Miss Moonshine's Emporium of Happy Endings: A feel-good collection of heartwarming stories

by Helena Fairfax

  After the chill of the big house, the pub was warm and cosy, and Hettie was content to relax with a glass of wine.

  ‘Where are you staying?’ Steve asked her once they’d ordered.

  ‘At a B&B. I’ll move up to Uncle Alex’s tomorrow.’

  Steve spluttered on his beer. ‘You’re kidding!’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘It’s freezing up there, even in June.’ He reached across the table and held chilled fingers against her cheek to prove his point.

  ‘I’ll only be using a few rooms.’ Hettie did her best to ignore the speed of her pulse. ‘I can put the heating on, if I have to.’

  ‘And it’s isolated.’ Steve looked dubious. ‘If you need anything, you’ll let me know?’

  ‘Yes. Thank you.’

  He smiled, and her stomach flipped, making her wonder if wine on an empty stomach had gone to her head.

  ‘You’re obviously attached to the place,’ Steve said. ‘How come you spent so much time there?’

  ‘I grew up near Leeds. My mother was a single parent working two jobs. She couldn’t drop everything to take care of me in school holidays, and she couldn’t afford childcare. Alex offered to take me, and Mum jumped at the chance. She got some breathing space, I got the freedom a child is rarely given, and Alex got some company.’ She laughed. ‘Although I suspect he was relieved when we were retrieved by our respective parents.’

  ‘We?’

  ‘Charles and me. His dad’s job meant they moved around a lot, so it gave Charles stability, spending holidays there. And, of course, he loved having a doting tomboy following him around, agreeing to all his hare-brained schemes – which Alex encouraged, by the way.’

  ‘Sounds like Alex was a great bloke. By the time I met him, he was very frail.’ Steve frowned. ‘But he must still have been fairly ancient when you two stayed there, surely?’

  ‘That was why we got the freedom of the place – he couldn’t run around after us. Alex rounded us up for meals and spent the evenings reading adventure stories to us – which only encouraged exploring and building unstable treehouses, as I recall.’

  Hettie was aware that the conversation had been all about her, so when the food arrived, she asked Steve about himself, discovering he’d embarked on his legal career at a big, fancy firm in Manchester, only to realise that his forte – dealing with people sympathetically – might be better put to use in a smaller practice.

  ‘Isn’t it all house purchases and divorces?’ she asked.

  Steve smiled. ‘Not always. You’d be surprised. Even a will can contain a little interest and excitement. Take your great-uncle, for example. Alex said I’d enjoy meeting you, and he was right. Anyway, I’m content. The big-time was never for me. How about you?’

  ‘I wouldn’t say I aspire to dizzy heights in university administration, but I enjoy my job and the department I’m in. A higher pay scale wouldn’t go amiss, though.’

  ‘When Alex’s affairs are sorted, you’ll get a portion of the house. I know he shared it amongst quite a few relatives, but still, it’s something.’

  ‘I haven’t thought much about that yet.’ Hettie made a face. ‘There’s a lot of water – or, rather, paperwork and hard graft – to go under the bridge first.’

  *

  In bed at the B&B that night, Hettie felt unsettled, and she had a sneaking suspicion it wasn’t all down to the funeral or her legal responsibilities.

  It was disconcerting to be back in Haven Bridge. A decade had gone by since she’d last stayed there, and yet it was like yesterday. She hadn’t had time to explore yet. Maybe she could do that in the morning, before she moved up to the house and began to assess what she needed to do.

  She would have to phone work and extend her leave for another week – she had plenty of holiday owing. But she suspected that a second week would make little difference. She might as well resign herself to coming up north every weekend for the next five years, by the looks of the house.

  From out of nowhere, a tiny voice asked her if that would be so terrible, with a handsome solicitor seemingly willing to hold her hand through the whole process. She hadn’t expected to find him so amenable, so empathetic, so – oh, admit it, Hettie – so damned attractive.

  As she punched her pillow and tried to settle down, sleep felt a long way away.

  *

  The next morning, Hettie took the exploratory stroll around town she’d promised herself. Haven Bridge was a lovely place, with its old stone buildings and eclectic mix of shops and cafés. Uncle Alex used to take her and Charles for daily walks around the town or along the canal, and Hettie remembered trying to peer through the barge windows, wondering what it was like inside. She and Charles always managed to entice Alex into the sweet shop, and he would always pretend to fight against it, making their hard-won mint choc chip ice cream or bag of sherbet pips taste so much better, somehow.

  Wandering the streets, she couldn’t help comparing it with London. Here, you could walk along without being jostled. The air seemed fresher. Noticeboards outside shops advertised local book clubs and yoga classes and meditation groups. It would be easier to make friends here, Hettie thought; to connect with people, maybe find a niche for yourself.

  She noted what had changed and was pleased to see there was still a traditional sweet shop in town. Eventually, she found herself outside Miss Moonshine’s shop on Market Street.

  It hadn’t changed a jot. The handsome stone building had been here since 1777, according to the date above the door. Set back from the road, with roses dotted between the stone slabs in front and growing up an arch over the doorway, it looked more like a fine old house than a place of business. Hettie and Charles had spent many happy hours rooting through Miss Moonshine’s amazing selection of goods, old and new – a cornucopia of fascination for curious children.

  Alex had stated in his will that all his unwanted tat – er, that is, vintage valuables – should go to Miss Moonshine to sell, with half the profits for charity. Since the old lady hadn’t been at Alex’s funeral, Hettie felt she should reintroduce herself.

  If the shop hadn’t changed, then neither had Miss Moonshine. Birdlike, with white hair piled loosely on her head, she had always had an interesting sense of fashion, which today had resulted in black leggings, a floaty dress and a scuffed leather jacket. No growing old gracefully for Miss Moonshine, Hettie thought, smiling as she approached her.

  The old woman recognised her immediately, her hazel eyes shining. ‘Hettie Brown. How the devil are you?’

  ‘Fine, thank you, Miss Moonshine. It’s good to be back in Haven Bridge, despite the circumstances.’

  The old lady’s eyes dulled. ‘I’m sorry about Alex. And I’m sorry I wasn’t at the funeral, but I don’t do them nowadays. I’ve attended too many over the years to count.’

  ‘I understand.’ Hettie breathed in the citrus scent from an oil burner behind the mahogany counter. ‘You know about Alex’s will?’

  ‘Yes. That handsome young solicitor came to see me.’

  Hettie glanced dubiously around the crowded store, its shelves and tables and niches bulging with anything and everything. ‘There’ll be a ton of stuff for you.’

  ‘Don’t worry. I won’t let Alex down. You’d be surprised how much you can fit in this place.’

  A bundle of chihuahua fur stirred in a basket next to the counter, and doleful eyes stared up at them as if to say, ‘More stuff? You must be joking!’

  Miss Moonshine patted his head. ‘Go back to sleep, Napoleon. This doesn’t concern you. Would you like a cup of tea, Hettie?’

  ‘Thanks, but I’d better not. I’ve already wasted the morning wandering aimlessly, reminiscing. I need to get on.’

  ‘Some other time, then. You’ll drop in again?’

  ‘Of course.’ Hettie turned to go.

  ‘Oh, and Hettie?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Time reminiscing isn’t time wasted. Memories are important. They’re not always firmly
in the past. Sometimes they lead you to your future.’

  *

  By the following evening, Hettie was satisfied with how things were going up at the house. She’d moved into a guest bedroom, and otherwise she mainly occupied the kitchen and the sunroom. And she’d made a start on the rest.

  Since the larger items and furniture would be cleared by a specialist, Hettie concentrated on everything else – the contents of every shelf, every cupboard, every drawer. Alex had been a serious hoarder, so the only way to tackle it was room by room – and be ruthless.

  That was the hard part. Hettie tried to be objective, but sometimes memories overwhelmed her, and the years would fade until she was a child again, exploring every room, every corner of the garden, never bored. Sometimes she found herself clutching some item or other, staring at it as her mind drifted to the past – not with melancholy, but with a smile on her face. People often looked back on their childhoods through rose-tinted glasses, Hettie knew, but her holidays here with Charles and Uncle Alex really had been a glorious time of freedom and learning and exploration.

  The downside was that the memories made her realise how unexciting her current existence was. She’d been in London for a couple of years, renting with flatmates she got along with but couldn’t call best friends; not much of a social life to speak of; a job she loved and excelled at, but in a city she had no ties with. Spending time at Uncle Alex’s reminded her how important those ties could be. Haven Bridge was a proper community.

  When Steve arrived unexpectedly mid-evening, he found her cross-legged on the floor of one of the many bedrooms with a large pile of stuff behind her, three smaller piles in front of her and a thoughtful frown on her face.

  ‘Tell me there’s method to this madness,’ he said from the doorway.

  Hettie jumped a mile (if it’s possible to jump from a cross-legged position). ‘Oh! I didn’t see you.’

  ‘Nor did you hear me come through the unlocked door and up the stairs.’ He moved into the room and placed a hand on her shoulder. ‘Hettie, I worry about you being here on your own. At least you could save me from grey hair by locking the door.’

  ‘Sorry.’ Hettie stood and dusted down her jeans. ‘Although I can’t imagine anything happening all the way out here.’

  ‘That’s what every victim in every horror movie says.’ He sighed. ‘Sorry. I don’t mean to pass my heebie-jeebies onto you. You’re obviously more comfortable in this mausoleum than I am.’ He pointed to the teetering piles around her. ‘Why don’t I make us some tea, then give you a hand?’

  ‘Oh no, I couldn’t expect you to.’ Hettie’s tone didn’t hold much conviction. She’d been alone with her thoughts enough over the past couple of days. His company was welcome.

  ‘See it as a favour to Alex, if you’re worried about me doing you a favour. Besides, this place holds a certain fascination.’ Steve gave a mock shudder, making Hettie laugh, and set off for the kitchen.

  When he came back with steaming mugs of tea, she explained her system. ‘I’m only allowing myself three piles – one for Miss Moonshine and the charity thing, one to chuck and one to keep. I’m trying to keep the “keep” pile small. But…’

  ‘Some things have too many memories?’

  Hettie was pleased he understood. ‘I begged another week from work.’

  ‘You’re going to need it.’ Picking up an old seventies cassette recorder, Steve frowned. ‘What made Alex such a hoarder? He wasn’t a proper collector, was he? Jed said he worked in the mills.’

  ‘That’s right. He loved the textile industry. Loved the history, how the machinery worked. He loved knowing how anything worked.’ Hettie pointed at the recorder in Steve’s hands. ‘One evening, he took that apart just to show me and Charles how it worked. Then he helped us to put it back together again. He missed his job when he retired, so he surrounded himself with this stuff and tinkered to his heart’s content. He was thrilled when Charles became an engineer.’

  ‘I bet.’ Steve hesitated. ‘You speak very fondly of Charles. He was the same about you when I spoke to him. Do you see him much?’

  ‘With him in Glasgow and me in London, it’s not easy. We meet up for weekends when we can.’

  ‘Does he … have a girlfriend? Partner?’

  ‘Not at the moment. They come and go. But someone’ll grab him for good one of these days. I know I’m biased, but he’s quite a catch.’

  *

  Hettie was surprised when Steve turned up again the following evening, but she certainly wasn’t complaining. She’d worked her way through two more rooms during the day.

  Steve glanced at the ‘keep’ piles and nudged her playfully. ‘I thought you were keeping those down.’

  Hettie shrugged, sheepish. ‘I’ll go through them again when I’m feeling more detached. And there could be things that Charles might want, so he’ll need to go through it sometime, too.’

  ‘Is he planning on coming up here again?’ There was a strange expression on Steve’s face.

  ‘Of course. He can’t expect me to make all the decisions on my own, can he?’

  Steve sipped at his tea. ‘It’ll be nice for you, having some company. Somebody to help.’

  Hettie gave him a pointed look. ‘I already have that. Don’t you have a social life?’

  Steve laughed, erasing his earlier frown. ‘I’m having a couple of pints with some mates on Saturday, and I’ll be out for my usual group ramble on the hills on Sunday. Does that count?’

  So that’s where he gets his tan. ‘Of course it counts. There’s no … girlfriend?’

  Steve watched her through the steam rising from his mug. ‘I’m taking someone out for dinner tomorrow night.’

  Hettie suppressed a pang of disappointment. ‘Lucky girl. What’s her name?’

  ‘Hettie.’

  ‘Hmmm?’

  ‘Her name’s Hettie.’ When she stared at him blankly, he rolled his eyes. ‘You need to eat, don’t you?’

  ‘Oh! You mean me? Well. Thank you.’ But he still hadn’t answered her question. ‘I won’t be treading on anyone’s toes?’

  ‘I have three women on the go, but I reckon I can juggle a fourth.’ He gave her a look. ‘No. No-one’s toes.’

  ‘Good. Well. That’s lovely. Dinner, I mean, would be lovely.’ Flustered, Hettie put down her tea, plucked a clockwork monkey from the bed and wound it up so it clashed its cymbals, opening and closing its mouth in a maniacal grin. ‘Chuck, keep or Miss Moonshine?’

  Steve shuddered. ‘Anything but keep. That thing would give me nightmares!’

  *

  The following evening, as Hettie showered off dust and cobwebs before her dinner with Steve, she was glad she’d popped out for a quick shopping spree. All she’d brought with her were jeans and t-shirts, and the black funeral dress was hardly appropriate for a date – er, that is, a meal out with a friend. In town, she’d found brown linen trousers and a lacy cotton top in a copper that flattered her hair colour. Inspecting herself in the mirror, she was pleased with the result. Less frizz would be good, but Hettie had long since given up her war with it.

  Steve clearly approved. ‘Wow! You look…’

  ‘Cobweb-free?’

  ‘I was going to go with gorgeous.’ With a shy smile, he ushered her to his car and drove down the winding hill to park in town. They walked to a Mediterranean restaurant, enticing with fairy lights twinkling and candles flickering on the tables. Had he intended the romantic atmosphere, Hettie wondered?

  As they studied the menu and ordered, she realised it was too long since she’d eaten out with a man. In London, it wasn’t easy meeting someone. All the blokes at work were middle-aged, and the few dates instigated by her flatmates with friends of friends had come to nothing. Just because her last serious relationship had fizzled out didn’t mean she didn’t have hopes for the future.

  ‘Penny for your thoughts?’

  Hettie jolted. ‘Sorry. I was thinking –’ Ah. Perhaps it wouldn’t do to let
Steve think she saw this as a proper date. It certainly felt like one, but she’d been out of the dating game for a while, and she didn’t trust her own instincts. Besides, were solicitors allowed to get involved with their clients? ‘I was thinking how much easier it must be to make friends somewhere small like Haven Bridge.’

  ‘Not easy in London?’

  Hettie shrugged. ‘I get on with my flatmates, and I go for drinks with colleagues, but everyone at work is younger or older or married with kids.’

  ‘Do you enjoy your job?’

  ‘Yes. Or at least, it’s so busy that I don’t have time to worry about it.’

  ‘Do you like being in the city?’

  ‘I was desperate to get away from the suburbs,’ she told him, smiling. ‘And, if I’m honest, I was also trying to escape a boyfriend I’d been going out with for a year before I realised he was horribly dull. He couldn’t accept we were finished, and London seemed far enough away to persuade him. I had plenty of good intentions – to visit museums and galleries and soak up the culture – but it soon tailed off. Nowadays, all I want to do at weekends is catch up on sleep and binge-watch the latest series.’

  Steve sipped his wine. ‘If you have a hectic job, you need to relax at weekends. That’s why I like it here. There’s enough to do if you want to mooch around; have a coffee with friends. But if you’re feeling energetic and want fresh air, there’s plenty of good walking.’

  The waiter brought their plates, and Hettie sniffed appreciatively at her fragrant lamb.

  ‘Do I get the impression you’re not entirely happy in London?’ Steve asked as he tasted his food.

  ‘I thought I was, but coming back here has stirred up memories.’ Hettie sighed. ‘You mentioned fresh air. I never saw myself as outdoorsy, but it turns out I do miss it, after all.’ She smiled. ‘Alex used to take us to the woods sometimes. We played hide-and-seek and built dens with branches and pretended to fish in the stream with twigs. I loved the burble of the water. And I loved the trees swishing all around us; a whispering, green fairyland.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Sorry. I’m being fanciful. Perhaps I only enjoyed it because I was a kid with no worries.’