by Liz Eeles
‘Kind of.’
‘I’ll have to keep an eye on him.’ Callie sighs and looks around us before lowering her voice. ‘Anyway, enough about my domestic arrangements, what about you? I wasn’t listening in but I overheard you telling Millicent that you’re having a few problems at home. I hope you don’t mind me asking but you do look a bit… stressed.’
‘Oh, dear, do I look that bad?’
‘No, no, you look fine. Just tired. Sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.’
‘I don’t mind. Actually, it’s nice that you care.’ I suddenly feel as though I’m about to cry and I suck my bottom lip between my teeth. I can’t keep crying all the time. It’s not professional.
Her eyes fill with concern and she rubs her hand along my arm, which doesn’t help my self-control at all. ‘Malcolm and I are having some…’ I gulp, ‘… difficulties and I’ve moved out for a while. That’s all.’
It's not all, and I don’t want to lie to Callie, but I can’t tell her the whole truth about Malcolm and Marina. Not until I’ve fully got my own head around it.
Callie, always empathetic to others’ feelings, gets it straight away and doesn’t ask for any gory details of our break-up. Instead, she gives me a sympathetic smile. ‘So where are you staying?’
‘I slept here, for a while.’
‘You’re kidding me. Not upstairs on what Ruben called his chaise longue?’
‘If you mean that old put-you-up, then yes. The springs are rather… unspringy, and the spiders up there are enormous.’
‘Tell me about it. I went up there once to wake Ruben and almost died when I spotted a spider the size of a dinner plate.’ She grins. ‘Well, a tea plate, but it was enormous. So why did you stay here and not come round to mine, Flora? You can come and stay with us now, if you like – until you get back on your feet. We haven’t got a spare room but the sofa’s comfy and it’s plenty big enough. Noah stretches out on it and he’s six-foot tall.’
Her big brown eyes sparkle when she says ‘Noah’. She can’t help herself, and that’s why there’s no way I can take up her kind offer. She and Noah are already coping with an unpredictable octogenarian; the last thing they need is a miserable mess mourning the end of her marriage. That would be a right downer on love’s young dream.
‘That’s so lovely of you, Callie, and I really appreciate it but I’m fine. Honestly. I’m staying with Luna for a little while until I get things sorted and work out what I’m doing next.’
‘I didn’t know you knew Luna,’ says Callie, who, Honeyford born and bred, knows almost everyone in the town.
‘I didn’t but apparently my aura was giving off distress signals and she came to my rescue.’
‘Ha, that sounds very like Luna. She’s not been in Honeyford that long and is a bit out there, but she’s incredibly kind-hearted and I’m sure she’s happy for you to stay.’
‘Absolutely. Luna’s been very welcoming.’ Her grumpy son not so much, but I keep him out of it.
‘If you’re sure you’re OK. I’m so sorry about you and Malcolm but I can see how it might happen.’ Callie winces as though her words took her by surprise.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Nothing.’ Callie’s rose-pink cheeks are starting to properly glow with embarrassment. ‘Just ignore me. I really shouldn’t have said anything.’
‘You really should,’ I say, panic mounting that Malcolm might have made a pass at Callie behind my back. She’s pretty. And young.
‘I don’t know.’ Callie takes a deep breath and starts gabbling. ‘You know when you imagine what someone’s partner will be like and then you meet them and they’re nothing like you thought they’d be? That. Plus, you seemed different when he was around. Less like you, really. And I got the feeling he didn’t approve of you taking on the shop.’
‘Malcolm didn’t approve. He still doesn’t.’
Phew! I’m relieved that inappropriate flirting hasn’t been mentioned but I’m dismayed by how Callie sized up our relationship. Is that how I am with Malcolm – less like me?
Callie glances behind her as the book club starts spilling out of The Cosy Kettle and says quickly, ‘You can always talk to me, Flora, if it would help. Just remember that. And for what it’s worth, I think it’s brilliant that you took on the bookshop. You really should go to the Charter Day meeting too. Don’t you think so, Phyllis?’
‘You what?’ says Phyllis, who’s being wheeled past by Becca. She runs her fingers through her tight grey perm.
‘I was saying that Flora should go to the Charter Day meeting and maybe get involved in the celebrations.’
‘Makes sense, I suppose. If she’s planning on sticking around.’
‘What makes you say that? Why wouldn’t I stick around?’ I ask her.
Phyllis shrugs. ‘Dunno. But you’re not from round here, are you, so we might just be a stepping stone on your way to greater things. Like Honeyford turned out to be just a stepping stone for Elaine on her way to Brisbane.’
Poor Phyllis. Her daughter, Elaine, and her grandchildren, moved to Australia a few years ago and, though she puts on a brave face about it, she misses them horribly.
‘I’m not planning on going anywhere,’ I tell her, which is true enough, though I have no idea what the next few weeks will bring. My life seems to be in freefall.
‘Hmm, you might as well get involved then.’
‘Involved in what?’ asks Stanley, who’s appeared behind her with Dick in tow. He’s been mainlining double espressos again and is bouncing up and down like an over-caffeinated Tigger.
‘Charter Day,’ huffs Phyllis. ‘Flora is thinking of doing something for it.’
‘That is dope, dude!’ exclaims Stanley, giving me a high five.
Beside him, Dick raises a straggly grey eyebrow and slowly shakes his head. His friend’s metamorphosis from an introverted octogenarian into an out-there slang mangler has been hard for him to take. But Stanley’s determined to wring all he can out of life in his final years and become his true self. I admire him for that. I’d love to know who I truly am right now.
‘We can all get involved and help you,’ adds Mary, before giving a loud yawn. ‘Oops, Callum’s waking up. Gotta go before he starts bawling.’
‘Thank goodness for that,’ mutters Millicent as Mary wheels his buggy out of the shop, and I have to agree. That child has bionic lungs if his ear-bleeding shrieks are anything to go by. And I really can’t cope with them today.
Several customers mention the charter celebrations as the day goes on and I take another look at the poster when I’m walking back to the car after work. Malcolm would say a community celebration is a waste of time but he hasn’t been in touch since I refused to go home with him yesterday. So I guess it doesn’t really matter what he’d say.
‘What do you want to do, Flora?’ I say out loud, before looking around to make sure no one’s seen me talking to myself. Gaining a reputation as a weirdo will hardly endear me to the locals, many of whom still give me sideways glances as though I’m odd.
Truth is I feel nervous about rocking up to the charter meeting, in case some people think it’s inappropriate for a newcomer and I’m intruding. But maybe going along would be a step towards proper acceptance by this close-knit community and, let’s be honest, I’ve nothing better to do with my time.
My evenings were once filled with Malcolm bustling, Pierre yelling and the clinking of silverware against bone china. When the restaurant got busy, I’d help out, and sometimes life got too hectic. But now my evenings stretch out ahead of me, long and lonely.
Many people would envy my freedom. Knackered Mary would probably kill for an evening to herself without cranky Callum and his colic. But living in a weird house with a man who doesn’t want me there, while my husband is getting up to who knows what with a younger woman, doesn’t feel much like freedom to me.
Luna is home before me and gorgeous smells are wafting from the kitchen when I let myself in.
&nb
sp; ‘Hi, Luna. That smells gorgeous,’ I say, popping my head around the kitchen door. ‘Can I do anything to help?’
Luna looks up from the pie she’s just taken out of the oven and grins. ‘No thanks, love. I was home before you and the tea’s almost done. Caleb’s letting off steam in the garden and Daniel will be down in a minute. Oh, here he is.’
Daniel ducks slightly to get through the kitchen doorway, brushes past me, and wanders over to his mother. He’s changed out of his work suit into black jeans and a plain grey V-neck jumper. Dark hair flops across his forehead into his eyes and he brushes it away. Malcolm favours a short back and sides, and wouldn’t approve.
‘You came back then?’ says Daniel, his mouth twitching at the corner.
What is it with people thinking I’m about to do a runner from Honeyford?
‘Did you think I wouldn’t?’
I did think about it, to be honest, and I scrolled through ads for spare rooms when it was quiet in the shop today. But all I could find were student lets in Oxford, and someone called Raymond who said he had a room to rent and was seeking ‘companionship’. Raymond is probably a lovely man, but something about the advert made the back of my neck prickle.
Daniel shrugs, hooks his arm around Luna’s waist and gives her a squeeze. ‘Hello there, Mum. How was your day?’
‘Good, thank you. I had a minibus of tourists in with auras to die for, and they bought me out of dreamcatchers. They had a very spiritual feel.’
Luna tastes the spoon she’s just dipped into the pot and gives an ‘mmm’ of pleasure. Then she stirs it round the pot again while I try not to focus on basic kitchen hygiene. Pierre would go mad but it’s either cope with the germs in Luna’s warm and welcoming kitchen or spend an evening alone in a pokey attic. Sometimes braving other people’s bugs is worth it, I tell myself, moving the huge bowl of gemstones off the table and laying our places.
Daniel gives me a hand and I keep my eyes fixed firmly ahead when he bends over to get plates out of the cupboard. I don’t want a repeat of yesterday’s backside-related thoughts that were obviously just a pathetic reaction to Malcolm’s infidelity.
Tea is a fairly subdued affair. The pie is tasty, and I listen to Daniel and Luna chatting to Caleb about school. But he’s pretty unforthcoming and, after mostly pushing food around his plate, he asks to get down from the table.
Luna also excuses herself after tea in order to ‘commune with nature’, whatever that involves. So Daniel and I do the washing-up together again, while making awkward small talk about our days.
My day mostly involved encouraging people to buy books, coffee and cake, while his appears to have involved making rich people even more wealthy. He’s some sort of fancy accountant.
‘I wouldn’t have thought that was your thing,’ I tell him as I dry plates and try not to drip soap suds on the floor. Daniel might be a whizz with figures but his washing-up technique leaves a lot to be desired.
‘Really?’ He raises an eyebrow, still up to his elbows in water. ‘What’s wrong with being an accountant?’
‘Nothing. It’s just that with your mum being so unusual and New Agey. I’d have expected you to be more, I don’t know… creative.’
‘Believe me, I can be creative with figures when I have to be,’ mutters Daniel, wiping splashed water from his nose with his shoulder. When he fixes his brown eyes on me, I’m struck by just how long his dark eyelashes are. ‘Tell me, Flora. Are you trying to say I’m boring?’
‘Not at all.’ I wouldn’t dare. What looks like a brief smile flits across Daniel’s face, though it’s probably more of a fledgling scowl. His face would crack if he did smile, I decide, and then I berate myself for being mean. His wife died, after all. That’s got to be way worse than discovering your partner is a lying philanderer.
‘Flora?’
Daniel is staring at me, his head tilted to one side. Oops. I was so busy thinking about the people we’ve lost, I wasn’t listening.
‘Sorry. What did you say?’
‘I said, what’s happening with you and your husband?’
‘Do you want to know when I’m leaving?’
‘No, well, yes. But that wasn’t why I asked.’ Daniel starts scrubbing furiously at a casserole dish as though I’ve insulted him.
I sigh and shove a dry plate into the chaotic crockery cupboard. ‘I don’t know what’s happening. He came into the shop yesterday but we didn’t really talk. And I’ve mostly ignored his texts and phone calls.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe I’m afraid of what I’ll hear, or what I’ll say. I just need a bit of space first, to let things sink in.’
‘You’ll have to talk to him eventually.’
‘I know,’ I say sharply, a bit annoyed that he’s poking his nose in. But I’m more annoyed with myself for being such a wuss about everything and basically running away. I’m fairly assertive in most aspects of life, but not when it comes to Malcolm.
‘I was just giving my opinion,’ says Daniel, with his back to me. He sounds annoyed now.
‘Yeah, sorry. It’s been a bit of an all-round shit week.’
‘Humph,’ grunts Daniel. But he turns and, rather than placing the squeaky-clean casserole dish on the draining board, hands it directly to me. I take this to be the domestic equivalent of an olive branch.
I give him a small smile and we finish the washing-up in silence that’s broken only by the thud of Caleb’s football rhythmically hitting the back door.
Chapter Six
The next morning, I’ve only been at work for half an hour when the door swings open and Malcolm strides in. He scans the shop until he spots me on my knees and marches over.
‘Flora. There you are. I had to see you,’ he says, towering above me.
Sighing, I slide the book I’m holding onto the bottom shelf and get slowly to my feet. My stomach’s doing somersaults, like it used to when I first knew Malcolm. Only then, it was due to love and lust, and now it’s due to sorrow, anger – and missing him.
I’m trying really hard not to miss Malcolm, the man who destroyed my trust and broke my heart. But it turns out it’s not so easy to just stop caring about someone you’ve cared about all your adult life. I’m missing my old familiar life too.
‘Hello, Malcolm.’ I push a strand of dark hair from my eyes and take a quick look around the shop. The café’s busy – I can hear the coffee machine hissing – but no one’s browsing or buying books, thank goodness. Small towns thrive on gossip and I don’t want to fuel the rumour mill with tales of my marital woes.
Malcolm starts shuffling from foot to foot. ‘This is getting ridiculous, Flora. We need to talk. When are you coming home?’
‘Is Marina still around?’ I ask, folding my arms.
‘She’s still at the restaurant because I’d be in all sorts of trouble if I tried to sack her. Stupid employment legislation!’
‘That’s not what I meant.’
‘OK. She’s around but not around, if you know what I mean.’ His left eyelid starts twitching as though an electric current is zapping through it.
‘Not really. What exactly do you mean?’
Malcolm hesitates and then a flicker of relief crosses his face as the shop door tings and a young couple in hiking boots bustle in. Saved by the bell. He wanders over to the till and leans against it while I ascertain that the couple are looking for OS maps and show them the ones we have in stock.
‘So how are things going in here?’ he asks when I join him, as though Marina was never mentioned. He frowns when a small blonde woman comes into the shop and waves at me before heading for the historical fiction shelves. ‘Who’s that?’
‘A regular customer. I’m slowly getting to know who people are.’
‘Just as I’d expect in a little place like this,’ he huffs, as though it’s a bad thing. ‘So you think you’ll make a success of the business, do you?’
‘Yes, I do. I’m getting involved in local community events
and business is booming.’ Booming is pushing it big time but, fortunately, Malcolm can’t see the crossed fingers behind my back.
He sniffs. ‘What sort of community events?’
‘Events like Charter Day. The town’s having a big celebration and I might get involved. It’s to mark the 900th anniversary of King Henry the First granting Honeyford a charter to—’
‘Sounds like a lot of work for very little return,’ butts in Malcolm, whose eyes started glazing over at ‘King Henry’. ‘Will your involvement benefit the business? That’s the bottom line, Flora.’
‘I don’t know. Maybe it will, maybe it won’t. But being involved will benefit me.’
‘How?’
Here goes. I take a deep breath. ‘It’ll give me the chance to be a bigger part of this community and to feel as though I belong here.’
Malcolm’s does not compute expression is classic. He couldn’t look more confused if I’d just told him I was giving away free doublets with every copy of Hamlet.
‘One, you obviously belong because your shop is here. And two, why would you care whether you belong here or not? Where you properly belong is home in Oxford, with me.’
‘And where does Marina belong?’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake… I’ve already told you…’ Malcolm glowers at a young man who’s just come into the shop. ‘It’s impossible to discuss this when it’s like Piccadilly Circus in here.’
‘You don’t seem that keen to discuss Marina anyway.’
Proving my point, Malcolm ignores what I’ve said and starts drumming his fingers against the till. ‘So, are you coming home, Flora?’
When I shake my head, he pulls himself up tall.
‘Then I may as well go and speak to you another time, when it’s not so busy.’
He stalks off while I wonder just how much Malcolm really does want to talk. Every time Marina’s mentioned, his mouth tightens and he goes pale. But if we can’t discuss Marina and what happened, there’s not much point in talking at all.
There’s no way I’m going back to him. That’s it. Decision made. If he can’t give me a straight answer about the goings on with Marina, I’ll give him one instead.
