The Beachside Sweetshop

by Karen Clarke

  Harry was by her side, hands extended, as if worried Beth might drop the baby.

  ‘Whatever’s happened here today, we all love Marnie, and know that she’s a good person,’ she said in her warm, clear voice. ‘And as long as we all eat our veggies and clean our teeth, I think it’s OK to eat sweets now and then.’ Her beatific smile made me wonder if there were some labour drugs still in her system. ‘I’ve sampled Marnie’s handmade sweets, and lived to tell the tale.’

  ‘Copy that,’ said Harry, eyes still pinned on his daughter. I doubted he’d notice if a spaceship landed, never mind that Mum was trying to hide behind me.

  ‘You can always rely on Beth to cut through the bull-crap,’ Celia said approvingly.

  ‘Thank you,’ I managed in a wobbly voice, stealing a glimpse of Bunty that took my breath away as Beth sailed past.

  ‘I’ll go and put the kettle on,’ she said.

  ‘None of that changes what nearly happened here,’ Chris Weatherby butted in, just as I’d sensed a slight warming from the crowd. ‘People were ill.’

  ‘I liked the lady’s sweets and I didn’t vomit,’ said an educated voice. ‘I thought the Turkish delight was equal to, if not better, than that in Istanbul, and I should know because I’ve tried it.’

  It was the young violin prodigy, looking super-smart in tailored trousers and an open-necked shirt.

  His mum squeezed his shoulders. ‘I wasn’t sick either,’ she said shyly. ‘I loved the coconut ice.’

  ‘Me too,’ said someone else.

  ‘And it wasn’t the sweets that made me sick.’ We turned to look at the vomiting woman who was on her feet now, looking bashful. ‘I didn’t want to tell anyone until I was past three months, but I’m actually pregnant!’

  A cheer went up, and she clapped her hands to her doughy cheeks. ‘It all seems so real now!’

  ‘Still a near death with the peanut allergy,’ intoned Chris, like the Grim Reaper.

  ‘Look,’ Celia interjected. ‘He didn’t read a clearly written label. Hardly my granddaughter’s fault,’ she said. ‘All’s well that ends well.’

  ‘And I’m really very sorry,’ I added.

  Isabel had busied herself with the straps on her sandal, and Sandi appeared to be arguing loudly with Kyle.

  ‘We’re going to have to fucking well scrap everything we’ve filmed,’ she said viciously, but no one was listening as their attention had been diverted.

  Following the source of their interest I noticed a black Mercedes with tinted windows purring to a standstill.

  ‘No one’s taking a blind bit of notice of parking regulations,’ Chris Weatherby muttered darkly. ‘There’s an article in there somewhere.’

  As the side door slid open, I glimpsed a man in big sunglasses in the front passenger seat, next to a uniformed driver, and craned my neck along with everyone else for a closer look, but he ducked his head.

  A tiny, crop-haired woman in jeans and a stripy shirt stepped onto the pavement and closed the door. ‘Marnie Appleton?’ she said, consulting a clipboard through black-rimmed glasses.

  ‘Is she from social services?’ asked Mum, sucking her finger. She’d trapped it, trying to pick up the trestle table.

  ‘I doubt it.’ Celia snorted. ‘Not unless they’ve smartened up a bit.’

  ‘Could be environmental health,’ I said with a sinking feeling.

  ‘Travelling in threes?’

  ‘Who else could it be?’ I stuck my hand up. ‘I’m Marnie Appleton.’

  ‘Where are the handmade sweets?’

  ‘This way,’ I said, leading the woman inside the shop with the air of someone about to face a firing squad.

  ‘But the council wouldn’t send their staff in fancy cars,’ I heard Mum say.

  Beth was in the kitchen, breast-feeding Bunty while Harry looked on, sipping a mug of coffee.

  ‘They did a great job with the shop,’ he said. He didn’t look at me, but his voice wasn’t unfriendly. ‘Toby and Em.’

  ‘They did,’ I murmured, leaning past him to open the fridge.

  ‘I’ll take whatever you have left,’ said the woman, scribbling something on her clipboard.

  Beth glanced up. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘I’ll tell you later,’ I said, close to tears as it hit me the shop was probably about to be closed down.

  ‘Is that everything?’ The woman eyed the foil trays, and looked like she was attempting to frown.

  ‘That’s all that’s left,’ I said dully. ‘Shall I put them in a carrier bag?’

  ‘Please,’ she said, looking at her clipboard again. ‘And do you have any Acid Drops?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Acid Drops.’

  ‘Er, I think so.’

  ‘Excellent!’ Her elfin face broke into a smile. ‘I’ll take the lot.’

  Backing out of the kitchen, I exchanged puzzled looks with Beth.

  ‘Agnieszka, could you give this lady all the Acid Drops we have, please?’ I said. ‘And a carrier bag.’

  ‘Of course.’ She smoothed her apron, as if drawing attention to how smart it looked, then shared the jar of sweets between two paper bags. ‘That will be ten pounds thirty please.’

  ‘Oh, we’re not charging her,’ I said quickly.

  ‘I insist,’ said the woman, handing over a fifty-pound note. ‘Keep the change,’ she added with a breezy smile.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ I said. It was like a bribe, but in reverse. ‘Please, just take them.’

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t do that.’

  Agnieszka looked at the note with puzzled eyes, as if it was Monopoly money. I had to admit it had been a while since I’d seen a fifty-pound note, and wondered if this could possibly be another of Isabel’s tricks.

  ‘Lovely to meet you, Marnie.’ The woman flashed another smile, and swept out to the waiting car.

  I trotted after her, and rested my hand on the door before she could close it. ‘Will you call me to let me know what happens next?’

  Once again, she attempted to pull her eyebrows together, and I realised she must have had Botox. ‘I don’t think so,’ she said politely.

  ‘But surely I need to have something in writing?’ I moved my hand as the door slid shut, but not before the man in the front seat removed his shades and turned to face me, and I caught a flash of familiar blue eyes.

  Stepping back as it glided away, I tuned into the excited buzz around me.

  ‘That was definitely Donal Kerrigan in the front!’

  ‘I thought I recognised him before, when the woman got out!’

  ‘Oh my god, I love him so much!’

  ‘Did you see him on Morning, Sunshine!? Didn’t he mention the sweet shop?’

  OH. MY. GOD.

  ‘Donal Kerrigan was in that car!’ I turned to Mum, who jumped and looked at Celia.

  ‘Donal who?’ they said.

  And I’d thought I was out of touch with modern culture.

  Everything fell into place. The Acid Drops. Of course! He’d said on the show how much he loved them.

  ‘It was only Donal bloody Kerrigan, buying my sweets!’ I cried as Beth emerged, rushing over to sneak a better look at Bunty.

  ‘Oh my days!’ she squealed, uncharacteristically. ‘I love that man!’

  Word had got round, and the fizz of chatter and hormonal female laughter was deafening.

  ‘I voted for him as my weird crush in heat magazine.’

  ‘My girlfriend thinks he’s lush, can’t see it myself.’

  ‘Wish I’d asked for a bloody selfie.’

  ‘Wish I’d got in the bloody limo, he wouldn’t know what had hit him!’

  ‘I can’t believe I missed seeing Donal Kerrigan.’ Sandi wasn’t even bothering to hide how hacked off she was. Even her shiny hair was drooping, and her eyeliner had smudged. ‘Why the fuck didn’t you tell me it was him?’ She gave Kyle a withering stare. ‘You know how much I’d love to work on Morning Sunshine! you complete and utter moron.’<
br />
  ‘Fuck you,’ said Kyle, striding to the TV van and bundling his camera equipment inside. ‘You can make your own way back to the studio.’

  ‘Kyle no, wait! I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ she said, scuttling after him. ‘You know how much I love you.’

  He let her clamber into the passenger seat before taking off, scattering a clutch of seagulls tearing apart a bin bag in the road.

  ‘Donal Kerrigan’s not all that,’ said Isabel sulkily, holding her placard like a shield. ‘He was actually quite rude to me.’

  ‘Good for him,’ I murmured.

  Bunty started making a stuttering noise, like someone revving a moped.

  ‘I’d better change her nappy,’ said Beth, before I’d had a chance to get my mitts on her. ‘Come and have a coffee and leave this lot to it,’ she said, going back inside.

  About to follow, a voice rang out behind me.

  ‘You know that lad who was allergic?’ It was Biff, so red his spots seemed to vanish altogether. ‘She paid him to do it,’ he blasted, pointing an accusing finger at Isabel, as if compelled to get it off his chest. ‘He’s a mate of mine and his mum’s friends wiv her,’ another wild arm movement in Isabel’s direction, ‘and she told my mate he should pretend to be allergic to peanuts for a laugh so he did, and he probably feels shit now, cos he’s not a bad lad, plus he was jabbed in the leg with that epi-whatsit.’

  A pin-drop silence had fallen.

  People were exchanging wide-eyed looks of disbelief.

  ‘Did you hear that?’

  ‘Absolutely disgusting.’

  ‘And they were blaming those lovely sweets.’

  Biff looked like he wanted to defend himself further, but sensing the mood change took off down the street like Usain Bolt.

  Isabel was parchment-pale beneath her natural tan. She flashed Chris a look of desperation and he immediately sprang to attention.

  ‘So, about this blog of yours …’ he began, but I stepped up and touched his elbow.

  ‘You heard what just happened,’ I said, a cocktail of relief and adrenaline coursing through me. ‘You can write a nasty story about me, and make stuff up, and give her so-called book a massive plug.’ Finally, I had everyone’s attention. ‘She’s clearly offered you some sort of bribe – an exclusive interview when she’s famous, or an introduction to Jamie Oliver, or other promises based on her past career.’ I could tell by the way his ears reddened and by Isabel’s fake-shocked gasp I was on the right track. ‘Or you can write the truth,’ I said. ‘That I believe in my sweet shop, and no amount of dirty tricks is going to change that.’

  I turned to the crowd. ‘And I hope all of you who filmed that boy’s performance earlier have filmed this too,’ I said. ‘You’ve no idea what damage posting something like that on social media can do to someone’s livelihood and reputation.’

  There was some awkward shuffling, and embarrassed apologies, then Gerry Sinclair rolled up in his SUV. Looking like a woman given a reprieve from death row, Isabel flung her placard back in the car, narrowly missing his head again.

  He stuck his face out of the window. ‘Sorry about my wife,’ he said to me, with a sympathetic furrow. ‘This is what she does.’ He sounded resigned. ‘She hasn’t really found her feet since giving up modelling, you know?’

  ‘Not really,’ I said coldly.

  He heaved a great sigh. ‘I was in London this morning and have been offered a new job, so we’ll be going in a few weeks,’ he said. ‘She’ll soon be out of your hair and onto her next project.’

  ‘You can’t prove I did anything illegal,’ cried Isabel, over the roof of the car. ‘And my book will be in Waterstones soon, you’ll see. A deal is definitely imminent.’

  ‘She’s not as connected as she believes,’ said Gerry, disloyally, and pulled his head back in.

  I couldn’t even manage a pithy riposte. As the car disappeared, and Chris Weatherby headed to the beach with a dejected air, I couldn’t help wondering why Donal Kerrigan had come all the way to Shipley to try my sweets. It was hard to believe he’d acted on a throwaway comment.

  Then, as the crowd dispersed, I saw Alex.

  He was standing on the other side of the road, eating an ice-cream, the sun glancing off his soft, brown hair. And when he smiled, the slow, sexy smile that had melted my heart the day we met on the beach, I knew.

  He’d used a connection of his own. For me.

  The question was: why?

  Thirty-One

  ‘Because he still loves you, you muppet.’ Beth rolled her eyes. ‘It’s obvious.’

  ‘Then why did he walk away?’ I said, snuggling Bunty’s surprisingly solid body against my shoulder, having finally prised her from Beth.

  We were back at Celia’s, though Celia had nipped out to see Paddy.

  ‘Because he thinks you’re with Josh now?’

  ‘But I’m not with Josh,’ I said.

  ‘No, but Alex doesn’t know that.’

  I’d locked up the shop after seeing Alex, worn out by the day’s events, and sent Agnieszka home with the fifty-pound note as a bonus for all her hard work.

  ‘I really thought Josh might come today.’ She’d looked rather sad as she took off her apron. ‘He missed all the excitements.’

  ‘He’ll probably see them on the news,’ I said, wondering if I would ever see him again. ‘Or, in the paper.’

  I wouldn’t put it past Chris Weatherby to try to make me look bad, regardless of the facts. Especially on a promise from Isabel.

  ‘Shall I take her back now?’ said Beth, holding out her arms.

  But I liked the baby-weight, and couldn’t stop sniffing her scalp. She had Beth’s nose and chin, and a hint of her daddy’s copper hair, and her rosebud mouth was making little sucking movements.

  ‘I don’t want to put her down either,’ Beth said, as I reluctantly handed Bunty over. ‘Neither do our parents. She’s been passed round like a Christmas present.’

  ‘Is that why you’re here?’ I said. ‘You’ve had enough of them?’

  She nodded and swallowed a yawn. ‘Harry’s going to make sure our place is ready for this weekend,’ she said. ‘We want to be on our own with her now.’

  ‘Where is he?’ I looked around, aware he hadn’t been too keen on coming back with us.

  ‘Your mum said she wanted a word with him.’

  My heart bumped. ‘Oh?’

  ‘She’s looking really well, Marnie.’ Beth smiled. ‘Is she still with Mario?’

  ‘I honestly don’t know.’ I felt shifty, remembering Mum’s revelation about Steven Fairfax. I’d never had secrets from Beth, but it wasn’t mine to tell.

  ‘Do you think it’s about his dad and your mum?’ she said, rocking back and forth as Bunty began to stir.

  ‘You knew?’ I stared.

  ‘Harry came out with it all this morning,’ she said, wrinkling her nose. ‘But to be honest, I kind of guessed.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘It was the way Steven reacted once, when I happened to mention your mum was home, and Harry went all funny.’

  ‘But you didn’t say anything?’

  She shrugged. ‘I wasn’t certain, but it seemed to fit. I know your mum remember, and it explained how Harry was with you, though it doesn’t excuse him,’ she added sternly. ‘I’ll be having words.’

  ‘Don’t,’ I said. ‘It’s understandable, in a way.’ I looked at her. ‘He won’t want his mum finding out.’

  ‘She won’t hear it from me,’ Beth promised. ‘I honestly don’t think she’s ever suspected a thing.’

  ‘I think Steven thought I might be his daughter.’

  ‘Do you know, I don’t think that even occurred to Harry,’ Beth said, brow crinkling. ‘He was only being defensive of his mum.’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘You look nothing like a Fairfax.’

  ‘No, but it explains why Steven always seemed protective of me.’

  ‘I suppose he might have wondered, but not wanted to bring it out into the open
.’

  ‘Well, I’m glad he didn’t.’

  When Harry and Mum came in from the garden, Mum wasn’t exactly smiling, but didn’t look upset either. As she slipped upstairs, after squeezing my shoulder, Harry came over.

  ‘I’m sorry for being such a twat.’ His eyes welled with tears. ‘I didn’t want to make things awkward between you and Beth, with you being best mates. That’s why I never said anything.’

  ‘So you made things awkward by being a twat instead,’ I joked, and a tear plopped off his chin.

  ‘It’s fine,’ I said, leaping up and giving him a hug. Beth looked on, shiny-eyed. ‘It’s my mum and your dad who’ve been twats. Your dad especially.’

  ‘Copy that.’ He gave a watery grin.

  ‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ I said, some of the tension easing from my back.

  At six, Harry reluctantly departed to do some more work on the house, and although Mum and Beth and I sat in front of the local news, with a plate of stir-fry cooked by Mum, there was no mention of the sweet shop.

  ‘It would have been a great story.’ Beth bent to check Bunty in her Moses basket.

  ‘Maybe Kyle forgot to switch on the camera,’ I said. ‘Still, no news is better than bad news.’

  ‘But it wasn’t all bad,’ protested Mum. ‘The sweets were a hit.’

  ‘That Isabel woman shouldn’t be allowed out.’

  ‘Well, hopefully people will spread the word,’ Beth said.

  ‘About Isabel?’

  ‘About your homemade sweets.’ She smiled at me. ‘Word of mouth is always the best endorsement.’

  * * *

  The following morning over breakfast, I had the best endorsement of all.

  Donal Kerrigan – standing in for the weekday presenter – popped one of my ginger balls into his mouth, live on Morning, Sunshine!, and made an orgasmic face.

  ‘These are absolutely da bomb,’ he said, exaggerating his Irish accent for all he was worth. ‘I’m telling ya, you should get yourself to The Beachside Sweet Shop in Shipley, like I did yesterday, and try these beauties.’ He winked. ‘Marnie Appleton, you’ve made a middle-aged man very happy.’