Page 17 of A Wish for Jinnie
‘No. In fact I haven’t met Jamie yet, although I think we’ll be working together at some point,’ she replied. ‘Is she nice?’
A devilish voice inside her head whispered,Say no. Tell me she’s a miserable old harridan with bad breath and appalling dress sense.
‘She’s lovely. Not that I really know her. We just got chatting in the pub and, well, I get the feeling she could do with a friend.’
As opposed to a boyfriend?How old is she anyway, wondered Jinnie. If she had a son in his late teens, surely she must be well into her forties. Mind you, Sam must be of a similar age if Sean was in his first year at uni. Not that age mattered. Her granddad, Wilma’s late husband, had been fifteen years younger, and they’d been blissfully happy until the day he keeled over on the bowling green. ‘Died doing what he loved,’ Wilma always said. ‘It was either that or mid-shag, and I’m awfy grateful I didnae have tae call out the doctor for that scenario!’
‘I’m sure I’ll bump into her at some point,’ said Jinnie. ‘It’s not as if Cranley is a teeming metropolis. Give me a few more weeks and I’ll be on first-name terms with everyone.’
Making a mental note to find out more about the mysterious Angela, Jinnie returned to the task in hand: flapping a duster over items that were destined never to leave the shop. I mean, didanyonewant a World War One gas mask? Or a Russian samovar, when nowadays you could pick up a kettle for under a tenner? Still, there was ‘nowt so queer as folk’, another favourite adage of her gran’s. Not technically Scottish, but Wilma didn’t care about the origins of her expressions, only that they got across the message. Anyway, people bought things — even old things — because they were drawn to them. Not for their practical use, necessarily, but because they pleased them aesthetically. Why else had Jinnie been drawn to the lamp?
As she fiddled with the gas mask, and sent a silent prayer of thanks to those who’d strived to create a better, safer world — what would they think now? —, Jinnie paused. Which had come first? Meeting Sam, definitely. The lamp had appealed to her, but only as something to add a touch of retro charm to her spartan cottage. And yet, were those things somehow connected? Was Jinnie always destined to walk through the door of Out of the Attic Antiques?Why had the lamp, and its elusive partner, ended up there in the first place? Was Sam somehow part of the puzzle, and if so, how?
‘Bugger!’ Jinnie’s ponderings were interrupted by a crash as one of the plates hit the floor, fragments scattering everywhere.
Sam shrugged and picked up the scruffy brush and pan he kept on hand for emergencies. ‘To all the plates I’ve broke before,’ he sang, scooping up shards with ease. ‘Sorry, both for the terrible singing and the appalling grammar.’
Jinnie smiled and bent to pick up a couple of larger pieces, careful not to cut herself. She tossed them in the wastepaper basket, Sam adding his collection of fragmented china. They did a final check, satisfied that no shards were left to cause injury to passing customers.
‘I hate breaking stuff. But when it isn’t beyond repair, I don’t mind.’ Sam was looking at the bin, but his words were directed at Jinnie. ‘A chipped plate, glasses that don’t quite match. Things don’t have to be perfect to work.’
Was there an underlying message there? Jinnie didn’t know what to think. Was Sam hinting that Jinnie was ‘damaged goods’, or was he referring to the lovely Angela? Or was he simply saying that things didn’t need to be pristine to bring pleasure?
The doorbell chimed and a woman entered the shop. She looked in her mid-thirties, although deep lines furrowed her brow. She wore no make-up, and her limp blonde hair hung damply round her face. She was shivering — hardly surprising, as her lightweight jacket was more suited to a sunny spring day — and chewing her bottom lip.
‘Angela!’ Sam approached her with a warm smile. She responded with a nod, lips resolutely turned down.Speak of the devil, thought Jinnie. Not that she looked remotely demonic, more downcast and nervous.
‘Hi, Sam. I wondered if I could have a word. In private.’ Angela’s gaze took in Jinnie, who immediately busied herself dusting more things that didn’t need dusting.
The pair shuffled over to the far corner and began muttering together. Jinnie strained to hear what they were saying, but could only pick up the odd word. A definite ‘sorry’ from Angela, a ‘don’t worry’ from Sam, and what might have been ‘fancy a quickie’. Jinnie hoped she’d misheard the last one.
‘Jinnie.’ Sam called her over and Jinnie went to join them with all the enthusiasm of a dog going to the vet. ‘This is Angela, Jamie’s mum. Angela, this is Jinnie, my wonderful assistant and part-time bar person at the Jekyll and Hyde.’
They shook hands. Angela’s was ice-cold and trembling. Up close, Jinnie thought she was very pretty beneath the pallor. Sam had said she could do with a friend, so despite some reservations, she decided to go for it.
‘Nice to meet you, Angela. I’m fairly new around here, so perhaps we could get together sometime? My mates are all in Edinburgh so I get a bit lonely.’Except I have a demented genie at home waiting to grant me wishes, and I keep thinking about Sam and Ed in ways I really shouldn’t.
‘Erm, sure. That’d be nice.’ Angela seemed taken aback at the suggestion, whereas Sam was nodding like one of those toy dogs on a car dashboard. For good measure, he clapped his hands together and looked in danger of breaking into a little jig.
‘Excellent! I’m sure you two will get on like a house on fire. Right, anything take your fancy in the shop today?’
Apart from the man himself, thought Jinnie grumpily. And where did that stupid expression come from, anyway? What did a blazing building have to do with people getting along with each other?
Phone numbers exchanged, Angela spent a few minutes browsing before leaving empty-handed. She had more colour in her cheeks, but still seemed like a woman with the weight of the world on her shoulders.
‘You’re a good person, Jinnie Cooper,’ said Sam. ‘I’m a firm believer in small acts of kindness, and that was definitely one.’ He gave Jinnie a look of such exquisite tenderness that her insides liquified. Or was that just the after-effect of too many pancakes for breakfast?
‘Yup, that’s me, Saint Jinnie of Cranley. Full of goodness. Bite into me and feel your teeth ache with sugar overload.’Oh, help.Where hadthatcome from? Not only did she sound horribly sarcastic, she’d actually suggested that Sam bite her. And even worse, the thought of that was causing havoc internally.
‘Would you mind if I skipped off a bit early? I’ve got a bit of a headache.’Not true,but I need a cold shower, a reality check and a quiet evening with Dhassim. An oxymoron, perhaps, but better the devil — or genie — you know.
‘Sure, no problem.’ Sam’s expression was now one of concern. ‘You get home and have a rest. I’ll probably shut up shop early too. I need to knuckle down and get writing before my publisher sends me an abusive email.’
They said their goodbyes, and Jinnie left. She paused outside the shop for a moment, staring at the sky. It was streaked with clouds, and full of infinite possibilities. Adventures to be had, if you had the courage.Spread your wings and fly away. Jinnie sighed, and headed home.
Chapter 20
‘Are you OK?’Jo waved her hand in front of Ken’s face. He was in a trance, his cup of coffee and Danish pastry untouched.
