Page 10 of The Happy Hour
‘Can’t Malik do it?’
‘I’m at work when the market’s open,’ he puffed. ‘Lola needs you, Jess.’
‘I absolutely do,’ Lola agreed.
Jess made a grunt of protest. Introducing Lola to her market colleagues was one thing – one morning, over and done with. Doing the filming was a whole other level of involvement. ‘You do not need me.’
‘I’m doing this properly,’ Lola told her. ‘I’ve got release forms and everything, and I really want you to be part of it. You and me against the world, right?’
Jess buried her head in a cushion and groaned. Because that was it, wasn’t it? She kept her social circle purposely small, and Lola was the most important part of it. She would do anything for the blonde, bold, slightly scatty woman sitting next to her on the sofa. The smile on Lola’s face said she knew it.
‘I’ll think about it.’ Jess sipped her tea. ‘But I can’t change anyone’s minds if they don’t want to be filmed, and I can’t suddenly become Steven Spielberg.’
Lola squealed and wrapped her in a hug. ‘Thank you so much. This is going to besoawesome!’
‘Is it, though?’ Jess muttered, but she hugged her friend back anyway. She hoped managing Lola’s expectations as well as her colleagues’ wouldn’t be too much of a juggle.
‘A thousand steps left,’ Malik panted. ‘Join me, ladies!’
Lola bounced up immediately, but Jess stayed put. It was one more thing she didn’t need to be involved in. She didn’t evenhavea Fitbit.
Then, before she could sink fully into the sofa cushions, Lola took herWorld’s BestFriendmug out of her hand and put it on a side table, then pulled her up. Soon, Jess was jumping about on the old beige carpet to the sound of gunfire and the cries of animated people falling down dead, and she was laughing and sweaty and wondering if, actually, Lola and Malik knew a few things about happiness that she didn’t.
Chapter Four
On Monday morning, Jess stood behind the counter in No Vase Like Home, in a staring contest with one of the hares, and thought about Ash. His eyes were grey, with a slight shift towards green, and for most of the time they were together his gaze was all-consuming, as if he could see past the creases on her forehead to the thoughts tumbling inside. It had been exhilarating and excruciating, but she also couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed so much. Her cheeks still ached with it. Wasn’t it worth seeing him again, just for that?
Monday was duller, both in terms of the weather and the market’s atmosphere, and while the chance to replay the pertinent bits of the previous day was welcome, Jess also felt more exposed. She could lose herself in a crowd, and everyone else would lose her too. When visitors were sparse, it was as if all the people who passed by the window of the shop turned to look at her, assessing and wondering about the woman behind the counter.
‘That Braden lad isn’t too bad under the surface,’ Wendy said, putting the hare Jess was staring at back amongst its friends.
‘I expect you and Roger showed him what’s what,’ Jess replied. ‘Is he ready to put his criminal past behind him and be an upstanding, moral citizen?’
Wendy leaned her elbows on the counter and gave Jess an amused side-eye. ‘We’re not that good. But he apologised for stealing the watch, didn’t try to make up an excuse, and he’s coming here on Wednesday to help tidy the storeroom.’
‘You’reemployinghim?’
‘Very much on a trial basis,’ Wendy said. ‘He knows I run a tight ship, and that if there’s even the suggestion of something going missing, then Roger’s original threat of calling the police comes back into play.’
‘I’m sorry I’ll miss it,’ Jess said.
She had Tuesdays and Wednesdays off, because they were the quietest days at the market. It made sense for Wendy to give Braden a trial then – if at all. She wasn’t sure she’d have been as charitable if she owned the shop. Her eyes roamed the clocks and ornaments, the selection of cushions: silky and fluffy, some pastel and soft, others with bold prints or clashing colourways. There was a tangle of sparkly rainbow twigs that Wendy had ordered by accident in a tall vase by the door. Nobody had bought them yet, much to Wendy’s irritated acceptance and Jess’s secret surprise. This was one of the places she felt comfortable in – a space she knew off by heart and loved like a second home.
‘I hope he appreciates what you’re doing for him,’ she said.
‘I’m sure he will eventually,’ Wendy replied. ‘If he’s a hard worker, I might ask him to come in while you’re here. I know you’re secretly itching for a new project.’
Jess frowned. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘It’s been ages since you helped Susie redesign her stall, and Jasmine said the mice haven’t been back in Art Everywhere since you spent that afternoon chasing them round with bits of cheese and humane traps.’
‘They weren’t projects.’She tried not to sound affronted. ‘They were just things that needed doing, and because you’re so generous with my time, I was the one that did them.’
Wendy raised an eyebrow. ‘If you say so. Anyway, I need sustenance to think, so I’m getting a coffee from Kirsty. Want anything?’
‘Has she got her mini-muffins today?’ Jess asked, her tastebuds coming to life at the thought.
Kirsty Connor was a few years older than Jess, and her Moreish Muffins stand was at the front end of the market, in one of two food-focused areas that ensured Jess was never far from the temptation of something delicious. Moreish was an understatement for the treats Kirsty sold: a standard blueberry muffin wouldn’t even get a look-in. Hers were filled with buttercream or ganache in decadent or unusual flavours, gooey toffee sauce or, if you fancied something savoury, ham and melted cheese. Recently, she had been doing selection boxes of mini-muffins, where you could satisfy all your taste cravings in perfect, pocket-sized morsels.
