by Ali McNamara
I sigh. ‘Okay, so I didn’t know you were disabled when I came banging on your door earlier and, no, I didn’t notice you were in a wheelchair until just now. That isn’t a crime, is it?’
Jack shakes his head. ‘Nope. Neither is treating someone differently because they’re not able-bodied like you, but it doesn’t mean I have to like it.’
He takes a long, slow, purposeful drink from his pint of beer.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say quietly. ‘I didn’t mean to offend you.’
‘Still being nice?’
‘Look, what do you want from me?’ I snap in a loud voice. I look hastily at the other pub-goers sitting around us, but they’re far too busy with their own conversations to notice my outburst. ‘I’ve said I’m sorry, and I am. What else can I do?’
‘Just treat me like you would any other awkward, obnoxious guy you meet,’ Jack says, smiling now. ‘That’s all I ask. I admired your spirit up until a few moments ago, then you did exactly what ninety-nine per cent of people do on meeting me – you patronized me.’
‘I did not!’
Jack simply shrugs.
‘All right … maybe I did a bit, but I was surprised that’s all … that I hadn’t noticed it before – your chair, I mean.’
‘I take that as a compliment,’ Jack says, looking so directly into my eyes it unnerves me a little. ‘People always see the chair before they see me. I’m always a second thought.’
‘I’m sure that can’t be true.’
‘Ever been in one of these things?’
‘No.’
‘Then you can’t possibly know.’
A silence hangs across the table, and I look at my empty glass again longingly.
‘You want another?’ Jack asks, nodding at it.
‘Oh no, you’re all right, I can get it.’ I begin to stand up, and then I think better of it and sit purposefully back down again. ‘Yes, please, I would,’ I say, sliding the glass across the table towards him. ‘Make it a Diet Coke this time though.’
Jack looks at the glass, and then he nods approvingly at me. ‘Diet Coke coming right up!’
‘So,’ I ask, as we sit at the table together again, this time on the same side so we can both watch the beautiful sunset that’s beginning to form across the harbour in the evening sky. ‘What made you want to open a shop here?’
Since Jack had come back with my drink we’d sat and chatted politely for the last ten minutes or so, mostly about St Felix and what it was like owning a business here, and I’d discovered that this was Jack’s first time owning a shop.
‘So why open one now?’ I ask, even though the question Why are you opening a shop when you’re in a wheelchair? wasn’t too far from my lips, but I was far too polite (or is that cowardly?) to ask him that directly, even though that’s what I really wanted to know.
‘Why do I want to open a shop when I’m in a wheelchair, you mean?’ Jack says, making me blush.
I nod.
‘I guess I like a challenge.’
‘There must be more to it than that?’
‘Maybe there is.’ Jack doesn’t enlighten me as to what.
‘Such as—?’ I ask with sudden bravery. ‘What?’ I ask, when Jack turns to look at me. ‘You can’t have it both ways, you know? I’m simply being honest with you.’
‘And I appreciate that, Kate, really I do. I’d just prefer not to talk about it right now if that’s okay with you?’
‘Sure. Of course.’ I nod. I’ve pushed it too far.
‘Don’t look so worried,’ Jack says, putting his hand over mine where it rests on the table. ‘I like the fact you’re being direct with me. I wish more people were.’
I glance down at his hand and notice the beginning of a tattoo peeking out from under the rolled-up sleeve of his white shirt.
Jack stares with alarm at his hand over mine. ‘Oh God, sorry!’ he exclaims, pulling it away. ‘Now I’m the one overstepping the mark!’
I’m about to tell him not to be silly and it doesn’t matter when suddenly he slams down his almost empty pint glass on the table.
‘Gotta go!’ he says, looking at the place a watch should be on his wrist and then realising it’s not there. ‘Things to do, you know.’ He begins to wheel himself backwards away from the table.
I hurriedly stand up to let him out.
‘I’ll send you an invite to the shop opening!’
‘Sure …’ I say, still standing as I watch him spin himself expertly around and then head off back in the direction of both our shops. ‘That would be good …’
‘So how did it go?’ Molly asks excitedly as soon as I arrive back at the flat.
‘Yeah, all right, I think.’ I try to sound as indifferent as I can.
‘You think … Don’t you know?’
‘He seems like a nice enough chap. He’s not out to ruin us anyway – I’ve discovered that much.’
Molly sighs impatiently.
‘So what’s he like … Did you at least find out his name?’
‘Jack, his name is Jack, and he’s … confusing,’ I say, realising this is how I actually feel after my drink with him at the pub. One minute he was stubborn, awkward and a little insensitive, and the next he was funny and, I’d even go so far to say, kind.
Jack is definitely a mystery, and I don’t want to wait until his shop opens to discover more about him.
Six
‘Urgh!’ Sebastian groans as he dumps the box down on the shop counter. ‘Next time you ask me to go and collect something for you, remind me to take my forklift truck!’
‘Sorry,’ I apologise. ‘I probably should have warned you it might be a bit heavy.’
‘Ooh, what have you got in there, dears?’ Anita asks, appearing from the basement.
‘This,’ I say, lifting the old sewing machine from the cardboard box. I open up the latches on its case and reveal what’s inside.
‘My mother used to have a very similar one when I was young,’ Anita says, examining the machine. ‘Does it still work?’
‘I don’t think so. I got it from Noah – he thought I might like it for display in the shop. I doubt it’s sewn anything for years.’ I try to turn the rusty old handle, and the machine creaks as it tries to move its balance wheel and lift an imaginary needle.
‘Painful.’ Sebastian grimaces. ‘Sounds like it needs a good oil to me.’
‘I think it might need a bit more than that to begin sewing again, but Noah’s right – if I give it a bit of a clean we can make a very nice window display with this.’
‘I hope you didn’t pay much for it?’ Sebastian says, still eyeing the machine. ‘In that decrepit state it can’t be worth much.’
‘Freebie actually. Noah got it in a house clearance – it was with some other art equipment. Apparently Jack, the guy who is opening the art shop on the high street, has taken that.’
Sebastian nudges Anita. ‘She means her date last night …’
‘Oh, really?’ Anita says, her pale blue eyes widening, ‘I didn’t know you had a date … Tell me more.’
‘There’s nothing to tell, Anita. It wasn’t a date – it was simply a business meeting.’ I turn to Sebastian. ‘How did you know about that anyway?’
‘I saw Molly on her way to school this morning—’
Of course he had.
‘—she said you thought Jack was confusing. Is that your way of saying he’s enigmatic and mysterious?’ he asks, wafting his hands above his head.
‘No. It’s my way of saying he’s confusing.’
‘In what way, dear?’ Anita asks.
‘I don’t know. He’s a bit odd, that’s all. I mean one minute he wants you to be all open with him, and then when you ask a question he doesn’t like he closes up on you.’
‘Heterosexual males are very confusing,’ Sebastian says matter-of-factly. ‘It’s something to do with an overload of testosterone mixing up their emotional pathways. Either that or it’s something to do with pheromones. I can never re
member which.’
‘Yes, thank you, Sebastian. Jack is nice enough, he’s just …’ I struggle for a new word to describe him. ‘… complicated. He’s got a lot going on. Did you know he’s in a wheelchair?’
Anita and Sebastian both nod.
‘Yes, I’ve seen him about town,’ Anita says. ‘Lou in the post office told me who he is.’
‘Amber in the flower shop pointed him out to me,’ Sebastian explains. You know what it’s like here in St Felix – anyone new who’s not a holiday-maker gets noticed immediately.’
‘Great, so you both knew of him and I didn’t. I could have got a heads-up.’
‘Did you put your foot in it then?’ Sebastian asks. ‘About his disability?’
‘A bit … but it’s fine. I do wonder how he’s going to manage to run a shop in a wheelchair though. It’s hard enough when you’re able-bodied.’
‘People do all sorts now,’ Anita says, sounding a lot more open-minded than I just had. ‘Having a disability isn’t a barrier to doing anything these days … not like when I was young. If you were in a wheelchair back then that was it – you were simply stuck in it until someone pushed you and moved you elsewhere.’
A customer comes into the shop putting paid to our conversation.
‘Good morning! Can I help you?’ I ask, as the lady looks around her.
‘I’m looking for a particular colour of embroidery silk,’ she says, smiling at me.
‘Come this way,’ I say, holding my hand out towards the stairs. ‘Our silks are right down here.’
The rest of the day is a fairly typical one with a steady flow of customers. Then when Anita goes home after lunch it’s just me and Sebastian looking after them, and later eventually only me as Sebastian leaves early for a dental appointment.
I spend the last quiet hour in the shop giving the old sewing machine a good clean – first with some soap and water, and then with a polishing cloth. When I’ve finished I stand back to admire my handiwork.
‘You don’t scrub up too badly,’ I say to the machine, giving the ornate gold writing that twists and curls over the shiny black paintwork a final buff. ‘Considering how old you are, you’ve survived extremely well. Someone must have looked after you.’
I try to get the machine to work by first inserting an appropriate needle from the various ones we stock downstairs, and then I use some oil to lubricate its parts in the hope they might begin to move again, but my efforts are to no avail – it seems to be completely seized up.
‘Frozen in time, that’s what you are,’ I tell it kindly. ‘Never mind, at least you still look pretty. We may not be able to give you much stitching to do any more, but I do hope you enjoy living in our shop.’
I cash up for the night, leaving the machine on the counter next to me, and then before I switch off the lights and lock up I glance at it one more time.
What a shame I couldn’t get you to work, I think. It seems wrong to leave you sitting there unused. However, I knew I had what felt like miles of stitching to do on my own much more modern sewing machine tonight, and before that I also had to make dinner for Molly and me. Regretfully, I head upstairs.
The next morning, after I’ve washed, dressed and then taken Barney for a quick walk, I breakfast with Molly and see her off to school. Afterwards, I carry the till drawer complete with float downstairs and place it in the empty till. Then I switch on the shop lights and unlock the front door to begin another day’s trading.
Harbour Street is always so much quieter at this time of day. There are already a few early birds wandering around, but at the moment I can actually see the cobbles on the ground outside and not just a steady stream of flip flops, walking boots and trainers, as is so often the case in the height of the summer.
I take a couple of deep breaths of sea air and then I turn back inside.
‘Looks like it’s going to be a warm one,’ I say to Barney as he settles himself down in the special basket we keep in the shop for him. ‘Let’s hope it’s a busy one too.’
I’m about to head back over to the counter with the intention of doing some stock ordering before it gets busy, when I stop dead in my tracks and stare at the old sewing machine still sitting where I left it last night.
What is that underneath its presser foot? It looks like some sort of fabric …
I hurry over to the desk to examine what’s on the bed of the machine, and I’m astonished to see a swatch of pale-blue felt fabric with an intricate embroidered design stitched all over it.
‘How on earth did you get there?’ I ask, carefully lifting up the foot of the machine so I can see the design better.
I pull out the fabric gently, cutting the threads that are still attached to a reel on top of the machine and a bobbin underneath.
The piece of felt I now hold in my hand is quite amazing as the detail and work is simply exquisite. The stitching on the fabric has formed a picture, which looks very much like it could be a harbour filled with fishing boats. In fact, as I trace my finger over the embroidery silk, it could even be St Felix’s I’m looking at. There seems to be part of a lighthouse, a harbour wall and the sea, depicted as large turquoise waves splashing up against the side of it.
When I’d left the shop last night, the workings of this machine wouldn’t budge an inch, let alone stitch something as amazing as this. Where has it come from? And more to the point who has stitched it?
‘Morning!’ Sebastian calls as he enters the shop later. ‘Gorgeous day out. Far too nice to be cooped up in here. Maybe we should shut up and have a staff day on the beach instead?’ He looks hopefully at me, but I shake my head. Sebastian tried this at least twice a week when the weather was good.
‘Worth a shot! Coffee?’ he enquires.
‘Yeah …’ I reply vaguely.
‘Irish for you?’ he asks.
‘Yeah …’
‘Okay, what’s up?’ Sebastian demands, putting his satchel down on the desk.
‘What do you mean?’
‘You just agreed to an Irish coffee at 11 o’clock in the morning? You barely drink alcohol at the best of times, let alone whiskey in your morning coffee!’
‘Did I? Sorry, I’m a bit distracted this morning, that’s all.’
‘May I enquire as to why?’
‘It’s a bit strange actually. Look, put your bag upstairs, and I’ll tell you all about it.’
‘Sounds intriguing!’
Sebastian makes us both our usual coffees from the machine I have in the flat, and returns downstairs to where I’m still standing by the shop counter.
‘So, boss, what’s up?’ he asks, sipping on his frothy cappuccino.
‘This,’ I say, lifting the blue embroidered felt from underneath the counter and sliding it across to him.
‘That’s pretty,’ Sebastian says, lifting it up to look at it. ‘Who did it?’
I nod towards the machine, which is now on a shelf behind us.
‘I don’t understand! Oh, did you get the machine to work in the end and you made this on it. That’s fantastic!’
‘No, I didn’t do it.’
‘But you said the machine did? Who was using it then?’
‘That’s the thing – I don’t know! I wondered if it might be you, but by the look on your face it clearly wasn’t.’
Sebastian’s brow furrows. ‘Er … no, definitely not me. What’s going on? You’re making no sense at all!’
‘Last night before I closed up the shop I spent a while cleaning the sewing machine. I tried to get it working but it was having none of it – completely jammed up, it was – so I left it on the counter thinking I might change the window display today to include it because it had scrubbed up so well.’
‘Uh-huh …’ Sebastian says, keenly watching me while he sips his coffee.
‘When I came down here this morning to open up everything was completely normal. The sewing machine was still on the desk where I had left it, but it had this in it!’ I pick up the felt again. ‘An
d it was still attached to the coloured thread on top on the spool.’
‘How very odd! How did it get there?’
‘That is exactly what I’ve been trying to figure out.’
‘Maybe someone placed it there?’ Sebastian suggests.
‘That was my initial thought, but firstly, who would want to do that and why? And secondly, how did they get in here to put it there? The shop was locked up overnight, there was only Molly and me upstairs, and this morning there was no sign of a break-in. And even if there had been, why would someone break in just to put some embroidery in an old sewing machine?’
‘Hmm.’ Sebastian puts his finger on his chin in a thoughtful manner. ‘Have you checked with Molly? She’s not playing a joke on you?’
‘Yup, I texted her first thing. She knows nothing about it. I tried to play it down a bit as I don’t want her thinking someone has been in here while we’ve been asleep upstairs.’
‘Understandable. It has to be someone with a key then.’
‘The only people who have keys to the shop are you, Anita and me. Why would Anita do it? It makes no sense.’
‘Let’s assume for a moment it’s not Anita.’
‘I very much doubt it is.’
‘Exactly. So if it’s not any of us three and you’ve not had a break-in, there’s only one more person it could be.’
‘Who?’
‘Who’s the only person you know who enters houses without breaking in and who leaves again without ever being seen. And most importantly, who always leaves a gift behind when he does?’
I think for moment. ‘I have absolutely no idea, Sebastian, who?
‘Santa Claus, of course!’ Sebastian says with delight. ‘It seems in all probability, and without any other sort of reasonable explanation, that you’ve had an early visit from Father Christmas this year!’
Seven
‘Hey!’ I hear called out behind me as I sit on a bench and watch Barney race around on the grass in front of me.
It’s early in the morning, the tide is in and I can’t face cleaning a lot of wet sand off Barney this morning before breakfast, so instead I’ve brought him up on to one of the grassy hills that overlooks St Felix Bay. It’s a popular spot amongst morning dog walkers, and Barney is currently chasing after a brown Cockapoo whose owner is engrossed in something on their mobile phone.
