Kate and Clara's Curious Cornish Craft Shop: The heart-warming, romantic read we all need right now

by Ali McNamara

  I smile. ‘I think you are too.’

  A customer pops his head through the open shop door. ‘Sorry to disturb, but do you have any Prussian blue? I thought I’d brought plenty with me but I’ve run out.’

  ‘Of course,’ Jack says, wheeling himself forwards. ‘Oil or watercolour?’

  ‘Oil, please. It’s all the wonderful skies and seas here,’ he explains to me. ‘I can’t stop painting them.’

  The man pays Jack for the tube of paint. ‘So glad I found you,’ he says as he departs. ‘I don’t know what I’d have done if someone hadn’t told me you were on the high street.’

  ‘Call in any time!’ Jack calls as the man departs.

  ‘Will do!’ He waves back. ‘I’ll be sure to run out of something else if I carry on being this productive while I’m here!’

  ‘You might have found a gap in the market,’ I tell Jack as he pops the money into his till.

  ‘That’s the idea!’ Jack says. ‘I know most people buy their art equipment online these days, but I’m here to cater to those who have run out or forgotten something, or those who are inspired to start painting while they’re holidaying here. I’ve heard this place brings out the artistic side of people, sometimes when they don’t even know they have one!’

  ‘It’s true. St Felix always attracted artists for the incredible light. It was in the fifties, I believe, when they first began to travel here in number. Do you paint yourself?’

  ‘I dabble. I began during my rehabilitation and sort of carried on ever since. It’s very relaxing. You said you sew a lot of what you sell?’

  ‘Yes, with assistance.’

  ‘Helps if you know something about what you’re selling, eh?’

  ‘Definitely. Talking of which,’ I say, reminded of why I’m here, ‘you were going to tell me something yesterday about the equipment you bought from Noah.’

  ‘Ah, that.’ Jack looks as uncomfortable as he had last night when we’d spoken about it. ‘I wondered if you’d noticed anything unusual about your sewing machine?’

  ‘What sort of unusual?’ I ask, equally as guarded as Jack.

  ‘I don’t know …’ Jack looks down at the ground. ‘Has it done anything strange?’

  ‘Define “strange”?’

  ‘Kate!’ Jack says in exasperation. ‘It’s quite obvious to me it has, or you wouldn’t be answering my questions with more questions of your own!’

  ‘Well, you must have something to tell me too, or you wouldn’t be asking in the first place!’

  We stare defiantly at each other.

  ‘Ladies first,’ Jack says, holding out his hand in a gallant gesture.

  I sigh. ‘All right then … So the first night I had the machine I gave it a really good clean. It brushed up really well, but however hard I tried to get it to work it still wouldn’t sew.’

  Jack nods. ‘And?’

  ‘And so I left it overnight in the shop, but the next morning …’ I hesitate again. This was going to sound so daft and I could already hear Jack’s mocking response to what I’m about to tell him.

  ‘Go on, Kate.’

  ‘The next morning I came downstairs into the shop, before it was unlocked or anything, and I found this piece of embroidery sitting in the machine, like someone had been stitching it and had left it there for me to find.’

  I look at him, expecting to hear a smart comment or see amusement twinkling in his eyes, but he simply gazes back at me waiting for me to continue.

  ‘What sort of embroidery?’ Jack asks to my surprise.

  ‘A picture. A very good one too – the embroidery is exquisite. It kind of looks like it’s part of something bigger though.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Like someone has taken a small sample of a larger picture and recreated it in embroidery thread.’

  Jack nods. ‘But you don’t know who put it there?’

  ‘Nope. I questioned everyone who might have been able to place something there overnight – only three of us have keys to the shop – but everyone denied it, said they knew nothing about it. It’s still a complete mystery how it got there.’

  ‘What was the picture of?’ Jack asks quietly.

  ‘Er, the first one was part of a harbour. It looked very much like the harbour here in St Felix, and the second—’

  ‘Wait, there’s been a second one?’

  ‘Yes, last night. This time it’s a—’

  ‘—large wave crashing over some rocks?’ Jack finishes to my amazement.

  ‘Yes, how do you know?’

  ‘Take a look out back,’ Jack says, gesturing towards the back of the shop. ‘There’s a storage cupboard there.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Please, Kate, just take a look.’

  Puzzled, I go to the back of the shop as he asks, and I open the cupboard he is pointing at. Inside I find lots of cardboard boxes, presumably filled with stock for the shop, but standing in front of the boxes is an old wooden artist’s easel. It still has colourful splashes of paint on it from the previous owner, but the easel isn’t the item I’m finding so astonishing, it’s the painting that’s perched on it and also the one below resting against its legs.

  One is an oil painting of a harbour with a little white lighthouse at the end, and the other is of some large bluey grey rocks with huge turquoise waves splashing up over the top of them.

  Ten

  ‘Did you create these?’ I demand, pulling the paintings from the cupboard and carrying them across the shop towards Jack. ‘Is this your idea of a joke?’

  ‘I wish,’ Jack says, staring at them. ‘I wish I was as good a painter as this artist is, and I wish I’d created them because then I’d know where the hell they came from!’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I ask, not following him. ‘How can you not know where they came—Oh,’ I say as the penny drops. ‘Has the same thing happened to you too?’

  Jack nods. ‘Like you I put the old easel in pride of place in the shop window the evening before our opening, but when I came down the next morning the picture of the harbour was just there! I swear I’d left a blank canvas on it. Even fewer people have a key to this shop than yours, Kate. Bronte has a key now, but she didn’t the other day. It was only me on my own.’

  ‘And the second picture?’ I ask, looking at the oil painting of the waves which is now leaning innocently against a shelf filled with sketch-books.

  ‘It appeared this morning – out the back this time. I’d asked Bronte to take both the painting and the easel and put them in the store cupboard until I could figure out what was going on. I thought it might be some sort of St Felix initiation rite amongst the shop owners – you know, play a trick on the new boy in town – but when I asked a few questions at my opening night I realised no one knew anything about it. Then before I opened this morning the second painting had appeared on the easel just like the first … What the hell is going on, Kate?’

  ‘I have no idea,’ I say, shaking my head. ‘It’s so weird. It’s definitely not the other shop owners. I mean, why would it be happening to me as well? I’ve been here for ages.’

  ‘Exactly. Is it something to do with the equipment Noah sold us then?’

  ‘Like what?’ I ask. ‘Do you think they’re possessed?’ I say jokily. ‘A sewing machine that sews by itself, and an easel that produces paintings on its own! Are they haunted by their past owners?’

  I grin at him, but Jack stares back at me with a haunted look of his own.

  ‘No!’ Jack says shaking his head. ‘I don’t believe in mumbojumbo like that. I was in the army for over fifteen years. Can you imagine the sort of ribbing you’d get if you said you believe in ghosts?’

  ‘So what are we to think then?’

  Jack shrugs. ‘I really have no idea. It’s a complete mystery.’

  ‘Should we just wait and see if any more pictures appear?’

  ‘What choice do we have?’

  ‘Funny that both yours and mine are the same subjects
though, isn’t it?’

  ‘Perhaps we should compare them?’ Jack suggests. ‘See how similar they actually are – maybe that might give us some clue to why this is happening?’

  ‘How about I pop over with the embroidery then later on tonight? It’s a bit easier than yours to transport.’ I look at my watch. ‘I really should be getting back to the shop now. Anita will be wondering where I am.’

  ‘That sounds like a plan,’ Jack says, smiling at me. ‘What time is good for you?’

  ‘Er …’ I feel suddenly self-conscious, like we’re arranging a date or something. ‘About eight?’ I suggest.

  ‘Eight is good for me.’ Jack’s eyes lock with mine for a moment, and I’m the first to look away.

  ‘Eight it is then!’ I say overly brightly. ‘Come along, Barney!’ I call, waking my sleeping dog. ‘Time to go!’

  Barney yawns and slowly pulls himself to his feet. Jack smiles at him.

  ‘He reminds me a lot of the sniffer dog we had in the last unit I was with,’ he says wistfully. ‘A springer spaniel that fella was, but he had a similar temperament to your Barney. Lovely dog, and bloody clever. He sniffed us out of many a dangerous situation. They’re amazing animals, military working dogs. We’re not supposed to get attached to them, but you can’t help it when you’re stationed so far away from home.’

  I’m about to ask him more when an elderly couple walk into the shop.

  ‘I’ll see you later then?’ Jack whispers.

  I nod, and he goes over to greet his customers while Barney and I beat a hasty retreat from the shop.

  As I stand outside inhaling deep breaths of fresh sea air I wonder whether the need to calm myself comes from discovering that strange things are happening not only in my shop but also here in Jack’s, or whether I’m feeling ever so slightly giddy at the thought of spending more time in his company.

  Eleven

  ‘You’re seeing him again?’ Molly asks me later, when I’m hurriedly gathering our dinner things from the little table we share in the flat.

  ‘Sort of,’ I call from the kitchen as I load our plates into the sink. There are many, many things I love about our life here in St Felix, but the lack of space in our flat for a dishwasher isn’t one of them.

  ‘How is it only “sort of”?’ Molly asks, following me with the condiments from the table. ‘You’re either going to his flat or you’re not?’

  ‘It’s not a date, before you start with that one again. We’ve got some things to discuss, that’s all.’

  ‘What sort of things?’ Molly replies, raising her eyebrows at me as she closes the fridge door. ‘Leave them,’ she says as I squirt washing-up liquid over our plates, ‘I’ll do it while you go glam yourself up!’

  ‘I don’t need to glam myself up!’ I say, turning to Molly. ‘Like I said it’s not a date. However,’ I add, pulling off my washing-up gloves and handing them to her, ‘I’ll still take you up on your very kind offer!’

  Molly takes the gloves from me. ‘Seriously, Mum,’ she says, her pale green eyes blinking earnestly at me. ‘It’ll do you good to have some male company again. It’s been ages since Joel.’

  Joel, my last boyfriend, had been one of the main reasons I’d finally taken the plunge to give up my well-paid, secure job in a financial services company and move both Molly and myself down here to Cornwall to begin new lives as far away from him as possible.

  He hadn’t done anything that was too wrong – not to begin with anyway. It was his behaviour towards the end of our relationship that had caused the problems. We’d worked together in the same building, which was how we’d first met and why I’d had to leave – to get right away from him when he simply wouldn’t accept that our relationship was over.

  One of my friends had thought his behaviour way too controlling when we’d been together, and another had called it harassment when we’d broken up and had told me to get the police involved. Initially, though, I hadn’t wanted to make too much of a fuss because of Molly. Joel wasn’t violent to either Molly or me so contacting the police seemed a little harsh, but in the end it had become necessary as he just wouldn’t leave me alone. As it turned out he did us a favour in forcing us to move away because both Molly and I were happier now than we’d been in a very long time. I’d therefore been surprised to hear her mention Joel’s name, but they had been quite close in the time we were together so maybe it wasn’t that strange.

  ‘You’re right,’ I tell her, ‘it has been a long time, but that doesn’t mean I’m about to embark on a new relationship simply because I met a man a couple of times for a chat.’

  ‘No, I know, but I think it would be nice for you, that’s all. You work too hard, Mum. You need to play a little more.’

  I reach out to hug Molly, and then I pause and hold her back a little in my arms. ‘Wait, you’re not just talking about me, are you?’ I ask suspiciously. ‘Where is it you want to go, and when and with whom?’

  Molly grins. ‘You’re too good, Mum! Actually, there is a little party being held this weekend. One of my school friends’ brother is having an eighteenth birthday party and he’s said she can invite a few of her friends along too.’

  ‘An eighteenth, Molly? You’ve only just turned fifteen!’

  ‘Purrlease, Mum? I won’t drink or anything like last time …’

  I look at Molly’s expectant face. The last time I’d let her go to a party had been against my better judgement when one of her former classmates had thrown a Halloween party. In my day Halloween meant trick-or-treating, and maybe a bit of innocent apple bobbing. It certainly didn’t involve apples floating in a punch that had been laced with several varieties of alcohol. The end result had seen me spending most of the night at Molly’s bedside while she threw up in a bucket, then scrubbing the hall carpet where she hadn’t quite made it to the bathroom in time.

  ‘I’ve learnt my lesson,’ Molly adds, while I weigh all this up in my mind. ‘I’ll be super careful, I promise.’

  ‘So who is having this party? Do I know their parents?’

  ‘It’s my friend Emily’s brother, Sam.’

  I think about this for a moment. ‘Oh, Jenny’s son – tall, reddish hair? Works in the ice cream parlour sometimes?’

  Molly nods.

  Jenny and her husband are very sensible. They wouldn’t allow anything bad to happen in their house, I was sure of it. ‘Okay, then, you can go, but I’ll be having a quick word with Jenny beforehand to see what’s what.’

  ‘Yes!’ Molly exclaims, pumping the air. ‘I mean, thanks, Mum, you’re the best!’ She hugs me. ‘I’ll just text Emily, then I’ll come back and do this washing up for you right away. The party is at the community centre, by the way,’ she adds casually as she leaves the room.

  I sigh. I should have known it wouldn’t be in Jenny and Steve’s newly renovated home, but I’d said yes now and I couldn’t keep Molly wrapped up in cotton wool for ever, however much I’d like to. She was growing up fast, too fast, and I had to let her.

  ‘I meant what I said before,’ Molly says, popping her head back around the door. ‘You deserve some fun too, Mum. Now Joel isn’t in the picture perhaps this Jack might be the one?’

  I head back to Jack’s shop a little before eight o’clock, the embroidered pictures tucked away in my bag.

  I press the buzzer next to the shop for the flat and wait.

  ‘Hi Kate, come on up!’ I hear over the intercom within seconds.

  The door in front of me magically unlocks and I make my way inside, finding myself in the same hallway I’d been in earlier that runs parallel with the side of the shop.

  I climb the stairs, following the sound of Jack’s voice.

  ‘I’m in the living room!’ he calls, so I make my way across the landing towards the room I’d seen in passing earlier today.

  ‘Sorry I couldn’t come down to greet you properly,’ Jack says apologetically, ‘but you already know why.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, it’s fine,’
I say, wondering where I should sit. Jack is in what I now recognise to be his second, slightly smaller wheelchair by the open window. I notice immediately that he’s not wearing his prosthetic legs; instead his cargo-style trousers are pinned up where his own legs end.

  ‘You don’t mind, do you?’ Jack says, noticing me looking at them. ‘I only wear the legs when I have to – they’re not always that comfortable.’

  ‘Of course not,’ I say, wishing I hadn’t stared. ‘Why should I?’

  ‘Ah, you know … people can be odd sometimes about disability.’

  ‘Not me.’

  ‘Good, have a seat,’ Jack says, gesturing to the bright comfy-looking sofa. ‘I saw you coming down the road. Perfect view from up here of all the comings and goings on the high street.’

  ‘I bet you have,’ I say, sitting down.

  ‘I’d rather have a lovely view of the sea, mind, but those windows rent for a fair bit more than my busy view.’

  ‘We’re very lucky where we are because our shop backs on to the harbour – the flat has wonderful views out to sea.’

  ‘Oh yes, so you do. You don’t realise that when you’re down in Harbour Street though. All the shops seem quite small and dark along there.’

  ‘I prefer quaint and cosy,’ I reply firmly.

  ‘Yes, that’s probably a better way to describe them. They’re not as big as us up here on the high street, but you probably get a lot more of the tourist trade where you are, so I guess we’re even.’

  I look at Jack. Did he even know he was bordering on being rude again?