Beth leant her weight into the bottom of the ladder, pressing against the back of his legs. ‘Like this?’
‘That’ll work, thanks.’ He checked each carton, found them light enough to move without straining and began to transfer those in easy reach to the shelf directly below. It might take a little longer, but would save him climbing up and down. Some still bore the label from the supplier so were easily identifiable as T-shirts, fridge magnets, that kind of thing, but a handful were unmarked.
They worked steadily for about half an hour until everything had been cleared down to a height at which Beth could access them for herself. Ignoring the labelled boxes, she settled cross-legged on the floor beside an array of mystery cartons, including one with just the word ‘inflatables’ scrawled across it. ‘With any luck I’ll be able to find something to replace that sorry-looking crocodile in here,’ she said as she slit the seal with a safety knife.
Sam folded the ladder and set it away in the far corner to give them a bit more room, then hunkered down opposite her. The first box he opened was full of tea towels folded inside clear plastic bags which had been sealed with a supplier’s sticky label. Following the system Beth had started, he counted the contents and wrote a detailed description on a sheet of paper which he then stuck to the top of the box. ‘Like this?’ He showed her, and she glanced up from the packages in her lap.
‘Yes, perfect. Themed souvenirs are on the bottom shelf behind you, can you add it them?’ She held up one of the sealed packages. ‘I can’t work out what these are, I suppose I’ll have to open them.’
Sam moved his checked box then started on a second one, not paying close attention to Beth until she spoke again. ‘What the hell is this?’ She smoothed the plastic shape flat on the floor in front of her, then stared up at him with a puzzled frown. ‘A sheep? What on earth does a sheep have to do with the seaside?’
Staring at the bright-blue make-up around the sheep’s eye and the glossy red mouth, Sam started to get a bad feeling. An old school-mate had invited him on his stag-do the previous year and had been given a blow-up sheep, complete with accessible orifices as a gag. They’d carried Flossy around all bloody night, and, if he wasn’t mistaken, he was currently eye-to-eye with one of her flock mates.
‘What’s this pink one, do you think it’s a pig?’ Beth undid another package and shook out the crinkled pink plastic before he could stop her. ‘Is that…? Oh my God, it is! It’s a bloody blow-up doll!’ She shrieked and threw the thing on the floor as though she’d been touching something contaminated.
The doll stared up at him with wide blank eyes making him want to look away, but it was hard to know which direction. Certainly not to his side where he could feel one of her flat, plastic legs draping over his hand, or downwards at the wrinkled circles of extra plastic which could be inflated to an impressive bosom. His shoulders started to shake with the force of holding in his laughter. What on earth had Eleanor been thinking?
There’d been some talk over the winter about whether the town should try and market itself towards the ever-growing trend for hen and stag weekends. The consensus had been against it, fearing the increase in noise, rubbish and potential for trouble would drive away their loyal patrons, some of whom were now bringing their own grandchildren for a traditional seaside getaway. The debate had raged for several weeks, and he’d gone as far as sitting down with his mum to discuss accommodation packages they might offer if the mood swung in that direction. Maybe Eleanor had done her own research… Oh, no, no, no! He was not going to think about his erstwhile neighbour with her penchant for florals and flannel contemplating the purchase of novelty sex toys.
Sliding the cold, clammy material off his fingers, he risked a peek up, worried he might burst out laughing. He found Beth studying the back of another package, reading what appeared to be a label. ‘Somehow, I don’t think this has anything to do with chickens, do you?’
She tossed the package into his lap and he stared down at the description. ‘Fighting co—’ he swallowed the last word with a snort. A hazy image from the stag night, one he’d long since banished, surfaced and he scrubbed a hand over his face to try and dispel the sudden blush heating his cheeks. ‘Ah, no. Definitely not chickens.’ He bit the inside of his cheek but there was no way to hold back the laughter. A strange wheezing noise escaped his throat, echoed by a squeak from Beth and the two of them collapsed.
‘I…jus…where…oh, God,’ Beth’s failed attempt to form a sentence set them both off again.
Gasping for breath, Sam grabbed the deflated doll and posed it in front of him. Waving one floppy arm he held the limp head in front of his face and put on an affected falsetto. ‘This is not in keeping with the Lavender Bay Improvement Society regulations. Just wait until the Major hears about this!’
‘Don’t, oh don’t, please!’ Beth covered her face with her hands, almost crying now.
Their mirth subsided eventually, and Sam made a vague attempt to fold up the doll, nose wrinkling at the stale, plasticky smell coming from it. He stuffed it out of the way then rubbed the tips of his fingers together to try and dispel the lingering feel of the cold material from his skin. ‘Ugh, these things are gross.’ He leaned back, bracing his weight on his hands behind him and folded his legs at the ankles. ‘Want to hear something interesting?’
Beth snorted. ‘Not if it has anything to do with a box of unmentionable inflatables!’
‘Ha! Definitely nothing along those lines.’ He explained to her about how his day had started and the subsequent discussion with his dad.
‘Subterranean?’ Beth’s eyes were wide as saucers and he could see it had captured her imagination.
‘I was trying to find something to fit the location, what with it being down in the basement. I want it to be more than a dining experience, I want it to be something that stimulates all the senses.’ Grabbing a sheet of paper and the marker pen, he drew a rough sketch as he continued to talk. ‘I want to cover the walls in some kind of simulated rock effect, stud them with crystals and mineral samples which will catch and refract the light from some uplighters studded in the floor.’
She edged closer, their heads almost touching as they peered at the piece of paper between them. ‘Go on, what else?’
Sketching a long rectangle down the centre of the page, he added a dozen circles on either side. ‘I want to divide the room with a fish tank. It’ll provide additional ambient lighting as well as a beautiful visual display. I heard about an artist who creates these little boxes that are covered in curtains. The idea is you put a hand through and touch what’s inside. Nothing gross, but it’s still an adventure into the unknown.’
Beth shivered. ‘I’m not sure I’d be brave enough to put my hand in.’
‘Not everyone will, that’s part of the experience though.’
‘I get it. And the food will provide the biggest stimulation, right?’
She got it. Sam sighed in relief. ‘Exactly. A combination of taste, smell, texture and visual delights. Speaking of which…’ He looked around, seeking the box he’d brought with him. When he spotted it on the shelf above her head, he had an idea. ‘Close your eyes a minute.’
‘Why? What are you doing?’ She did as he asked though.
Getting up, he fetched the box of petit fours then squatted next to here. ‘Keep them closed now.’
‘Sam…’ A smile teased her lips, plumping her perfect cupid’s bow. He dragged his eyes away, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand. Prying open a corner of the lid, he positioned the box beneath her nose. ‘Breathe in.’
‘Oh, oh wow.’ Her voice was dreamy. ‘That smells heavenly.’ She licked her lips, as though anticipating the flavours to come, causing things inside him to tighten. Get it together, Sam, he told himself. He had to remember all the reasons why this would be a phenomenally bad idea, but the voice of reason was really starting to get on his nerves.
Setting the box down, he selected a square of fudge then raised it to press
against her mouth. ‘Open up.’ He slipped the treat inside when she obeyed, watching intently as she chewed.
A line appeared on her forehead then smoothed out and her lashes fluttered. She took her time, long enough to set his nerves jangling, then opened her eyes. ‘That might be the best thing I’ve ever had in my mouth.’
Her words sounded all kinds of dirty, and Sam surrendered to the need twisting inside him. A man could only resist so much. Ducking down, he captured her mouth beneath his own, savouring the lingering peppermint sweetness on her tongue when it curled around his. She withdrew on a sigh. ‘If you serve all your female guests that way, Subterranean will be a surefire hit.’
Laughing, he rested his temple against hers. ‘Tell me again this is a bad idea.’
‘It’s a bad idea.’ She didn’t sound any more certain about it than he felt though. Kissing Beth was becoming a habit he wasn’t sure he knew how to break.
Chapter Ten
Beth opened the fridge to fetch the milk, and her eyes fixed on the plastic box on the shelf. Sam had left the rest of the petit fours for her to enjoy and she’d been rationing herself to one every day. There were only two left—one each of the fudge and the truffles. Every time she saw them, she was transported back to the dusty stockroom floor and that kiss.
In spite of their mutual agreement to keep things on a friendly basis only, she’d found herself conjuring up ever-more ridiculous excuses to drop into the pub. So far she’d resisted the temptation. For nine whole days she’d pushed her tangle of feelings for him to the back of her mind, but her resolve weakened a little more each time she savoured one of the treats. ‘Get it together, Beth,’ she muttered, slamming the fridge closed with more force than strictly necessary.
She’d just finished her coffee, and was perusing that morning’s to-do list when the bell attached to the back gate buzzed. Hoping Sam’s determination had cracked, she scampered down the stairs and unlocked the gate. ‘Oh, it’s you.’ There was no hiding her disappointment.
‘Gee, is that anyway to greet your best friend?’ Libby smacked a quick kiss on her cheek. ‘Annie should be right behind me.’
‘Annie?’
‘I’m here, darling.’ Sam’s mum appeared with a roll of black bin bags under her arm and a spotted scarf tying her hair back off her face. ‘Well, let us in then, Beth, there’s a good girl. We’ve a lot to get on with.’
Thoroughly confused, Beth stepped back, and the two women bustled past her and straight up the stairs. She hurried on their heels. ‘Umm, not to seem rude or anything, but what are you doing here, exactly?’
It was Libby who answered her. ‘We’re staging an intervention, B. Sam mentioned to Annie about you sleeping in your old room, and she called me. I had to wait until my day off came around, but we’re here to help you sort through Eleanor’s things.’
‘But…’ Beth paused just outside the door to Eleanor’s bedroom watching her friends survey the room with sad shakes of their heads.
‘But what? I could brain you for being so daft. You’re clearly finding it too tough to do this on your own, and you’re too bloody pig-headed to ask us for help, so we’re left with no choice.’ Libby folded her arms, giving Beth a challenging look she remembered all too well. Libs was braced for a fight, and she wasn’t sure she had the energy, or the will, to go toe-to-toe with her.
Ducking away from the confrontation, she crossed the room to fiddle with one of the Wedgwood figurines scattered across the dressing table. A thin layer of dust coated the little shepherdess, but other than that it was in flawless condition, without even a trace of wear on the gold edging around her crook.
They weren’t at all to her taste, but Eleanor had collected them for years and they were too good to throw away. Selling them seemed a bit mercenary, so it had been easier to ignore them, along with everything else in the room. She carefully replaced the statue. there were just too many decisions to be made and she didn’t feel equipped to tackle any of them. ‘There didn’t seem to be a lot of point doing anything in here when I haven’t decided if I’m staying or not.’
The excuse sounded pathetic to her own ears, and Libby’s snort told her exactly what she thought about it. Annie had apparently appointed herself ‘good cop’ because she curled an arm around Beth’s shoulder to give her a hug. ‘Come on now, lovey. You’ll have to go through everything whatever you decide. Might as well be able to rest in comfort until you make up your mind. You should have a painting party, get some prosecco in and invite Eliza down for the weekend. She could probably do with an excuse to get away.’
Beth raised her eyebrows as she and Libby exchanged a look. They’d had a chat with their friend last week and she’d sounded her usual chirpy self. Or maybe Beth had been too caught up with everything to pay enough attention. Eliza had made a few passing comments, but she’d dismissed them as the usual ups and downs all couples went through. She ran a quick calculation in her head; Eliza was ripe for a dose of the seven-year itch. Still, if Annie was worried enough to mention it, then perhaps it was time to get her down, so they could have a proper conversation. ‘What do you reckon, Libs?’
‘I’ll have to cover the early evening rush on Friday and Saturday, but Dad will pick up the slack for me.’ A twinge of guilt hit Beth square in the gut. Running the fish and chip shop took a lot of work, and she didn’t want to take advantage of her friend, or her father.
‘I can get someone in. The guys who did the windows were brilliant.’ It had become abundantly clear to Beth she had neither the experience or a steady enough hand to paint the exterior woodwork to a professional finish, so she’d recruited a local father and son team of decorators, while she’d confined herself to touching up a few faded spots around the shop floor itself. ‘I’m sure they’d be able to knock this place into shape in no time.’ She stared at the floral papered walls. Something neutral so potential buyers wouldn’t be put off…
Libby gave her the evilest of eyes. ‘Call me Madame Zelda and set me up a booth on the beach, ‘cos I can read your mind. A splash of taupe, a dash of cream, nothing to tie you to the place. Well, bollocks to that.’ She pulled a fistful of colour sample strips from her handbag and thrust them at Beth. ‘We’re going to make you feel at home, whether you like it or not.’
Annie laughed. ‘Well I might not have put it quite like that, but I agree. You need a space to call your own, lovey. And you certainly deserve it after everything you’ve been through.’ She squeezed Beth’s shoulders again. ‘Oh, don’t look so aggrieved. Eliza might be your best friend, but she’s my little girl first. Whatever she tells me goes no further, but I worry about you.’ She held out her hand to Libby. ‘I worry about both of you, but at least our Libs is close enough to keep an eye on. With Eleanor gone you need a bit of cossetting, and that’s what I’m here for.’
A warm glow spread through Beth at the sincerity in Annie’s words. She was loved, and cared for and needed, so why keep fighting it? As the three of them settled into a slightly tearful group hug, Beth’s thoughts drifted to Sam.
He’d arranged all of this—somehow understood exactly what she’d needed when she had no clue for herself. Even with everything on his plate, he’d taken the time to rally the troops. She could get used to having him take care of her if she wasn’t careful.
Turning her thoughts away before they strayed too far back towards the kiss again, she began to clear the dressing table, wrapping each of the figurines carefully in some old packing paper Libby had produced from the store room and stowing them safely in a cardboard box. She could decide what to do about them—and Sam—another day.
Beth hefted the final box from the bedroom, hooking the door closed behind her with her foot before she made her way down the back stairs. The airy room had been emptied of everything but the largest furniture which she, Annie and Libby had shifted away from the walls between them. Old sheets had been draped over them and the bedframe to protect them.
Everything she wanted to keep was store
d safely in the larger of the spare bedrooms, and the last of Eleanor’s things had been delivered to the RNLI charity shop. There’d been a lot of tears over the past couple of days, but plenty of laughter and fond memories too. All that remained was an old, red suitcase containing what looked to be personal papers, an intricately carved jewellery box, and the Wedgwood figurines wrapped up in the box under her arm.
Entering the shop floor, she placed the carton on the counter and turned her attention to the empty mirror-backed cabinet which held pride of place behind it. A smiling woman reflected back at her, a woman who was looking towards the future at last.
Once she’d stopped getting in her own way, organising the emporium became a challenge, rather than a chore. Getting to grips with the stock had made things so much clearer and had spurred her into clearing the junk and damaged items from the shelves and re-organising the layout of things. She wanted to keep the flavour and charm which Eleanor had worked so hard to create, but needed to put her own stamp on things.
Banana monkey still held court beside the front door, in all his ugly, kitsch glory. His outstretched arm held a circular, revolving hanger draped with diaphanous scarves covered in pretty florals and bolder seashell designs.
The joiners had finished and erected the new signage above the main window, but she’d asked them to keep it covered for now. She’d also cleared the window displays and lowered the internal blinds so interested neighbours (read: busybodies and nosy parkers) couldn’t see the changes being made. She had enough doubts of her own without a chorus of tart observations and helpful ‘hints’ from Hester Bradshaw and her cohorts. Smiling enigmatically and murmuring, ‘Wait and see,’ seemed to be working to hold most people at bay, but she’d have to make a start on dressing the windows soon.
Spring at Lavender Bay Page 11