‘Pffft! You’re no fun. You know I only get vicarious thrills these days.’ It was said in good humour, but there was an edge to Libby’s voice that unsettled Beth. She didn’t like the idea of Libby being lonely.
Beth made herself busy—flipping on the kettle and opening the cupboard to hunt up a couple of mugs. Her hand hovered over the bone-china floral cup Eleanor had always used, sucking in a deep breath at a stab of fresh loss and pain. It had been like that since she’d let herself in the back door of the building the previous evening. She’d crept around the flat upstairs, feeling like an intruder and regretting her hasty decision to jump on a train. She’d slept in her old room, not able to face the master bedroom still cluttered with Eleanor’s possessions.
A week lying around on her bed, staring at the damp patch in one corner of the ceiling hadn’t produced any clarity so she’d hoped a change of scene might help. Quitting her job had been a stupid, impulsive move, but she couldn’t bring herself to regret it. A few half-hearted web searches had produced a ream of vacancies for jobs she could do with her eyes closed, but she hadn’t submitted her C.V. to a single one of them. It was like being suspended in jelly, or wrapped in cotton wool. Everything muffled and muted—one step removed from her reality. That one week had been all she could stand before the inertia had threatened to drive her up the wall.
Lavender Bay had been the obvious choice, but now she was here it felt wrong. London wasn’t home anymore either, hadn’t been since the day Charlie had sat her down and explained in calm, cool tones that their life together, the life she’d tried so hard to fit into, just wasn’t working for him.
Beth was adrift, and she hated it. Her forehead thunked against the frame of the open cupboard. ‘Tell me what to do.’
‘Take out a mug, drop in a tea bag and pour the hot water over it.’
A strangled laugh escaped her. ‘Oh, Libs.’
Warm arms encircled her waist. ‘Take out a mug, drop in a tea bag and pour the hot water over it. One step at a time, Beth.’
She nodded, catching her forehead on a sharp edge where the lining on the cupboard had chipped away. ‘Ouch.’ Libby let her go and she stepped back, rubbing her forehead.
‘Here let me.’ Libby reached past and grabbed the first two mugs, including the floral one.
‘Not that one, it’s Eleanor’s…’
‘Well, technically, it’s yours now.’ Libby set about making their drinks, squeezing the tea-bag in the floral cup until the liquid inside turned the perfect shade of creamy-brown. She thrust it at Beth. ‘Here, take it.’
When Beth made no move to take it, Libby huffed in frustration. ‘What is going on with you? I can’t believe you’ve been sitting on all of this…’ She waved the mug, causing a slop of tea to spill over the edge. ‘…And you didn’t say anything.’ Libby turned away to dump the tea back onto the side of the small kitchenette. ‘Shit. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to shout.’
‘It’s all right, we’re all out of sorts, aren’t we?’ Sinking deeper into the chair, Beth wriggled her bottom to avoid the loose spring Eleanor had never got around to having fixed. She traced a pattern over the crocheted arm protectors, her fingers adopting the old habit without thought. Everywhere she looked, everything she touched was as commonplace to her as breathing. She knew this place. Being here could be easy if she only gave herself a chance, and if she could bear the weight of her grief.
Her thoughts drifted to an earlier conversation. ‘Sam thinks I should reopen the emporium.’
‘Oh, does he now?’
Beth rolled her head towards Libby, drawn by the sly humour in her tone. ‘What?’
Libby blinked as though she couldn’t believe why she was even asking. ‘What do you mean what? This is Sam we’re talking about. Of course, he wants you to reopen the place.’
Beth thought about it. If the pub was to continue to succeed, Sam needed the seafront at Lavender Bay to be as appealing as possible to visitors. It made sense, she supposed, that he would prefer to have an open, thriving business rather than a boarded-up shop, or noisy development works. Especially when the shop in question was right next door to his own establishment. ‘I suppose it makes sense for him and the other owners on the prom to want the emporium open.’
Libby opened her mouth, closed it again, then shook her head. ‘Yeah, that’s why.’ She settled into the chair opposite Beth. ‘So, are you going to do it? It’d be nice to have you around again.’ She held her hand out across the gap between their chairs. ‘I’ve missed you, B. You and Eliza, both. Skype is great and all, but it’s just not the same as you being here, you know?’
‘Oh, Libs.’ Beth took her hand, squeezing her fingers tight. What kind of a best friend was she to sit there bitching about things when she had so many options, and poor Libby had none? The early death of her mother had left Mick and Libby both devastated and they’d clung to each other. Libby felt responsible for her dad, and the chip shop didn’t make enough money to both pay for her to go to university and hire a replacement for the many hours she put in behind the counter. Libs had laughed it off, saying the idea of more study was her idea of hell, but she must have resented not even having a choice about it.
A horrifying thought occurred to her. ‘Did you hate us when we left?’
‘What? No! Well, maybe a little bit. You were both having such a good time, making all these new friends, falling in love…’
Beth snorted. ‘Yeah, and that worked out just bloody brilliantly, didn’t it?’
‘Hey, at least you were getting some action. What did I have, a few spotty boys more interested in a free bag of chips than getting off with me? And that hasn’t improved over the years. Lavender Bay isn’t exactly a hotbed of passion, so I’ve never even had the chance to get my heart broken. God, the last bloke I went out with, I didn’t even like him, I just wanted someone to pay me some attention.’
‘Oh, Libs, when was this?’
Libby shrugged. ‘A couple of months ago, I got drunk in the pub. He was a travelling salesman, called Barry.’ She covered her face with her hands and groaned. ‘Barry. Oh, God, you should have seen him, all greased-back hair and groping fingers. I don’t know what I was thinking.’ Her friend dropped her hands with a laugh. ‘And old too, he must have been thirty if he was a day.’
‘Ancient,’ Beth said, drily, thinking of their own impending birthdays. She and Libby were both spring babies, and would be turning twenty-five within a couple of weeks of each other. Eliza was a late summer child. One day later and she would’ve been in the year below them, and they wouldn’t have the special bond the three of them shared.
‘Well he seemed old. Mature, like he might know what he was doing, you know?’ Libby waved her hand vaguely. ‘I was so drunk, and mad, and frustrated. I just wanted to feel special, for once in my boring bloody life, so I let him walk me home.’
Beth cast her mind back, remembering her own early days at uni, the constant seesaw of emotions between breathless anticipation and abject terror as every new boy she met was sized up as a potential date. Freshers’ week had been a cocktail of hormones, vodka and terrible decisions, but there’d been some spectacular kisses too. Something else Libby had missed out on by staying home. ‘So, how was it?’
Libby grinned. ‘Technically, it was very good. Emotionally…’ She heaved a sigh. ‘It was a disaster. A total washout. You know like how the books talk about fireworks and flutterings?’ Beth nodded. ‘Well not a thing. It was hardly more exciting than those practice kisses we used to do on our hands.’
Beth threw back her head and laughed. ‘Oh my God, I’d forgotten about those!’ They’d read somewhere in a teen magazine about a practice technique which involved making a mouth shape with thumb and forefinger. The three of them had slurped and snogged their hands, trying to work out the mechanics. Eliza had gone so far as to suck up a red mark and had to make up a story about banging herself on a desk at school after Annie spotted it. Thinking about Eliza inevitably drew he
r thoughts back to the original subject. ‘What makes you so sure he wasn’t just a bad kisser?’
‘Because I’ve had some really bad kisses, and some pretty spectacular ones too. He knew his way around a pair of lips, trust me. It just felt empty, and a bit weird. I knew he expected more, and I almost felt like I should go back with him to his room.’ A bleakness settled over her, and Beth worried about where the story was taking them. Libby’s face brightened. ‘Thankfully Dad chose that moment to put the rubbish out. Nothing like the sight of him with his dressing gown flapping around his knees to cool a man’s ardour! I beat a hasty retreat, and hid at home for the next few days until I knew his holiday had ended. After that, I kind of gave up trying.’
Libby pushed herself out of the chair and retrieved their cooling tea from the counter. She held out the floral mug to Beth, tutting when she hesitated. ‘It’s just a cup of tea, not a legally binding contract.’
Acceding to the point, Beth accepted the drink. ‘I’m just not sure…’
Libby slipped back into her seat, crossing her legs so her body was angled towards Beth. ‘What else are you going to do?’
‘Well, there’s this really interesting damp patch on the ceiling of my bedsit. In another few weeks it might reach the corner.’ They laughed again. ‘Truth is, I have no plan, no clue what I want to do and it’s scaring me half to death.’
Her friend reached across, steadying the sudden shaking in Beth’s arm. ‘Baby steps, B. Let’s start with cleaning this place up and then we can go from there. I don’t know about you, but all these dust covers are depressing the hell out of me. Eleanor would hate to see everything coated in dust.’
Beth nodded, dislodging a tear from her cheek which plopped into her cup. Damn, she needed to stop crying at the drop of a hat. Sucking in a deep breath, she dashed the rest of the moisture from her face and sat up straight. ‘Right. You’re right. Let’s get this place spick and span.’ A thought occurred to her. ‘What about the chippy?’
Libby waved it off. ‘Dad’ll be fine to cover lunch.’
Lunch. She’d forgotten. ‘Oh.’
‘What?’
‘Nothing, only Sam made me promise to go next door for lunch. Annie’s doing steak and kidney puddings.’
‘Yuck! You hate kidney almost as much as I do.’ Libby pulled a face.
‘He said he’d get her to make one with mushroom for me.’ And wasn’t that just like Sam, always making sure everyone got what they needed?
‘Oh, is he now?’ Libby said in a sing-song voice, a wide grin on her face.
Beth drained the last of her tea and stood up. ‘Keep stirring like that and you’ll need a wooden spoon.’
Libby stood up to join her. ‘I’ll settle for a duster for now.’ She rummaged under the kitchen sink, giving a crow of triumph as she withdrew a long feather duster. ‘Ooh, I’ve always wanted one of these. Those cobwebs don’t stand a chance.’
Grabbing a packet of cleaning wipes, Beth followed her out onto the shop floor. Together they removed the rest of the dust covers, folding them carefully as opposed to her earlier half-hearted efforts when she’d just dragged them onto the floor. The glass-fronted cabinets and shelves looked exactly as she remembered, down to the placement of the contents. Souvenirs and postcards were by the door to draw in the browsing tourists, curios and gift ideas set further inside.
The cabinet beneath the till was used to showcase new items and currently held a selection of handmade jewellery from a local craftsperson according to a small sign. Beth paused in the act of wiping down the glass to study the delicate silver swirls and loops studded with polished agates in shades of green, taupe and grey. ‘Have you seen these, Libby? They’re gorgeous.’
Her friend stopped chasing cobwebs along the high ceiling to come and peer over her shoulder. ‘Ooh, these are lovely.’ She nudged Beth. ‘Birthday’s coming up, I’ll be dropping some big hints in Dad’s direction.’
Beth sat back on her heels. One of the things she’d always loved about the emporium was the inability to tack a label onto it. The mix of tacky and sophisticated, traditional and cutting-edge designs. ‘Something for everyone,’ Eleanor had liked to say. Using local artists must be something she’d ventured into more recently, and the idea appealed to Beth.
‘I wonder if she’s got a list of contacts, somewhere…’ She was halfway around the desk before the thought had even finished, and a quick rummage through the shelves produced the old-fashioned ledger Eleanor used as an order book and an address book. The temptation to start combing through was strong, but she set them aside for later. Cleaning first, and the rest could wait.
‘God, these bloody things are a nightmare. You’ll need a ladder to get them down.’
Beth glanced over to where Libby was trying, and failing, to dust a selection of inflatables hanging from the ceiling. They must’ve been left over from the previous summer because most of them were three-quarters deflated and looking very sorry for themselves. Libby biffed the snout of a mostly-flat crocodile sending it spinning and dancing on the piece of string tied to his tail. ‘Poor thing, looks like I feel—left on the shelf.’
Beth rounded the counter to hug Libby. ‘We can be spinsters together and spend our evenings crocheting and plucking our chin hairs.’
‘God, can you imagine it? You and me up at Baycrest in a pair of rocking chairs, teeth in a glass as we moan about how things aren’t like they used to be.’ Libby pulled a face. ‘No thanks! I’m going to grow old disgracefully. Mrs Walters up there is my role model. She’s worn out three husbands and is cutting a swathe through the single gents. Got her eye on Pops, but he’s sweet on Mrs Taylor, you know? I tell you, those old folks are having more fun than the rest of us put together. I need a man, B. A nice man with a penchant for women that smell like fried fish and pickling vinegar.’
Beth snorted. For all she made out she stank like the chip shop, Libby used a lime-scented shampoo and always smelled zesty and bright to her. ‘Let’s hope he’s got a friend who likes the smell of dust and plastic then. Leave those things for now, I’ll get them down later. Will you mop the floor, and I’ll get a bucket and see what I can do about these windows?’
‘Hey, B?
Beth dropped the sponge in the bucket and turned to where Libby was fiddling with the dial on the old radio on the shelf behind the main counter. ‘Yeah?’
‘What does your mum think about you coming back here?’
Sinking down on the wide ledge of the window display, Beth dropped her head into her hands. ‘I haven’t told her,’ she muttered.
‘I can’t say I blame you, but you’ll have to tell her at some point.’
Beth nodded. ‘I haven’t even told her I quit my job.’ She lifted her face to meet Libby’s sympathetic gaze. ‘You know what she’s like.’ Her stomach churned as she pictured her mother’s reaction. Beth could explain her reasons until she was blue in the face and Linda would see it as a failure; would put the blame on Beth the same way she had when she found out Charlie had broken up with her. It would have to be done at some point, but not yet. Not until she was sure she was actually going to stay.
Libby winced. ‘Me and my big mouth. I’m sorry, B, forget I even mentioned it.’ She fiddled with the dial until she found a station full of the latest hits. ‘That’s more like it.’ Libby shook her hips hard enough to give Beyoncé a run for a money as she brandished the feather duster.
The loud music was nothing Eleanor would’ve stood for more than two minutes. Beth swallowed away the lump in her throat. Trying to keep everything the way her old friend had had it would only make things worse. If she was going to think about running the place—even for a little while— she would have to put her own stamp on things. With the music blaring away, they set to on the floor and windows singing and laughing at the tops of their voices. As the dust cleared and the happy atmosphere settled, the old ghosts receded to their dark corners. For now.
Chapter Seven
‘Where’s th
e rest of the wine?’ Sam frowned as the drayman from the brewery unloaded the last of the stock into the rear yard. ‘I ordered two-dozen from the new quality range featured in the latest promotion.’
The man dumped a tray of soft drinks on top of the nearest stack then pushed back the cap on his head to scratch at his fringe. ‘Didn’t see nothing other than the usual wines on the manifest. Let me fetch it from the cab.’
‘All right. I’ll be back in sec.’ With a lurking sense of suspicion Sam jogged inside and up the stairs. ‘Dad, have you seen the orders folder?’ He stuck his head around the corner of the kitchen door to find Paul sorting through the previous night’s takings—the takings Sam had already tallied, checked and made up ready to pay in later. His gut tightened in annoyance at the sight.
Not making any attempt to disguise what he was doing, his dad waved his pen in the direction of an open folder on the other side of the table. ‘Is there a problem?’
Sam started leafing through the paperwork. ‘I’m not sure, I ordered some new wine but it’s missing from the delivery.’
Paul capped his pen. ‘Oh, I cancelled that. People don’t want to waste their money on over-priced plonk. This isn’t your fancy restaurant where customers will pay over the odds for a pretty label.’
‘Jesus Christ.’ Sam rubbed his forehead, trying to ease the headache he could feel brewing. ‘And it didn’t occur to you to mention that to me?’
‘Mind your tone. It’s still my name above the door to this place. And no, it didn’t occur to me to tell you I’d cancelled it any more than it occurred to you to run the idea past me in the first place.’
Ouch. He had a point, but still… ‘I talked to Mum about organising a gourmet evening, something a bit different to draw people in while it’s quiet. When I saw the deal, it seemed like an ideal chance to get some decent wine in. I was going to plan the menu around it.’
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