by Ali McNamara
Nothing.
I bang even harder on the door, this time more aggressively.
‘Yo!’ I hear someone calling from the window. ‘Can I help you? We’re not open yet.’
‘Yes, I can see that!’ I call back as I step back again so I can see who I’m talking to. ‘I wondered if I could have a word with the owner if he’s in?’
‘That would be me.’ A man wearing a baseball cap looks down from the window. He smiles. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘Er, can’t you come down and open the door?’ I ask. ‘It’s a bit awkward me shouting up to you through an open window?’
‘Not as awkward as it will be for me opening up the door to you.’
‘Why?’
He looks away for a moment, then sighs. ‘Trust me, it is. What do you want?’ he asks, sounding a bit annoyed. ‘I’m a bit busy right now.’
Charming. ‘I wanted to talk to you about your shop.’
‘Why? Do you want a job? I’m not really hiring yet.’
‘No, I most certainly do not. I already own my own shop actually.’
‘Congratulations!’ he says grinning. ‘That makes two of us. Aren’t we the lucky ones?’
I can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or not but he continues grinning down at me, and his dark brown eyes blink innocently as he awaits my reply.
‘Look, I’m not prepared to have this conversation out in the open like this,’ I tell him. ‘There are … things I would like to discuss with you.’
‘Really?’ I see his brows raise under the brim of his cap. ‘Sounds intriguing. I’ll be finished here in …’ He looks at his watch. ‘Maybe an hour. Do you want to meet me in that pub on the harbour at say … six? We can discuss all you like then when I’ve got a pint in my hand.’
‘I assume you mean The Merry Mermaid?’
He nods.
I sigh. ‘Well, if you’re not prepared to come down and talk to me now …’ I wait hopefully in case he changes his mind.
‘I’m not.’
‘In that case then, yes, I guess I’ll have to meet you at six.’
‘Great.’ His head disappears from the window. ‘If that’s all,’ he adds, re-appearing again after a few seconds, ‘some of us shop owners have work to do.’ His head disappears again and the window is shut.
I roll my eyes and shake my head in exasperation. Then I turn away smartly and walk back down the street.
Grrr, what a very irritating man, but if I wanted to find out more about his shop then I was going to have to do as he asked and meet him at the pub later.
There is nothing, other than Molly and Barney, that is more important to me than my little shop and its staff. I’ve worked incredibly hard to get it to where it is today, and I’m determined to discover whether this newcomer to St Felix is about to put our success under threat.
Four
‘So who is this date with exactly?’ Molly asks, as I sit at my bedroom dressing table in our flat above the shop attempting to pull a brush through my long thick hair.
‘I keep telling you, it’s not a date!’ I insist, finally getting the brush through the stubborn knot I’d been pulling at for the last few seconds.
I stare at myself in the mirror. Even my critical gaze can see I look better now than half an hour ago when I’d finished up at the shop and grabbed a shower. It made a nice change to see my hair down. I usually wore it pulled up in a high ponytail, partly because it was easier in the shop, and partly because of the strong sea breeze that always seemed to gust around St Felix. ‘I’m simply meeting up with the owner of the new art shop that Noah told me about.’
‘To give him grief, right? Sebastian told me.’
‘No,’ I say, wondering if I should put some make-up on. I did look a little pale and heavy around the eyes this evening. ‘I merely want to find out what sort of equipment he’s going to be stocking, and whether it will affect our business in any way. I don’t know if his shop will only be selling art supplies or whether it might broaden its scope …’
‘Is he hot?’ Molly asks.
‘Who?’
‘The guy that you met earlier. What’s his name?’
‘He didn’t say.’ I reach for some lip gloss. ‘We never got around to exchanging names.’
‘A blind date!’ Molly squeals excitedly. ‘Cool.’
‘I think you’ll find that a blind date is one where you know the name of the person but you haven’t actually seen them before. This is the other way around.’
‘So, I’ll ask again then. Is he hot?’
I turn away from the mirror towards her. Molly is lying casually on her stomach on my bed, keeping one eye on the phone in her hand and the other on me getting ready.
‘Not that it makes any difference but, no, I don’t think so. I only saw him through an upstairs window, and he had a hat on.’
Molly thinks about this. ‘What sort of hat?’
‘Er … a baseball cap, I think. Why?’
‘Did it have a logo?’
‘I don’t know! Why does that matter?’
‘Because we might be able to tell a bit more about him if we knew what sort of things he’s into.’
I sigh and turn back to my mirror. ‘None of this matters, Molly. Like I’ve already told you, this is not a date.’
‘But you’re putting on make-up. You never wear make-up.’
‘I do sometimes.’
‘Not unless you want to impress someone, you don’t.’
‘I want to feel confident tonight, that’s all. You know how much the shop means to me. I want to make sure nothing is going to ruin the success we’ve worked so hard to build up since we moved in.’
‘Yeah, I know the story,’ Molly says, pulling herself up and sitting crossed-legged now. ‘How it was always your dream to own your own shop and sell your own designs. How you had to give up your career when I was born, and how it’s taken until now to get yourself back to where you’ve always wanted to be.’
‘Something like that.’ I finish putting a light coat of mascara on. ‘However, you make it sound like having you held me back.’
‘Well, it did, didn’t it?’
‘Perhaps it did a little at the time.’ I watch her reflection in the mirror. ‘But you know I wouldn’t have it any other way. Maybe waiting until now means it’s much better than it would have been back then. The best things come to—’
‘—those who wait. Yeah, you’ve said so before. You and your inspirational quotes, Mum. You should start an Instagram account.’
‘I have enough trouble with the one we’ve got for the shop, thank you.’
‘I’ve told you – let me do that.’
‘You need to concentrate on your schoolwork.’
‘I’m sure I could manage social media for the shop as well. You could pay me …’
I turn again and give her a rueful smile. ‘I should have known!’
‘You look great, Mum,’ Molly says, looking at me with her head tipped to one side. ‘Really good. You should make an effort more often.’
‘Thank you, I think?’ I stand up and glance at the bedroom clock. ‘Golly, is that the time? I’d better head off. Come and give your mum a good luck hug.’
Molly rolls off the bed and we embrace for a moment.
‘My mum, off on a date,’ she says, standing back to look at me again. ‘Whatever next?’
‘For the last time, it’s not a date!’
The Merry Mermaid pub is not far from the shop, and I can hear the church bells striking six o’clock as I walk towards the harbour. It’s a gorgeous evening, and the town is still full of holiday-makers soaking up the evening sunshine.
I spot the man from the new shop sitting outside the pub at a wooden table with a pint of beer in his hand. He’s not wearing a hat now so I can see he has a head of short wavy-brown hair. He’s wearing aviator-style sunglasses and a white shirt, which is fitted tightly to his full chest and broad shoulders. He waves as I approach.
‘Hullo, again!’ he says, smiling at me but not getting up. ‘Care to join me?’
‘Thank you,’ I say, about to sit down. ‘Oh, I should really get a drink first. Would you care for another?’
‘Oh, no, I’m fine, thanks.’ Then for some reason I can’t work out he looks a bit uncomfortable.
‘I’ll go and get mine then, shall I? Excuse me, back in a mo.’
I leave the man – I really must find out his name – and head into the pub. Rita, the landlady, is quick to serve me.
‘What can I get you, love?’ she asks. ‘It’s unusual to see you in here … especially this early.’
‘Just an orange juice with ice please, Rita. Yes, I’m meeting someone.’
‘Ooh!’ Rita exclaims, as she reaches for a bottle under the bar. ‘How exciting!’
‘No, it’s not like that. It’s business.’
‘Oh,’ she says, not hiding her disappointment as she scoops ice into a glass and then pours my juice over the top. ‘How very dull. I hoped it would be something much more thrilling, I love a bit of romance, I do.’
‘Do you know anything about the shop that’s opening where the old butcher’s used to be?’ I ask, purposefully dodging her comment as I pass her a five-pound note. Rita knows everything and everyone in St Felix, so she was bound to know something about this.
‘It’s going to be an art shop, isn’t it?’ she says as she reaches into the till for my change. ‘The chap who’s opening it is outside right now having a drink if you want to speak to him. Ah … is that your business meeting?’
‘It is indeed,’ I say, taking the few coins Rita presses into my hand.
‘Nice chap. I can’t say I’d want to be running a shop in his position though.’
‘How do you mean?’ Suddenly, a large group enters the pub and Rita is forced to end our chat in favour of her own business interests.
The sun is so low in the sky as I head outside to the table with my drink that I have to shield my eyes from its glare. I take a seat opposite the man again.
I reach in my bag for my sunglasses.
‘That’s better,’ I say. ‘I couldn’t really see properly before – the sunlight is so bright here on the harbour in the evenings.’
My companion smiles. ‘It’s going to be a stunning sunset. Please tell me the weather is like this all the time.’
‘I wish. The only way to describe the St Felix weather is changeable – we have our own microclimate. It can be bucketing down a few miles up the coast yet sunny here, and vice versa.’
‘I thought as much. Oh well, we’ll need to appreciate this glorious evening all the more then. You have to live for the moment, don’t you?’
‘Yes, I suppose you do. I haven’t introduced myself properly yet – I’m Kate.’
‘Jack,’ the man says, holding out his hand. ‘Pleased to meet you, Kate. Now, I hate to talk business, but you seemed pretty concerned about something earlier when you were outside my shop. What is it I can do for you?’
‘I was just wondering what sort of shop you’re going to be opening,’ I say, taking a sip of my orange juice whilst trying to remain casual. ‘I heard it’s to be an art shop?’
‘That’s right, yes.’
‘And will you only be selling art equipment?’
‘Mostly, yes. I noticed there was a gap in the market here, and considering how many people come here to paint every year it seems a waste not to plug that gap, so to speak.’
‘We sell art equipment in my shop,’ I tell him, still keeping my tone light. ‘We do quite well with it. You’d be surprised how many people run out of shades of blue when they’re painting their seascapes.’
‘Exactly my point!’ Jack says, ‘This place is crying out for a decent art supplier. Which shop are you again?’
My teeth grind together as my jaw tightens. Did he not realise he was being rude? Decent art shop indeed!
‘I own Kate’s Cornish Crafts on Harbour Street,’ I say purposefully.
‘Oh yes, I think I’ve seen it. You sell homemade bits and bobs, don’t you – tea cosies, bags, that kind of thing.’
‘They’re a bit more than bits and bobs. I personally design and make all of the items – well, I have a little bit of help from some very talented ladies in the town – so our stock is all handmade and one of a kind. I do all the machine embroidery myself.’
Jack looks at me with an amused expression. ‘Steady! I wasn’t having a go. That sounds very cool. And you do quite well with it?’
‘Very well as a matter of fact.’
‘I’m pleased. But you said you sell some art equipment as well? Where do you do that?
‘Our shop has a basement. We sell a wide range of art and craft materials from down there.’
‘Ah, I see … a basement. No wonder I didn’t notice it then.’
‘It’s very well signposted if you actually come into the shop, and we have notices in the window if you’d bothered to look.’
‘Hey,’ Jack says, holding his hand up. ‘Why are you being so aggressive? I’m not here to diss your shop. Far from it. I got the feeling that the shop owners all support each other in this town.’
‘We do.’
‘Then what’s the problem here?’
‘You’re stepping on my territory.’
A puzzled expression crosses Jack’s face, and he takes off his sunglasses. ‘I’m sorry … what?’
‘You’re stepping on my territory,’ I repeat. ‘By selling art equipment you’ll take some of our sales.’
‘Ah, I see.’ Jack nods knowingly. ‘You’ll forgive me if I beg to differ? My shop will be selling professional equipment, not simply a few watercolour palettes and some children’s painting books.’
My mouth drops open in surprise.
‘We do not sell children’s painting books,’ I say, recovering from his insult.
‘But you sell those watercolour palettes, don’t you?’ he says, grinning. ‘Go on, I dare you to tell me you don’t?’
I purse my lips together now.
‘I thought so,’ he adds, sitting back in his chair.
I’m so annoyed that I don’t notice what he’s leaning against.
‘How dare you sit here and insult both my shop and me,’ I say as calmly as I can. ‘Do you even realise how rude you’re being?’
‘Aw, Kate, I’m only playing with you,’ Jack says, looking sheepish. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve offended you. It’s my background. I’m used to banter, and I assume everyone else is too. I should probably rein it in a little when meeting new people.’
‘Yes, you probably should,’ I reply, still feeling aggrieved, but slightly calmer now.
‘Look, I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes. Chance would be a fine thing, mind,’ he says, rolling his eyes. I glance at him wondering what he means. ‘I’m certain my shop won’t sell anything that will interfere too much with your business. Promise. Not a knitting needle in sight!’ He holds his hand up to his head in a smart salute. ‘Scout’s honour.’
I feel myself relax slightly, and I give him a half smile. ‘I hope so.’
‘There, that’s better,’ Jack says. ‘Now we can be friends again. How about another drink?’
‘I probably should be going soon,’ I say, glancing at my watch. ‘And I still have plenty, thank you.’ I lift up my glass.
‘Oh, that’s a shame. You’ll excuse me if I get another one though?’
‘Of course.’
Suddenly, as he prepares to leave the table, I see it for the first time and I wonder, as he expertly begins to move towards the door of the pub, how I could ever have missed it.
Jack is in a wheelchair.
Five
Staring at the door Jack has just gone through I quickly try to run over a few things in my head.
How could I not have noticed he was in a wheelchair? Yes, it was incredibly bright out here this evening and I’d been temporarily blinded when I’d come out of the pub, but how had I been so caught up
in my own drama that I hadn’t noticed he was disabled?
I think about the first time we’d met and how he’d been incredibly reluctant to come downstairs to open the door of his shop. Was that because it would have taken him so long to get down to me?
And just now I’d thought how very unchivalrous he was being when he hadn’t got up to greet me.
Damn it, Kate! You really need to open your eyes to the bigger picture, I scold myself. There’s you worrying about a few paintbrush sales while Jack is attempting to open a shop in his condition.
‘Hey, you’re still here then,’ Jack says as he emerges from the door of the pub. I watch as he expertly manoeuvres his chair through the narrow gap back to our table. ‘I thought you might have left.’
‘No, still here,’ I say, feeling very uncomfortable. Should I address the fact I hadn’t noticed he was in a wheelchair or just ignore it?
‘You got served quickly,’ I say instead, to make conversation.
‘Always do,’ Jack says, placing the pint of beer he’d been expertly balancing on his lap on the table. ‘People tend to stand aside when they see you in this thing.’
‘A-ha …’ I say, not knowing how to react to this.
Jack looks at me with a half-confused, half-amused expression. ‘Anyway, I’m glad you’re still here,’ he says, settling himself at the table again. ‘I don’t know that many people here in St Felix yet. It’s good I know you now … even if you do think I’m going to ruin your business.’
‘No,’ I say, waving my hand dismissively at him. ‘That’s all sorted now. Don’t worry about it.’
Jack’s eyes narrow as he considers my sudden about-turn. ‘You didn’t know I was in a wheelchair, did you?’ he asks suddenly.
‘Hmm?’ I ask innocently. ‘What do you mean?’ I lift my drink up and wish I hadn’t drunk all my juice while he was gone. I place my empty glass awkwardly back on the wooden table.
‘I mean you hadn’t noticed until I went to get my pint that I was in a wheelchair?’
I shrug. ‘I guess not.’
‘And is that why you’re suddenly being as nice as pie – because you feel sorry for me?’
‘No.’
Jack raises his dark eyebrows at me. ‘Oh, really?’
