'I can't believe you said that!' Vera gasped. Her lips were wet with tepid tea, and a tiny crumb was glued to her moustache, left over from the half eaten pistachio and cardamom biscuit that was dangled over her teacup ready for another dunk. Elegant Vera wasn't, but somehow she was admitted into the book club, which met monthly on Thursdays. 'You just came out and asked her?' she asked, as if no-one had ever asked an honest question in the history of the town.

'Well, I just had to know for sure' Lexi said defensively. She insisted on being called Alexandra, but everyone knew she was a Lexi, and only married into class when she somehow bewitched Tom into putting a ring on it. She was also always the one to speak her mind, forgetting that the unspoken rule was to be a little more veiled and delicate when one gossiped. But then, most of them broke the rules. Meg had suspected for a long time that they had broken greater rules than rumour mongering, wearing the same dress to a party, or stealing sideways glances at one another's husbands.

The paperbacks sat unopened on the table, and Meg doubted any of them had read them at all. She had, each and every word, making bird like pencilled notes in the margins and on pink post it notes if she had more to say. She needn't have bothered - no one was here for literary critique. Still, she felt compelled. Perhaps one day someone might actually like to hear her opinion. Most of the time Meg sat and listened. She was good at it. One might even say it was her job.

^{Images from Unsplash, Collage by Me}

'What did she say?' Vera said, drawling out the last word like a whining child, the central vowel echoing off the tea cups. 'Surely she had a retort? Do tell me that she had a story to back herself? Where was she that night? And why didn't she tell us right away?'

'Are you talking about Angeline?' Meg interjected. She had brought the biscuits, two dozen of them, and for this, she was their new favourite. The treats were French, and difficult to find. She hadn't told them that she had baked them, careful wrapping them afterwards in brown paper, white tissue paper and jute twine, with a twist of gold ribbon to give that authentic provincial look with a little bit of class. Appearances were everything in this town.

'Yes, yes, Angeline', Vera said impatiently. 'Lexi asked her if she'd done it'. So involved was Vera in Lexi's response that she didn't think to be cautious - Meg was a newcomer to the book club, after all.

'She told me that she was at home, like she had told the police. But I saw her that night, from the window. Her clothes were wet and she was crying. I couldn't just not ask, could I?' Angeline said. 'I know we're good at secrets in this town, but I liked George, and I was upset when he drowned.'

Meg knew why exactly Angeline liked George. The woman had gushed about it in twittering high voices. 'Did you see the way he slapped her behind at the fundraiser? They thought none of us saw! Imagine if her husband had seen!'. George, who Meg had never met, cut a good figure, all told. Angel 'couldn't help herself' they said more than once, as if George was a second scone with jam and clotted cream or an overly full glass of ice cold gin bursting with lemon and ice cubes when one shouldn't.

'There was something else,' Lexi said, her voice lowering an octave or two. They leaned closer, as if examining a baby bird in a nest. 'She said she didn't mean to do it.'

'Oh!' Vera said, standing suddenly, the remains of her tea spilling on the tablecloth. 'I knew she'd done it!'

There was a small voice from the doorway. It was Angeline, late, as always, to the Thursday book club. When Meg was late, the ladies looked at her contemptuously and did not speak to her for the rest of the evening. Granted, Meg had nothing so titillating to offer.

'Please don't tell them I killed him,' she said. 'He was awful to all of you and if I didn't do it, one of you would have!'.

There were nods and utterances of sympathy and sisterly solidarity. George had pressed his member against Vera when she ordered lemonade at the bar for her children, and once he had leered at Maria quite suggestively. Lexi - well, Lexi had gone all the way with the man, who proceeded to ignore her afterwards. They said he had a woman in every town.

George, they agreed, was a Man Who Deserved It.

Lexi had her own Man Who Deserved It, Angeline reminded her. He was buried under her rose bushes and all he had done was mansplain something to her. Rosemary had watched her husband die when the tractor fell on top of him, immovable as he screamed for help. He never helped with the chores and she was fed up with picking up his underwear from the bedroom floor. And Vera and Maria had cut the brake lines on that fat truck driver that made a joke about Vera's matronly breasts. It didn't matter that they were - there were things that one should not say, and he had crossed that line.

Men were not allowed to cross the line with the book club ladies.

'Oh Angeline', Maria cried, wrapping her plump arms around her. 'We would never tell!'.

'I'm afraid you have already told.' said Meg. With a flourish, she removed her badge from her coat, and her phone, which had already sent the recording to the department. 'I'm sorry ladies, but Thursday book club is over.'

She had been looking forward to saying that for some time.

With Love,

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