Page 49 of A Fresh Start at Bramble Cottage
A long hesitation. “I... don’t know where I’ll be staying yet. I’ll probably find a hotel or something.”
“Do you have enough money for that?”
“Yes — I looked up the room prices on the internet. And I’ve been saving up my babysitting money for months.”
“Okay. But do let your mum know as soon as possible. She may be a pain in the bum — mine can be at times, even now. But I’m sure she loves you.”
“Right. Yes. Um . . . thanks for the lift.”
“No problem.”
Bez clambered out of the car. It had almost stopped raining, but it was still a dismal day for running away from home. Vicky’s heart went out to her. Even with nothing seriously wrong — a comfortable home, a caring if naggy mother — a lively teenager could feel suffocated in a small village so far away from the beguiling city lights.
Before she closed the door, Vicky leaned across and delayed her. “I’ll tell you what — let me know where you’re staying too.” She reached for her bag and pulled out one of her business cards. “I’ll be coming back to London in a few days, and I’ll look you up. And this is my mum’s phone number.” She scrawled it on the back of the card. “If you have any problems, give her a ring.Anyproblems. Don’t worry — she’s really kind.”
She’d ring her as soon as she got home to give her the heads-up. She knew her mum would be more than willing to help out if she was needed.
Bez glanced at the card. “Oh... you live in London?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re an estate agent?”
“That’s right.”
“Is that a good job?”
“Well... I suppose so.” She kept her tone flat, with no spark of enthusiasm — which was easy, as she felt none. “Of course, you usually need to have a university degree, and then train with an agency for another year.”
“Oh...” Far from looking as if she was about to embark on an exciting adventure, the kid looked as if she was going to the dentist. “Well... um... goodbye.”
“Goodbye. Stay safe.”
Vicky watched as she crossed the car park and disappeared into the booking hall. In spite of this crazy plan to go to London, she did seem to have her head screwed on. She could only hope that things would work out for her. Maybe after a few days in London she would find out that it wasn’t all it was cracked up to be, and come home.
In the meantime she was going to have to let Brenda know what had happened, and her part in it. Which was going to put her in even worse grace than selling the cottage. With a small sigh she put the car in gear and drove out of the car park.
The town was quite small, but the High Street was bustling, lined with shops, with a small car park just round the corner. She picked out the charity shops as she drove past — it wouldn’t be too far to walk, even making three separate journeys. She’d get that job out of the way first.
Patting her pockets to make sure the jewellery was safe, she hefted the first suitcase out of the boot of the car and set off.
It had finally stopped raining but the pavement was wet, and heavy drops were dripping from the trees. The charity shop was warm and welcoming, a jumble of clothes racks and bric-a-brac, a couple of shelves of CDs and DVDs and several tables full of toys. The plump lady behind the counter greeted Vicky with a broad smile when she offered the suitcase.
“Ah, thank you, my luvver. I’ll put them out the back for now, till we can get them sorted. Do you want the suitcase back?”
Vicky smiled back. “No, thanks — you can keep that.”
Half an hour later the car boot was empty. Vicky glanced at her watch. She still had plenty of time on her parking ticket. How was Bez getting on? Unfortunately she didn’t have Brenda’s phone number so she couldn’t call her and let her know what was happening. She’d have to go into the shop as soon as she got back to Sturcombe — and risk getting her head blown off.
Anyway, for now it was time to deal with the jewellery. Vicky strolled back to the shops, a small fizz of excitement bubbling inside her. This could make a lot of difference to the next few months.
There were two jewellers on the High Street. One was a national chain, selling all modern stuff. The other was more interesting — a small, personal-looking shop with a window full of mixed modern and vintage pieces. Above the window it bore the legendDigby’s Jewellers. That was the obvious one to choose.
The bell above the door jingled as she opened it. Inside, the shop was narrow and dimly lit, the walls lined with glass cases displaying more jewellery, clocks, silver cups and some items of crystal glassware.
An elderly man with grey hair and a pair of rimless glasses perched on his nose came through a bead curtain from the back room and greeted her with a smile. “Hello, my dear. What can I do for you?”
“I have some jewellery to sell. I inherited it from my aunt.” She pulled the bag from her pocket. “I’ve brought a copy of her will to show you that I really own it.”
