by Daisy James
Gabbie navigated the garden path, its cracked surface sprouting grasses like a giant’s nasal hair, and knocked on the door. As she waited, she took the opportunity to sniff the apricot roses that meandered around the lintel above the door and her memory zoomed back to the time she and her mother had taken a trip to the Hampton Court Palace flower show. It had been an amazing day, filled with a riot of colour, fragrance and laughter, not to mention the fabulous afternoon tea they had devoured, and it was an experience she would cherish forever.
‘Hello? Oh, hi, Gabbie?’
‘Hi, Andrea. I hope you don’t mind me calling round unannounced, but I wanted to apologise for what I said this afternoon and to bring you something that might help you with… oh.’
A shadowy figure had appeared in the hallway behind Andrea and she knew who it was immediately. After all, hadn’t she looked at that face, those features, that halo of blonde curly hair and those mischievous green eyes every day of her life for almost twenty years? God! Was that how long they had been friends? Her first reaction, though, was to turn around, dash back to the car and drive away so as not to face the inevitable cross-examination she knew was imminent. Yet she did none of these things, mainly because her feet seemed to be stuck to the ground.
‘Clara, I…’ she managed to croak.
‘Hi, Gabbie…’
‘Oh, yes, I forgot you two grew up together. Hey, why don’t you join us, Gabbie? I’ve just got the children to bed and we were about to celebrate that major achievement with a bottle of Prosecco. Oh, these oils look amazing. Thank you. I can’t wait to try them out tonight!’
Andrea walked back down the corridor, her nose stuck in the bag of goodies Gabbie had given her, leaving Clara and Gabbie on the doorstep. Gabbie opened her mouth, desperate to relay the apologetic monologue she had rehearsed over and over again in those hours before sleep dragged her thoughts into oblivion.
‘Clara, I’m sorry I haven’t been round to see you since I got back from France. It’s unforgivable, but, well, I just…’
‘Hey, come here, you idiot! Give your best friend a hug.’
Clara beamed and flung her arms around Gabbie, her eyes, green as Irish luck, sparkling with happiness.
‘God, I’ve missed you! Can’t wait to hear all your news – every single detail. Is there any gossip? And I want photos this time. Why is there never anything juicy on your Facebook page?’
Gabbie laughed as a sensation of complete belonging enveloped her. Clara was at her side and everything was right in the world. She knew she had made the right decision to come home. Home, where she could see her best friend whenever she wanted, and whether it was to share misery or triumph, she knew Clara would be there for her with either a box of tissues or a bottle of her favourite pink Prosecco.
‘If we’re doing apologies, I’m sorry I didn’t come over to the garage, but I’ve been working in our London office helping with the launch of a new magazine. I only got back an hour ago and Mum gave me this cute little cardigan she’s knitted for Maisie and insisted I deliver it straight away. However, you were definitely next on my whistle-stop tour of the villages of east Devon!’
Again, Gabbie experienced a nip of remorse. If her friend hadn’t been away in the capital, she would have been waiting on her doorstep, a bottle of wine in hand, delivering an elaborately embroidered summary of the village gossip without an admonishment in sight. Gratitude and affection mingled in her heart and she gave Clara an extra-tight squeeze.
‘Thanks, Clara.’
‘What for?’
‘Being you?’
‘Hey, if you guys don’t come into the lounge soon, I’m not promising there’ll be any of this fizz left and you’ll have to make do with formula… or I might have some Horlicks my mum gave me weeks ago that she swears helped her to get to sleep in 1975.’
‘Coming!’ they trilled in unison before linking arms and sauntering down the hallway corridor.
‘So, tell me all about that French guy your dad told me you were dating? François? Is it true that French men are the best lovers in the world?’
‘Hey, you can’t ask Gabbie that!’ said Andrea, scandalised that the conversation had turned to sex so quickly.
‘You can ask your best friend anything, Andie. So?’
‘Sorry to disappoint you, Clara. I did have a few dates with François, and yes, he was movie-star handsome, sophisticated, suave, with smouldering eyes, great abs, and he smelled like an English summer garden, not to mention owning a fabulous Harley Davidson – but sadly he didn’t make my sparks fly.’
‘So who does make your sparks fly?’
‘No one,’ Gabbie replied a little too quickly, causing warmth to whoosh into her cheeks, which Clara saw immediately.
‘What about that gorgeous new mechanic your dad’s taken on at the garage? Max, isn’t it? He’s an absolute Adonis. Is it true he’s a black belt at karate? When he slid out from under the chassis of an Audi A4, I swear I swooned like a Regency duchess. The way he looked at me from beneath those spidery lashes with his come-to-bed eyes… well, if I wasn’t already loved up with Owen I’d have jumped on him right there and then. Mmm, amour among the Audis! Do you know if he has a girlfriend?’
Gabbie knew Clara was scrutinising her reaction with the curiosity of a wily fox, drumming her long scarlet fingernails against the side of her glass and raising her perfectly defined eyebrows. However, she had no intention of discussing her feelings for Max before she understood them herself.
‘I haven’t really had a chance to get to know him since I got back,’ she stuttered, knowing that, by avoiding Clara’s gaze, she had given her friend pause for thought.
‘Maybe we could rectify that?’
‘Clara, I’m not really interested in dating at the moment. And attractive as Max might be, can you imagine how awkward it would be when things fizzle out?’
‘But he could be your soulmate!’
‘Clara…’
Fortunately, Andrea came to her rescue.
‘Gabbie, you don’t know how grateful I am for this.’
Andrea had unscrewed the cap of one of the aromatherapy oils and inhaled a deep lungful of the tantalising scent, closing her eyes in an expression of ultimate bliss before producing a huge yawn.
‘Oops, it’s working already!’
‘I take it that’s from your little storeroom?’ asked Clara.
‘It is.’
‘Did Gabbie tell you, Andrea, that she and her mum used to call it the Summerhouse of Happiness?’
‘No, but I think that’s a fabulous name, perfect in fact. I have high hopes for my first decent night’s sleep in months!’
‘Come on, Gab, let’s make tracks so Andrea can get her beauty sleep.’
Gabbie took a few moments to instruct Andrea on the safe use of the concentrated oil, emphasising how important it was to do a skin test first. Andrea promised to follow her instructions to the letter and report back on the potion’s success or otherwise. They said their goodbyes on the doorstep and Clara and Gabbie meandered down the path towards where Gabbie had left the Volvo.
‘Fancy a night out at The Pear Tree before you escape back to that Laboratory of Luxury in Grasse?’
‘Erm, actually…’
Gabbie glanced at Clara. She hadn’t changed one bit since she had seen her last; still wore those quirky cotton dresses with Dr Marten boots patterned with huge sunflowers, and her curls still looked like a halo of gold encircling her smiling face. Gabbie realised her father had been right. Real friendships did survive the absences. She felt as close to Clara now as the day she had left Oakley, and, more importantly, there was no need for her to keep any secrets from her, because whatever she said she knew she would never be judged.
‘I’ve quit my job at House of Gasnier.’
‘Quit? No way! Why? I thought being a perfumer was a dream come true for you? And you’re so good at it! Didn’t you just win an award?’
Gabbie gave Clara a quick r�
�sumé of what had happened on the anniversary of her mother’s death, even managing to explain how her passion for creating exquisite perfumes for the mass market had diminished over the previous few months, leaving her searching for answers until she had her lightbulb moment on the morning of Jules Gasnier’s visit.
‘So does that mean you’re going to be in Oakley for a while?’
‘Yes, I’m helping out at the garage. I’m going to concentrate on getting the accounts in order before I start looking for a new position, something where I get to see the effect my fragrances actually have on the people who buy them.’
‘Well, that’s the best news I’ve heard all year. And you’ll be needing a social life to keep you sane, so I propose a double-date with me and Owen. Hmm, I’ll get back to you on the identity of your potential knight-in-shining-armour. Suffice to say, he’ll be charming, eloquent and well-travelled. Actually, I might just have the perfect person in mind!’
‘Clara, no double-dates. Please!’
‘Oh, come on, Gabbie. You don’t have to marry the guy, just have a bit of fun.’
‘Clara!’
But Clara was already wiggling her fingers at Gabbie, her face the picture of mischief.
‘Bye-eee.’
Gabbie rolled her eyes but her heart ballooned with appreciation and affection for their enduring friendship and the way they had slotted back into their easy camaraderie as though they had never been apart.
A true friend indeed – apart from the dating threat!
Chapter Twelve
A few days later, Gabbie had just finished washing the supper dishes when her father poked his head around the door, dressed in his bright-blue archery shirt that enhanced the silver glint in his eyes. She was pleased to see how much more energy he had after losing half a stone and increasing his shooting schedule to three times a week.
‘Okay, Gabbie, Mike’s waiting outside to give me a lift to archery. Make sure you don’t spend too much time poring over those accounts. You’ve been at it all day and a girl has to have some fun, you know. Didn’t you tell me you’d promised to meet Clara for a drink this week?’
‘Don’t worry about me, Dad. Enjoy your shoot and send my love to Mike.’
She waved her father off, then rubbed her hands over her face to refocus her attention on the column of figures she had just added up three times, reaching a different result each time. Irrespective of what the final total turned out to be, though, she just couldn’t seem to marry the figures up with the invoices. She heaved a sigh and started again, taking extra care to input the correct numbers. When she cross-checked the bank statements of the last six months, the realisation hit her like a runaway truck. Unless there was some mistake – and she had checked four times now – Andrews Autos was teetering on the precipice of bankruptcy.
How could that have happened? The appointment book was full, Max and Wil were working flat-out and there were very few unpaid invoices to chase. She couldn’t understand it and wanted to ask her father for more details of the meeting he’d had at the bank the week she arrived home when he’d assured her everything was fine. However, she knew he wouldn’t answer his phone while he was shooting.
She stood up and straightened her shoulders, stretching the muscles in her neck from left to right. Her eyes fell on a pile of newspapers that had escaped her clear-out. She rolled her eyes and reached over to grab them for the recycling box and, as she did so, dislodged a pile of unopened mail. She checked the postmarks and was horrified to see the letters had arrived nearly two weeks ago.
With a heavy heart, she slid her fingernail under the flap of the first envelope. A sigh of relief escaped her lips when a glossy brochure for the new Land Rover Discovery dropped out – there was no way they would be updating the family car any time soon – and she added it to the recycling pile.
She grabbed the next envelope, and when she unfolded the official-looking document her heart dropped like a stone down a well before bouncing back to lodge somewhere between her chest and her throat, where it remained like a burning ember. It was a duplicate of the outstanding invoice that had caused her father’s wobble last week. However, this statement had an additional warning printed in red letters along the bottom stating that unless the full amount was discharged within fourteen days, court proceedings would be instigated. She knew exactly how much Andrews Autos had in their business account and there was no way they could cover it. She glanced at the date of the letter and realised they had five days left to find the cash.
Where were they going to get that sort of money? She had no savings to speak of, nor anything she could sell to help out – she didn’t even own a car. Even if her father sold his Volvo he wouldn’t get much for it. And court proceedings?
Panic seized her in an iron grip as she conjured up an image of herself standing in front of a bewigged judge glaring down at her over a pair of half-moon spectacles, pronouncing judgement. Her anxiety turned to fear as she realised for the first time that the garage was really in jeopardy. Andrews Autos had been in the family for over seventy years, serving the community of Oakley throughout that time with straightforward honesty and fair prices. If they were forced to close their doors, it wouldn’t just be her father who was devastated. What would Mrs Thompson do when her Mini Cooper broke down? Would Wil get a job anywhere else? And what about Max? The closure of the business would have a significant impact on his dreams too.
She stared at the piece of paper in her hand, expecting it to grow horns, then she unearthed the most recent bank statement, unaware that tears were trickling down her cheeks unchecked. She looked out of the window and saw it had grown dark without her realising it, and the silence pressing against her ears highlighted the sound of her heart pounding out a concerto of concern.
She reached for a tissue and dried her eyes and blew her nose. Then, just as she turned back to read the missive of misery again, she heard the creak of the front door and a whole new kind of terror gripped her chest, sending spurts of pins and needles racing through her body.
‘Hello?’
‘Ah, Gabbie, it’s you,’ said Max. ‘I was driving past and saw the lights were still on. You do know it’s eight o’clock on a Friday night, don’t you? You can’t still be working on those accounts?’ He strode towards her, unbelievably attractive in a clean pair of jeans and a pale-pink linen shirt. His dark waves had been tamed with a smidgeon of gel and he stopped inches in front of her, his hands on his hips as though she was a naughty schoolgirl cramming in her homework at the last minute.
‘I just…’ And before she could stop herself, she burst into tears, dropping her head into her hands in a futile attempt to hide her distress from Max.
‘Hey. Come on. It can’t be as bad as that!’
‘Actually, it is. Look.’
Max scoured the invoice before meeting her eyes.
‘Well, we did receive these engine parts for Jack Gibson’s Mercedes and Paul Farnham’s Range Rover – a couple of months ago now. So the demand is aboveboard, but what I don’t understand is why Jeff didn’t pay the invoice as soon as Jack and Paul settled their accounts.’
‘Well, obviously he didn’t.’
‘I know he’s let the paperwork slide a bit recently, but I’m sure if you send a cheque it’ll be okay. Sometimes things get overlooked. Most suppliers are good about waiting until we get paid in cash by the customer.’
‘That’s not the problem. We don’t have the funds to pay the invoice.’
‘How come?’
‘I don’t know, but there’s no money in the business account, so I can’t pay it, and as you can see they’re threatening court proceedings. That’s never happened in the history of Andrews Autos. We’ve always conducted our financial affairs with integrity. I don’t know what…’
Again a surge of desolation hit her and she couldn’t prevent another sob from escaping.
‘Hey, don’t get upset. We’ll sort it out. Why don’t you ring them tomorrow and explain you’re ha
ving some cash-flow problems, negotiate a payment schedule, ask for a bit more time. Didn’t Jeff say he had another appointment at the bank at the end of the month? Maybe he can ask for a loan, or an extension on the overdraft, just to tide him over for a while?’
Gabbie forced a smile to her lips at Max’s kindness, but it came out like a grimace.
‘It’s not just Dad I’m worried about. What if the garage has to close? What about everyone in the village who relies on us to keep their vehicles on the road?’
‘Look, there’s no point worrying about that until it happens. Okay, Little Miss Bookkeeper, I think it’s time to take a break from the calculator for today. In fact, a few hours away from the garage might just help make some sense of all those figures. Come on, I have an idea.’
‘You do?’
‘How about…’ Max strode over to where his beloved E-Type Jaguar was snoozing beneath the oily tarpaulin and, with a quick flick of his wrist, whipped away its cover. ‘…I take you for a spin in this little beauty?’
Gabbie joined Max to admire the sparkling, lipstick-red paintwork. ‘Wow, it looks amazing. When did you get the respray done?’
‘A couple of days ago. I’ve been waiting for the right time to give her her debut and this might just be the perfect opportunity. Hop in!’
‘Are you sure? I thought you wanted to take your aunt out for a spin first?’
‘I won’t tell her if you don’t.’
Gabbie didn’t have to be asked twice. She ran around to the passenger door and sank into the leather bucket seat with a sigh of satisfaction. The whiff of tannin, wax furniture polish and nostalgia hung in the air. She would love to dig into the history of that E-Type Jaguar. Who had bought it from the garage, brand-new and sparkling like a gemstone, at the end of the Sixties? Why did they decide to sell it and who to? How had it fallen into such disrepair when Max’s uncle bought it at an auction almost twenty years ago? What would he have said now it had been restored to its former glory?
‘It’s a shame your uncle isn’t around to see what a fantastic job you’ve done, Max.’
