lip, considering.
“Thanks,” Shona says again, like an idiot, because Charlotte is still holding her hand.
“Until we can get checked out tomorrow, at least.”
“Right, because it will be tomorrow.”
“Right.” Charlotte lets go. “After we sleep.”
There’s no argument about sharing the bed this time. Neither of them wants to be alone, they’re a bit drunk, and they lie closer voluntarily, listening to the rain. Not talking.
Shona drifts into consciousness with her arm asleep under Charlotte and Charlotte’s hair in her face, breathing the scent of Charlotte’s skin. When she registers this, she snaps awake, heart jumping in panic.
The next two things she realizes are, first, she’s not hungover, and second, her hand doesn’t hurt.
“Charlotte!” Shona sits up and pulls her arm free, wincing at the pins and needles. She checks her phone. Saturday morning.
“…What?” Charlotte blinks sleepily and rakes fingers through her curls.
“It happened again.” Shona opens her right hand, bare and clean with no sign of a wound. “My cut’s completely gone. This is insane.”
Charlotte pushes herself up on an elbow. “Are you sure you don’t just heal fast?”
“The whole thing disappeared, like it literally never happened.”
“How can it be Saturday for the third time?” Charlotte looks at her phone, then puts her face in her hands. “I’m glad you’re here, or I might really be … never mind.” She drops them and takes a slow breath.
Shona puts a hand over hers. “I would definitely be losing it right now if you weren’t here.”
“Well, we made a whole list of explanations last night. I guess the real question is what do we do? How do we stop it?”
Shona spreads her arms in hopeless resignation. “Have we pissed off any, I don’t know, witches or wizards? Have you seen anything around that looks cursed?”
Charlotte starts to climb out of bed, then chuckles. “You mean, besides that sign downstairs?”
“Yeah, obviously besides that.” Shona snorts. “I need coffee before I can think about this anymore.”
And so, from that moment on, Charlotte and Shona pivot, transferring all their energy to solving the problem, day after day. After three or four, Shona starts to lose track of the number of days, because nothing outside her head persists, except Charlotte.
It’s always Saturday, they always wake up touching, and they never talk about it. Instead, they try different things, moving down the list of probability. One day they drive to the nearest NHS clinic with same-day appointments, where a harried doctor with worse problems runs a battery of physical tests that all read normal.
Another day, they turn the cottage upside down, searching the books and decorations for clues. Talking to people in the village gets them nothing but a day of strange looks. Local history research yields a list of past owners of the cottage, which Shona hasn’t a prayer of remembering long enough to investigate.
Searching for local disasters they can stop on August seventh turns up nothing. Neither does returning to the conference with rain gear and doing their best covert search for bombs, assassins, or conspirators—though they do break into hysterical laughter describing it to each other in the car afterwards.
That day’s small success is that when they pass the two women on the footpath in the rain, Charlotte gets out with the umbrella to offer them a ride. They turn down the ride but accept the umbrella. The second day they accept it, she reports their names are Edith and Alice.
In the evenings, after running through the few places that deliver to the cottage, Shona and Charlotte order groceries to cook for themselves, staying in with the rain outside. And it’s Charlotte’s idea to watch as many films and shows about time loops as they can, to get ideas. Shona takes notes, even though they won’t last, just to help herself remember.
On probably the sixth Saturday night, they’re leaning against the sofa with a fire burning, rewatching Groundhog Day on Shona’s laptop, when Charlotte dozes off and her head falls softly against Shona’s shoulder.
“Charlotte?” Shona asks, but stops short of waking her. Instead she lets it play on, lets Charlotte sleep against her side, in a bubble of contentment until she falls asleep herself, notebook sliding from her lap.
The next morning, Shona wakes back in the upstairs bed, without Charlotte’s warmth anywhere. She opens her eyes; no Charlotte. She checks her phone; still Saturday.
What if Charlotte’s dropped out of the loop and left her? In a mild panic, Shona hurries downstairs, then sighs at the living room window, seeing her on one of the beach chairs outside.
She’s in a swimsuit—sensible and black, Shona’d forgotten she mentioned it—with a cover-up around her waist, looking at her phone. On a table between the chairs are a tray of fruit and fancy pastries and a bottle that looks like champagne.
Shona opens the back door. “Happy Saturday.”
Charlotte raises a champagne glass. “I decided I packed this for a reason and was going to wear it. And order no-consequences breakfast. Only slightly inspired by Phil Connors.”
Shona sits down on the other beach chair. “At least we get a beautiful morning. Imagine if it rained all day.” She takes the other glass and a pastry and stretches out her legs, which could use some sun under her sleep shorts. “God, I thought you disappeared on me.”
Charlotte glances over and smiles. “You looked like you needed the sleep.”
“Maybe,” Shona says with her mouth full of pastry. “These are good.” She leans back, letting the sun relax her.
Charlotte bites into another pastry. “So, assuming there are no consequences, and we wake up here again, what else would you do?”
“Aside from trying to break the curse or whatever?”
“Right, aside from what we’ve been doing.”
In this moment, Shona can’t think of anything she wants to do on this day except be with Charlotte. “I don’t know, rob a bank?”
“Really?”
“No. Too much work. I mean, we have credit cards.”
Charlotte laughs. “Too bad the markets are closed Saturdays, or we could’ve made a real dent day-trading and redistributing.”
“Yeah, I have thought that a lot.” Shona reaches over to clink glasses with her. “I wonder what you can order with same-day shipping, though.”
Waves wash up on the sand rhythmically, gulls crying. A boat with a colorful sail crosses the water in the distance. Shona squints and wishes she’d brought sunglasses. “If we are stuck here forever, I probably will miss Aine. And Mam. Eventually.”
Charlotte’s smile is a touch wistful. “My parents might not even take my call. Well, you know that.” She flashes her cat’s image on her phone. “At least I know he’s doing fine at home.”
Shona has the urge to pat her arm, and settles for sympathetic silence.
“Do you think everyone else keeps on going, like, in a new timeline every day?” Charlotte asks. “Or does everything reset when we do?”
“Jesus, these are both depressing in opposite ways,” Shona says. “Hurts my brain to think about it.”
She gets out her phone and shades the screen while she does a few searches, then leans across to show Charlotte a chartreuse-green bedazzled full-size motorcycle for same-day delivery anywhere in the UK.
Charlotte bursts into sincere laughter. “Is it wrong that I kind of want it?”
They spend the morning periodically trying to top each other at finding ridiculous items, threatening to place orders, and finishing the champagne while watching the sea.
As noon approaches and clouds appear on the horizon, they reluctantly go back inside. Shona finds the “What HAPPENS at the beach” sign has fallen down for the—seventh?—time.
“Hey, Charlotte,” she says, grinning. “Here’s one thing I’m going to do.” She picks it up with both hands, braces herself, then brings it down over her knee with a satisfying, splintering crack. Charlotte gasps in mock horror, then applauds as Shona stuffs the pieces of board in the fireplace. “And if I just finally broke the curse, they can bill me.”
Around three o’clock, they drive through the rain back to the footpath intersection to find Edith and Alice. Charlotte jumps out to offer them the cottage umbrella for the third time.
When she climbs back into the car, Shona says, “Listen, I had another idea. What if we just keep driving? If we started now, we could probably get back to London.”
“Yeah, why not?” Charlotte leans back in her seat as rain drums on the roof. “Maybe make it out of the storm. Maybe even out of the … whatever. Or just see what time it happens.”
Shona brings the car around, waving to the old women, and points her east. With Charlotte navigating, they do make it out of the rain north of Dartmoor. After stopping at the same service area for strong coffee, Shona lets Charlotte drive while she picks the music. She finds a playlist of hits of the ‘80s and turns it up. Charlotte laughs and floors it to “Hounds of Love.”
It’s an exhilarating kind of drive, hours wearing away into the twilight and the dark, toward the city, lights finally clear outside after a week of the same downpour.
By the time they reach London, they’re still wired on caffeine, and it’s late, but the streets are bright and active. “God, I missed this,” says Shona. “I can’t believe we made it back.”
“It’s still Saturday night,” says Charlotte. “Where to?”
“Do you know Aine’s?”
When they get close to Aine’s building, Shona calls her, but gets her voicemail.
“She’s not picking up,” Shona says. “And I don’t want to burst in on her, in case she’s having sex or something.” She cranes her neck to look up at the building as they pass. “It might be weird, anyway. For her, I just left yesterday.”
“Well, you could come back to mine,” Charlotte says. Laughing, she adds, “I mean, to wait for midnight. Or whenever we reset back to Cornwall.”
Shona laughs too, unsure how serious she is. “Maybe we won’t.”
“Well, in that case, to celebrate.”
“Sure, yeah.”
They leave Shona’s car in an expensive underground spot in Charlotte’s building. “If it’s still there in the morning, they can bill me too,” Shona says.
It’s strange to walk into Charlotte’s flat again and see it as real and present as herself, with hidden areas and dimensions opening out. Shona has a handful of vivid memories papered over by a year’s worth of two-dimensional glimpses in video chats.
Charlotte’s cat comes running, and she picks him up and gives him a whole can of tuna. “Make yourself at home,” she calls to Shona. “Only twenty minutes to midnight.”
Shona wanders around, noticing everything that was there before and everything different, and comes to rest on Charlotte’s sofa, which is much nicer—as she remembers—than the cottage’s.
“It’s like New Year’s Eve, waiting for this arbitrary significant point on the clock,” Charlotte says when she comes out of the kitchen. “Or like most of my New Years, anyway.”
Shona chuckles. Charlotte puts music on and sits quite near her on the sofa, resting her chin in her hand to watch the time.
With the atmosphere of the night, the tension of waiting, and the way Charlotte is glancing at her, Shona’s feelings rise up and she feels reckless. Like it’s time to say what she’s wanted to all week, all year.
She sits forward. “Listen. Charlotte, um, I’ve done some really stupid things, out of fear. And guilt. And denial.” She pauses. “Classic Irish combination. But, before I lose my nerve … I wish I could redo a lot more than a day, with you.”
Charlotte’s eyes widen. “Wait.” Her voice drops lower, intense. “Shona, what are you saying?”
“I’m saying, if it’s going to be haunted, beach-themed, rainy Saturday, August seventh, forever, you know, at least I’m with you.” She feels herself start to babble. “Not that I’d wish this on you. Jesus. I—”
Charlotte leans closer, and Shona meets her gaze. “I, just, really fucked up that choice before. Who to be with. Who to be …”
Charlotte’s fingers stroke down Shona’s cheek. Shona swallows and makes the leap, catching Charlotte’s lips with hers.
With a little moan of urgency, Charlotte returns the kiss.
Forgotten, the clock ticks over, and back.
Shona wakes in the cottage bed, briefly unmoored and confused, wrapped in the warmth of Charlotte’s body. Her heart is still racing like it was a dream.
“Happy Saturday morning,” Charlotte murmurs beside her ear.
Shona takes a breath. “Back there, I meant … I hurt everyone, trying to be someone I’m not. I hurt you because I’m an idiot. Being with you was the best thing that happened to me. Everything.” She covers Charlotte’s hand on her stomach. “God, touching you. I don’t deserve any second chances, I know. But if you—”
“Oh, fuck, Shona.” Charlotte rolls above her, gazing down. “How can I not.”
With a year’s held-back desire in her eyes, haloed in morning light, Charlotte slides both hands under Shona’s sleep shirt. Shona can barely stand the relief of it, her skin remembering its hunger. “I missed you.”
Then Charlotte dips her head and descends on her almost fiercely, and the reality of her touch sends Shona quivering and gasping to the edge and then over, so quickly, before she’s ready, like falling from a great height, shuddering close to tears.
She holds onto Charlotte, not trusting herself to speak for a long moment. Charlotte kisses her closed eyes, then her lips, slower. Shona opens to her, relearning the feel of her mouth, the weight of her body pressing into her own. She could stay like this for endless loops of time.
After a while, Charlotte leans her forehead into Shona’s and takes a deep breath. “I thought I was being so stupid, getting excited for this trip. I couldn’t help thinking I might have another chance.”
“God, Charlotte, no.” Shona cups her face. “I’m the stupid one. It’s really never, ever been you.”
“And I can’t pretend you didn’t hurt me.” Charlotte rolls to lie beside her. “But—maybe this day is a dream, or maybe it’s all we’ve got now, but I’m sick of pretending I don’t still want to be with you.” She spreads her hand over Shona’s breastbone.
Shona’s heart actually aches in her chest, if that can be real. More than two feelings. Who knew.
She grins and turns toward Charlotte. “I know I’ve got a long way to go, and I’m really out of practice, but let me just … try and start making it up to you.”
Charlotte laughs, a giddy crescendo of delight as Shona moves down her body, tasting the skin from her neck to her shoulder, breasts, belly.
Shona lifts her head. “I mean, you know, with sex, but not only that.”
Still laughing, Charlotte catches fingers in her hair. “You do have time.”
Eventually, they make it out of bed and share the hot water until it runs out. Amazingly, it’s still morning.
They order breakfast sandwiches and walk on the beach while the sunshine lasts. Charlotte shows her the best places she found on her runs.
When the clouds start to blow in off the ocean, they hurry back to refuge in the cottage. Shona kicks the “What HAPPENS on the beach” sign under the sofa and lets Charlotte draw her down into the seashell cushions.
“Almost time for Edith and Alice,” Charlotte says breathlessly a while later.
“Right. Yeah.” Shona pulls herself back together, after momentary guilt at thinking they’d be fine.
When she stops the car near the footpath, Edith and Alice are there again with their walking sticks and packs, their gray hair already soaked. Alice, the taller one, Shona thinks, has her arm around Edith. “Come on,” Charlotte says, climbing out under the umbrella and then opening Shona’s door. She pulls Shona by the hand to meet them.
“Hello,” Charlotte says, holding the umbrella for them to stand under. “Could we maybe offer you a ride? Or just an umbrella for your walk?”
Edith squints up at her, then Shona, and beams. “Well, isn’t that lovely, Alice? Look at these two, the shine on their faces. Thank you, my dear, a ride would be most kind.”
“That’s new,” Charlotte mouths to Shona as they follow the two old women to the car and help them in.
“Where can we drop the two of you?” Shona asks.
“Oh, just in the village. We live close by and have an errand to run.”
Shona drives carefully back to the village while Edith beams at her and Charlotte in the mirror. She stops near the pub, insisting they take the umbrella. “Bless you indeed,” says Edith. “I used to have one just like this. Didn’t we, Alice?”
“You both have a good night now,” Alice says softly as they climb out.
“Thanks,” Charlotte says, “we’ll try.”
In the evening, Shona and Charlotte cook dinner together and eat it in bed, working their way through the next few time loop videos on Shona’s laptop, while rain falls on the cottage roof and the waves crash outside.
It is a good night, after the best day Shona can remember in a long time, and for once the thought of the next doesn’t trouble her.
Shona’s awakened by a direct sunbeam in her face through the curtains, which they had left open. Charlotte is warm and soft and still naked against her side, breathing shallowly in sleep. Shona blinks and shades her eyes. This is new. Should this be happening?
Not wanting to disturb Charlotte, she reaches for her phone and manages to snag it with her fingertips.
Sunday? Shona sits straight up. “Sunday! Oh my God! Charlotte, wake up!”
Charlotte’s eyes open. “Shona? What’s—”
“It’s Sunday! It’s nine o’clock! I don’t know how!”
“God, the awards!” Charlotte rolls out of bed and tears through her bags.
After a frenzy of bathing, dressing and half-spoken questions, they bundle into the car, Charlotte reciting the speech under her breath as Shona drives.
They are, incredibly, on time back at the conference, and prepared when their names are called. Charlotte does most of the speaking, standing at the podium in her pantsuit, punctuating with graceful gestures, and Shona can’t take her eyes off her. When the Q&A time begins, she does manage to answer a few questions.
Then, very soon, it’s over, and Shona is carrying the two awards down the steps after Charlotte. At the bottom she catches Charlotte’s sleeve.
“You were, and are, so great,” Shona says under her breath. “You deserve both awards, and I don’t deserve you, but somehow ...” She presses both statuettes into Charlotte’s arms and kisses her hard and quick beside the dais, ignoring the people watching.
“Good start, this,” Charlotte murmurs, laughing. “You’re a lucky woman, O’Keefe.”
“Today, I really am.”
She lets Charlotte lead her to a pair of seats, and can hardly pay attention to the rest of the speeches.
When it’s all over, on their way out to the car, the sun is shining. “Did you think we’d ever get out of there?” Charlotte says.
Shona begins to laugh and can’t stop, and then Charlotte laughs too, to the point of near hysterics and coughing behind their masks, clinging to each other.
But they do have to head back to the cottage to pick up their bags, and Shona wants a last look at the place. She pushes through apprehension to follow Charlotte back inside.
Tucked behind the front door is a framed portrait she hadn’t previously noticed, of two women standing outside the cottage. They look familiar, if a little younger. “Is that … Edith and Alice?”
“It could be,” Charlotte says. “God, could they be the owners?”
Shona snaps a photo of the picture before collecting her things.
“We’ll never be able to tell anyone, will we?” Charlotte glances over as they walk to the car. “About what really happened.”
“They’ll never believe it. Not even Aine. I hardly do.” Shona pauses. “I like the idea of a weird, good secret, though, you know?”
After a moment, Charlotte nods. “But right now, I want to go home. With you.”
Shona tosses her the keys. “Could you drive first? I want to check something.”
She curls up with her phone while Charlotte drives. Finally, the photo and right combination of searches leads her to a local history page with the same portrait, describing the cottage as home of the village “witch” and matchmaker Edith T___, who lived with her longtime companion Alice Y___ from 1890 to 1931.
“You know, I never seriously believed in ghosts, but.” Shona reads the caption aloud to Charlotte. “Should we thank them?”
Charlotte laughs. “If we wake up tomorrow and it’s Monday, with all my heart.”
“Let’s find out.”