Samantha stood up and took the box over to the mirror above the mantelpiece. She put the earrings on and flicked her hair back over her shoulders so she could see them properly.
Richard came up behind her and kissed her neck. ‘I knew they would suit you,’ he told her.
She stared at their reflection. God, but they made a stunning couple.
She had been right to play it cool recently. He couldn’t keep messing her about like he had been. There had been too many last-minute cancellations. Too many meetings that he apparently couldn’t duck out of. So Samantha had begun not to pick up his calls or answer his texts, which had grown increasingly frantic.
So tonight he had arrived with roses and diamonds. In time, she would need promises as well. Promises that their future lay together. That he was hers and only hers.
Richard turned her around and begin to kiss her fervently, ardently. Her body ached with need as his hands roamed over her. She had missed him so much.
But for now she was reassured to see how much she meant to him. All he had needed was a little reminder of how much he stood to lose.
‘Can I take Benjamin?’ asked Flora, hugging the toy rabbit close to her chest.
Caroline frowned. ‘I’m not sure about that, darling. What if he gets covered in mud?’
Flora stomped out of the bedroom, taking her beloved stuffed toy with her.
Caroline sank on to the spare bed with a sigh, staring out at the rain pattering against the window. Why on earth had she suggested camping in England at the end of June?
She knew why. Money was a little tight and it was the perfect excuse to try out a proper, family holiday. Caroline stared at all the bedding she’d piled up in readiness and wondered how they were going to get it into the car in a week’s time. When they had gone camping in France a few years ago, the tent and equipment was already set up for them. This time, though, they were doing it themselves. Caroline wasn’t even sure that Jeff knew how to pitch a tent.
They could have managed a cheap bucket and spade holiday in the Mediterranean. Various acquaintances were heading off to Tuscany, France and Greece. But no, as usual, Caroline had worried about what everyone else would think. They were going to have an old-fashioned holiday with old-fashioned values and fun.
She had been planning it for months, looking up reviews of various attractions, making sure they all had wellington boots and proper camping equipment.
But now she was pregnant, the thought of lying down each night on an inflatable bed filled her with horror. Let alone coping with morning sickness in communal bathrooms.
Caroline suppressed the taste of nausea in her mouth, wondering whether a ginger biscuit would help. But she knew it wouldn’t. She had suffered from terrible morning sickness with Flora, and baby number two was causing equal amounts of nausea and headaches.
In the heady days of first pregnancy, Caroline had managed to cope with the nausea by taking it easy when she got home from work. She had even managed to have the odd day off sick. She wondered, not for the first time, whether the intervening five years had faded the horror of morning sickness from her memory.
It was vital that she should keep going. So, as usual, Caroline was running herself ragged, sorting out school clothes for her daughter and checking on Charley. Even picking up a puppy book for Julie to read through.
The rain was coming down harder now against the window. Caroline snorted a mirthless laugh. At that moment she would even sacrifice herself to the horror of Disneyland if it meant a chance of sunshine and someone else to do the cooking, tidying and cleaning, in a hotel with walls and en-suite bathrooms.
Pushing aside the tempting thought of lying down on the bed for five minutes, Caroline got up and went to sort out the food and cooking equipment for the holiday.
Julie had managed to steel herself to face the vet once more as Boris’ twelve-week injections were now due. She was still mortified about the way she had carried on the last time she had taken the puppy to the vet’s. But with no one to take Boris off her hands yet, she had to carry on keeping his inoculations up to date.
Thankfully, she saw a different vet this time and Boris behaved himself as he received his injection.
She’d thought she heard an Australian accent as she left and had picked up speed out of the front door.
On the way home, she parked in front of Sidney’s Sweet Shop and sighed to see the neglected shop front. The window was full of faded posters, most of them hanging on to the glass by shreds of Sellotape. The posters were cheap advertisements, probably sent out from the sweet manufacturers and at least ten years out of date. Julie wasn’t sure some of the sweets advertised were even available any more.
She walked past the shop and pressed the doorbell to the flat above. Her uncle welcomed her with a hug.
‘Sorry I haven’t seen you for a while,’ she told him. ‘It’s all been a bit hectic.’
‘Doesn’t matter, love. It’s nice to see you and this little fellow here.’
Sidney bent down to stroke Boris, who was sitting on his feet. There is no such thing as an unfriendly puppy, thought Julie. Sidney’s worn face creased into a smile. He was looking a bit thin, she thought. She knew his pension didn’t stretch far and was pleased she had remembered to bring a packet of biscuits with her.
‘I’ll make us a cup of tea,’ he said. ‘I’ve just got to check the post first.’
He brought out a set of keys and opened up the front door to the sweet shop. The bell above the door rang out, instantly transporting Julie back to her childhood. The brass bell was a signal to Sidney and his wife Doris that school was out and the children were desperate to spend their pocket money. Julie had found a visit here extra special because she was allowed to go behind the counter and help measure out the sweets.
Most afternoons the shop was full of children, laughing and chattering, the bell constantly ringing with more and more kids packing into the shop. Julie recalled paper bags full of hundreds and thousands, cherry drops and fizzy cola bottles, and the huge plastic tubs of sweets packed on to shelves that seemed to reach up to the sky.
But not today. And not for a long time, it appeared. The shop was empty and dark, with a musty smell in the air. This place hadn’t been full of laughter for a very long time.
There were still tubs of sweets on the shelves but they looked dusty and well past their sell-by date. No one would take pleasure in buying their sweets in here and it looked like the customers had deserted it many years ago. A sense of gloom hung over the place.
Sidney lit up a cigarette as he looked over the shop. It had been closed for some years, with nobody seemingly wanting to take it over during the current economic climate.
‘I used to love coming in here when I was little,’ Julie told him. ‘I can still remember all the sweets I used to buy.’
Her uncle gave her a sad smile. ‘Don’t know what happened, love. They just seemed to stop coming.’
He took a deep drag on his cigarette and some ash dropped into an open tub of liquorice that stood on the counter.
‘Yeah, it’s a real mystery,’ said Julie, rolling her eyes. ‘And you shouldn’t be smoking.’
‘Let me have one bit of pleasure, love.’
The truth was that once his wife Doris had passed away, the place had fallen into disrepair. The same could be said of Sidney. Julie and her mum had kept an eye on him but eventually the shop had become too much of a burden, too much work for a widower in his early seventies.
‘You’re not still paying rent on it, are you?’ asked Julie. Perhaps that was where all his pension was going.
Sidney gave a rasping laugh that turned into a cough. ‘Lease?’ he said, still struggling for breath. ‘I own it, love.’
Julie was astonished. ‘You own it? How? Since when?’
His face split into a smile. ‘I bought shares in Apple long before that iPhone. I’m loaded, love!’ He fixed her with a look. ‘It’s all yours, you know. When I go.’
> ‘I don’t need a shop,’ she told him. ‘Besides, you’re not going anywhere.’
She had already attended her mother’s funeral that year. She had no intention of losing anyone else.
‘It’s your inheritance, love. You’re my family. The last of it.’
Julie briefly thought about Nick. He was technically the youngest member of the family but he had turned out like his dad.
She wandered through to the back of the shop and stared at the large larder and ancient refrigerator and freezer. They were huge.
She went back into the shop. ‘I told you about Charley’s ice-cream, didn’t I?’ she said.
‘I’m still waiting for my tasting session,’ Sidney replied with a cackle.
‘She’s beginning to get a few orders and needs somewhere to store it.’
‘She’s welcome to use the back room,’ he said. ‘You’ve got a spare set of keys, haven’t you?’
Julie nodded, a smile forming on her face.
As Sidney bent down to pick up the post that had come through the mailbox, she ruffled Boris’ fur. ‘What do you think, boy? Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’
He stared up at her, long pink tongue lolling from his mouth. But he seemed to be smiling so Julie took that for agreement. She couldn’t wait to tell Caroline the news.
Chapter Forty-one
‘IT’S ME,’ SAID Julie down the phone. ‘Where are you?’
‘Just finished work.’ Charley opened up the door of the Mini, letting out the stifling heat. ‘What’s up?’
‘Meet us in front of my uncle’s sweet shop on Lower Green Road.’
Charley drove the car into the village and parked in front of the small parade of shops which were a stone’s throw away from the busy high street. Lower Green Road might eventually lead into Lower Grove but, at this far end, it still clung on to Upper Grove respectability by its fingertips.
She got out of the car to find both Julie and Caroline waiting for her.
‘Samantha wanted to come but she’s meeting her fella,’ said Julie before gesturing at the front of Sidney’s sweet shop. ‘So . . . what do you think?’
‘I’d prefer a coffee, to be honest,’ said Charley. ‘I’m shattered.’
Julie shook her head. ‘Imagination, girl. That’s what you need. Come on inside.’
She led them both into the gloom of the shop. It smelt musty, unused. Unloved.
‘What’s this all about?’ asked Charley, spinning around to face them both.
‘The shop is lying empty these days,’ said Caroline.
‘And my uncle just isn’t up to running it any more,’ added Julie.
‘So why doesn’t he sell it and retire in Spain or whatever?’
Julie shook her head. ‘He can’t. He loves this place, needs it. It’s the only link he’s got left to my aunty.’
‘So what has this got to do with me?’ said Charley. ‘Do you want me to clean it up? Make it smart again?’
‘Sort of,’ said Caroline, breaking into a smile.
‘We think you should open up the shop for the summer and sell your ice-cream here,’ said Julie.
Charley was astounded. ‘Here? Me?’
They were both nodding frantically at her. ‘Yes.’
‘They used to sell it,’ explained Julie, walking over to a filthy glass cabinet, full of the empty metal tubs which once held ice-cream. ‘Think of all your lovely flavours in here. All home-made with none of the chemicals they put in nowadays.’
Julie had a point there. Charley had looked at the list of ingredients on a tub of ice-cream in the supermarket recently. Locust bean gum? And what on earth was anhydrous milk fat? The mind boggled and the stomach turned.
‘Think about it,’ urged Caroline. ‘It would only be for the summer. Just something different from that wretched cleaning job.’
‘Yeah, but that wretched job pays the rent,’ Charley told her.
‘Then work through your lunch hour and finish earlier so you can open up by mid-afternoon. And you can open every weekend too. It could be a great business opportunity.’
‘Or a complete disaster,’ muttered Charley.
She walked slowly around the shop, taking in the dirt and the dust. She stopped for a while to peer out through a gap between the posters to the village green. It was a nice setting that would be even better with lots of people taking their ice-cream tubs and cornets there and sitting on the grass in the summer months.
She carried on her tour, eventually coming to a halt in front of the ice-cream cabinet. It was empty now, but for the moths and spiders. But imagine it full of ice-cream again. Her ice-cream.
She swung back to face her friends.
‘This is mad,’ she told them. ‘It’ll never work.’
Caroline and Julie walked over to her.
‘So in September you go back to your cleaning full-time,’ said Julie.
‘The only thing that matters is that you give it a try,’ said Caroline.
Charley stood still for a moment. It was a huge gamble and it wasn’t as if her business instincts had been exactly spot on in the past few years. But somehow, despite all the doubts, it felt right. And her friends seemed to think it was right for her too.
So from somewhere deep inside, she found herself saying, ‘Okay, I’ll do it.’
Chapter Forty-two
‘I DON’T UNDERSTAND how you can run a business when you’re bankrupt.’
Charley sighed. ‘Mum, as I’ve told you before, it’s Julie’s business. She’s inherited it from her uncle and she’s only loaning me the shop for the summer. Just to make a bit of cash.’
‘It’s quite seasonal, isn’t it?’ added her father. ‘As a business, I mean.’
Charley nodded.
‘So you probably won’t make any real money?’ Her mother’s tone was full of concern.
Charley dragged a hand through her wild hair. ‘I don’t know until I try. But maybe. I mean, they’re talking about a heatwave this summer, aren’t they?’
‘Aren’t they always?’ said her father, with a wry smile.
Charley bit her lip. She couldn’t really blame them for being so negative. After all, the last business she had been involved in had crippled them all financially.
‘Look, do the figures add up?’ said her father.
‘The ingredients don’t cost too much. There are already freezers and tubs in the shop, they just need a good clean. And, apparently, Caroline says the mark-up is quite significant.’
Unsurprisingly, it had been her organised friend who had found the time to investigate the business side of the idea. She had showed Charley flow-charts and profit projections.
‘But I can’t own any business whilst I’m still bankrupt,’ Charley had told her.
‘You’ve got to think long-term,’ said Caroline.
Charley couldn’t even dare to think beyond the following week.
‘And there’s no competition to speak of,’ said her father, nodding thoughtfully.
‘Apart from that ghastly ice-cream man,’ said her mother.
They all shuddered in unison. Wayne’s Whippy was a new ice-cream van which had suddenly appeared at the beginning of summer. Wayne was a rough guy from the depths of Lower Grove whose business style was somewhat aggressive. The police were already handling dozens of complaints about his extra loud music and forceful selling technique.
‘But what about the money for ingredients?’ asked Charley’s father. ‘Surely the initial layout will be expensive.’
‘It’s already covered,’ she said.
Julie was doing a roaring trade on eBay with Charley’s collection of designer handbags and shoes. As she had ransacked her wardrobe, Charley had been ashamed to find that most of them were barely used. So she collected up all the items she knew she was only keeping because of their designer label and bagged them up. It was a gamble because this really was the end of it. After that, there was nothing. No savings. Nothing else to sell. She was just hoping
that people would come in to buy the ice-cream and that the mark-up that Caroline had proposed would repay the outlay.
But before any ice-cream could be made, the shop needed a complete overhaul. Julie had made her a set of keys so Charley had let herself in one Saturday morning and stood in the middle of the floor. She turned in a slow circle, realising the place was in a far worse state than she had remembered.
She let her shoulders slump, suddenly overwhelmed by the dirt and frightened by the responsibility. This had been a stupid, terrible idea. Who was she to think that this would work, that people would want to come in here and buy her ice-cream? Who on earth would want to bring their family into this dirty, filthy place to buy food of all things? What if her business skills were worse than Steve’s? What if she failed?
Charley wrapped her arms around herself, desperately willing optimism back into her bloodstream. She took a few deep breaths. People would want her ice-cream, she told herself. Hadn’t Mrs Trimble and her friends already raved about it? Surely they wouldn’t buy it if it tasted bad?
She walked over to the window and tore down the layers of posters from the glass. Down came the faded, brown paper and in came the warm July sunshine. She turned round to find the room bathed in light. The sun may have accentuated the dirt and cobwebs but it also made her see the potential in the place. At once, the room felt bigger, wider and more inviting.
And then she got to work. With Julie stuck at home with the puppy, Samantha obsessed with her boyfriend and Caroline stricken with morning sickness, it was down to Charley to get the place spick and span. It was exhausting, filthy work but there was something satisfying in taking such a woeful place and seeing it slowly come back to life.
That weekend, she’d spent the whole time scrubbing and cleaning the shop counters, floors, walls and ice-cream cabinet. By Sunday night, it was at least sanitary. She would keep wiping and disinfecting it at every opportunity until she was happy to allow her food into the shop.
During the evenings and following weekend, Charley then scrubbed every inch of the kitchen including the fridge and freezers. Both were a good size and would be large enough for her to make up significant amounts of the ice-cream there.
The Desperate Wife’s Survival Plan Page 16
