The Little Unicorn Gift Shop

by Kellie Hailes

  ‘But you still tried. You still went out on dates. You didn’t just give up at the sight of me.’

  ‘Well, maybe I should have. It would’ve meant not enduring the embarrassment of having him turn his cheek so my attempt to kiss his lips ended up with me kissing the collar of his shirt.’ Milly shook her head. ‘That must be the only time lipstick on a man’s collar meant nothing happened.’

  Poppy grinned. Who knew Milly had a sense of humour? And that she could bow out gracefully? More than gracefully… helpfully. ‘God, you really are perfect.’

  ‘Just on the outside. Underneath all this…’ Milly pulled at her top, then tugged her pearls. ‘I’m just as much a bundle of insecurities and angst as the next person.’

  ‘You hide it well.’ Poppy attempted a smile, but knew it fell flat. Milly didn’t need her smiles, let alone want them.

  ‘I do my best.’ Milly unfolded herself from the chair, pulled out her bank card, then paused. ‘One piece of advice? Don’t screw it up. Ben deserves more than that.’

  Poppy chewed on her lower lip as she watched Milly pay, then leave without looking back, without a goodbye wave. The most straight-up, to-the-point, take-no-prisoners fairy godmother, was Milly. No doubt about it.

  Don’t screw it up.

  How did one unscrew what was already screwed?

  Especially when it wasn’t the last conversation she’d had with Ben that had screwed things up. Or the text she’d sent.

  It had all started when one person hadn’t shown her how to love.

  Well, it was time to learn how.

  Dread billowed, heavy and black, in Poppy’s gut. If she wanted any kind of future she was going to have to come to terms with her past.

  ***

  Just answer already. Poppy shuffled from side to side, waiting for the door to open. Hoping it would open. Praying it would open. The claustrophobia that had cloistered her heart on the walk to the street she’d grown up in had begun to lift as she realised for the first time in her life she wasn’t running. She was taking action. Her leaden steps had lightened. Her chin, pressed to her chest, had angled higher. By the time she’d reached the front door she knew she was ready for change. Ready to be the woman Ben deserved.

  She jumped as the door opened. ‘Poppy? What are you doing here? Come in. Come in.’ Pam held the door wider and waved her through. ‘Is Ben okay? He never mentioned you were popping over?’

  Pam brought her in for a hug, kissing her cheek. Poppy breathed in the pungent scent of Chanel. As elegant and timeless as the woman before her.

  She broke the hug and took Pam by the hands. ‘Ben doesn’t know I’m here, but I… well, I need to talk to someone, and I may even need a bit of advice, and I can’t think of a better person to help me than you.’

  Pam’s head tilted to one side, her eyes enquiring. ‘I’m not sure if I’ll be much help in the advice area, but I’ve two ears that hear well enough.’ She threaded her arm through Poppy’s and they walked companionably towards the kitchen. ‘Tea?’ Pam turned the kettle on without waiting for Poppy’s answer and pulled two mugs down from the cupboard. ‘So, what’s on your mind?’

  Poppy pulled out a chair from the kitchen table and sank into it, glad to give her knees a reprieve from the trembling that had begun the moment Pam had greeted her at the door. Who knew change was so nerve-wracking? ‘Tell me about love.’

  Pam turned to face Poppy. The edges of her lips lifted in an amused smile, her warm brown eyes twinkling. ‘I don’t think I need to teach you about love, Poppy. You were born loving.’

  ‘But I wasn’t. I don’t know how.’ Poppy wrung her hands, hoping to disperse the nervous energy that was zipping through her body, making it hard to think. She pushed the chair back, stood up and began to pace the length of the kitchen. ‘I can’t seem to let myself love people. Or let people love me. I don’t even know if I believe in love. How can I? It’s not like I’ve experienced it.’ She hit the wall at the end of the kitchen, twisted around, her breath hitching in surprise at the sight of the figure haunting the back door. ‘Mum.’

  Her mother’s hands twisted around each other. Her shoulders stooped. She appeared… cowed, like she expected Poppy to turn on her. To yell. Scream. Throw insult after insult.

  Except Poppy wouldn’t. Couldn’t. Because, despite everything, the woman standing before her was still her mother. And some small part of her still yearned for her approval, her love.

  ‘I’m sorry to interrupt. But… I saw you at the front doorstep, and I saw you the other day. And I had to come. I’m sorry.’ She directed a hesitant smile at Pam. ‘I came through the hedge. Like Poppy used to do. I hope that’s okay?’

  ‘It’s fine, Helena. Come in.’

  Despite the invitation her mother’s feet didn’t move an inch, much like Poppy’s feet, which appeared to be cemented to the floor.

  What was she supposed to do? Hug the woman who’d become a stranger? Become a stranger? More like, had always been a stranger. Should she leave the room, run away, never look back? Sit and talk?

  ‘Poppy. Here’s your tea.’ Pam pushed the cup into her hands and gave her a meaningful look. ‘I told you I wouldn’t be one for advice. I guess that’s because the universe, or something, had a better person in mind. Go, sit.’

  Poppy did as she was told, still unsure how she was expected to act, or react, to her mother’s arrival. She’d have to wing it, like pretty much everything else she’d done in her life.

  ‘Helena, you have my tea. I’ve got the bed to make and the bathroom to clean upstairs.’ She passed her mug to Helena and pulled out a chair for her to sit in. ‘Shout if you need anything.’ And just like that Pam was gone.

  Poppy lifted her eyes from the beige liquid, curious to see how time had treated her mother. She looked older than her fifty years. Her hair, once as black as Poppy’s had grown out a steely grey, but it was still long. Still loose, the waves tumbling over her shoulders and down her back. Deep lines were etched into either side of her mouth. Horizontal versions ran along her forehead. Her eyes were almost wrinkle-free. No laughter lines framed her eyes. No laughter lines, no laughter?

  Of course not. Her mother had rarely smiled or laughed in her presence. That was reserved for the parties she held, for the people she called friends. Not for the daughter she’d borne.

  ‘When did you come home?’ Helena’s long, slim fingers, splayed around the mug, tightened. Daubs of paint, in red and blue, dotted her knuckles. ‘I mean, when did you return to London?’

  ‘Two months ago, give or take a few days.’ Poppy stopped herself elaborating, afraid if she said too much she’d lose control, chase her mother away with hurtful words, when what they needed was to have a proper conversation. Perhaps not one that would heal all wounds all at once, but one that might start the process. ‘How have you been?’

  Helena closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. When her hazel eyes opened, Poppy saw resolute determination. ‘Shall we skip the pleasantries, Poppy?’

  Defences up, Poppy. Rejection ahoy. ‘Sure, what’s the point of pleasantries anyway? They just suck up time.’ Poppy forced her lips to rise into a half-smile.

  ‘And we’ve lost so much of that already.’

  The wistful tone in Helena’s voice caught Poppy off guard. What was her mother on about? Wasn’t she here to tell Poppy she couldn’t be moving into the house? Not that she wanted to. Or that family dinners were off the menu? Family anything? She didn’t need to be told that, she’d assumed it. Never thought to think anything else.

  A rhythmic clang and clank brought Poppy back to the room. She zeroed in on the source of the noise. Her mother’s ring-filled fingers tapped on the mug of tea. Over and over. Her mother seemingly unaware she was making the racket. Was her mother nervous?

  Helena shifted in her seat, a soft sigh escaping her lips. ‘I don’t know about you, Poppy, but I have a lot that needs to be said, and I feel the sooner the better.’

  A large lump
formed in Poppy’s throat. She braced herself for the conversation ahead. She didn’t know if she was ready for it, but she knew she couldn’t move on with her life if it didn’t happen.

  ‘Sorry is a good place to start, I think,’ her mother said, as much to herself as to Poppy. ‘And I am, Poppy. So sorry. For so much. My self-absorption. My lack of care with your heart. Your life. The way I let you do whatever you wanted whenever you wanted, because I was too busy thinking about my needs. My wants. I should never have…’

  ‘Been a parent? Been a mother?’ Poppy choked out. She gripped the edges of her chair, tried to stop the tears that were rising on the tide of emotion. ‘Should never have gone through with the pregnancy? Because that’s what you said to me. You only had me because if you didn’t Grandma would never have given you the house. Left it to you. I was your meal ticket to artistic freedom, since my arrival stole away your freedom to do whatever you wanted, whenever you wanted, wherever you wanted…’

  ‘Oh God, Poppy. No. Please don’t…’ Helena reached for Poppy.

  Poppy shrank back instinctively. ‘Don’t what? Put the ugly truth on the table? You never wanted me. You were forced to have me. And you resented it. You resented me…’

  Helena squeezed her eyes shut. Her nostrils retracted, then relaxed. When she opened her eyes they were hard, clear. Determined. ‘I should never have said what I said to you. Never have behaved the way I did.’

  ‘Well, that makes us in agreement over that. And the truth is, I didn’t deserve the kind of life I had to live with you. More than that, you didn’t deserve me.’ Poppy clapped her hand over her mouth. Stopped the venom spewing. ‘I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.’

  ‘No. It wasn’t.’ Helena shook her head. ‘I deserved it.’ She folded her arms across herself, tucking her hands into her armpits. Into a hug.

  It was like seeing a mirror-image of herself. How often had she hugged herself when she was nervous? Scared? Hurt? Worried? Alone? Had she learnt it from her mother? Were there similarities between them that she’d never considered?

  ‘All I wanted was to live a life free of any trappings. To live the bohemian lifestyle of a “true” artist. At least the lifestyle I thought an artist should live. And then you came along, and I ran to my mother, who had the means to help. But those means came with restrictions. Raise you in the family home. Send you to a good school. Give you a stable life. It wasn’t you I resented, it was the rules. But I was young. Stupid. Short-sighted. And I took my feeling of being trapped, being caged, out on you. Convinced myself that you were enough like me that you didn’t need to be smothered in love, cossetted, reined in by rules. Except you weren’t. You liked the rules. You liked school. You enjoyed a regime.’

  ‘And yet you ignored that. Moved stubbornly forward with your belief that I was like you.’ Much as she moved stubbornly forward with her belief that she couldn’t love. Didn’t know how. And that no one could love her in return, because she was unlovable.

  Helena’s eyes glittered. ‘I screwed up. I let my own selfishness get in the way of being a good mother, and by the time I matured enough to realise it you’d been gone for years, and I didn’t know how to tell you I was sorry. That I would do anything, give anything, to go back. To start again. To be the kind of mother a child as kind, and sweet, and filled with sunshine as you deserved.’

  Abandoning any pretence of toughness, Poppy moved from her chair to the one closest to her mother, tugged her mother’s hands away from her armpits and took them in her own. ‘I never thought you saw me like that. I never thought you saw me at all.’

  ‘I saw you. I just pretended not to. It made it easier to convince myself that by giving you freedom I was being the opposite of my own mother. That you would never come to resent me as I resented her.’ Helena flipped her hands over and curled them into Poppy’s. ‘Please don’t think I’m expecting you to feel sorry for me. To suddenly want to have anything to do with me. I don’t. I don’t know that I deserve that. That I even deserve your forgiveness… but I came over because, well, I just wanted to let you know that if you ever wanted to come by for a cup of tea, or if you wanted to see what I was working on…’

  ‘I’ll pop in.’ The words flew out before she’d had time to consider them, but Poppy knew she meant it. Maybe the first step to learning that love was possible, to learning how to love, was giving it a chance. And Poppy couldn’t think of anyone else she’d rather take that step with.

  A warmth filled her heart, spread through her body.

  Actually, she could.

  Someone whose eyes lit up when he saw her.

  Whose hair never fell out of place, even after the biggest mussing.

  Who was thoughtful, and careful of others’ feelings.

  Someone who’d opened his heart to her. Who’d accepted her for who she was – unicorns and glitter and fluff galore.

  Someone who she’d run from. Not once. But twice.

  Someone who deserved an apology. An explanation.

  And to know that she loved him back. With everything she had.

  Poppy gave her mother’s hands a small shake and a squeeze. ‘You know, Mum, I’d love to see what you’re working on. I always enjoyed watching you work. You had such a way of making the people you drew come to life. I’ll come around after work one day this week – if that’s okay with you?’

  Helena’s lips lifted in the smallest of smiles, like she couldn’t quite believe her luck. ‘It’s more than okay. I think you’ll like what – who – I’m working on. I think you’ll even recognise her.’ She lifted her hand to Poppy’s face, traced her cheek with her thumb. ‘Thank you, Poppy. Thank you for this chance.’

  The kitchen blurred as Poppy leaned in to give her mother a kiss on the cheek. Even if she’d buggered things with Ben, at least she had the beginnings of a relationship with her mother. And that was worth sticking round for.

  Poppy walked her mother to the front door and let her out with a quick hug goodbye.

  ‘You all right, love?’ Pam appeared beside Poppy and took a long appraising look at her. ‘You are. I knew you would be. And you’ve got the answers you were looking for?’

  Poppy nodded. ‘I do. And you were right.’ Now that she’d accepted the love that was innately within her – the love she’d shunned for so many years – her being, her soul, vibrated with it. Warming her, fulfilling her. And the urge she had to share it was even larger than the urge she’d felt to share the joy and magic of all things unicorn.

  ‘Good. Now go take that love of yours and do what you should have done a very long time ago.’ Pam winked, gave Poppy’s hip an affectionate tap, and sent her off down the street.

  Poppy felt for the unicorn charm she’d stashed in the pocket of her shorts, tipped her face to the sun-bleached sky, made a wish and promised herself she’d make it come true.

  Chapter 20

  Ben sighed as he tipped another batch of over-whipped meringue into the rubbish. He shouldn’t be whipping, or beating, or whisking anything right now. At the rate he was stuffing up the baking he wouldn’t be getting any profit out of anything he sold the next day. That was if he could convince himself to get out of bed and open up. The prospect of huddling under the covers and binge-watching the latest crime show on his tablet was far more appealing than spending the day working in a Poppy-less shop.

  He tossed the bowl into the sink and flicked on the tap, letting it fill with water. Setting his elbows on the bench, he placed his head in his hands and massaged his temples. For the first time in a long time he didn’t know what to do next. He had no plan.

  Sure, he could go on with the shop, extend into the space Poppy occupied. His business could handle it, he knew it could. It wasn’t like Poppy had been part of the plan all along, he’d come up with the plan to include her in the spur of the moment. But now he couldn’t imagine her not being part of the shop. Or his life.

  He squeezed his eyes shut and cursed out loud. If he’d only shut his mouth, not told
her he loved her. If he only could have been satisfied with their friendship, not wanted more, she’d still be here. There wouldn’t be a text on his phone telling him she was done. There wouldn’t be half a shop that, as filled with colour as it was, felt dull without her. And his heart wouldn’t feel like someone had taken a wrecking ball to it.

  The chime of the doorbell brought him to his senses. He must’ve forgotten to lock the door when he’d shut, but who’d be coming in at this time? Flicking off the tap, he put on a customer-ready smile and entered the shop.

  ‘Oh. It’s you.’ Ben abandoned the niceties. Poppy wasn’t here to make amends. To say she’d made a mistake. To say she’d stay. That he was worth sticking round for.

  Fool me once? He’d been fooled twice. No way was three times an option.

  Poppy hung about the door. Her bottom lip had disappeared into her mouth, held in by her teeth, and her gaze didn’t leave the floor.

  ‘Have you come to pack up? Did you think I’d be gone? Because I can go, if it makes things easier.’ Anger coiled low in his stomach. Damn it, he was being cordial. Making life easy for her. Why should her life be so simple? Why should Poppy be able to flit in and out of his life without consequences? No more. If she wanted to leave him she’d have to do it in his presence. He wasn’t the one going anywhere. ‘Actually, I can’t.’ He made a show of checking his watch. ‘A mothers’ group is booked in for tomorrow and I need to get the tables organised and get my lemon meringue tarts into the oven and cooled down before I finish up.’ He nearly added a ‘sorry’ but stopped himself. He wasn’t sorry for anything.

  Poppy nodded and trudged to her side of the store, sat down and opened her laptop, then began to type.

  His phone pinged in his pocket. He pulled it out and saw Poppy had sent him a message.