Page 19 of The Little Shop on Silver Linings Street
There was a look on his face that she found hard to fathom.
‘Let’s get on,’ he said quietly. ‘I’d like to get home.’
* * *
It was a relief for Daisy to be back in her little cottage once again, but even the routines which usually soothed and calmed her did little to quell the rushing thoughts in her head. Uppermost of these was the curious way Kit had behaved today. It was partly to be expected of course – Bea’s announcement had thrown them all – but there was some change in Kit that she couldn’t put her finger on. And then of course he had come so close to finding out her secret, and it didn’t matter how many times she tried to replay their conversation in her head, she couldn’t be certain that she had got away with it.
She broke off another piece of bread and dipped it in her soup. Before she had left for the evening, Kit had reminded her to expect an email from Bertie advising her of the details of their day out. Earlier that morning Bertie had gleefully pulled out the longest straw from the bunch of three that she held out for them, and wasted no time in fixing up a day to take her out. The forecast was clear and cold for most of the week and, as Monday was scheduled as her next day off, they had settled on that. Friday would be Lawrence’s turn, followed by Kit the Monday after.
She would be utterly relieved when the whole thing was over. Apart from the hideous awkwardness of it all, the shop was open seven days a week during the whole of December and it was a busy time of year. She would effectively be losing her days off for nearly two weeks, or at least the opportunity to do what she wished on them.
It was already seven o’clock and Daisy was itching to carry on with the embellishments for her Christmas wreath, but she chased the remnants of her supper around the bowl with a spoon before carrying it back into the kitchen and running water into the sink until it was scalding. She added a generous squirt of washing-up liquid and, pulling on her bright-pink plastic gloves, watched the bubbles rise up until just past the halfway mark. She cut the water off and carefully washed her side plate, mug, spoon and finally the bowl before drying them and returning them to their respective cupboards and drawers. It took ten more minutes to check that the kitchen was as it should be and, after a detour to check again that she did indeed have a clean blouse for the morning, she was finally able to settle herself at the small table to one end of her sitting room.
The pieces of clay she had fired the night before had been polished as soon as she got home, and she picked up a couple of the leaves to inspect them further. They had turned out even better than she hoped. She arranged them on her workspace with a little greenery for contrast and took a couple of photos. Uploading them to her Instagram account only took a moment and, after that, she was free to carry on working on the wreath.
It was half past nine when, with a satisfied nod, she finally stopped and got up to make herself a mug of warm milk. She would check her emails as she drank it, hoping that Bertie had already sent his message and wasn’t going to leave it any later. Not only was she intensely curious and more than a little anxious about the kind of day he had planned for them, but her normal routine was to read from ten o’clock and she would rather this were not interrupted.
The day had definitely warranted a rich tea biscuit as well and, as Daisy let the sugary crumbs roll around her mouth, she sighed with pleasure and waited for her emails to load. She leaned forward peering at the screen and then sat up, her eyes widening as she saw a message that could only have come from Bertie… What a stupid email address – BertieBees – but how like him; he never took anything seriously. But then she read the message. It would seem that Bertie was taking things very seriously indeed…
She read the email several more times and was about to close her laptop down when a pinging noise announced the arrival of another email. That was odd… It was a notification from her Instagram account that someone had sent her a message, but it happened so rarely that she was usually a little wary. She’d had one once that was, well… it had made her blush, that was for sure. She clicked on the email to read the message, peering at it through half-closed eyes. But it wasn’t what she was expecting at all.
NickCarr1:Hi… I happened across your account today and really love your stuff. Can you tell me where I can buy them from, I’d like to get one as a Christmas present.
She stared at the words, reading them again just in case she got them wrong. But she hadn’t. Her heart gave a little leap. Somebody loved her stuff! That’s what they had said – not liked, or thought them nice, but actuallylovedthem. And wanted to buy something too. She quickly opened her Instagram page to look at it, struggling even to remember what was on there.
There were only about ten finished designs. The rest were just photos like the one she had uploaded earlier; little snapshots of work in progress or, more usually, just images she really liked. It was something she had started up a couple of years ago, thinking that she really ought to try and make a go of things, but she hadn’t known how to go about publicising it and so had never bothered with it much after that. Now it was mostly for her own enjoyment. The designs on there weren’t even ones that she had been working on recently.
She pulled her phone towards her and opened the Instagram app, tapping to view the message.
Hi, thanks for your message,she typed in reply, her pulse racing.I make my jewellery to order, but if you tell me which design you’d like I can let you know how much it costs etc.
She looked at her message. She didn’t want to gush, but instead sound like it was the kind of thing that happened all the time. Polite but businesslike… But then again, perhaps she should make it sound more enthusiastic… Pursing her lips, she quickly sent the message knowing that she would dither all night otherwise. Then she placed her phone down again, and turned her attention back to her laptop, feeling a buzz of excitement as she closed it down for the night. She had only just shut the lid when her phone lit up. She had another message.
Thanks for replying so quickly. I’d like something for my girlfriend but although I think she’d love your style, I’m not sure any of these are quite right. I don’t suppose you could make me something different could you?
Daisy stared at the message, wondering what to make of it. It was the second time in as many days that someone had shown an interest in her jewellery. She looked up as Amos’s words from the other day came back to her.A dollop of hope and a trust in the power of possibility, that’s what he’d said. Maybe that was all she needed.
Yes, she typed back, a huge grin on her face.What did you have in mind?
7
Monday 9th December
Sixteen shopping days until Christmas
This is not a date. Just remember that, Daisy,nota date. She stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, her mouth full of foamy toothpaste. She had been telling herself the same thing all yesterday evening and ever since her alarm had gone off an hour ago. But it didn’t matter how many times she reminded herself, it still felt like one.
She remembered the day she had first been introduced to Bertie, nearly dying with embarrassment at his classic good looks. Thick dark hair swept back off his forehead, twinkling dark eyes and designer stubble. He dressed to match his image too and, back then, to her, as an even more awkward teenager, he had seemed like an Adonis; self-assured and with a confidence that she didn’t think she would ever possess. Of course, over time her opinion had changed slightly when she realised this confidence was a layer he wore like a suit of armour. And, as a string of girlfriends, never-ending parties and hangovers too numerous to mention testified, Bertie was a stereotypical playboy. He was everything she wasn’t, and though he fascinated her, she found his wild ways terrifying in equal measure. How she was going to get through a whole day with him she didn’t know.
Bertie’s email read like an advertisement for a travel company, full of affirmations that she was going to have an amazing time. But throughout the entire message, he never once mentioned where they were going, just that he would pick her up at eight and to wear comfortable shoes and warm clothes as they would be outside all day… and that in itself had caused her inordinate problems.
She had stood in front of her wardrobe last night, staring at the row of blouses and skirts which she wore for work. They were almost identical in design; the blouses white or cream and the skirts black or muted shades of blue and green. Next to them, at the far side of the wardrobe, were a few items of casual clothing: jeans, a woollen skirt, two jumpers, two sweatshirts and a checked shirt which she didn’t really like but was brushed cotton and very soft. None of these things struck her as something she should wear on a day out with someone she barely knew. After standing staring at them for quite some time, she realised that something more suitable was not about to materialise and so she pulled out a cream cable-knit jumper and the skirt. She would wear her boots, some tights and her cape. Warm, comfortable and definitely not dressed up like she was going on a date.
Daisy had arranged to meet Bertie in the market square. There was no parking at her cottage, but in any case she had no intention of letting him come to her house, and this seemed the easiest solution. It was quiet at this time of the morning and she had plenty of time to spot him as she made her way through the stalls. He was leaning up against a lamp post at the far side, and she smiled as she watched him trying to look cool when he was obviously freezing. It was a bitter morning, sunny, but with a chill wind, and his navy-blue jacket and beanie hat were doing little to combat the cold. He looked up as he saw her, levering himself away from the lamp post and pulling his hands out of his pockets.
‘Morning!’ His greeting was accompanied by a bright smile with no trace of the nervousness that she knew would be written across her own face. ‘It’s a bit nippy.’
She blew a puff of frosted breath into the air. She had walked quickly and knew her cheeks would be rosy but she had not been walking for long enough to get warm and gave an involuntary shiver.
