by Ali McNamara
‘You shouldn’t make such delicious cakes,’ I tease.
‘Ah, I can’t take all the credit for that – family recipes passed down through the generations!’
‘Evening,’ Noah says, wandering over towards us. ‘I can get over to speak to you now a few people have left. Kate, I wanted to tell you how great the old sewing machine looks in your window.’
We’d never solved the mystery of the sewing machine and where the embroidered picture had come from, so I’d popped the machine into the shop window yesterday with some of my designs, and as Noah had predicted it was showing them off beautifully.
‘Thank you, yes, I’m very pleased with it.’ I look around me. ‘I would have thought Jack would have done something similar here with the art equipment he got from you?’
‘Maybe he doesn’t have the space right now?’ Noah suggests. ‘He’s squeezed a lot of stock in here.’
‘What equipment is this?’ Dec asks.
‘Noah did a house clearance recently and in it there was an old sewing machine that I now have, and some antique art equipment that Noah sold to Jack for the shop.’
‘Ah, what house was this from?’ Dec asks. ‘Somewhere local?’
‘Yes, actually. That large Victorian house just before you get to the coast road. The one with the blue door.’
Dec and I both nod.
‘There was stuff in its attic that had been there for years, decades even. I don’t think the elderly owner had any idea of the things that were hidden away up there. Her family simply seemed pleased I was prepared to take so much of it.’
‘Is it empty now then?’
‘Yes, but I think they want a fast sale. They seemed keen to get the place cleared as quickly as possible. I haven’t really dealt with them all that much though. Unusually, the estate agent was my point of contact.’
‘What a shame when your wealth is more important to your loved ones than your memories.’
‘It is, Kate, but I see it all the time,’ Noah says sadly.
‘Why are you all looking so miserable?’ Jack asks, approaching us. ‘This is supposed to be a party!’
‘Noah and I were just talking about the house clearance he did, and I was wondering what you’d done with the art equipment he sold you? We thought you might have had it on display tonight.’
Jack’s face, which had been full of life and exuberance as he wheeled himself over to us, suddenly drains of its colour.
‘Haven’t really got room at the moment,’ he says hurriedly. ‘I will do something with it … sometime. There’s no rule that says I have to put it on display, is there, just because I bought it from you?’ To my surprise he looks at Noah accusingly.
‘Er … no,’ Noah says awkwardly. ‘None at all.’ He drains his glass and pops it down on a nearby counter. ‘Well, I’d better be going.’ He glances at his watch. ‘Ana will probably be back by now with Daisy-Rose. Evening wedding,’ he explains, ‘down in Marazion.’
Dec and I both nod.
‘Great shop you’ve got here, Jack,’ Noah says, holding his hand out to him. ‘I hope it does well for you.’
‘Cheers, mate,’ Jack says, shaking it. ‘Sorry if I snapped at you before. It’s been a long night, you know.’
Noah nods. ‘See you guys around,’ he says in parting to Dec and me.
‘Bye, Noah.’
‘Is Daisy-Rose his … daughter?’ Jack asks, looking at Dec and me.
‘No.’ I smile. ‘Daisy-Rose is a little red camper van. Ana, his partner, rents it out for weddings and events.’
‘Ah, I see. So much to learn about everyone here.’
‘You’ll get there,’ Dec says. ‘It takes everyone a while to get to know us, but then there’s no turning back! Once you’re in the St Felix gang, it’s difficult to escape, isn’t it, Kate?’ He turns to me and offers me a high five, which I gladly return.
‘He’s right, but that’s mainly because you don’t want to leave,’ I say happily. ‘This place can be a little tight-knit, and odd things often happen here you can’t always explain.’ I think of my sewing machine again. ‘But we’re a good bunch and St Felix is a lovely place to live.’
‘It is that,’ Dec agrees. ‘Some folk even call it enchanted. There are a few tall tales that are regularly told in The Merry Mermaid about things that have happened here in the past.’
‘Like what?’ Jack asks with interest.
‘Too many to tell you now,’ Dec says. ‘Pop in there sometime – you’ll always find someone keen to talk to you about it all. Now it’s my turn to depart. Where’s that big lump of a partner of mine?’
‘If you mean me,’ Ant says, appearing behind him, ‘I was just coming over to find you. Great event, Jack. Lovely food!’
‘It should be – you made it,’ Jack says, smiling at them.
‘We did indeed!’ Ant says beaming. ‘That would be why then!’
Ant and Dec depart, and I’m left with Jack.
‘I wonder where Sebastian has got to?’ I say, gazing around vaguely. ‘He was here a while ago. Everyone seems to be leaving all of a sudden.’
‘That might have something to do with me,’ Jack says, seeming a little uncomfortable. ‘I think I get people’s back up.’
‘Don’t be daft!’ I reply, looking at him. ‘Well, you can be a bit … abrasive, shall we say, at times.’
‘I don’t mean to be. Sometimes I say things I think are amusing, but others don’t seem to take it that way.’
‘Is that your army background?’ I ask kindly.
‘Possibly. Perhaps I’m just an awkward bugger!’
‘Maybe you are!’ I say, grinning at him. ‘But you were a bit odd with Noah when we mentioned the vintage art equipment. What was that about?’
‘Hmm …’ Jack says, considering something. ‘This is going to sound like a strange question, Kate, but has anything … unusual happened since you’ve had your old sewing machine?’
‘How do you mean?’ I ask as casually as I can when really I’m bursting with curiosity. Why was Jack asking? Had something happened to him too?
‘I mean …’ Jack looks incredibly uncomfortable. ‘Has it done anything … something you can’t quite explain?’
I look hard at Jack. This wasn’t one of his jokes, was it? But he looks deadly serious.
‘Actually …’ I begin, but Sebastian suddenly reappears with Bronte in tow.
‘Guess what, boss,’ he says happily, his arm linked with Bronte’s. ‘We only go to the same art college in London!’
‘I’m a year below Sebastian,’ Bronte tells us. ‘I never thought there would be another St Felixian studying there at the same time as me. What a small world.’
‘Much as I hate to break up this school reunion,’ Jack says to Bronte, ‘I am paying you and we’ve got a lot of clearing up to do before we can go home tonight.’
‘Soz, boss!’ Bronte answers, saluting him. ‘I’ll get to it! See you around, Sebastian.’
‘Of course, darling. Let’s do coffee sometime?’
‘Sure thing,’ Bronte says. ‘Okay, Jack, I’m going, I’m going.’
Bronte begins clearing up some glasses and discarded paper plates.
‘Do you want some help?’ I ask Jack. ‘Clearing up?’
‘Thank you, but we’ll be fine. Maybe we can continue our conversation some other time though?’
I nod. ‘Yes, of course. I’ll pop back into the shop sometime, shall I?’
‘I’ll look forward to it,’ Jack says smiling.
‘Much as I hate to break up this gorgeous little tête-à-tête also,’ Sebastian says, grinning at the two of us, ‘do you want me to walk you home, Kate?’
I smile at his chivalry. ‘That would be lovely, Sebastian, thank you.’
‘Not a problem – it will be something new for me – walking a woman home. I feel the testosterone flooding through my body already!’ He flexes his biceps.
I shake my head. ‘Thank you for a lovely evening, Jack.
’
‘My pleasure. I hope it’s the first of many that we share.’
I see Sebastian open his mouth to comment so I hurriedly put my arm through his where Bronte’s has just been, and I guide him forcefully in the direction of the door.
As we’re about to exit I turn back and quietly answer, ‘I hope so too.’
Nine
‘I’m just going to take Barney for a walk!’ I call to Anita, as I grab Barney’s lead and whistle for him to come to me. ‘I won’t be long.’
‘Off to buy some art supplies, are you?’ Anita asks, popping up from the back of the shop.
‘No … well, I might pass the art shop, I suppose, but why would I be going in there?’
‘To see Jack, perhaps?’ Anita asks with a twinkle in her eye.
‘Has Sebastian been talking to you by any chance?’ I answer. ‘That boy can spread rumours quicker than I can spread Marmite!’
‘I haven’t seen Sebastian this morning,’ Anita says in her usual demure way. ‘He’s not due in until this afternoon.’
‘Then why would you say that?’
‘We may have spoken on WhatsApp,’ Anita says to my surprise. I didn’t even think Anita knew what WhatsApp was, let alone how to use it.
‘Gossiped on WhatsApp, more like!’
‘Sebastian is simply keeping me updated. We often talk about the shop – what he’s left for me to do and vice versa.’
‘And the shop owner too by the sounds of it!’
Anita smiles demurely. ‘We only want what’s best for you, my dear. Besides, it might be pleasant for you to court a nice young man.’
I sigh. ‘Firstly, I have no intention of courting anyone, Anita. And secondly, I’d hardly call Jack a nice young man. A difficult and often rude middle-aged man, perhaps?’
Anita just smiles again. ‘If you say so, dear. If you say so.’
I deliberately walk Barney in the opposite direction to Jack’s shop as I exit through my own shop door, even though I did have every intention of going to see him this morning.
It wasn’t Jack’s company I particularly sought. However, I did want to talk to him some more about what he had asked me last night before we were interrupted.
Because it had happened again.
When I’d been unlocking the shop this morning I’d glanced briefly into the window, as I always did, to check everything was all right and that nothing had fallen or slipped from our display overnight.
Nothing had been disturbed, but there was an addition to the window – another embroidered picture sitting under the foot of the sewing machine, like someone had just finished stitching it. This time it depicted a huge turquoise wave splashing over some grey-blue rocks. Again, it was exquisite work, but who had created it and how had it got in my shop window?
I hadn’t said anything to Anita when she’d come in. I’d questioned her fairly intensively when the first picture had appeared, and it was clear she, like Sebastian, knew nothing about it, but now I had a feeling that Jack might.
After Barney has had a good run around I tether him to his lead and walk back in the direction of the high street and the art shop.
I’m pleased to see quite a few people already browsing inside as I stare though the window hoping to spot Jack. I spy him talking to someone very intently about some pastel sticks. As if he senses me staring he turns to the window and raises his hand beckoning me to come in.
I point to Barney.
Jack nods and gestures for me to give him a minute.
While Barney and I wait outside I take part in one of my favourite pastimes – people-watching.
It’s mid-morning and the majority of holiday-makers are just starting to appear from their holiday lets and the few hotel rooms that St Felix has to offer.
They’re an odd mix: some have dressed appropriately for today’s weather – slightly misty and damp with the promise of some light showers later – so a good few pairs of sturdy walking boots pass our way with sensible trousers and pack-a-macs at the ready, and some either haven’t consulted any sort of forecast or they’ve stubbornly decided they’re on holiday and are going to wear shorts, a T-shirt and flip flops, and consequences be damned!
I smile as I watch them amble by. I’d found it odd when I’d first moved here to be surrounded every day by people on holiday; they were rarely in a rush to go anywhere and it irritated me that they were always in my way, walking at what I felt was an incredibly slow pace. I’d spent a lot of my life living in big cities where people were always in a rush to get everywhere, but after I’d been in St Felix a few weeks I realised there was no point fighting against holiday-makers. It was like battling against the incoming tide – I was never going to win – so I’d allowed the much slower and more leisurely pace of life here by the sea to wash over me, and once I had I’d immediately noticed that I’d begun to feel much calmer and more relaxed too.
A couple of people exit from Jack’s shop, and Jack follows them into the doorway.
‘Hey, how are you?’ he says. ‘Do you want to come in?’
‘What about Barney?’ I ask. ‘Do you mind?’
‘Not at all. He’s used to your shop, isn’t he? He’s not going to pee all over my easels?’
‘I hope not!’
Jack reverses back in his chair and we follow him inside.
‘I’ve got a dog bowl here that I was going to put outside the shop,’ Jack says, reaching down behind the till, ‘but I’ve been so busy this morning I haven’t had a chance to fill it yet. Would you mind? Then Barney can have a drink.’
I’m touched he’s thought not only of Barney but of all the other dogs that pass through the streets of St Felix, thirsty from long walks and playing in salty sea water.
‘Sure,’ I say, taking the bowl. ‘Where should I … ?’
‘There’s a small basin by the loo at the back of the shop, but you’d be best filling it upstairs from the kitchen tap – it’ll be cleaner water up there.’
‘Okay, I’ll be right back. Be a good boy, Barney!’
Barney is already sniffing around Jack to see if he has any treats for him.
I go through a side door that leads out to a small corridor and then up a set of newly carpeted stairs. I can’t help wondering as I climb them how Jack copes with them.
When I get to the top I realise that Jack’s flat is not too dissimilar to mine and Molly’s. Through open doors I see a neat and tidy lounge area, two bedrooms, a bathroom and a kitchen, which is orderly and functional with newly fitted units, and as I run the water I think: Why would Jack choose to live somewhere so difficult for him to get around?
Yes, the flat obviously came with the shop, but surely he could have rented it out and lived somewhere more accessible? Perhaps he could only afford to do it like this? I mean it suited Molly and me to live above our shop, but Jack was different. How on earth did he cope?
I fill the dog bowl, realising for the first time that everything is much lower than I’m used to – the sink, the units, the cooker. Jack has had his kitchen designed to make it easier for him to access everything from his chair.
I carry the full bowl of water carefully to the top of the stairs, and notice for the first time a second wheelchair folded up next to the banister at the top.
Does Jack leave his other chair at the bottom and somehow make his way up here and use this one? I wonder, as I make my way slowly back down the stairs being careful not to spill the water.
‘Here we go,’ I announce brightly, carrying the bowl through the now empty shop towards Barney. I place it on the floor beside him and he laps thirstily from it.
‘Thanks for doing that,’ Jack says, watching Barney. ‘As you can imagine it’s quite the trek for me to get up there.’
‘How do you get up and down the stairs?’ I try to ask as casually as I can so as not to offend him again. ‘It must be … difficult.’
‘With these,’ Jack lifts up his arms and flexes his well-defined biceps.
I
must look puzzled because Jack continues, ‘I sit on my behind and pull myself up and down.’ He demonstrates in the chair by holding on to the sides and lifting his whole body up and down several times.
‘You must be very strong.’
‘In the upper body – yes. Not so much down below though.’ He gazes regretfully at his legs. ‘I haven’t had the pleasure of either using or seeing them in years.’
I realise for the first time that the legs under Jack’s loose trousers aren’t real – they’re prosthetics.
‘Gosh, what happened?’ I ask, my politeness evaporating. ‘Oh sorry … I mean, you don’t have to tell me. I don’t mean to pry.’
Jack studies me for a moment; his chocolate brown eyes feel like they’re scrutinising my every flaw. ‘Landmine,’ he eventually says matter-of-factly.
‘You stepped on one?’ I ask naively.
‘You don’t know much about landmines, do you?’ Jack asks, quizzically tipping his head to one side. ‘If I’d stepped on one I wouldn’t be here now.’
‘Yes, of course … sorry. So what did happen?’
‘One of my mates caught a trip-wire. Two of them took the full brunt of the explosion. Blown to pieces, they were. Not to be too graphic but they found bits of them all over the place afterwards.’
‘Oh God,’ I shudder. This was terrible. Poor Jack.
‘I was actually the lucky one,’ he continues calmly. ‘I was far enough away it only took my legs off. Most of this one’ – he points to where his left leg should be – ‘and this one just below the knee.’
‘I’m so sorry, Jack.’ I deliberately don’t look at his legs but directly into his eyes. ‘Really I am. It’s just …’ I struggle to find the right word as they all seem pretty useless. ‘… it’s just awful,’ I settle on eventually.
Jack shrugs, ‘No need for you to be sorry. Used to it now, aren’t I?’
‘Couldn’t you get prosthetic legs fitted to help you walk? Sorry,’ I say again. ‘That’s none of my business.’
‘Stop apologising, Kate! We went through all that the other day.’
‘Sor—’ I begin, and then I stop myself.
‘The prosthetics thing is a fair question, and one I get asked quite a lot. What you see here’ – he pokes at one of his legs – ‘are cosmetic limbs. They don’t work like functional prosthetics so I can’t walk on them – they’re simply for show. The nature of my injuries meant I wasn’t suitable for functional ones. I’m not all that bothered about wearing these really, but people react better to me than when they see no legs at all. Plus functional prosthetics can be a right pain, or should I say even more of a pain than this thing.’ He taps his wheelchair. ‘It took a while to get used to my wheels, but I think I’m pretty damn slick in them now.’
