by Emma Davies
‘Yes, with his partner, Kit. Honestly, Amos is old enough, well not quite old enough, to be my—’ She stopped, she didn’t want to use the word dad… ‘Well, he’s considerably older than me anyway, and spoken for. I met him yesterday, that’s all, on a course. A coincidence admittedly, but nothing more than that.’
‘Daisy, I’m just teasing…’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘Although I would like to know what he meant when he said that you were going to be making a piece of jewellery? Because as far as I’m aware, you just sell the stuff…’
She opened her mouth to protest but nothing came out. What would she say? Kit would see through her in a moment if she attempted to lie. Instead she tried to shrug it off.
‘I think calling it jewellery is rather overegging the pudding,’ she said. ‘I make stuff out of clay, it’s little more than a hobby and a bit of fun, that’s all. You couldn’t even begin to compare it with proper jewellery.’
‘I see…’ He frowned. ‘But then how did Amos get to hear about it?’
She took a swallow of her tea while she thought, fast. ‘I was wearing a string of beads on the course yesterday which Amos saw, well, he and Grace both did.’ She was thinking on her feet, but it sounded plausible. At least she thought it did. ‘Grace complimented me on them and so, later on, when she wasn’t around, Amos asked me if I could make her some as a Christmas present.’
‘I can’t imagine you wearing beads,’ he said, his head cocked to one side as he looked her up and down.
Daisy kept the smile glued on her face despite her rising anxiety. ‘I do have a life outside of the shop, you know. And I wear all sorts of things, most of them very different from what I wear here. I’m sure you do the same.’
Kit looked down at his jeans and blue linen shirt. ‘Nah, this is pretty much it actually. Not always a blue shirt admittedly but, well, you get the idea.’ He scrutinised her for a few long seconds. ‘Ah well, that explains it then.’ He took a sip of his tea. ‘Right, so what do you want to do first?’ he added, changing the subject.
Daisy heaved a sigh of relief and looked around her. ‘Let’s get everything in the safe. I polish better when the counters are empty.’
She began to unlock the cabinets, Kit following suit on the other side of the room. It was a laborious process but they had done it so many times that it had a rhythm all of its own and she was grateful that it meant neither of them had to say a word.
‘Bit weird though, don’t you think?’ asked Kit, a minute later.
‘What is?’ asked Daisy as she stood by the safe waiting for Kit to hand her another selection of jewellery.
‘Amos…’ Kit paused for a moment, looking up at her, a puzzled expression on his face. ‘Or maybe, not weird as such, I dunno, but very indecisive at least.’
‘Sorry, Kit, I’m still not following you.’
‘Well, Amos comes in here, a day or so ago, has a quick look around and when he can’t find what he’s looking for, tries to explain what he wants but comes up with the word ethereal to describe it.’
‘Yes, but what’s odd about that? A lot of people have something in mind but can’t quite explain what they’re looking for.’
Kit shook his head. ‘No, that’s not the bit that’s odd… It’s just that, well, no offence, Daisy, I’m sure your jewellery is lovely, but clay beads aren’t exactly ethereal, are they?’
She turned back to place a necklace into the safe, her cheeks burning. She was certain they were bright red.
‘No, I guess not…’ Aim for casual, she told herself, nonchalant. ‘Maybe he changed his mind about that. But then Grace, that’s his partner, loves flowers and wears everything in bright clashing colours, so perhaps he thought that my beads were a better fit after all.’ Dear God, never let them meet. Or never let him meet Grace and Flora together. ‘And, at the end of the day, he’s paying me for the present, so what do I care?’
‘Ah, materialism at its finest,’ replied Kit, and she could hear the grin in his voice.
She gritted her teeth. She wasn’t sure what was worse – being caught out in a lie or being thought of as something she abhorred. It was intensely annoying, but she couldn’t argue; given what she’d just said, it was a valid response. And if Kit carried on making the kind of observations he seemed to be rather good at, she’d end up telling him everything, and that couldn’t happen under any circumstances. She’d never be able to look any of them in the eye again.
‘Yes, but you said it, Kit, they’re clay beads. It’s costing Amos a tenner, that’s all. I don’t think that’s going to put me into the high earners’ tax bracket, do you? Blimey, it’s probably not even enough to buy your Christmas present with.’
‘You’ve never bought me a Christmas present before…’
It was true, she hadn’t. She didn’t know what had made her say it.
She snatched the ring box from out of his hand. ‘Yes, but this could well be our last Christmas here, Kit, both of us. I thought I might as well push the boat out.’
There was a look on his face that she found hard to fathom.
‘Let’s get on,’ he said quietly. ‘I’d like to get home.’
It was a relief for Daisy to be back in her little cottage once again, but even the routines which usually soothed and calmed her did little to quell the rushing thoughts in her head. Uppermost of these was the curious way Kit had behaved today. It was partly to be expected of course – Bea’s announcement had thrown them all – but there was some change in Kit that she couldn’t put her finger on. And then of course he had come so close to finding out her secret, and it didn’t matter how many times she tried to replay their conversation in her head, she couldn’t be certain that she had got away with it.
She broke off another piece of bread and dipped it in her soup. Before she had left for the evening, Kit had reminded her to expect an email from Bertie advising her of the details of their day out. Earlier that morning Bertie had gleefully pulled out the longest straw from the bunch of three that she held out for them, and wasted no time in fixing up a day to take her out. The forecast was clear and cold for most of the week and, as Monday was scheduled as her next day off, they had settled on that. Friday would be Lawrence’s turn, followed by Kit the Monday after.
She would be utterly relieved when the whole thing was over. Apart from the hideous awkwardness of it all, the shop was open seven days a week during the whole of December and it was a busy time of year. She would effectively be losing her days off for nearly two weeks, or at least the opportunity to do what she wished on them.
It was already seven o’clock and Daisy was itching to carry on with the embellishments for her Christmas wreath, but she chased the remnants of her supper around the bowl with a spoon before carrying it back into the kitchen and running water into the sink until it was scalding. She added a generous squirt of washing-up liquid and, pulling on her bright-pink plastic gloves, watched the bubbles rise up until just past the halfway mark. She cut the water off and carefully washed her side plate, mug, spoon and finally the bowl before drying them and returning them to their respective cupboards and drawers. It took ten more minutes to check that the kitchen was as it should be and, after a detour to check again that she did indeed have a clean blouse for the morning, she was finally able to settle herself at the small table to one end of her sitting room.
The pieces of clay she had fired the night before had been polished as soon as she got home, and she picked up a couple of the leaves to inspect them further. They had turned out even better than she hoped. She arranged them on her workspace with a little greenery for contrast and took a couple of photos. Uploading them to her Instagram account only took a moment and, after that, she was free to carry on working on the wreath.
It was half past nine when, with a satisfied nod, she finally stopped and got up to make herself a mug of warm milk. She would check her emails as she drank it, hoping that Bertie had already sent his message and wasn’t going to leave it any later. Not only
was she intensely curious and more than a little anxious about the kind of day he had planned for them, but her normal routine was to read from ten o’clock and she would rather this were not interrupted.
The day had definitely warranted a rich tea biscuit as well and, as Daisy let the sugary crumbs roll around her mouth, she sighed with pleasure and waited for her emails to load. She leaned forward peering at the screen and then sat up, her eyes widening as she saw a message that could only have come from Bertie… What a stupid email address – BertieBees – but how like him; he never took anything seriously. But then she read the message. It would seem that Bertie was taking things very seriously indeed…
She read the email several more times and was about to close her laptop down when a pinging noise announced the arrival of another email. That was odd… It was a notification from her Instagram account that someone had sent her a message, but it happened so rarely that she was usually a little wary. She’d had one once that was, well… it had made her blush, that was for sure. She clicked on the email to read the message, peering at it through half-closed eyes. But it wasn’t what she was expecting at all.
NickCarr1: Hi… I happened across your account today and really love your stuff. Can you tell me where I can buy them from, I’d like to get one as a Christmas present.
She stared at the words, reading them again just in case she got them wrong. But she hadn’t. Her heart gave a little leap. Somebody loved her stuff! That’s what they had said – not liked, or thought them nice, but actually loved them. And wanted to buy something too. She quickly opened her Instagram page to look at it, struggling even to remember what was on there.
There were only about ten finished designs. The rest were just photos like the one she had uploaded earlier; little snapshots of work in progress or, more usually, just images she really liked. It was something she had started up a couple of years ago, thinking that she really ought to try and make a go of things, but she hadn’t known how to go about publicising it and so had never bothered with it much after that. Now it was mostly for her own enjoyment. The designs on there weren’t even ones that she had been working on recently.
She pulled her phone towards her and opened the Instagram app, tapping to view the message.
Hi, thanks for your message, she typed in reply, her pulse racing. I make my jewellery to order, but if you tell me which design you’d like I can let you know how much it costs etc.
She looked at her message. She didn’t want to gush, but instead sound like it was the kind of thing that happened all the time. Polite but businesslike… But then again, perhaps she should make it sound more enthusiastic… Pursing her lips, she quickly sent the message knowing that she would dither all night otherwise. Then she placed her phone down again, and turned her attention back to her laptop, feeling a buzz of excitement as she closed it down for the night. She had only just shut the lid when her phone lit up. She had another message.
Thanks for replying so quickly. I’d like something for my girlfriend but although I think she’d love your style, I’m not sure any of these are quite right. I don’t suppose you could make me something different could you?
Daisy stared at the message, wondering what to make of it. It was the second time in as many days that someone had shown an interest in her jewellery. She looked up as Amos’s words from the other day came back to her. A dollop of hope and a trust in the power of possibility, that’s what he’d said. Maybe that was all she needed.
Yes, she typed back, a huge grin on her face. What did you have in mind?
7
Monday 9th December
Sixteen shopping days until Christmas
This is not a date. Just remember that, Daisy, not a date. She stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, her mouth full of foamy toothpaste. She had been telling herself the same thing all yesterday evening and ever since her alarm had gone off an hour ago. But it didn’t matter how many times she reminded herself, it still felt like one.
She remembered the day she had first been introduced to Bertie, nearly dying with embarrassment at his classic good looks. Thick dark hair swept back off his forehead, twinkling dark eyes and designer stubble. He dressed to match his image too and, back then, to her, as an even more awkward teenager, he had seemed like an Adonis; self-assured and with a confidence that she didn’t think she would ever possess. Of course, over time her opinion had changed slightly when she realised this confidence was a layer he wore like a suit of armour. And, as a string of girlfriends, never-ending parties and hangovers too numerous to mention testified, Bertie was a stereotypical playboy. He was everything she wasn’t, and though he fascinated her, she found his wild ways terrifying in equal measure. How she was going to get through a whole day with him she didn’t know.
Bertie’s email read like an advertisement for a travel company, full of affirmations that she was going to have an amazing time. But throughout the entire message, he never once mentioned where they were going, just that he would pick her up at eight and to wear comfortable shoes and warm clothes as they would be outside all day… and that in itself had caused her inordinate problems.
She had stood in front of her wardrobe last night, staring at the row of blouses and skirts which she wore for work. They were almost identical in design; the blouses white or cream and the skirts black or muted shades of blue and green. Next to them, at the far side of the wardrobe, were a few items of casual clothing: jeans, a woollen skirt, two jumpers, two sweatshirts and a checked shirt which she didn’t really like but was brushed cotton and very soft. None of these things struck her as something she should wear on a day out with someone she barely knew. After standing staring at them for quite some time, she realised that something more suitable was not about to materialise and so she pulled out a cream cable-knit jumper and the skirt. She would wear her boots, some tights and her cape. Warm, comfortable and definitely not dressed up like she was going on a date.
Daisy had arranged to meet Bertie in the market square. There was no parking at her cottage, but in any case she had no intention of letting him come to her house, and this seemed the easiest solution. It was quiet at this time of the morning and she had plenty of time to spot him as she made her way through the stalls. He was leaning up against a lamp post at the far side, and she smiled as she watched him trying to look cool when he was obviously freezing. It was a bitter morning, sunny, but with a chill wind, and his navy-blue jacket and beanie hat were doing little to combat the cold. He looked up as he saw her, levering himself away from the lamp post and pulling his hands out of his pockets.
‘Morning!’ His greeting was accompanied by a bright smile with no trace of the nervousness that she knew would be written across her own face. ‘It’s a bit nippy.’
She blew a puff of frosted breath into the air. She had walked quickly and knew her cheeks would be rosy but she had not been walking for long enough to get warm and gave an involuntary shiver.
He touched her arm. ‘Come on, the car’s warm at least.’
She nodded, trying to relax. ‘Where are we going?’ she asked, but he just smiled.
‘You’ll see.’
Infuriating.
She followed his quick steps a short distance to where a sleek sports car was parked by the side of the road. She had no idea what model it was, but it seemed barely big enough to contain both of them. Bertie was well over six foot and she had a sudden image of him trying to fold his long legs up sufficiently to enable him to climb inside, rather like a stick insect. It was exactly the sort of car she had imagined he would drive and she quickly saw how at home in it he looked. The dark-blue interior matched his clothes and he sank into the seat just as she had, legs outstretched. By the time she had arranged herself he had slipped on a pair of sunglasses and his hands held the steering wheel lightly. With a grin, he pressed a button and a throaty roar filled the cabin.
‘Are you ready?’ he asked.
She nodded, even though she wasn’t at all sure wha
t for.
He drove quickly, the car hugging the road, and within minutes they were turning onto the main road that led away from the town. She had thought they were going quite fast enough, but Bertie put his foot down and she felt the power surging beneath the car. It was utterly terrifying, but Bertie seemed unconcerned. He was clearly used to driving that way.
They had only gone a short distance, however, before Bertie suddenly eased back on the throttle, glancing at her several times in quick succession.
‘Oh God, I’m sorry, Daisy,’ he said. ‘I forget how fast I drive sometimes. You look terrified.’
‘Do I?’
‘You’re probably nervous as hell too. I know I am.’
She looked at him. ‘You don’t seem as if you are.’
He grinned. ‘Perhaps I hide it better than you. And, right now, I’m in my comfort zone, you’re not.’
‘No, that’s very true. And actually most things are – outside of my comfort zone, that is.’
‘In which case you are being extraordinarily generous by coming out with me today.’
She gave him a sideways look. ‘Do I have much choice?’
‘No… I guess not.’
His voice was laden with apology, which was very sweet of him, but the more she thought about this day and what it meant, it really wasn’t about her.
‘I’m sorry, Bertie, this must be awful for you. Not this…’ She gestured at the interior of the car. ‘Although perhaps we shouldn’t pass judgement on the day just yet… But I meant the thing with Buchanans. It’s awful for all of you. What do you think you’ll do, if you don’t get the business, I mean? Or even if you do get it…’
‘That’s rather a lot of questions.’ There was a pause as he concentrated on the road ahead of him. ‘And the truth is that I’m trying not to think about it. Not a particularly smart move under the circumstances, but there you go, that’s me all over. I’m not a businessman, I can only just about manage to do the accounts.’