Page 32 of Right Place, Right Time
Over the last few months, Adam has mostly been in London sorting out his life there and I’ve been getting on with things in Cambridge. But on the occasions Adam was in Cambridge overseeing the sale of Past Times House or the purchase of his new building, we would sometimes have a coffee or even lunch together, either at my shop or, now that the weather was getting better, in the little garden in the centre of Clockmaker Court.
Today is a warm sunny day at the end of May, and my fellow shopkeepers and I are hoping the spring bank holiday weekend will bring lots of visitors to Cambridge and therefore increase sales for all our businesses. Adam has chosen this weekend to move into his new shop,now the painters, electricians and carpenters he hired to give the shop a facelift have completed their work.
Last night, after we all closed up, a few of us in the court helped him transfer the many boxes of books that he’d acquired from his grandfather – along with others he bought both at auction and online – from storage into his shop, and, today, while we all trade as normal, Adam is attempting to fill the shelves.
‘How’s it going?’ I ask at lunchtime on Saturday, sticking my head around the open doorway.
Adam’s head pops up from the fortress of boxes that surround him.
‘Slowly.’ He grimaces. ‘You were right when you said having a shop was hard work, and I haven’t even opened yet.’
While I would have been anxious about how long contracts were taking to come through or how much time the builders were taking to do their work, Adam let it all wash easily over his head and hasn’t shown the least bit of stress. In that time, I’ve seen how much he cares about this new project, and how much effort and care he’s put into both renovating the shop and choosing the books that went into it. My opinion of him has only grown as each stage of his project has come to fruition.
Even now, with a mountain of work in front of him to get his shop ready to open, he is still relaxed and chilled, and his grimace quickly changes into his usual grin.
‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you!’ I say good-naturedly.
‘I would never dare!’
‘I’m just going to grab some lunch – do you want anything?’ I ask.
‘Ooh, yes, please – anything will do. I’m easy.’
‘I know. I’ll just go to M and S, then, shall I?’
‘You know what I really fancy …’ Adam says, his eyes lighting up.
‘Don’t tell me!’ I know exactly what he is going to say. ‘A Chelsea bun from Fitzbillies?’
‘You know me too well, Eve!’
‘Would you like a coffee to go with it?’
‘My usual, please.’
‘All right, just don’t tell Harriet and Rocky we’re buying lunch from one of their rivals, OK? I’ll be back in a bit.’
‘Do you want me to watch your shop?’ Adam asks, knowing we never close our shops in Clockmaker Court during a weekend in the summer unless we absolutely have to.
‘No need, Barney is in with me today.’
‘Of course. I’ll go back to my children’s books, then. I’m currently knee-deep in some vintage Enid Blyton. Give me a shout when you’re back – lunch alfresco?’
I nod. ‘Of course. See you in a bit.’
I head out of the relative quiet of Clockmaker Court into what feels like another world – the hustle and bustle of King’s Parade on a Saturday lunchtime.
Today, it’s full of tourists enjoying the dry, warm bank holiday weather. I queue up at Fitzbillies – a popular Cambridge bakery – and buy two of its famous Chelsea buns and two coffees to go with it. Since he’s been spending more time in Cambridge, Adam has become quite addicted to the bakery, and in particular their Chelsea buns. Just as I’m leaving, I recognise a familiar figure also heading in the direction of the shop. I pause on the pavement outside to greet him as he comes slowly and carefully along the pavement.
‘Ben!’ I say, delighted to see him again. ‘How are you?’
Ben was struck down with a particularly bad virus the same weekend Adam and I cleared out Past Times House. We were all really worried about him, so Orla went to look after him, and while she was away, we all did our best to look after her shop. We offered to open Ben’s shop for him too, but Ben declined, telling us we didn’t need to worry ourselves, everything was in hand, and he’d return when the time was right.
‘I’m very well now, thank you, young Eve,’ Ben says, pausing to rest. He leans heavily on his stick with both hands. ‘Much improved, as you can see. Orla did a fine job in taking care of me when I was at my worst. And you all took care of her too. Just as it should be.’
‘That’s wonderful news,’ I tell him. ‘Will you be able to return to your shop soon, do you think?’
‘I do hope so. I thought I’d let the rush of the bank holiday crowds die down first. I’ll be back as usual next week, though, to see how you’re all doing.’
