Page 55 of Secrets and Seashells at Rainbow Bay
‘Twelve pounds it is, then,’ I agree through gritted teeth.
I hold out my hand and he dumps two five-pound notes along with two one-pound coins unceremoniously into it, then he simply walks away.
‘Charming,’ I mutter under my breath.
‘Don’t sweat about it,’ Tom says, moving next to me now Rachel has gone. ‘These people aren’t all locals to Chesterford, you know; some of them have come quite a way for this.’
‘Really. Why?’
‘Probably think they’ll get a bargain this being a castle ’n’ all. Something that might prove to be worth a lot of money.’
‘But I checked really carefully to make sure I wasn’t getting rid of anything valuable.’
‘Ah, but they don’t know that, do they?’ He winks.
‘That’s true.’
‘So you’re up for a trip down the pub one night?’ Tom asks as though he’s clarifying that I genuinely meant what I’d said.
‘Of course. I’m not sure I’m going to receive quite the welcome you think I am, though.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘Your barmaid friend was hardly welcoming, was she?’
‘Rachel?’ Tom asks, apparently oblivious to Rachel’s offhand manner. ‘Nah, she’s okay. Always friendly and attentive when she’s behind the bar.’
‘Well, of course she is to you!’ I laugh.
Tom looks blankly at me.
‘Don’t you see it?’ I ask him. ‘She quite obviously fancies you.’
‘Don’t be daft,’ Tom says, his cheeks reddening. ‘She’s just being friendly – that’s her job.’
‘Didn’t you see her face when you said you wanted to bring me down to the pub – it was stonier than some of our gargoyles.’
Tom thinks about this. ‘No, you’re just being paranoid.’
‘I am not. I know a jealous woman when I see one.’
‘What has she to be jealous of?’ Tom asks. ‘It’s not like we’re a couple or anything. It’s hardly a date we’re going on . . . is it?’ And I wonder if I detect a hopeful note to his last question.
‘No,’ I insist hurriedly. ‘It’s not a date. Just a way for me to meet a few more of the locals.’
‘Yeah . . . ’ Tom says, nodding quickly. ‘It’s just that. Nothing else.’
The people continue to flood in to the sale, and we continue to sell, so by the time two hours have passed our three trestle tables have been reduced to one.
‘It’s going well, isn’t it?’ Tiffany says. ‘We’re not the only ones who have almost sold out.’
I glance at some of the other stall-holders and see their tables are beginning to look a little bare too, and everywhere around us there are people sitting on benches in the sun happily drinking cups of tea and coffee, eating cakes and sandwiches, with their new purchases sitting firmly by their feet.
A great sense of achievement washes over me. Our first event appears to have been a success!
‘I’d like a refund,’ a voice says next to me, bursting my bubble. I look towards the voice and see the rude man who had bought the stuffed dog earlier clutching it under his arm.
‘I’m sorry?’ I ask, wondering if I’ve heard him correctly.
