Page 12 of The Happy Hour
‘You’re very tolerant with Felicity,’ Wendy said.
Jess smiled around her mouthful. ‘You’re very keen to give me extra jobs to do.’
Wendy ignored her comment. ‘You didn’t want her to have a hare.’
‘I don’t wantanyoneto have a hare. They creep me out.’
‘They’re gorgeous.’
‘They’re sinister, and they have impure agendas.’
‘They’re inanimate objects.’
‘That’s what theywantyou to think.’ Jess folded her arms, her back to the items in question. Her neck was prickling, as if they were all watching her, and she wondered if she was taking this flight of fancy too far.
‘You have too much time on your hands,’ Wendy said. ‘That’s why I have to give you extra jobs. And you should make yesterday a habit – take a proper lunch hour again today, and go and have a walk in the sunshine.’
Jess dropped her eyes to the counter. ‘I would like to take one again next Sunday, if that’s OK?’
‘Of course!’ Wendy said, laughing. ‘You’re supposed to have oneeveryday.’ She left a tiny pause, then asked, ‘Anything fun planned?’
Her attempt at casual was piteous, and Jess would have found it amusing if her own attempt wasn’t ten times worse. ‘Just a thing I... have to see to.’ She could feel heat blooming across her cheeks.
‘Well,’ Wendy said, her takeaway cup raised to her lips, ‘enjoy your thing. And if you happen to take a bit longer than an hour, please don’t worry. It’s not as if you haven’t got a whole lot of time in the bank.’
‘Thanks.’ Jess couldn’t work out whose gaze she was least enjoying: Wendy’s, or the creepy inanimate hares’. She definitelyneeded to take more advantage of her lunch hours away from the shop.
Chapter Five
Most twenty-seven-year-olds who lived five minutes away from the centre of Greenwich, and a short boat or train ride from the bright lights of Central London, would not be spending Saturday nights in their bedrooms unless they had company.
But then, most people who wanted a motivational poster on the wall above their desk, or pinned to their fridge, would make one using a free graphics app on their phone. Because some peopledidn’tdo that, Jess was spending her Saturday night alone, painstakingly changing font sizes on the design she was creating on her laptop while a Morgan Wade album played quietly in the background. She had built up a small income stream from her Etsy shop and, even though it wasn’t anywhere near enough to live on, it gave her a sense of purpose outside No Vase Like Home.
She took photos of the soft green corners of Greenwich Park, or a blue sky dotted with clouds, or the river on its calmest, silveriest days, then she thought up a slogan, made sure the fonts and colours were aesthetically pleasing and, when someone ordered one, slid a piece of thick card into her printer and hit print. A quick trim, then she sent it out in a ‘do not bend’ envelope along with a handwritten note.
When she first came up with the idea for her prints – which was when Terence had said to her, ‘Life gives you lemons, and do you know what? I fucking hate lemonade,’ – she had wondered whether to create two separate shops: genuine motivation for people who were inspired by a positive slogan, and the more Terence-like sayings for those who had cynicism running through them like the place name on a stick of rock.
She had found, though, that a lot of her customers wanted both: that everyone was bitterandhopeful, in different amounts.
Tonight she was working on two side by side.A chance encounter witha stranger could change your life: make room for theunexpected,alongsideEye contact with a handsome stranger meanstrue love, or that his accomplice is about to stealyour phone.They needed honing, but sometimes it was easier to let the words shuffle into place in her mind while she focused on making them look pretty.
She loved the idea that little pieces of her creativity were scattered across the country, cheering up people’s houses and making them laugh. Home decor was such a personal thing, and Jess felt strongly that people should be able to style their homes how they wanted – even though she had tried to persuade Felicity not to buy a hare earlier in the week.
Jess’s own personal space consisted of the four walls she was in right now, and it was always tidy, with decorative items from No Vase Like Home that she’d bought with her discount: a large J with built-in LED spotlights on the shelf in front of her favourite paperbacks; a small stone with ears and the suggestion of a face, unidentifiable as any creature beyond a pet rock; a mother-of-pearl photo frame, the rainbow sheen glinting under her fairy lights, with a photo of her and Lola, arms outstretched, on a pebble beach. She liked bright colours against neutral backgrounds, and had created a space that was cheerful but soft, too.
It had been a long time since anyone other than Lola or Terence had been in here. Her last, short-lived boyfriend Warren had come over a few times, though, in hindsight, their relationship had never really got off the starting blocks. He certainly hadn’t been around long enough to influence how her room looked.
She was close to finalising her new designs when there was a knock on the door. She clenched her teeth and called, ‘Yeah?’
‘I’m ordering from Golden Palace,’ Terence said through the door. ‘Want anything?’
Jess had been so busy at the market today – Saturdays were always frenetic – that she couldn’t remember what she’d eaten. She opened the door to find her landlord and flatmate, his reddish-brown hair in its usual dishevelled state, wearing jeans and a loose blue T-shirt, leaning against the wall.
‘I’d love a beef chow mein,’ she said. ‘And... do they do dim sum?’
‘I’ve got the menu open on my iPad.’ Terence went back to the living room, and Jess followed. ‘Working on your Etsy stuff?’ The wall-mounted television was showing some spangly Saturday night show with the sound off, which enhanced its inanity.
‘I’ve got a few orders to fulfil, and I’m adding some new designs,’ Jess said, as he handed her the iPad.
