‘And through my proposed collaboration with holiday accommodation booking site Let’s Go, we’ll attract even more tourism. The last coastal town to work with them won the prestigious Staycation of the Year award.’
I glance around the room, trying to read the audience. He has their attention, that’s for sure.
‘The project will also meet passive house standards, which reduces the building’s ecological footprint. The result will be ultra-low-energy buildings that require little energy for space heating or cooling. Each building will have a green roof, which will provide further insulation – it will also keep the houses cool when they need to be, provide space for birds, and, well, I just think it looks cool.’
Seb gives his audience a wink and, as I look around, I notice that his charm offensive is working. All eyes are on him. From his tech skills to his innovative business ideas, to his good looks and his eloquence. The audience is his, with everyone fully captivated, so impressed by everything he has to offer. I’d go as far as to say a few of the women are swooning – maybe even a couple of the men too.
‘If that’s not enough, the development will be entirely self-sufficient thanks to renewable energy sources. We’ll combine the use of wind and solar power, which, actually, will create a surplus of electricity, which we’ll be donating to your local school.’
‘How would that work?’ George asks.
‘All the energy that we create, that we don’t use, will go back to the grid and the net profit will be deducted from the school’s energy bill.’
As Seb continues to share his plans with his spellbound audience, I tune out a little. His plans are perfect and, if they were anywhere else, I’d want to get behind them too. It’s just…it’s my home, and my business, and if he could find somewhere else, everything would be fine.
‘You’ve given us a lot to think about,’ George says, pulling me from my thoughts, bringing me back into the room. I’d say his poker face was firmly on, were it not for the strong handshake he gives Seb. ‘We appreciate you running your plans by us.’
‘And I appreciate you taking the time to listen,’ Seb replies. ‘Your blessing is important to me, as is your local MP’s. I’ll be talking with her tomorrow afternoon.’ He starts collecting his things, getting ready to leave. ‘See you, Ivy,’ Seb says to me directly. I give him a half wave and as much of a smile as I can muster.
‘Ooh, Ivy, get you,’ Lily from the deli teases, as soon as Seb has gone. ‘So, that’s what I needed to do to get accepted quicker, hmm? Have better tech skills and look good in a suit.’
‘OK, thank you, Lily, we’re judging him on his proposal,’ George reminds her. ‘So, let’s go around the room and find out what people think.’
I notice George glancing around, making awkward eye contact with me before purposefully picking someone from the other side of the room.
‘Rob,’ he prompts, calling upon the local butcher first.
‘He was very persuasive, wasn’t he?’ Rob says cautiously, testing the waters.
George nods thoughtfully.
‘The thing he was saying about the electricity – I didn’t know that was a thing; that’s pretty cool,’ Lily says.
‘Yeah, free electricity for the school…’ George says.
‘The stuff about the booking website, and the Staycation of the Year award,’ Arcade Adam starts. ‘Is that legit?’
‘It is,’ Tommy from the bookshop chimes in. ‘Just Googled it, Portmeirion won last year.’
‘It does sound like it will be good for everyone…’ George says slowly.
I can hear the excitement in their voices building as they talk about Seb’s proposal. The love hearts in their eyes have turned to pound signs now.
‘Ivy?’ George finally says. ‘What do you think?’
‘It’s a good idea,’ I admit. ‘But at the cost of my shop and my childhood home…’
As my voice trails off, an awkward silence follows. I feel like everyone in the room is looking at me, just waiting for me to take one for the team, to put the town before myself. They’ve all been charmed by Seb, with his flashy suit and his big ideas and his cheeky smile.
‘Yes, it would be a shame to lose your shop,’ George says. ‘What about an anonymous ballot?’
‘We don’t normally do things anonymously,’ I say.
‘I know,’ he replies. ‘But, with this affecting a member of the panel, we need to make sure people feel free to vote for what they want.’
‘OK, sure,’ I reply.
Pieces of paper and pens are handed out, for each of us to write down whether we are for or against Seb’s proposal, but as I write my objection down, I can feel that this isn’t going to go my way.
George collects the pieces of paper, then takes them back to his seat to count them.
‘Based on these votes, the majority would like to support Seb in his business venture,’ George announces.
‘How many people were against?’ I ask curiously.
‘Now, Ivy, if I told you that, it wouldn’t be an anonymous vote, would it?’ he replies, which can only lead me to believe that I was the only person to vote against it.
I don’t think there’s anything I can say that will convince people my shop is worth saving, so I’m just going to have to do it myself. How, I’m not exactly sure.
Chapter 7
To the best of my memory, I’ve only really been in trouble once in my life – nearly 20 years ago.
Holly and I were in different ability groups for every subject, apart from art class. This not only meant that we got to sit together for something, but I also got to see my sister in all her rebellious glory.
My mum was always getting letters about my sister, then phone calls, before she was finally was called in for a meeting. In Holly’s defence, she wasn’t bad, she was just…disruptive, and while the rest of the class found her cheeky antics funny, things had got to a point where Holly was on her last warning – one more major disruption, and she would be excluded.
On this particular day, my sister was more preoccupied with flirting with Lee Blake than she was with the silhouettes we were supposed to be painting.
I never liked Lee. I always found him to be really smug and entitled. Like he thought just because he was the ‘coolest’ boy in our year then everyone else should bow down to him. My sister was not only willing to take the knee, but she wanted to be his queen.
I was just sitting and rolling my eyes as they flirted, ignoring the task at hand, until their playful flirting escalated into flicking black paint at each other, which also escalated into black paint being flung across the table, with yours truly being caught in the crossfire.
Ms Evergreen caught wind and came charging over, ready to reprimand the suspects. She had seen Lee throwing paint so he was banged to rights, but his opponent was still unknown.
‘Holly Jones, aren’t you on your final warning?’ she asked angrily.
‘It wasn’t me, Miss,’ Holly insisted, unsuccessfully trying to hide her grin.
‘No? Then who was it?’
I didn’t actually think about what I said, before I said it. It just felt right. ‘It was me, Miss,’ I confessed.
‘You, Ivy?’ she gasped in disbelief. I remember her glancing down at the painting of a willow tree I’d been working so hard on, and looking back up at me. Now that I think about it, it was obvious I’d been working hard all lesson and that Holly, whose paper was suspiciously blank, apart from a few abstract splashes, had not.
‘It was me,’ I said again confidently. This was my first taste of trouble, and while it didn’t feel good, it did feel right, to help out my sister. We’re two halves of the same thing. Her problems are my problems.
I don’t think Ms Evergreen believed me, but she had no choice but to send Lee and me to Isolation (a room where kids were put for extended periods of time to keep them from disrupting lessons). There, we chatted and I guess taking the fall for my sister went a long way to impressing him because
from that day on, he thought I was OK. Predictably, being on the receiving end of attention from a cool, good-looking guy resulted in me developing a silly, schoolgirl crush on him. My sister went on to marry him, so all is well that ends well. I’d be mortified if either of them knew that, and it’s safe to say that, post GCSEs, my crush soon died.
The point is, other than that occasion, I’ve never really been in trouble because I’ve never really done anything wrong. I’m just not very good at it – even a harmless little white lie fills me with guilt. That’s why I’ve been staring at my phone for half an hour now, thinking about whether I should do what I’m planning on doing. It feels wrong, but…when Seb first came into the shop, I felt just like I did at school – flattered that someone out of my league was giving me attention, and I don’t ever want to feel like that again. Being so easily flattered doesn’t make for a very good feminist, does it?
Speaking of good feminists, I pick up the phone and dial and, after a few seconds, I am connected with Prue Honeywell, our local MP.
Prue is exactly the kind of person you want speaking for your town, because she really cares about everyone – especially women. And, look, my plan isn’t to lie to her, it’s just to tell her about the kind of man Seb Stone really is.
‘Hello, Ivy,’ she says brightly. ‘How are you?’
Prue and I have spoken on many occasions. I’m one of the first people to help out when it comes to all of her charitable causes for the town.
‘I’m not too bad, thank you. How are you?’
‘Oh, you know,’ she says. ‘Stressed but blessed. What can I do for you today?’
‘It’s about Seb Stone, the man who is hoping to buy the land my shop stands on, to build holiday homes,’ I start. ‘I just…I don’t think he’s right for the town, and I know you have a meeting with him today.’
‘Tell me more,’ she says curiously.
‘Well, he’s been quite underhanded about it all. He came in to scope the place out, without telling me why – and now he’s buying it from under me. He’s obviously a big, important businessman—’ it’s hard to hide the sarcasm from my tone ‘—and it just seems like he has no respect for the place. He’s going to build these modern-looking homes and he thinks he can just do whatever he wants, so long as he smiles and winks while he’s doing it.’
‘He sounds dreadful, based on that character reference,’ Prue agrees. ‘Ivy, if you know one thing about me, it’s that I want what’s best for this town, and I take care of us without taking any stick from men. Let me meet with him this afternoon and, if he’s not right, I’ll make sure he knows it, and I’ll put a stop to this, OK?’
‘OK, great,’ I reply, a wave of relief washing over me.
‘Why don’t you meet me in the deli afterwards, say 3 p.m.? And we can discuss any concerns you still have.’
‘Thank you so much,’ I say, emotion prickling my throat. It’s just nice to feel like someone has my back.
After the call, I shut up shop for the day, which is fine because, until I figure out how I’m going to draw in more customers, it’s not like people will be beating the door down to buy baubles.
With Holly resisting all things festive more defiantly than usual this year, I am trying extra hard to make things special for Chloe and Harry. They don’t have school today because, thanks to a dusting of snow last night, someone skidded off the road and crashed into one of those green boxes that are something to do with the phone lines.
Holly sounded especially stressed to be entertaining the kids today, so I have offered to take them to see Santa Claus – the only Santa in town, at Wilson’s garden centre.
‘Thanks for doing this,’ Holly says, as she fastens the kids into the back of my car.
‘I should be thanking you,’ I say enthusiastically, mostly for Chloe and Harry’s benefit. ‘I’m more excited than the kids.’
‘I’ll get my jobs done while you’re gone, hopefully. Let me know when you’re on your way back.’
‘Will do, sis,’ I reply, lowering my voice. ‘Are you OK?’
‘Yes, why?’
‘You just seem a little flustered.’
‘I’m fine,’ she says firmly, although not entirely convincingly.
I know my car is old, but it’s safe. She seems even more worried than usual to be sending her precious cargo off with me.
‘Well, we’re going to have more fun than your mum is, tidying up all day,’ I say as we make the short journey to the garden centre.
‘Mummy is going out,’ Chloe informs me.
‘Is she?’
‘Yep, I heard her on the phone,’ she says. ‘She was saying she would see someone.’
‘Are you sure?’ I ask. It’s not like my sister to lie to me.
‘Yep,’ Chloe says confidently.
Could she be right? Holly did say Chloe had been paying more attention to things lately, hanging around, listening to the adults. And Holly has been acting a little odd recently.
‘We’re here,’ I say, pushing any thoughts of my sister being up to something from my mind. She’s probably just organising their Christmas presents or something. No matter how Holly feels about what she calls the so-called most wonderful time of the year, she always buys her kids presents.
I hurry to keep up with the kids as they charge through the various departments of the garden centre, before we finally reach Santa’s grotto, a small log cabin surrounded by sparkly fake snow, stuffed reindeer and plastic elves – none of which lend well to the legitimacy of this Santa Claus. Well, it’s 2018, and our children have Google. They watch Marvel movies and read Harry Potter books, and know exactly what is real and what isn’t, so if we want them to buy into this Santa character, we need to do a much better job of selling it. Fake snow, stuffed animals and plastic people aren’t going to cut it, although perhaps that’s just my cynical, grown-up point of view because Chloe and Harry are happily caught up in the excitement, gleefully unwrapping their candy canes as we join the queue. They’re not worrying about the aesthetics and I really miss that about being young.
‘Ho, ho, ho,’ Santa bellows, as Chloe and Harry cautiously make their way towards him. I suppose, to them, he’s a superstar. It would be like me queuing up to sit on Henry Cavill’s lap.
I suck on my candy cane as I glance around Santa’s grotto. It’s not up to much this year, but it is the only one in town so I suppose it will do.
‘And how is Mummy doing today?’ Santa Claus asks.
I quickly turn to face him, widening my eyes. ‘Sorry?’
‘She’s not our mummy,’ Chloe informs him. ‘She’s our auntie.’
‘Your auntie, huh? And is she on the nice list or the naughty list?’ Santa enquires.
‘The naughty list, for sure,’ Chloe says emphatically. ‘Because she didn’t build our bunk beds, like she said she would.’
I feel my jaw drop a little, as my sweet little niece throws me under the bus.
‘Well, that’s OK, Santa doesn’t mind a naughty auntie,’ he tells her. ‘So, what do you two want for Christmas?’
Santa is well hidden, under his suit, hat, and fake beard, but I can see his blue eyes clearly. I can tell that he’s young, and that there’s a cheeky glimmer of something behind them.
‘Well, other than my bunk beds,’ Chloe starts, and as she reels off a list of all the toys she wants, I can’t help but feel like Santa is undressing me with his eyes.
‘And what about you, young man?’ he asks Harry.
Harry thinks for a moment. ‘A bike,’ he says excitedly.
‘Well, if you’re both good kids – which I’m sure you are – then I’m sure you’ll get everything you want. But you have to be good between now and Christmas. Can you promise me you’ll be good?’
The kids nod. As I begin to usher them away, Santa places a piece of paper in my hand.
‘I think I could be really good for you,’ he whispers. ‘Call me.’
I can’t work out if he’s the best or the
worst Santa Claus I’ve ever encountered. He’s great with the kids, but giving me his phone number is a majorly creepy move.
‘Go play on that swing,’ I instruct them, eyeballing the shop’s manager.
‘Excuse me,’ I say politely. ‘I, erm, I just took my niece and nephew to see Santa and, well…’
‘Was there a problem?’ he asks.
‘Yes…’ I reply. ‘He was hitting on me. In fact, he slipped me his phone number in front of the kids.’
The manager takes the piece of paper from my hand and cross-references it with the number he has saved in his phone.
‘I don’t want to get him in trouble,’ I say, although I’m not sure why. If he’s being inappropriate, he should be reprimanded.
‘Don’t worry,’ the manager insists. ‘In fact, to say sorry, allow me to buy you and your family hot chocolates in our café.’
‘That’s so kind of you,’ I reply. ‘I’m sure the kids would love that.’
The manager escorts us into the cute little café area and instructs the employee there to make us our drinks, on the house.
‘This is the best day, ever,’ Chloe says, before delicately blowing her hot chocolate to try and cool it quicker.
‘You having fun, Harry?’ I ask.
Harry, a man of few words, gives me a strong nod.
The three of us catch up, talking about school, Christmas, and how Holly has told Chloe she’s too young for a Kardashian lip kit – at 7 years of age. I can’t even imagine how she knows what one is.
It occurs to me to tell them about the shop, although I’m not sure if they’re old enough to understand, and I wouldn’t want to upset them. They both love coming over and hanging out while I work, just like I used to love doing when I was their age and my mum was running the place.
‘Oi,’ I hear an angry voice call out. I turn around to see a twenty-something man in a pair of grey trackies and a white T-shirt. His arms are covered with tattoos, the most obvious of which is the name Gaz in that gothic lettering you often see used in tattoos. He’s not very tall, although still much taller than me, with dirty blond hair and piercing blue eyes. He’s got one of those scruffy designer beards that I acknowledge are a stylish choice, but it just makes him look like he needs a shave.
Love and Lies at the Village Christmas Shop Page 5
