The Little Bakery on Rosemary Lane

by Ellen Berry

  Chapter Twenty

  On Saturday morning, Della headed for Heathfield to distribute jaunty posters for the forthcoming bookshop party. Her plan was to do the rounds of all the shops and cafes, handing them out to anyone who would agree to display one. The shops in Burley Bridge already had them up in their windows; Roxanne had even spotted one Blu-tacked to the glass door of Nicola’s hair salon. However, worried now that the ‘grand opening’ of her new-improved bookshop might be something of a damp squib, Della had decided that word must be spread further afield.

  With Faye unavailable, this meant she really had no option but to leave Roxanne to man the shop for the entire day. Despite the fact that Roxanne had already managed to operate the till without causing harm to either herself or others, Della had insisted on demonstrating yet again how it worked. It was a relief to Roxanne when her sister had finally picked up her box of posters and driven away.

  In fact, Roxanne was delighted to be left in charge. She had dressed the part especially in a neat lemon cardi and knee-length denim skirt, ‘teamed’ – such a fashion word, that – with black pumps and her simple Ibiza necklace. After all the tramping about in dog-walking attire, it made a pleasant change to spruce up, with hair freshly washed and even a slick of mascara and lipstick on.

  ‘So this is the real you,’ Michael joked when he popped into the bookshop just after lunchtime.

  ‘Not really,’ she laughed, omitting to remind him that he had already seen her dressed smartly, that first night in the Red Lion. ‘I feel like I’m playing at being shop lady to be honest,’ she admitted, ‘but it is quite fun …’

  ‘You’re obviously very good at it,’ he observed, glancing around the shop, in which several customers were chatting and browsing while their children were happily amused with crayons and paper at the small table in the corner.

  ‘Glad you think so,’ Roxanne said, hesitating to say it was easy. However, without wishing to belittle her sister’s achievements, it was, after all, just a shop, and Roxanne found herself able to make customers feel welcome and well attended to. Whenever they praised the shop and quizzed her about it – as happened several times during the day – she was quick to explain that it was all her sister’s doing. Roxanne could see now why the bookshop had been featured in so many newspapers and magazines, and why Della was often called upon as an expert in historical food writing. There literally wasn’t anywhere else quite like it.

  ‘Well, I’d better get back,’ Michael said after a coffee, at which Roxanne detected a trace of reluctance. ‘See you again soon for another dog walk?’ he added.

  ‘Yes, I’d like that,’ Roxanne replied. ‘We were up at the top of the hill at seven this morning and I’m sure Stanley missed Bob.’

  ‘Let’s get them together then,’ he said with a smile, and she wondered if there might have been a hint of something else there: of wanting to spend more time together, and not just because of the dogs. She found herself watching him leave, and realised she had barely thought about Sean since she had received his last text, when she’d been shopping in Heathfield yesterday.

  With a steady flow of customers throughout the rest of the afternoon, there wasn’t time to call him anyway. She’d leave him be for now, Roxanne decided as what looked like a coach party of elderly ladies all poured in. She’d been spending far too much time fixating on his moods anyway lately, and if he had decided he was too crazy-busy to nip up and see her, then so be it. She was having a perfectly pleasant time in Burley Bridge without him.

  There was another aspect to working in the bookshop that Roxanne was enjoying. Without a man around, there was no one to manhandle her out of the way in order to establish himself as Chief Friend of Tradesmen. She was allowed to interact directly with Matt and Chris, who were busily fitting out the shop’s new room, although Roxanne could never remember who was who, necessitating a lot of, ‘Would you like some coffee … guys?’ They flirted with her – praising her outfit and calling her darlin’ – and made her laugh. It was all terribly un-PC but, although she hesitated to admit it, actually quite fun; a world away from how men and women interacted in the fashion world.

  Della returned just as Roxanne was closing the shop for the day. ‘Everything okay?’ she asked, peering around in the manner of an anxious parent who had left her small charge in the care of a babysitter for the first time.

  ‘It’s been more than okay,’ Roxanne replied proudly. ‘It’s been great. How about you get on with other jobs on Monday and let me look after things here?’

  Della blinked and pulled a mock-aghast face. ‘Give you an inch and you’re taking over!’

  ‘Come on,’ Roxanne said, grinning. ‘I’ve so enjoyed myself and surely there are lots of other things you’ve been meaning to tackle that you can get on with, now I’m here?’

  ‘My sister, the rescuer,’ she said with a fond smile. ‘Yes, actually – there’s an order of books over in Scarborough that I’m due to pick up. I just haven’t had a moment and I really need them all in place for when the new room’s finished.’

  ‘There you are then,’ Roxanne said, beaming. ‘You can go off and do your thing, and I promise I won’t scare off any of your customers with my fancy London ways.’

  On Sunday morning Roxanne and Elsa headed off, with Stanley and Bob in tow, to shoot more pictures for the blog. Up on the hill, Roxanne modelled Della’s mammoth walking boots, something called a ‘base layer’ (i.e., an unattractive long-sleeved top) and fat, hairy socks. She was looking more and more like someone from a rambling club, and she didn’t care. She now had her shop lady persona and her dog walking attire and could flip quite easily between the two.

  ‘I saw my pictures up on the website,’ Elsa said proudly.

  ‘Were you pleased with them?’ Roxanne asked as they made their way back down to the village.

  ‘Yeah, of course!’

  Roxanne looked at her and smiled. ‘I’m sorry your first assignment wasn’t a little more glamorous …’

  Elsa smirked. ‘I don’t care about that. My name was actually on it, and someone called Jacqui, I think, sent me an email about payment …’

  ‘Of course you should be paid,’ Roxanne remarked. ‘You’re a professional now.’

  ‘No I’m not,’ Elsa blustered, flushing now. ‘I’m just—’

  ‘Please,’ Roxanne cut in, ‘never say you’re just anything.’

  Elsa beamed and thanked her profusely as they said goodbye at the bakery, despite Roxanne insisting that she should be thanking her. Although the shop was closed, being a Sunday, Michael was busily cleaning the inside of the windows, and waved as he caught Roxanne’s eye.

  I seem to be seeing a lot of him, she mused with a smile as she made her way back to Della’s. But then, Burley Bridge was that sort of place.

  Next morning, Roxanne had walked Stanley, written up her blog posts, pinged them off to Marsha and was now opening up the bookshop – all by 9.30 a.m. ‘It’s as if you owned the place,’ Della teased her before setting off for Scarborough in a hired van with Frank; the cookbook collection was a bumper haul, apparently. Alone in the shop now, Roxanne made a pot of coffee and took a few minutes to enjoy her first mugful of the day.

  It felt good to be here, she decided. She allowed herself to fantasise for a moment staying here, as her sister’s trusty sidekick, instead of returning to her job on the magazine. No Marsha or Tina, no temperamental make-up artists or models … would it be possible to say goodbye to all that? It was a ludicrous idea, but tempting. After all, she enjoyed chatting with customers, offering them coffee, and occasionally keeping younger visitors entertained with crayons and paper while their parents enjoyed some uninterrupted browsing. That morning, one apparently exhausted mother even dozed off on the velvet sofa over a book about carved vegetable garnishes.

  Gaining confidence now, and becoming familiar with Della’s sometimes eccentric categorising system, Roxanne found she could easily locate a rare tome on 1950s farmhouse cookery, and
had started to prove herself adept at suggesting appropriate books for gifts.

  Later that day, when Della returned demanding a full report on her sister’s day at the helm, it seemed to amaze her that Roxanne had breezed through numerous food-related exchanges with customers without making a fool of herself.

  ‘You look different, being here,’ Della observed as, in pyjamas now, the sisters curled up on her sofa with mugs of tea.

  ‘In what way?’ Roxanne asked.

  Della shrugged. ‘Sort of … more relaxed. Maybe it’s just being away from London, and your job, all that stuff going on with your new editor …’

  ‘That’s probably it,’ Roxanne agreed, knowing now that something else was happening too. She felt needed here and, much as she loved to direct her shoots, what she was doing here felt actually useful in a very different way. Okay, so it really amounted to walking a terrier, doing a few errands and looking after a shop from time to time. But all of those things seemed very necessary, which in turn made Roxanne needed, and that was why it seemed so very right to be here, right now.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The Bookshop on Rosemary Lane is about to get bigger, better, brighter …

  Come and celebrate the opening of our new-improved shop!

  Double the size, hundreds more books to browse!

  Join us for drinks and nibbles

  Retro cocktail (and mocktail) demonstration and tasting

  The Bookshop on Rosemary Lane, 27 Rosemary Lane, Burley Bridge

  Friday June 9, 6.30 pm

  Children welcome

  By Tuesday afternoon, Matt and Chris were packing up their tools in their van for the final time. The plastic curtain had been removed and the two rooms flowed together beautifully, the deep raspberry paintwork lending the shop an exotic air. The shelving and counter were complete, the floorboards sanded – thankfully this had been undertaken in the evenings, when the shop was closed – and a cheerful chequerboard rug laid down. There was a central island for events, and the existing kitchen at the back had been upgraded to enable Della to use it if she was giving a demonstration. She had chosen elegant table lamps, plus strings of fairy lights for the children’s section. It looked wonderful, and Roxanne and Della gazed around in awe.

  ‘Not bad, is it?’ Della said, flushing with pride.

  ‘Not at all,’ Roxanne replied, hugging her. ‘I’m so proud of you, Dell.’

  Della looked at her and laughed. ‘Oh, stop it.’

  ‘C’mon, are you really taking in what you’ve done here? Look!’ Della gazed around, and Roxanne did too. As they closed the shop for the evening, the sisters conceded that, considering this had been a bonkers idea, all based on Kitty’s old books that no one in their right mind would ever want to buy, even their rather formidable mother would be proud if she could see her own cookbooks displayed so beautifully today.

  ‘I think I’ll walk Stanley,’ Roxanne said. ‘It looks like it’s brightening up out there.’

  ‘It does,’ Della agreed, glancing out of the shop window, ‘now the rain’s just about stopped. Why not see if Michael wants to join you?’

  Roxanne caught her sister’s eye and laughed as they made their way upstairs to the flat. ‘Don’t start that again …’

  ‘I’m not starting anything! But I’m sure he’ll be pleased. He seems to enjoy being around you.’

  Roxanne considered this. She enjoyed being around him too, she reflected. While she still felt as if she should tread a little carefully around him, there was something about him that intrigued her. It was his determination, she decided: how he had soldiered on and was well on his way to making the bakery flourish. She couldn’t help admiring him for that. ‘You don’t think he’ll find it a bit much,’ she ventured, ‘with me spending time with Elsa, and then dropping by …’

  ‘Of course not,’ Della retorted as they stepped into the flat, where she called Stanley immediately and clipped on his lead – which apparently settled the matter.

  As Della had predicted, he was delighted to join her, and soon they were gazing in wonder at the perfect rainbow which hung, as if placed there just for their delight, over the valley in which Burley Bridge nestled.

  ‘Isn’t that stunning?’ she gasped, whipping out her phone to photograph it.

  ‘It’s rare you see one so vivid,’ he agreed.

  She took photo after photo but, of course, her pictures didn’t do any justice to the real thing.

  ‘I wonder why that happens?’ she asked, showing him the screen. ‘Why it loses its brightness like that?’

  ‘I guess it’s one of those things you need to experience for real,’ he said. ‘Like, um …’

  ‘The Northern Lights?’ she suggested.

  ‘Yeah.’ Michael smiled. ‘Suzy and I went on a sort of pilgrimage to see them, actually, about twenty years ago now. One of those trips-of-a-lifetime type things …’

  ‘Where did you go?’ she asked.

  ‘Northern Lapland. We stayed in a glass tree house – it was a big family thing to mark her dad’s sixtieth. Suzy’s parents had always wanted to see the lights …’

  Roxanne called for Stanley as they strolled through the area of woodland just off the main path. ‘That sounds pretty impressive,’ she remarked.

  ‘Oh, it was. Where we were staying, they’re meant to appear pretty much every second night, but of course, when you’ve travelled thousands of miles and built yourself up for the whole experience – well, you wait for days and days and nothing happens …’ He laughed.

  ‘And then you come out on an ordinary dog walk and see that!’ Roxanne said with a smile. They had emerged from the woods to see the rainbow still there, shimmering. It was perfect. ‘There are two,’ she exclaimed suddenly. ‘It’s a double rainbow. Isn’t that magical?’

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ he agreed.

  Roxanne breathed in deeply, filling her lungs with fresh Yorkshire air.

  Michael turned to her. ‘Feels good being up here, doesn’t it?’

  ‘It does. I really love it. It’s funny, but I hardly ever came up here as a kid …’

  Just for a moment, their eyes met, and something remarkable seemed to happen to Roxanne. It didn’t matter that she had never appreciated how beautiful this place was, because she was here now, with a man she had only met a handful of times, and who she didn’t know – not really – yet she felt utterly right being here.

  Michael smiled at her, as if reading her thoughts. Flustered now, she glanced quickly away at the dogs, who were snuffling around the still-damp undergrowth, and when she looked back at Michael his smile triggered something, like a shoal of tiny fish, in her stomach. Butterflies, that’s what they were. She was experiencing a flurry of butterflies over being in close proximity to the bakery man. Had he looked at her in a certain way? Or had she just imagined it? She scolded herself, and tried to think of Sean, back in London.

  ‘So, um, did you ever see the Northern Lights?’ she asked, flustered now.

  ‘Yes, on the very last day of our trip,’ he replied.

  ‘Was it amazing?’

  He was looking at her, with a bemused look on his face now. ‘D’you know, it wasn’t actually as amazing as this.’

  She blinked at him, then laughed in realisation at what he meant. ‘And you haven’t had to travel all the way to northern Lapland to see it.’ Her phone rang in her jeans pocket, and she flinched.

  ‘It’s fine, take it,’ Michael said lightly.

  Roxanne winced apologetically as she pulled it from her pocket and looked at the screen. Sean.

  ‘Sorry. I guess I’d better.’ Roxanne accepted the call. ‘Sean? Everything all right?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Sean replied. ‘Well, no – not really, to be honest. I had another call …’

  She frowned. ‘Who from?’

  ‘From Tommy, your joiner mate.’

  ‘Oh, not again. What happened this time?’

  Michael had called for the dogs and set off a little way ah
ead as they began to make their way back to the village.

  Sean sighed audibly. ‘Okay, so this time he says he really needs the pictures doing soon as possible because it’s his girlfriend’s birthday coming up and he’ll need to get them framed. I said, sorry, I don’t have time – as I explained very clearly last time we spoke. I told him to contact a high-street photographer, there’d be someone local who’d be delighted to do the job …’

  ‘Good advice,’ she murmured, carefully sidestepping a patch of mud.

  ‘But no, he wants me to do the pictures. Jessica’s worthy of a top photographer, is what he says. Won a commended at Crufts two years in a row …’

  ‘Oh, how awkward for you. Well, I suppose it’s flattering …’

  ‘Huh? I can hardly hear you …’

  ‘Probably the signal,’ she fibbed, realising she had been keeping her voice low deliberately. She didn’t really want Michael to overhear her part of the exchange.

  ‘… and it turns out he’s googled where I work from,’ Sean went on, ‘and he was standing right there, outside my bloody studio!’

  Roxanne spluttered, and Michael looked back and gave her a quizzical look. ‘You mean, he’d turned up with his dog?’

  ‘Yeah!’

  ‘What did you do? Did you let him in?’

  ‘Well, I didn’t have much choice, did I? I just thought, well, I have nothing else on this afternoon apart from the hundreds of things I should have been doing, of course – and this’ll get him off my back once and for all. So I’d said, “Okay, this is totally irregular, I never do this for anyone, I don’t even take my own bookings normally. Britt handles all that …”’

  ‘What happened?’ Impatience had crept into Roxanne’s voice. She glanced up at the rainbow and saw it fading before her very eyes.

  ‘So, in they come, Tommy and his little dog – I mean, he’d just taken her to the groomer’s, he’d gone to that trouble, so she was all freshly washed with a pink bow in her fringe, if dogs have fringes …’ Michael was striding further ahead now, the dogs scampering at his side, and Roxanne quickened her pace to keep up ‘… I told Louie to set up a plain white background and some lights. We’d keep it nice and simple so, in theory, it should all be over in half an hour …’ He paused for breath. ‘We even found an old rug in a cupboard, not too shabby – but would Jessica sit there and pose nicely?’