‘There’s a lot you don’t know about me.’ Rita still looked very miffed. ‘And as for the romance with Ray, well I’ve managed to keep that secret, and I would very much like to keep it that way.’
‘Well, yes, of course,’ Frankie said quickly. ‘I mean, who wouldn’t? Er, that is … well, I know he pops in a lot and you’re friends and he takes you to lunch every now and then, but marriage?’
‘I fail to understand why you think me marrying Ray Valentine is so impossible.’
Frankie pushed the ‘He’s fat, bald, the wrong side of fifty, wears terrible clothes, smokes a pipe, smells of compost’, quickly away and smiled bravely. ‘Well, I mean, he’s been a fixture in Kingston Dapple’s marketplace for ever, and I didn’t know you and he were even, um, romantic friends, let alone, um, and, well … ’
‘Ray’s a couple of years older than me but we were at school together. He was my first crush and my first love. My only real love actually. Then he got embroiled with the dreadful Deidre Muncaster and married her, and I just, well, I just amused myself with various other people in the many, many intervening years, but I never stopped loving Ray … Then after his divorce Ray and I sort of drifted back together.’
‘Did you? When was that?’
‘About a year ago. After Brian from the kebab van – he understood, bless him.’
As Brian seemed to rarely understand much that was happening around him, Frankie rather doubted this. ‘Blimey though, you and Ray Valentine … I can’t believe I never noticed.’
‘We were very discreet, love. I know I’ve always been considered a bit of a good-time girl in Kingston Dapple – I didn’t want anyone laughing at Ray. I can be discreet when I choose.’
As ‘Rita’ and ‘discreet’ were two words no one in Kingston Dapple would have ever used in the same sentence, Frankie decided that sniggering at this point wouldn’t be the best idea she’d ever had, so she attempted to look serious. ‘Er, right. And Ray’s happy with Mykonos, too?’
‘Ray wants to escape from here as much as I do, so he’s piled his money in with mine and we’ve bought the taverna.’
‘Which neither of you has even seen?’
‘Ray has. I’ve seen the photos. He’s been over there and done the business side of things, I’ve signed the paperwork over here. It’s only just been finalised – which is why I’ve not said anything earlier. Now, we leave in two weeks’ time, and we get married on the beach the day after. Which is why I’m tying up all my loose ends.’
Frankie exhaled. It still all sounded totally implausible, but it might actually be true. Rita might really be going to Mykonos with Ray. Rita might really be giving her the shop.
‘But, I’ll miss the wedding … Still, you’ll be having a leaving party, won’t you?’
‘Sorry, love, but no. We’re going low-key on everything. And we’ve still got loads left to do before we fly off. You and I will have to go through all the Fabulous Frocks stuff, and I’ll have to get Brian sorted out with my bungalow. And Ray has to see to his flower stall, too.’
‘Has he sold it?’ Frankie frowned. ‘What a shame. There’s been a flower stall in the marketplace for ever, hasn’t there?’
‘Yep. Valentine’s Flowers are into their third generation. But Ray’s got that covered. His nephew is taking it over.’
‘Oh good. Nice to know there’ll still be a Valentine selling flowers in the marketplace. At least some things will stay the same. Is he local, the nephew?’
Rita paused. ‘Dexter? Um … no … Comes from up Oxford way. He’s Ray’s brother’s lad. And lad’s the right word, so Ray says. He’s a bit of a havoc-maker if you get my drift. Lost his job and been in a lot of trouble by all accounts. Not sure what, I didn’t like to ask, but I gather it was pretty bad. I think Ray’s giving him the flower stall to run to sort him out before he goes right off the rails.’
Brilliant, Frankie thought, her head still reeling. Another fat and balding Valentine in the marketplace – only this time younger and more leery and without the saving grace of Ray’s kindliness and cheerful demeanour.
She could just see Dexter Valentine – a sort of mini-Ray: overweight, scruffy, with tattoos and piercings to go with his baseball cap and hoodie, and this time he’d also be work-shy, aggressive and a troublemaker.
Dexter Valentine, the flower stall’s heir-apparent, sounded exactly what sleepy Kingston Dapple could well do without.
Chapter Three
Three weeks later, towards the end of November, everything had changed except the weather. Bone-chilling rain still poured from a pewter sky and a biting wind still rattled relentlessly across Kingston Dapple’s market square.
‘I don’t know where to start … ’ Frankie stared round the dimly lit, cold-grey interior of the shop. ‘I’m totally overwhelmed by all this. I haven’t got a clue what to do first.’
‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ Lilly, Frankie’s housemate who’d been roped in on her day off for the reorganisation, said cheerfully. ‘It’ll all look much better when we’re full of caffeine.’
‘Will it?’ Frankie, shivering inside a thick yellow jacket, a green woollen dress, thick tights, long boots and several scarves, twirled the shop keys in her fingers. ‘I wish I had your optimism. It’s only been closed for week but it doesn’t look like Rita’s shop any more. It just looks cold and cluttered, and it smells … well, old and unloved.’
‘Like you.’ Lilly giggled, her bottom wiggling in her skinny jeans as she teetered away into the kitchen on her perilous heels.
‘Thanks.’ Frankie pushed her way through the cramped rails and leaned listlessly against the wooden counter. ‘Thanks a bunch.’
And that was the problem, Frankie thought. It wasn’t Rita’s shop any more. The lively, laughing place that Rita had made such a pleasure to work in for the last three years had disappeared with its owner.
Rita had gone. There had been gloriously coloured photos of the Mykonos beach wedding – with Rita glamorous in a vivid sarong and Ray in matching Hawaiian shirt and Bermuda shorts, both looking ecstatic – and the pretty taverna, emailed.
The shop was hers. All hers.
Outside, the sign-writers had emblazoned FRANCESCA’S FABULOUS FROCKS in huge curlicued gold letters across a facia of deep purple. She’d spent the last weeks meeting with Rita’s solicitors, accountants and business advisors and signing umpteen pieces of paper. The shop was really, truly, hers.
And she didn’t have a clue what to do next.
Without Rita she was rudderless. Without Rita’s cheerful friendship, she felt both lonely and alone.
‘There you go.’ Lilly pushed a steaming mug into Frankie’s hands. ‘This’ll warm you up. It’s pretty darn cold in here. Don’t you have any heaters?’
‘Thanks, and there’s central heating that works from a boiler in the kitchen. We turned it off when Rita left. I’ll have to get it going again, especially if I want to open up next Saturday.’
‘Mmm.’ Lilly, snuggled in a vivid orange wrap-around sweater, leaned against the counter beside her. ‘It’s pretty depressing at the moment … and I’ve just thought of something.’
Frankie sighed. ‘Oh dear, have you? Is it gossip about a celeb I’ve never heard of having an affair with someone else I’ve never heard of? Or someone on Twitter? Or … ’
Lilly, her spiky blonde hair falling into her heavily kohled eyes, looked hurt. ‘I do have other thoughts sometimes, you know.’
Frankie laughed. ‘I know. Sometimes you think about men, and clothes, and men, and make-up and shoes, and men and more shoes.’
‘Well, if you don’t want to hear my idea … ’
‘Sorry, yes, of course I do.’
‘It’s got to do with trade descriptions.’
Frankie gazed at Lilly in surprise. What on earth did Lilly, whose entire life outside her job as a receptionist at Beauty’s Blessings in Hazy Hassocks, revolved around men and clothes and shoes and glossy magazines and clubbing and reality tell
y shows, know about the trade descriptions act?
‘Go on … ’
‘Well –’ Lilly blinked inch-long blue eyelashes ‘– the sign outside says “Francesca’s Fabulous Frocks”.’
‘Yes, and?’
Lilly looked round the crammed jumble of rails. ‘Well, it’s not, is it? Frocks, I mean. It’s just, well, any old tat. If it says frocks then it should be just frocks.’
Frankie, excitedly slopping coffee, hugged her. ‘Lill! You’re a genius!’
‘I know,’ Lilly sighed. ‘It’s such a shame no one else ever realises it. Er, why?’
‘Because that’s what it’s going to be. What it says on the tin.’
‘What tin?’
‘Oh, just a figure of speech. No, seriously, you’re brilliant. That’s what it’ll be. Just a frock shop. A lovely, gorgeous, retro frock shop.’
Frankie sat in silence for a moment, just visualising it. A frock shop. A fabulous frock shop … Her fabulous frock shop … Just like it said on the sign …
She grinned. ‘We’ll sort out all the dresses, and clear out everything else and see if Biff and Hedley Pippin want it for their charity shop first before we offload it elsewhere, then we’ll work on sorting out the frocks and—’
‘You could sort of colour code them,’ Lilly said. ‘Or something like that, couldn’t you?’
‘Yes, I could.’ Quickly Frankie drained her coffee and slammed the mug and the keys on the counter. ‘In fact, what I could do is make this a proper vintage shop. We can sort them into decades – we’ve got stuff dating from the nineteen fifties and maybe even before that in here somewhere – then into sizes, then into colours, or something along those lines. Oh, Lilly, you’re amazingly clever.’
‘Bless.’ Lilly beamed. ‘I know.’
An hour later, with the heating working beautifully, half the rails denuded, and towering mountains of other people’s clothes dwarfing them, Frankie and Lilly gazed at one another.
‘We need a skip or a big lorry or something.’ Frankie pushed her silky black hair behind her ears. ‘And a lot of other people. We’ll never get rid of all this ourselves.’
‘Yes, we do and, no, we won’t, but looking on the bright side you’ve got millions of gorgeous dresses hidden away, haven’t you?’
Frankie nodded enthusiastically. They’d uncovered some real gems amongst the dross.
‘And the shop itself,’ Lilly said, ‘isn’t too manky at all, really. I thought the walls would be dirty and dreary – but they’re OK. Cream’s nice as a background.’
‘Rita had it decorated last year. With difficulty.’ Frankie chuckled at the memory. ‘Poor old Brian from the kebab van came in on Sundays and moved stock from one side to the other until it was all done. So, at least that’s one thing I don’t need to worry about. Although I’ll need some other sort of decoration now if we’re just going to be frocks, won’t I? Posters and pictures and maybe things that relate to each of the decades.’
‘Mmm. Sounds great. But –’ Lilly hauled herself up onto the counter to survey the devastation ‘– what I don’t understand is – well, loads of things really.’
Frankie smiled. ‘Like the meaning of the universe? Nah, that always baffles me, too.’
‘Like,’ Lilly continued, ‘how did Rita make this place work? How did she ever make any money?’
‘Rita was pretty astute and she’d been running this for all her working life and been successful. Well, she must have been – she made and saved enough money over the years to be able to leave this – and her bungalow – and whiz off to Mykonos and buy a taverna.’
‘Yeah, I suppose,’ Lilly said doubtfully. ‘She must have been very clever with her money, though.’
‘She said she had savings and investments.’
‘Really? How clever. I wish I did. My salary is always spent before it’s earned. But, I mean, if she never sold anything, just rented it out, then took in more stuff, surely there must have come a time – like now – when there just wasn’t room for any more things?’
‘Quite often,’ Frankie agreed, pulling herself up onto the counter too. ‘We used to have clear-outs sometimes. Stuff that never moved. We used to donate it to the charity shops, but Rita never turned anything wearable away.’
‘Obviously. So, once she’d paid someone for it, you just hired it out over and over again?’
Frankie nodded.
‘And –’ Lilly frowned ‘– then you’d have to have it cleaned every time – which costs – before you rented it out again – so, why didn’t she just sell it?’
‘Because Rita didn’t like to part with anything. And she thought renting, hiring, whatever, offered a good service to people who couldn’t afford, or didn’t want to, buy.’
‘Right.’ Lilly flicked through the pile of duplicate accounting books on the countertop. ‘And you did all the transactions in here, did you?’
‘Yes. Rita didn’t trust computers. Not for the business. Even the till is manual. It’s all very nineteen fifties.’ Frankie shook her head. ‘Which is nice and cosy and all that, and OK for what Rita was doing, but not for me and the twenty-first century. I intend to change all that.’
Lilly nodded. ‘Mmm, Jennifer Blessing would have a fit. She’s ace at business, is Jennifer. She sent me on all those IT courses when she updated her systems at the salon and … ’
Frankie wasn’t listening. Jennifer Blessing’s high-tech beauty salon was a million miles away from Rita’s Rent-a-Frock. Except, of course, it wasn’t Rita’s any more, was it? And she’d already decided to buy a computer from the capital allowance that the accountant had told her was in the business account for exactly that sort of purchase. And she’d ordered a whole mountain of Francesca’s Fabulous Frocks carrier bags in gold and purple. She was getting there – slowly.
She suddenly frowned at the still-chattering Lilly. ‘Sorry, but what did you say earlier?’
‘About the courses Jennifer Blessing sent me on?’ Lilly wrinkled her forehead. ‘Oh, just that there weren’t many men on them, but I did meet that really cute boy, Daniel, the one with the piercings, and—’
‘No, what did you say before that.’
‘I don’t know.’ Lilly looked anxious. ‘I can’t remember that far back.’
‘Selling. You said something about selling.’
‘Oh, yes.’ Lilly beamed happily. ‘So I did.’
‘Exactly!’ Frankie clapped her hands in delight. ‘Because that’s what I’m going to do. Sell not rent. It’s not Rita’s shop any more, so there’ll be no more buying other people’s old clothes. I’ll just take donations of frocks. And no more renting or hiring, just selling. Paying for them isn’t good business, selling them is very good for business. Simples!’
Lilly, looking slightly confused, frowned. ‘Well, yes. You should be making money, not spending it. Jennifer says—’
‘Jennifer Blessing makes Lord Sugar look like an enthusiastic amateur,’ Frankie said, laughing. ‘But of course she’s right. And so am I. When this reopens as Francesca’s Fabulous Frocks that’s what I’m going to do. I’ll take in the unwanted frocks and sell them. Which means –’ she picked up the duplicate books ‘– that these can go straight into the archives. As soon as I get the computer later this week, I’ll have to get a sort of stock-and-sale system up and running, and pricing and everything else.’
The new system may well alienate some of Rita’s regular clients – people like the funeral-going Biddy – she’d have to work round that somehow and try not to lose customers, but otherwise it all made perfect sense.
Lilly slid from the counter. ‘I can help you with setting up some of the computer stuff if you like. I do it for Jennifer.’
‘Can you? Do you?’ Frankie watched as Lilly swayed seductively between the heaps of clothes towards the blacked-out windows. ‘Honestly, Lilly, you’re full of surprises.’
‘Because I’m an airhead?’ Lilly looked over her shoulder. ‘Yeah, well, Jennifer is dead scar
y let me tell you. I had to learn that data input stuff over and over again until I got it right.’
‘Yes, sorry. I didn’t mean to—’
‘Yeah, you did,’ Lilly said happily. ‘I don’t mind. I know I’m not as stupid as everyone thinks I am. Well, not really.’
Frankie laughed, then frowned. ‘And they’re terrible, too.’
‘What are?’
‘These lovely big double windows. All that space all piled with rubbish. Rita never had much of an eye for window dressing. She just piled stuff in there. She said everyone knew what the shop did so there was no need to make a meal of the windows. I’m going to clear it out and do a proper window display and change it regularly.’
‘Yeah, right. In the spare time you’ve got between sorting out this lot and getting the place up and running.’ Lilly pulled a face then peered out of the door at the rain-swept market square.
‘Yes, but,’ Frankie sighed, ‘I’m missing so many tricks here. It’s nearly Christmas – I need a Christmas window display.’
‘Yeah.’ Lilly nodded. ‘At Beauty’s Blessings Jennifer has had a Christmas window display in place since October. So you’ll need to get a shift on. You’ve only got a month.’
‘I know.’ Frankie nodded. ‘Don’t remind me. Christmas is obviously an optimum trading time. Everyone wanting to buy things, and that’s what I’ve got to give them. Things to buy. I’m going to have to sort out all the party frocks and stick them in the window, drape a lot of twinkly, sparkly stuff round them, find some holly and baubles and—’
‘Ohmigod!’ Lilly suddenly shrieked. ‘No way!’
‘What?’ Frankie looked at Lilly in alarm. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘Out there!’ Lilly turned wide-eyed. ‘Come and have a look! Out there! Quick!’
Frankie frowned. She couldn’t imagine anything remotely exciting happening in Kingston Dapple’s marketplace. Nothing ever had or did.
Kingston Dapple’s cobbled market square was really three-sided, with the fourth side opening on to the sleepy High Street. Traffic meandered up and down there, as did the village shoppers, and any deliveries to the rear of the marketplace’s prewar shops were made from a narrow horseshoe-shaped service road looping off the High Street. The buildings were Victorian, tall and close-packed, the roads hundreds of years old and almost single lane. The twenty-first century had had very little impact. In fact, Frankie reckoned, nothing much had changed in Kingston Dapple for at least a hundred years.
Never Can Say Goodbye Page 3
