four stories not about fruit: redcurrant

I wrote this in spring 2019, because a friend and I had made a deal that I would upload four stories and she would upload four songs by April 23rd. It's unedited, and I do know which parts of it are clunky. I pasted together all four stories and put it on Kindle Direct Publishing, where it made about £4.50.

In March 2025 I'm off Amazon, so here you go. (I also note that when I retrieved the four stories from my archives I had no memory of writing this one, and no idea what was about to happen. It's been a weird six years, okay.)

A woman Maggie vaguely recognised leaned across her view and said, gesturing at the five empty seats around the table, "Is it alright if I sit here?"

"Of course!" Maggie said, blinking as she focused away from the mountains, trying to place the face. "Sorry, I'm quite dazed from staring at this marvellous view! Look at the snow on that one, it's been every colour but white since I sat down."

The other woman settled happily into a chair and put her drink carefully on the table in front of her. "They are remarkable! Very unlike my usual views. I live in Cornwall and I usually write looking out at the sea."

Click and click. That was enough to place her. Emily Lance, dive instructor and photographer. According to the weekend's paperwork, she would be speaking on the search for silence. She was considerably more tanned in her publicity photo.

"How wonderful to meet you, Emily. I'm Maggie Knight."

"Oh, I know! I’ve found your books inspiring for years, I’m so looking forward to your talk!” Emily started to reach out her hand but then looked down at it and pulled it back to wipe it on a cocktail napkin.

Maggie ignored that. “So am I, to be honest. It’s not one I’ve given before. It’ll be interesting to see how it goes down.”

“Is it much of a departure?” Emily asked, blotting condensation off her glass with a second napkin.

Maggie looked her sharply but decided that was innocent. “Yes, it is. My last few years - of publication, anyway - have been on the theme of the action that comes after finding peace, and now I feel ready to confront the peace that comes from choosing action.” She started to reach into her blazer pocket. “Do you know this quote by Oliver Wendell Holmes - I have it on a card because it’s so often misquoted.” She drew out a slightly bent index card and read it out carefully.

“The only simplicity for which I would give a straw is what - sorry, is that which is on the other side of the complex. Not that which never has divined it.”

Emily nodded cautiously. “I think I have heard it reduced to something catchier, yes.”

“We might be circling towards the same thing. I remember your book being about stillness in the midst of frenzy.”

“Oh! How kind of you to have read it! Yes, the beauty of diving - you have to be completely alert and responsible for your body but all around you is this paradise that you can be in, completely, if you trust.”

"You quite make me want to book a diving trip!"

"That's wonderful to hear! I hope you do. I'd love to read what you think of it. I do hope we're moving towards the same thing, and I hope everyone is. That pairing of peace and action covers a lot of self improvement and self discovery."

"Oh, I'm sure everyone here is moving towards the same thing. When did you last have a real disagreement at one of these workshops?" Maggie leaned forward and drained her glass of white wine.

Emily looked interested. "You think we need more disagreement? You think we're preaching to the choir?"

"People who buy one self help book buy twenty self help books and a couple of courses. That's alright. People who buy no self help books continue to buy no self help books. I've been wondering how I get to talk to them."

"My mother doesn't read self help at all, even mine. Disguise it as memoir, to reach her. Or turn it into a practical guide, about housework or learning to draw."

Maggie rolled her eyes. “Sneak meditation in under cover of telling them about my shiny drain?”

“It’s worked for other women. And replace shiny drain with shiny fish and a snorkel, and that’s all I’m doing. I’m not too proud to get at them sideways.”

“There’s sideways and then there’s - Aslan.”

Emily hooted with laughter.

“You know?”

“I absolutely know. I’m so glad I sat here!”

A third woman sat gracefully down at the table. “And I’m glad to find you both together, I need to speak with you both.” She smiled blandly at Emily, then transferred the smile to Maggie.

Maggie frowned. “Need is a strong word, missy.”

“I do like strong words. You needn’t be afraid to upset me.” Her smile held long enough to be unnerving. “My name is Opal. I know what you did.”

Maggie deliberately kept her face neutral and her hands loose, but she noticed Emily’s grey eyes go wide.

“I take it you mean you’re familiar with our oeuvre?” Maggie said, drawing the last word out into a dare.

“Yes, Greta Challenger, I am.”

Maggie still didn’t react. To her right, Emily looked bemusedly at her.

“You see, Vicky Vine, once upon a time Maggie Knight was Maggie Carter, and she was a strong little girl!”

Emily had gone pale and sat back in her chair. “I don’t need to know.”

Opal’s smile faded. “She’d agree with you, Vicky Vine, but keep listening. This strong little girl learned how to fist-fight, you see, and as she had uncles in a certain industry she started fighting for entertainment. Under the name of Greta Challenger! There are some very powerful videos around.”

Maggie said, “It’s lovely that you take such joy in digging up silly old stories.”

“The joy, Mrs Knight, is sparked by the pay. Would you like to know about Vicky Vine?”

“I already know, you silly little trull, and you’re not entertaining enough to keep talking.”

“You know?” Emily sounded near tears. “They promised nobody would know!”

Opal snorted. “She’s trying to unsettle me, girl, she doesn’t know you wrote the Cuirín Cure.”

At that Maggie couldn’t keep her face straight any more. “That was a man, and he was drummed out of every society he’d slithered into and he was fined. A huge fine. You’re talking daft.”

Emily let out a sob.

Opal smirked. “She’s not as tough as you, Mrs Knight. No, the man you remember did all the charismatic speaking, but young Vicky here ghost-wrote the book. She knew it was a scam and she took three thousand pounds for it.”

Maggie said, “Was that your first job?”

Emily had her face hidden in her hands but nodded.

“Not a bad price, then. Pull yourself together. All right, Opal, what are you after?”

"We think your reputations would be protected for only thirty thousand euro a year."

"Bollocks!" Emily and Maggie both snapped at the same time, and looked at each other, startled.

"Good, be angry." Maggie said to the younger woman, pleased to note a fierce blush in her tearful face. "This is complete bollocks." She turned back to Opal. "Shame your nosing about didn't include any research into my finances. I don't have that kind of money to throw at things I like, never mind grasping little tarts in Argos earrings."

She was gratified to see Opal's hand start to reach defensively up to her ears, before she regained composure.

Emily added, "I definitely don't. I cleared thirty four last year and used every shred to get my student loan down to the amount it was on graduation day."

Maggie clucked sympathetically. "Awful what they've done to your generation, you poor thing."

"I'm not interested in how poor and hungry you both are." Opal sounded exasperated. "I'm not going to spread a little rumour you can brave with your chins up, I've got a website and a search engine package for each of you ready to launch if you fail to pay. Get business loans. Remortgage. We don't care."

Maggie deliberately relaxed in her chair, forcing every muscle in her arms and around her belly to loosen. She breathed out, conscious that her jaw was clenched. She breathed in, telling herself she could smell snow, hear the click of carabiners.

"Ladies?" Another voice broke her concentration, and she was about to snap something rude but realised in time that the girl was carrying an order notepad. "May I bring you more drinks? I see you're settled in here!"

Opal said brightly, "Oh yes, Mrs Knight will have another glass of white, and I'll join her. Miss Lance?"

Emily glared at her. "Well, another g and t then, yes. A double this time, thank you."

The waitress smiled happily at each of them, collected both empty glasses and trotted off to the bar.

Maggie said, ignoring Opal, "Emily, would it be so bad? The bloody Cuirìn scam was two years before your own book. People will understand you were doing a job for hire."

Emily looked tearful again. "My family won't. And people are still talking about it! It's still the joke people make when they joke about health food."

Maggie nodded reluctantly.

Opal leaned further forwards. "They really are. His family’s redcurrant farm went entirely out of business before the courts ordered him to pay fines. No buyers would deal with them, there was so much ill will. I read he still gets so much hate mail from people whose sick relatives tried the diet that the police have to scan his post."

"Opal, which tabloid are you with?"

"There's no need for that. I'm not a journalist. I'm an assistant publicist."

"Assistant to who?" Emily asked, almost conversationally.

Opal sniffed. "That's not relevant to your plans to turn up thirty thousand euro by the end of next month, is it?"

Maggie growled. "I've no intention of getting into debt so an assistant seat-sniffer gets paid to mind her own business about my childhood."

"Just to clarify, the deal is for both of you. If one of you tells me to fuck off, both stories go live."

Emily gasped and looked pleadingly at Maggie.

"Anyway, it's not beyond you! We're not being unreasonable. You just pick up six extra bookings."

Emily and Maggie both stared at her as though she'd sprouted a second head.

"What do you think I charge for speaking?" Emily asked, carefully.

"I made up a school and inquired, weeks ago, and you told me two thousand. So your commercial rate must be five. And you didn't follow up, so you can't be short of offers."

Emily looked guilty.

"Did you invite me to something imaginary, too?" Maggie asked, before Emily could give anything else away.

"Yes!" Opal looked briefly pleased, as though her skills were finally being recognised. "You didn't answer, though. Do you not have a secretarial service?"

Maggie rubbed her eyes. "Did you use my website?"

"Of course."

"I haven't actually checked the email that form goes to in a while."

"This was seven weeks ago."

"Mmm. Yes, at least that long." Maggie looked out at the mountains again. "I've had other things on my mind."

"Other things." Opal was mystified. "But that's the only way I could find. Your website is a bit outmoded, if you don't mind me saying. I'm sure you'd get more conversion with just a few tweaks. Maybe a fresher colourway."

"Conversion?"

Emily said helpfully, "Turning visitors into customers. My brother explained it when he did my website."

Opal blinked, a lot.

The waitress brought their fresh drinks and made a cheerful performance of placing each one on its own small green napkin on the table in front of each guest.

"Thank you."

"Thank you."

"Thank you."

"No worries, ladies!"

There was a pause.

"Maggie, I think this woman is saying," Emily continued, still picking her words carefully, "that she thinks I could pick up three bookings for 5k each in the next month. And that the money would be with me in the next month."

"That is what I heard her imply, yes."

"Is this your experience of our lifestyle?"

"I have to say it is not." Maggie was suddenly enjoying herself.

"Why on earth not?" Opal still sounded baffled.

"It just... doesn't happen that way."

"Well, it should. You should make it happen. I bet if you let me into your emails and your calendars, I could pick you out invitations for this summer that would get you ninety thousand."

"This is a very peculiar job application." Emily picked up her gin and tonic and drew chevrons in its condensation.

"You're just leaving money lying around, not answering. It's irresponsible." Opal sounded more sure of herself.

"Just to clarify," Maggie said, mimicking Opal's tone, "the stick was blackmail and the carrot is you being our agent?"

"I've never really fancied being an agent."

"But blackmailer sounded like a jolly laugh?"

"There's no need for that, either."

"I mean, if you really can arrange for us to earn a hundred thousand a year more, then thirty thousand becomes - well, a fee. Doesn't it?" Emily looked at Maggie to check.

Maggie said, "How about you call your seat-sniffer-in-chief and tell them that thirty thousand euro needs to include the time you'll need to spend making sure we don't die of incompetence?"

"So you've agreed?"

"I've done no such thing. I don't have that kind of cash spare. If you can find it for me, I'll consider."

Opal looked from Maggie's resolute face to Emily, who nodded.

"I'll call."

Maggie pointedly looked out at the mountains again, watching in the window for the reflection of Opal's thumb moving on her phone.

"It's me. Can you talk? I'm with Greta and Vicky." Opal's eyes slid towards the other two women to check if they flinched at that, but Emily had found some composure and was toying with her cocktail napkin. "They're just shit with money. I had no idea. I know they can earn it, obviously, but you can't imagine how lame they're being."

Maggie breathed out, making her teeth unclench.

"To be honest, they need me." Opal listened. "Like a month? Four weeks?"

The hotel bar was quiet, but not quiet enough for Maggie to hear the phone's responses.

"No, not full time! It's admin!" She reached for her wine glass but stopped before taking hold of it, hand in mid-air. "It depends if I can train - no, it's just not going to work without - yes."

Opal listened some more and her jaw tightened.

"Ten minutes."

The other person ended the call and Opal glared at her phone before putting it flat on the table.

"Didn't go so well?" Emily asked with real sympathy.

"I have an overblown sense of my own importance." Opal recited, neutrally.

"Oh, fuck him!" Emily stretched right over and patted her on the knee. "I mean, don't. You aren't?"

"Christ, no. Never mind about that. We're not friends, Vicky Vine. My job is not your concern." Opal shook her shoulders and straightened her back. Maggie nodded at her approvingly. "I'm telling you you can find the money. Get your faces some new places. I'm actually disappointed in you both for being so lame."

"Hey, if we're not friends, take your disappointment and roll it tight, okay?" Emily snapped. "Also, don't say lame, it's ableist."

"Don't say ableist, it's lame."

"Children, please, for the love of." Maggie interrupted instead of laughing.

"No, come on, she's telling us we could make six figures a year if we just tart up our sites and call people back and I don't know what it's based on. I'm not too proud to chase the money but you can't tell me everyone else who's speaking at this thing is getting more than us."

Maggie inclined her head. "We're probably about middle. Median."

"And that's fine! I didn't even really think I'd get an income from the diving book, everything my publishers have arranged has been a trip, like, I feel like they've sent the wrong writer. You know? I know what I wrote, I knew it would make some people happy, I'm glad it's in print, but I'm not magic."

Opal hissed in frustration. "I'm not your friend and I'm not your counsellor, but can you pencil in some time to figure out the difference between what you deserve and what you can grab?"

Emily blinked at her.

Maggie said, "Considering the hold you have over her is the one time she grabbed money, I don't think that was as helpful as you think."

"No, the hold I have over her is that she doesn't want people to know she grabbed money that one time. She's floating somewhere above getting paid." Opal fluttered her fingers in the air around eye level, summarising the airy existence of the unpaid.

"I've been the other side of a big thick wall from getting paid most of my life, thank you very much." Emily sat up straighter and set her shoulders. "I've had my month-ends on sugar sandwiches and parish soup, okay? When I worked in shops and when I was starting as a diving instructor and even when the book already had interest from companies. I've been poor and now I'm getting by and it's brilliant! And I'm not lazy for not having a year's income lying around ready to give you."

Opal rubbed her hand across her eyes dramatically, and then checked it automatically for makeup. "Your existence. In public. Is a request for trades. All I'm telling you to do is answer your sodding emails when people want to pay you!"

Maggie said, "You're talking round in circles now. Okay, so you think an assistant publicist could organise more hours in our second jobs. And then your unpleasant phone contact will skim some off in exchange for not telling the world about our early mistakes."

"Yes!"

"And it's Clem Darby, isn't it."

Opal froze.

"Who the hell is Clem Darby?" Emily asked.

"Thinks he's a spider in a web. Looks at his nails a lot. Is he completely bald yet? I haven't seen him in six years."

Opal said, "No, that's not the person."

"Too late, girl. Bald?"

There was a pause.

"Yes, alright, yes. It doesn't make much difference though, does it?"

Maggie said, "Oh, it might!" and grabbed Opal's phone off the table as fast as a snake striking. Opal lunged to snatch it back but Maggie leaned back in her chair and held the younger woman at bay with her foot while she swiped the unlock code and called the most recent number.

"Give that back!"

"Don't make a scene, publicist, sit your ASOS back down and watch. Darby, you revolting mollusc, I hear you went bald!"

She listened, smiling harshly.

"Oh no, Darberoni, she's been the essence of discretion, I just recognised the particular grain of the shit-smear of your style."

Emily grimaced.

"Did you ever have a contract with Ms Lance? She doesn't know your name, but that doesn't - no, so you tried to get one and failed, same as with me? Darbifield! This is tragically fascinating. Your mind is like that land of plastic in the ocean, except without the biodiversity. Do you do this with all the writers you fail to get a straight cut at?"

Opal, thinking Maggie had relaxed, made another attempt at getting her phone back, but got a sharp kick just above the knee and retreated again, mouthing curses.

"The thing is, Darbleton, what you've done is, and I quite see that you missed the wood for the trees in your Darbific enthusiasm, you've irritated a woman whose mortgage is paid off and who's a trained fighter."

Emily leaned further in to try to listen to the other end.

"And because you're a self-aggrandizing little Darbuncle, I can find out your business address right now on my phone, and after I've calmly spoken to the lovely folk here about peace and stillness and balance, and said my last namaste to them, I can change my flight!"

Opal covered her mouth, but the horrified smile had reached her eyes already.

"The apprentice, the Darblet, seems like the kind of girl who'd have a Pro camera, the ones the skateboarders have. Or we can buy one in the airport, and it'll be a business expense, because it's going to be for live-streaming the shit I kick out of you, Darbison. Which is going to splatter most effusively across your walls. And then," Maggie gave Opal a thumbs-up as she started laughing, silently, her shoulders shaking, "she'll get the footage and do that thing where you slow it down and your screams go 'Nwooooowwww' and you'll become a meme."

Emily's eyes were full of dazed admiration.

"I think the internet might be in the mood for a meme of a middle aged woman rupturing parts of a middle aged man and foully explaining why while she stops to catch her breath."

Opal nodded helplessly.

"And actually I might do this anyway, even if you do back down from your blackmail, because I want to get to know the other writers you've done this to, and maybe I'll let this girl set up a tour for all of us to talk about shit-streak publicists."

She listened to the phone for a moment.

"Because you're not even a dodged bullet, Darberation, you're a bag caught in a hedge. Nobody's been bothered enough to pick you out until today. Well, Tuesday, I suppose, I'm not cancelling this talk."

She handed the phone back to Opal without hanging up. Opal listened to the other end for a few more moments, holding her breath but vibrating with silent laughter, and then tapped the icon to hang up.

Emily twisted round in her seat and signalled to the waitress.

Emily, holding a mic, looked out over her audience. "It's already a privilege to be here, of course, but it's actually already brought me peace beyond the wonderful things all our other speakers have said. I have realised how vital it is to integrate the people we have been, the choices we have made, into the beautiful person we are becoming."

Her eyes found Maggie and Opal in the rows of uplifted faces.

"This isn't even a confession, and I don't want anyone to call it one when they report it. Two years before my book was accepted, I was working as a freelancer. And one of the jobs I picked up was writing a shallow, trashy little diet book that was about redcurrants."

The audience shifted like wheat in a wind.

"It lied. The Cuirìn book lied, and the man who paid me to write it out lied. Everyone knows that. But people wanted to believe it, and they gave it too much power, and it hurt people." She looked down, away from the lights, held the mic away from her face while she exhaled.

"I am a person who has hurt people, for money. And I am a person who shares beauty with people, sometimes for money. Those are the same person."

Maggie waited for Emily to catch her eye again, and then nodded decisively.