Page 4 of The Little Shop on Silver Linings Street
‘You have the ability, Daisy, I know you do, so all I’m saying is that, while it’s really lovely that you take so much care over our customers, the bottom line is that we need more money coming in. And I think you’re the person to make sure that happens, but you might need to be a little less…’ He searched for the right word.
‘Honest?’ she blurted out, immediately regretting it. He hadn’t been about to say that. It was what he’d meant but he’d been trying to find a word which didn’t make it sound so bad. And although he wasn’t exactly her boss, he was close enough. How could she possibly say that she disagreed with him?
He smiled. ‘I know it isn’t always easy with Kit… well, just being Kit… but we can’t keep on losing money. There might have to be some changes and Kit is, well he’s…’ Bertie trailed off, a sheepish expression on his face. He hadn’t the heart to say it, but Daisy understood him very well. Kit was family, and if anyone was going to lose their job it wouldn’t be him.
‘Yes, I understand,’ she said. ‘And thank you, I’ll do my best.’ She dipped her head. He was only trying to be kind.
‘Sorry, I’m keeping you from your lunch, Daisy,’ he added. ‘Please go ahead and eat, don’t stop on my account.’
She stared at the fridge where she had placed her lunchbox that morning. She ate the same thing every day, but even so she usually looked forward to it. Now, she really didn’t think she could stomach anything.
Bertie pulled a face. ‘Listen, I might just pop out and get a proper coffee before I make a start. I can’t drink the instant rubbish we have here. Can I get you anything? One of those nice hot chocolates with cream and marshmallows?’
Daisy shuddered at the thought. ‘No, thank you. Honestly, I’m much happier with just plain tea.’
‘Okay, well, I’ll leave you to it then. I won’t be long.’
And he left her, staring at his back as he returned to the sales floor, feeling like her world had just been cleaved in two. Whatever would she do without Buchanans?
* * *
Despite the cold, Daisy took her time walking home that evening. She paused as she reached the end of Silver Street and turned to look back at the shop that had been the biggest part of her life for so many years. It seemed like only yesterday that Bea had joked to her that it should be called Silver Linings Street, offering her the job that had been a much-needed lifeline. The thought that it might no longer be there was unbearable.
The busy rush of the market square soon receded, replaced by the stillness that hung over the water particularly in the winter, and by the time she descended onto the canal path, it was almost completely silent, and very dark.
Few people would even contemplate walking the path at night without a torch, but Daisy knew her way as much by instinct as familiarity. Her tiny two-bedroom cottage had originally belonged to her grandparents when they were the lock-keepers, and she had been a regular visitor after school and in the summer holidays when she was younger. Set a little way back from the towpath, it was well hidden, but there wasn’t an inch of the canal that Daisy hadn’t explored and, even though the job of lock-keeper had long since disappeared, she still helped boats through in the busy height of summer.
By the time she reached her front door, Daisy was already feeling calmer. The walk had been just long enough to restore some of her equilibrium and, once inside, her evening routines would serve to settle her even more. She closed the front door behind her and laid her back against it for a moment, breathing deeply, hearing the soothing tick of the mantel clock from the sitting room. Then she crossed the hallway into the kitchen to set the kettle to boil and took off her outdoor clothes to hang them by the back door. With a satisfied nod she went back to the sitting room and put a match to the fire that she had laid ready that morning. She was home.
Upstairs was one large bedroom, with a tiny one beside it, both nestled under the eaves, so that in summer Daisy could hear the rustle of leaves against her windows and, in winter, the light scurry of the mice with whom she inevitably shared her home. It was altogether the most perfect place in the universe as far as she was concerned and in it she felt safe and sheltered from the storm that was the outside world.
She slid off her work clothes – a white blouse with a Peter Pan collar, which she consigned to the laundry basket, and a long black skirt, which she hung beside two other identical ones in the wardrobe. She touched a hand to the other white shirts also hanging there, mentally counting their number while straightening them and, once satisfied that there were sufficient, she closed the wardrobe door. Her reflection stared back at her and she frowned. Not at her slender figure or pale alabaster skin, or at the soft brown ringlets of her hair which had formed as the day had gone on, but at the intricate sapphire necklace which hung from her neck.
Almost purple, it accentuated the dark violet of her eyes, but even though Daisy could appreciate its beauty, she took it off; it had no place here in her home. And if she was still wearing the necklace then she would also be wearing the matching bracelet which she had removed from Buchanans’ safe earlier that morning. She wore them so often that she sometimes did forget to take them off before leaving work, and the fact that she had done so tonight was an indication of how distracted she had been. There was an odd sock which she kept in a drawer for just such an occasion, however, and she slipped the items inside without another thought. Tomorrow she would wear them again, just for the time she was at work. Outside those hours Daisy wore no other jewellery, indeed she hardly owned any.
Dressed in her pyjamas and dressing gown she returned downstairs to feed the fire with logs. Then she made herself a cup of tea and took down a tin of tomato soup from the cupboard. A line of labels faced her; three tomato, and two mushroom soup in case she fancied a change. The shelf below held a packet of rich tea biscuits, a box of Weetabix and a jar of peanut butter, together with three tins of peaches and a pot of custard. All exactly as they should be.
It wasn’t until later that evening, once Daisy had eaten, washed up, read for exactly one hour and made a mug of warm milk, that she allowed herself to think about Bertie’s words of that afternoon.
2
Thursday 5th December
Twenty shopping days until Christmas
Daisy tried to concentrate on what Mr Bennett was saying but the young couple with matching jackets were edging ever closer to the shop door and, unless someone said something, they would slip away at any moment. Of course, it didn’t help that the ‘someone’ in question was currently idling behind the counter opposite, lost in thought as he so often was.
‘Yes, but the last necklace you looked at was a garnet, Mr Bennett, and this is a ruby, they’re really not the same thing at all…’ She dragged her attention back to her customer, and fixed a smile on her face. ‘Well yes, both are red admittedly, but rubies are special; they’re not in the same league at all, and I really don’t think your wife would get them confused.’
She shot a glance over the shoulder of her customer. Something had held the couple’s attention momentarily – now would be the perfect time to ask them if they needed help. She tried to get Kit to respond by the sheer force of her will, but nothing…Oh for goodness’ sake. Bertie’s message from yesterday couldn’t have been any clearer and he must have spoken to Kit about it too. They needed to make every sale they could, not ignore their customers.
‘You see, garnets are a much deeper colour, darker and more earthy, sometimes with distinct orange tones, whereas a fine ruby such as this one should be a vivid red…’ She held the necklace up to the bright overhead light, watching it sparkle, and angling it so that Mr Bennett could appreciate its vivacity. She turned the word over in her head, one which he had often used to describe his wife. They had recently celebrated thirty years of marriage and were both still so much in love. He was so romantic…
Daisy frowned as the shop doorbell tinkled, admitting another customer; not for the first time that afternoon, she willed Mr Bennett to hurry up and make up his mind. He would buy the necklace, he always bought whatever she recommended, but the process could not be rushed, and there was a certain reverence to his visits which occurred three times a year, and had done for as long as Daisy had worked at Buchanans. Each May, for his wife’s birthday, every September for their anniversary and at Christmastime, Mr Bennett would visit the shop and select a gift of jewellery and, while he was a very good customer, Daisy already knew all about him and his wife. The young couple, however, were still a closed book as far as their love story was concerned, its pages to be plundered.
She handed the necklace to Mr Bennett so that he could scrutinise it one more time and smiled at him expectantly. His eye returned to the midnight-blue velvet pillow that lay on the counter in front of him, where several other almost identical necklaces lay. He would pick them all up again, put them down and then repeat the process a couple more times, and all the while she would wait patiently, knowing that the young couple could slip away from her at any minute.
She glanced across at the man who had just entered the shop. He was wandering the counters, peering down at their contents with a bewildered expression on his face. He was not used to being in a jewellery shop at all, that was easy to see. Distinctly uncomfortable… Perhaps she could excuse herself from Mr Bennett for just one moment and offer her help. She took a step to one side and was about to say something in greeting when Kit looked up in surprise as if suddenly realising where he was and beat her to it.
