Page 3 of Jingle Bells in June
‘Great. I’ll have all four, please.’ He hands her a fewother items he’s picked up, including the card he was taking from the carouselwhen we had our unfortunate accident.
‘Certainly, sir.’ Hannah’s eyes twinkle as she wraps themall up and places everything carefully in a sturdy brown paper bag withhandles. ‘That has to be the quickest sale in the shop’s history. From deliveryof goods to satisfied customer in roughly four minutes.’
‘Excellent.’ Mystery Man takes the bag with a grin, while Istand there feeling like a prize idiot.
I should probably be leaping up and down at my very firstgift shop sale.
But instead, I just feel awkward.
He only bought the mugs because he felt bad about thesmashed ones. He probably wouldn’t even have given them a second glanceotherwise.
This is so embarrassing!
Suddenly desperate to get out of there, I shoot him a stiffsmile and turn to Hannah. ‘I’ll be back first thing tomorrow morning with somereplacement mugs.’
‘Oh, we’re closed on Sundays. Can you make it Mondayinstead?’
‘Yes, of course. No problem.’
As I hurry for the door, just wanting to escape thosepiercing blue eyes of his, Hannah calls, ‘Bring a dozen on Monday if you havethem, Mackenzie. I think they’re going to be popular.’
‘Okay.’ I emerge onto the street, pulling the door behind mewith relief. A cold February wind wafts my burning cheeks as I walk back to mycar.
Phew.
Was it hot in there?
Or was it just me?
*****
Back at the car, I retrieve the bunch of flowers from thepassenger seat before locking it again. And as I walk swiftly down the lanetowards the church, I can’t resist a quick look back at the gift shop, just intime to see Mystery Man leaving with his brown paper bag.
He pauses on the pavement, his eyes sweeping the square fora moment before alighting on a certain spot. Gulping, I turn back, quickeningmy pace to ‘very brisk’. Was it my imagination, or did those blue eyes reallyland on me?
A few paces on, I glance back again, but this time, MysteryMan is nowhere in sight. Panting a little and all of a fluster, I slow down,wondering what the hell is the matter with me.
It must be the stress and excitement of delivering the mugsto Hannah. I shouldn’t have had that double espresso before I left home!
Entering the churchyard through the pretty lych gate, Ifollow my well-trodden path to visit Maggie. I try to come every Saturday. Onthe journey over here, I always feel a little nervous, and yet the minute Iwalk through the churchyard gate, a calmness settles over me, making me feelglad I came.
The little patch of snowdrops in the grass near theheadstone are still there, nodding in the brisk wind. But the lilies I broughtlast week have wilted, so I quickly remove them and arrange the fresh flowersin the vase, checking to make sure there’s enough water. Then I drop to myknees on the grass.
‘There you go, Maggie. Nice and tidy again,’ I murmur.‘They’re Calla lilies today. Jenny in the shop does a brilliant job. You’dreally like her.’
I sit back on my heels and close my eyes, listening to therustle and sway of the trees.
Does it seem weird to onlookers, watching me having thisone-sided conversation at Maggie’s graveside? Maybe not. A churchyard is theone place where it’s very much okay to talk to someone you’ve lost. The peoplewho’ve gone from your life...
I think for a moment of the reason I come here every week toplace flowers on Maggie Palmer’s grave. I try not to examine my motives too closely.All I know is, it feels right.
‘Okay. I’d better be off.’ I get to my feet. ‘I had asmashing time delivering those mugs I was telling you about. Quite literally.So I need to get back and make sure I’ve got some replacements for Hannah.’ Ipause, a sudden lump in my throat as I lean down to brush away a leaf from thetop of the small, gleaming black headstone. ‘Until next time, Maggie.’
I walk quickly away, back to the car.
When I first visited, I worried that Maggie might have othervisitors on a Saturday, which could mean I’d have to answer some awkwardquestions. But so far, there’s been no one, so I’ve relaxed a little. But it’salways an anxious time, being back in Torminster, where once upon a time I wasso happy...
CHAPTERTHREE
