by Ali McNamara
‘Yes, you did, and how she cast an enchantment on not only the building where she hid and the ground below it – where Poppy’s flower shop now stands – but over the whole town too. That’s right, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, that’s the one. It’s a story embedded in St Felix’s history. Anyone who comes here and stays is always subject to Zethar’s magical spell. When it strikes it’s always something different, but it always involves helping others in some way … like the villagers helped her.’
I shake my head a little. Seeing moving images in static pictures was one thing, but believing it was all to do with some ancient Cornish sorceress’s spell hundreds of years ago was another. ‘So you’re saying I’m being helped, is that right? But helped to do what?’
Anita shrugs. ‘Like I say, it’s always different. You might be being helped along a little, but most likely if you are, it will involve you helping someone else too.’
I immediately think about Jack and his struggles, and then I think about Julian. Was it one of them I was supposed to be helping?’
‘How will I know who it is?’ I ask, hoping Anita will have all the answers.
‘I don’t know, dear,’ she says gently. ‘I don’t think it works the same way every time. I guess you’ll just know when it happens.’
‘Have you ever been helped, Anita? You seem to know a lot about it.’
‘Everyone who comes to St Felix likes to think they’ve been helped by the magic in some way. That’s part of the charm of the place, when you discover all these stories you have immediate hope, and hope is a very powerful emotion, but whether your fortune comes from the magic, or simply from the belief that something good will happen, no one truly knows. My good fortune came after Wendy passed on and I thought this shop would be closed for ever. I’d have lost not only my job but a part of my life too. You know how much I love being here. So when you came along and said you’d keep me on, I have to admit, I did wonder if it was the magic of St Felix that had helped me.’
I smile at Anita. ‘It was never in doubt you were to stay,’ I tell her. ‘I think I’d have had a riot on my hands if I’d ever tried to let you go.’
‘You’re a good girl, Kate, which is why I think the magic has struck in such a big way for you. Some of us can only wonder whether it might have been Zethar’s enchantment helping us along in times of need, but you and Jack seem to have been granted something much bigger, and likely more important, to do. Don’t think of this as something to worry about, think of it as your chance to do something special, something that will truly make a difference to someone.’
‘Oh Anita, you’re the one who’s amazing!’ I say, giving her a huge hug. ‘Only you could have made it seem like that, and not like I was going mad! So you think we should keep pushing to find out more about Clara and Arty?’
‘Oh definitely. I’m sad I can’t really help you any more, I only know that the lady who lived in the house you’re talking about was called Peggy. She was a bit of a recluse by all accounts. I remember Wendy trying to be friendly and going up there once to see if she wanted to be a part of the community a little more, but she didn’t get very far. The lady was polite enough to Wendy, but she really wasn’t interested in us. She preferred to be on her own, I think. Probably why she chose that house – it is a bit isolated, isn’t it? Up on the hill in its own grounds.’
‘A little bit, I suppose, but it has some amazing views of the town and the coast. I wouldn’t mind living there if I had the money. It’s a fair bit bigger than my little flat upstairs.’
‘Who knows, maybe one day you will,’ Anita says kindly.
‘I’d better start buying a lottery ticket then!’ I grin. ‘Because that’s the only way I’ll ever find myself able to afford to live there.’
St Felix ~ August 1957
Clara glances out of the window of her shop. The morning had started quite busily, but now, as the heat of the afternoon penetrates Harbour Street, people are much preferring the cool breeze of the beach and the cliffs than the stuffy little seaside shops.
She fans herself with one of her dress patterns to try to cool down but it’s not helping at all, so she goes to the door to see if there’s any more air on her door-step.
‘Oh,’ she says, surprised to see Arty standing not far from the shop. ‘I didn’t know you were here again, Arthur?’
Clara hadn’t seen Arty for a few days, and although she hated to admit it, she was missing seeing him outside with his easel set up along the street somewhere. She had assumed that he’d moved on to another part of the town now.
‘Yes,’ Arty says, walking over to her. He holds up a box camera in front of him. ‘I’m taking some detail shots on my Brownie so that I can go back home and work in the comfort of my studio when I’ve got them developed. I’ve already got the basics, but I’m missing something I can’t quite put my finger on.’
‘Very good,’ Clara says politely. ‘I didn’t know you had a camera.’
‘I’ve not had it all that long, I picked it up in a junk shop. To me this seems brand new, but to someone else it’s old-fashioned now. Strange, eh?’
‘Yes, it’s a little like that with clothes now. For years we were told to make do and mend, but now everyone wants the latest styles as soon as they come off the catwalk. I can barely keep up.’
Arty holds his camera up as though to take a photo of Clara.
‘No!’ she puts her hand out to block the shot. ‘Not of me, you don’t!’
‘But why?’ Arty asks, lowering his camera, ‘You’d make the perfect subject. In fact, that might be exactly what I need – someone to put life into the street. My paintings are too static at the moment.’
‘Well, it won’t be me giving you life,’ Clara says adamantly, folding her arms. ‘Take your camera away from me.’
‘What if I said please?’ Arty says, his kind brown eyes suddenly turning doleful as he blinks back at her. ‘You’re by far the prettiest shopkeeper down this street.’
Clara, to her intense annoyance, feels herself blush.
‘You’d be doing me a huge favour.’
Clara thinks about this for a moment. ‘All right then,’ she concedes. ‘But I may want a small favour from you in return …’
Arty attempts to take several photos of Clara in different poses in front of her shop, then he sighs and puts his camera down.
‘Relax,’ he says gently. ‘You’re being far too formal.’
‘I can’t relax when you’re pointing that thing at me. It’s not natural.’
‘It will be if you loosen up a bit.’
Clara sighs now. ‘I told you this wasn’t a good idea.’
‘I know … what if we try taking one with you looking into your shop window instead of at the camera? That might help.’
Clara nods and turns towards her shop.
‘Just turn a little to the side so I can still see your face,’ Arty instructs. ‘That’s it, now think of what this little shop means to you.’
Clara’s tight face and taut body immediately relax as she thinks about the shop and how proud she is of it.
‘Fantastic!’ Arty calls, pressing the shutter and hurriedly winding on the film to the next exposure. ‘Now turn your body towards me a tad, but still keep looking into the shop window.’ Another click of the shutter and a wind of the film as Arty takes another two exposures with Clara in the same position.
A movement behind Arty makes Clara turn and she sees Maggie and Babs coming up the street. Her natural instinct takes over and she beams warmly at her daughter.
‘That’s it!’ Arty calls, pressing the shutter for the final time. ‘Now you’re smiling!’
‘Yes, that is it,’ Clara says, hurriedly straightening her blouse and skirt. ‘Hello, Maggie. How was your afternoon?’
‘Arty!’ Maggie says happily on seeing him. ‘How are you?’
‘Very good, young Maggie. Very good. And you are looking very well, I must say!’
Arty looks behi
nd Maggie’s chair at Babs. ‘I’m sorry, miss, I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure,’ he says holding his hand out. ‘Arty Jenkins.’
‘Barbara Smith,’ Babs says, shaking it. ‘You’re one of them artist fellas, aren’t you, who hang around here? I’ve seen you painting.’
‘I am indeed.’
‘If you ever need a model,’ Babs says, flicking her blonde hair and puffing out her ample chest, ‘I am available to have me portrait done. I’ve been told I have a look of Jayne Mansfield about me.’
Clara visibly bristles at Babs’ overfamiliarity with Arty, but he just smiles in a kindly way. ‘Yes, I can see that, Barbara. You very much have the look of a Hollywood film star. What a wonderful model you would make someone. Sadly, I mainly paint landscapes, but if that ever changes I’ll be sure to give you a shout.’
‘Worth a try,’ Babs says, shrugging. She turns to Clara. ‘Same time tomorrow, Clara?’
‘Yes, if that’s all right? What have you two been up to today anyway?’
‘We went to see Freddie again,’ Maggie says, holding up a piece of wood. ‘He let me paint with him.’
‘Ah, I see.’ Maggie glances at Arty for a reaction, but his face gives nothing away. ‘That’s very good,’ Clara says, taking the wood from Maggie. ‘What do you think, Arty?’
Arty takes the wood from Clara. ‘Yes, indeed it is. Where are you doing this?’
‘With Freddie,’ Maggie says again. ‘He’s very kind to me.’
‘Freddie?’ Arty repeats. ‘I don’t think I know a Freddie?’
‘He’s that old geezer who paints in his cottage in down-along.’ Babs explains. ‘I don’t think he’s got two ha’pennies to rub together. He certainly don’t look like he has, but he manages to paint still. He uses bits of wood and stuff instead of canvases.’
Arty nods thoughtfully. ‘And what do you do, Babs, while Maggie goes to paint with Freddie?’
Babs shrugs. ‘I sit outside mainly, topping up me tan.’
‘Babs!’ Clara says sharply. ‘You’re supposed to be looking after Maggie. That’s what I pay you for.’
‘That’s all she wants to do!’ Babs protests. ‘I’ve tried doing other things with her, but she just wants me to take her to the old fella’s to paint.’
Clara looks at Maggie. ‘Is this true, Maggie?’
Maggie nods. ‘Don’t be cross with Babs, Mummy. I ask her to take me to Freddie’s. It’s not her fault.’ She hesitates. ‘If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s yours, Mummy. You stopped me painting with Arty.’
Clara glances at Arty, but to his credit he doesn’t look smug. Instead he simply looks with concern at Maggie. ‘And that’s all you do when you’re at Freddie’s, Maggie,’ he asks, ‘painting?’
‘Yeah,’ Maggie says, ‘Freddie, doesn’t say much. He’s very quiet, but I kind of like that. He doesn’t make a fuss of me like everyone else does. He accepts me for me and we paint together.’
Clara and Arty both breathe a sigh of relief at the same time.
‘Could you take me to see this Freddie sometime?’ Arty asks. ‘Perhaps tomorrow, instead of Babs taking you, I could? If it’s all right with your mother, of course?’
Clara nods.
‘Great!’ Maggie says excitedly, ‘I’d like that, and I’m sure Freddie would too. I don’t think he knows any other proper artists like him.’
‘Don’t worry, Babs, you won’t be out of pocket,’ Arty reassures a worried-looking Babs. ‘Will she, Clara?’
Clara shakes her head. ‘No. Just see it as a day off.’
‘All right,’ Babs says, shrugging. ‘Sounds good to me! I’ll be off now then, shall I? See you on Monday. Unless you need me Saturday?’
‘No, Monday will be fine, thank you, Babs.’
Babs heads off down the street, and Clara turns to Maggie. ‘Why don’t you go and get yourself an ice cream from the shop across the road?’ she says, pulling half a crown from the pocket of her full skirt.
‘On my own?’ Maggie asks, staring in amazement at Clara.
Clara nods. ‘Take it slowly though. There’s no rush.’
Maggie beams at her mother. She pulls herself up from her chair and then begins to walk very slowly, leaning heavily on a wooden walking stick, across to the shop, while Clara and Arty watch her.
‘Thank you,’ Clara says, smiling gratefully at Arty, ‘for offering to take Maggie tomorrow. I’m sure everything is fine with this Freddie, but you never know, do you? You hear things …’
‘No need to explain,’ Arty says hurriedly, still watching Maggie until she is safely in the shop. ‘It’s not a problem at all. I’m sure we have nothing to worry about, but I’d still like to check it out. Now,’ he says, turning his gaze fully to Clara, ‘I’ve got my photographs, which I hope will turn out to be as wonderful as their subject when I have them developed.’
Clara blushes again.
‘But I believe I still owe you a favour?’
Clara shakes her head. ‘No need,’ she says, smiling at him. ‘What I was going to ask of you, you’ve already offered to do tomorrow with Maggie, and I’m very grateful.’
Arty looks puzzled for a moment, and then he grins. ‘Great minds, eh?’ he says.
‘Indeed,’ Clara replies. ‘We’re obviously more alike than I realised, Arthur.’
I sit back from the painting of Clara standing outside her shop.
‘Arty obviously did paint Clara then,’ I say casually, not really looking Jack in the eye. ‘It’s clear that this painting you have must have been done from one of the photos we saw him taking.’
‘Yes, that’s what I was thinking. Do you think all the paintings have been Arty’s? There’s no signature on them – I’ve checked.’
‘Yes, I do. This easel must have belonged to him, and I bet the sewing machine was Clara’s too. It all fits in with the house now, doesn’t it?’
At the mention of our visit to the house, Jack’s lips purse together.
In the end I’d bitten the bullet and texted Jack about my newest finding. After a long wait he’d texted back and confirmed, as I suspected, he too had received another painting overnight, and we’d very formally (for us) agreed to meet that evening to compare them.
So far we’d been polite towards each other, but nothing had been said about our visit to the house with the blue door, or about what had happened afterwards.
‘Yes, I suppose it does.’ Jack says. He glances at me, and for the first time since I arrived tonight, looks properly into my eyes.
‘I’m sorry about the other day,’ he says.
‘I’m sorry about how I spoke to you,’ I say at the same time.
‘Go ahead,’ Jack says, holding out his hand.
‘I was going to add, I’m sorry about walking off and leaving you, but you made me really cross.’
‘I know I did, and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I did about Julian.’
I nod. ‘He is just a friend,’ I tell him. ‘Whatever you might think, I’m not interested in him like that, even if he is in me.’
Jack raises an eyebrow as if he’s going to say something, but then he thinks better of it. ‘That’s good to know,’ he says instead.
‘Is it?’
Jack nods slowly, and we hold each other’s gaze for a few seconds longer this time. Then Jack sighs and looks down at his chair. He shakes his head angrily.
‘What’s wrong?’ I ask.
‘It’s this thing. All I want to do right now is let you know how much what you said means to me, but as usual this stupid thing is preventing me from doing what I really want to.’
‘What is it you really want to do?’ I ask quietly.
Jack looks at me. ‘Wrap you in my arms and kiss you so hard you’ve no doubt how I feel about you.’
I feel a shiver of pleasure run through me at the thought of him doing just that.
‘How strong is your chair?’ I ask.
Jack looks puzzled for a moment, then he smiles.
&nbs
p; ‘Strong enough for two if that’s what you mean?’
‘I won’t hurt you if I sit on you?’
Jack shakes his head. ‘No, you won’t hurt me, but I must warn you I do still have some feelings down there. I’m not completely immobile …’
He grins at me, and I smile as I stand up in front of the easel and move from my chair to Jack’s. I’m about to sit on his lap when I pause. ‘Did you hear something?’
‘No, definitely not …’ Jack says, still gazing at me.
I go to sit down again but footsteps make me stop.
‘There’s someone downstairs in the shop,’ I say, looking with horror at him.
‘There can’t be. I left the inside door to the shop unlocked so you could bring the easel up, but the street door is secured for the night. There can’t be anyone down there.’
But again I hear something. ‘Wait there.’ I tell him.
‘Kate, no!’ Jack protests, spinning himself around as fast as he can in his chair and following me as I head for the stairs. ‘Kate, wait! I need to tell you something …’
I look around for something to grab and see a pair of rarely used crutches. I grab one and I’m already thundering down the stairs before Jack can reach me. No one was going to break into Jack’s shop and get away with it!
I burst through the inside door, kicking it open like I’m in some sort of cop show. ‘Stand back, I’m armed!’ I shout, as I bound in brandishing the crutch.
A tall young man wearing a black hoody spins around, looking at first surprised and then amused by what he sees in front of him.
‘Hey,’ he says, holding up his hands in mock surrender. ‘Don’t beat me with your crutch, lady! I’m innocent!’
‘H … how are you innocent?’ I ask suddenly, wondering what I’d hoped to gain by this. It was now me against the intruder. What was I going to do? Hopefully Jack had called the police from upstairs already.
‘I didn’t break in, did I?’ he says, stepping forwards, but I hold the crutch out like a bayonet in front of him to keep him back. ‘I let myself in with a key,’ he continues, stepping back again, ‘via the front door in the corridor over there. I thought I’d have a look around the new shop on the way in.’
