B01ESFW7JE

by Cathy Bramley

  He beamed at her. ‘Miss, Mrs or a politically correct Ms?’

  Several responses to that hovered at the tip of her tongue, not all of them polite.

  ‘Mrs,’ she said, wondering what her marital status had to do with anything.

  ‘Good, good.’ He looked up from his clipboard and over her shoulder. ‘And will your husband be joining us today?’

  She blinked at him. Good grief, what year did he think they were in, 1973?

  ‘No. He’s at home looking after the baby.’

  ‘Righto.’ Colin’s face dropped. He’d clearly already written her off as a time-waster.

  ‘Would the owners mind if I took out the old post office counter?’ Sarah asked.

  The building itself had lots of lovely old features, but the interior was very 1970s and not at all appealing.

  ‘I’ll check,’ mumbled Colin reluctantly.

  She crossed to the shop window, measured the area just in front of it and noted it down.

  ‘And this greeting cards fixture would have to go. In fact, we’d probably want to strip everything out and replaster. Would that be a problem? And has the property got any heating?’

  At that moment, Rebecca stopped outside the window with Ava in her pushchair and posted a letter through the original Royal Mail postbox fitted into the door. There was a dull thud as it landed. Sarah waved to attract her attention. Rebecca’s mouth formed an intrigued ‘ooh’ shape, she crossed her fingers and held them up to the glass.

  Sarah smiled and waved back. Rebecca was really nice when you got to know her. A bit prickly about her choice to be a single mum, but Sarah understood what it was like to make difficult decisions as a parent. She and Ava had been round for coffee and Sarah felt at long last like they might actually be making friends.

  ‘And there’s still a mail collection from here,’ noted Sarah. ‘Could that be moved?’

  ‘I’ll check everything.’ The estate agent scribbled some notes on his clipboard. He coughed importantly to herald the start of his sales patter. ‘The building dates back to the early nineteenth century and has got many original features.’

  It was nice, but all a bit gloomy; in her heart of hearts, Sarah simply couldn’t see herself working here. Although she was surrounded by windows, bushy trees on the opposite side of the road cast heavy shade over the little shop.

  An old couple in matching beige overcoats, despite the July heat, halted outside and pressed their faces to the glass, their hands around their eyes as if holding binoculars.

  Not very private either.

  ‘So, what were you thinking of, love? A café? That’s what people want, a cup of tea and a sticky bun with a slice of village life thrown in. Ha! You could call it that. “A slice of village life”.’ He swept his arm out and gazed into the distance, as if visualizing the sign above the shop door. Then he pointed at her notepad. ‘Get that down. You can have that one on me.’

  ‘Actually, I’m an accountant.’

  ‘Oh, right.’ He looked doubtfully round the shop. ‘Well, I’m sure good accountants are always in demand. We all hate the tax man, don’t we?’

  ‘Almost as much as we hate estate agents,’ she muttered through gritted teeth.

  The shop wasn’t right for her. It was no good pretending. It was too … shoppy. Disappointment trickled through her as she felt her pipe dream evaporate.

  Her sketchy plan had been to run her accountancy practice from downstairs and find a tenant to rent the little flat above to help cover the costs. She could have walked to work, nipped home for lunch and been back at Rose Cottage by five past five each evening. It all seemed perfect on paper.

  ‘Do you still want to see the flat?’ asked Colin in a lacklustre voice.

  His lack of enthusiasm was catching but she nodded anyway; she was here now, she might as well.

  As soon as she got to the top of the stairs her spirits soared.

  ‘This is lovely!’ she exclaimed.

  In contrast to downstairs, the flat was bright and airy. A big window in the open-plan living area let in loads of light and the view across the road skimmed the treetops to the meadow beyond where two handsome horses grazed.

  ‘The kitchen,’ said Colin superfluously, indicating the tiny area in the corner, separated from the rest of the room by a breakfast bar. ‘Bedroom and bathroom through here.’

  Sarah poked her head into the other rooms.

  ‘Shower room,’ she corrected him. ‘No bath.’

  ‘Ah yes.’ Colin nodded gravely. ‘That’s what modern tenants want these days. Commuters, and whatnot. Just wash and go, eh?’

  She nodded vaguely, adrenalin coursing through her. It was living accommodation, which was all wrong, but somehow Sarah knew it was exactly what she wanted.

  She could already see the layout as an open-plan office: meeting table in front of the window to make the most of the view, filing cabinets in the corner – she would even buy one of those trendy coffee machines to put in the kitchen area. The bedroom could be her own private office, just change the door for one with a glass panel, and the shower room … Well, a quick scrub and it would be fine – shell pink, but fine. She might just get rid of the ‘his and hers’ toothbrush holders …

  ‘Only one bedroom, but that makes it more attractive, I think. Very common now, living on your own.’ Colin was still wittering on.

  ‘Could you operate a business from up here?’ Sarah demanded.

  ‘I’d have to check.’ Colin sighed as if he had better things to do with his time, but dutifully made a note.

  ‘Will the owners split the lease, do you think?’ She crossed her fingers behind her back and held her breath. The lease was for the shop and flat. She only needed the flat.

  Colin Hanley sucked in his breath sharply. ‘Unlikely; there’s another interested party who would take the lot. That proposal is for a café. They’ve got a meeting with the planners next week. They’ve asked me not to tell the owners yet, until they know the result of that meeting.’

  ‘Oh.’ Her heart sank a little as she followed him back downstairs. ‘It would make a lovely café.’

  ‘Yes. Prime retail space, this,’ he said, slapping his hand on the underside of the staircase, sending a cloud of loose plaster dust into his hair.

  ‘So I see,’ said Sarah, coughing. ‘But in any case, I’ll give you my card.’

  She rummaged round in her handbag for a business card but could only find one of Zac’s baby flashcards with a dog on it. She really must get round to sorting this bag out. ‘Never mind. If I put together a proposal for your clients, would you be so kind as to forward it to them?’

  The estate agent gave her a smile that couldn’t have been more patronizing if he’d patted her on the head. ‘Of course. But don’t get your hopes up.’

  ‘Fine,’ Sarah lied. Her hopes were well and truly up and ready to fly …

  Chapter 32

  Two hours later the sun was still shining and Sarah and Dave were nearly ready for Zac’s party.

  Thank goodness it’s a nice day, thought Sarah, frantically flicking a tea towel over plastic garden chairs; trying to shoehorn everyone inside Rose Cottage would have been a nightmare if it had rained.

  Dave emerged from the kitchen wearing an apron over his shorts and T-shirt and carrying a tray of large utensils.

  ‘Is it time to get this on, do you think?’ She lifted the lid on the new stainless-steel barbecue and peered at the charcoal that Dave had already piled up.

  ‘Step aside,’ he said, puffing his chest out. ‘This is man’s work.’

  She laughed. ‘I’ll leave you to it. Oh, by the way, Jo’s coming and she’s bringing a man.’

  ‘Phew, says I, on behalf of the men of Woodby.’ He grinned at her and added some chunks of firelighter to the charcoal.

  Sarah went into the kitchen, smiling as she heard Dave singing ‘Maneater’ loudly to himself. Things had been so much better between them since Zac’s hospital scare. The air had been
well and truly cleared and she felt like they were both on the same team again. They had agreed that Dave would start rebuilding his decorating business, starting with a big contract for some show homes that he had picked up in the pub last week. And when she returned to work on Monday, she would be handing in her notice at Finch and Partners to focus on her new business idea.

  Her own accountancy practice; the very thought sent shivers down her spine. She knew exactly how she wanted to run it: every client would be made to feel special, no matter how small; she would give each job as much time as it needed (profit notwithstanding – Jo had taught her that); and most importantly, the family would come first. Flexibility, as Heather had said, was the key.

  All she had to do was keep her fingers crossed that the other party interested in the post office changed their minds and took their café plans elsewhere, and that she could convince the owners of the post office to split the lease.

  She paused from chopping cucumber into toddler-sized sticks and strained her ears. Zac had woken up from his nap and was shouting for her. She dried her hands and went to fetch him. He had been in nursery that morning while both she and Dave were busy and Sarah had to admit, he did enjoy it. Rosie, his favourite nursery nurse, said he especially loved ‘messy play’, which basically entailed being stripped off to his nappy and smearing himself in jelly or shaving foam. At least he could indulge his creative flair outside of the cottage, Sarah thought, running a damp cloth along the stairs banister on her way up.

  ‘Bababa,’ said Zac, as Sarah carried him downstairs in his clean birthday-party outfit.

  ‘Yes, we’re going to blow up some balloons.’ She dropped a kiss on his fluffy head. ‘And Auntie Carrie’s bringing you a cake. Any minute, hopefully.’

  There was a knock at the door and Sarah opened it to see Carrie looking radiant in a coral-pink silk dress with a butterfly on it and holding her trademark bunch of flowers. Alex stood behind her beaming proudly, weighed down with bags and a Peppa Pig birthday cake.

  ‘Look at you!’ Sarah gasped, taking in Carrie’s beaming smile. ‘One gorgeous lady!’

  Carrie blushed. ‘This old thing. Happy birthday, Zac. Let’s have a birthday cuddle.’ She swapped the flowers for Zac and kissed his cheek.

  ‘Come in, come in,’ cried Sarah, ushering them into the hallway which had been de-cluttered for the occasion.

  Alex went into the garden to help Dave, and Carrie and Sarah stared at them for a few moments through the kitchen window.

  ‘We are so lucky, aren’t we?’ sighed Sarah, looping her arm through Carrie’s.

  Carrie nodded. ‘If only Jo could meet someone.’

  ‘Ooh, I forgot to tell you,’ said Sarah with a twinkle in her eye. ‘I’ve had a text. She’s bringing Patrick to the party!’

  ‘Do you think she’s a bit in love with him?’ said Carrie slyly.

  Sarah lifted a shoulder. ‘Not sure, and I don’t think even she can answer that one.’

  Sarah and Dave had only invited about twenty adults plus children, but the garden was full to bursting with bodies. Their first party and it was going really well; Sarah grabbed three glasses of Prosecco and headed for Jo and Carrie.

  ‘Cheers!’ She chinked her glass against theirs. They had commandeered a section of the garden wall to perch on and Sarah sank down for a rest gratefully.

  ‘This has worked out splendidly for me in the end.’ Jo smiled wickedly. ‘I wouldn’t have been able to drink if I hadn’t got Patrick as a chauffeur.’ She sighed and took a long sip. ‘You don’t mind him tagging along, do you?’

  ‘We’re delighted you’ve brought a plus one.’ Sarah swapped a gleeful glance with Carrie. ‘Does this mean …?’

  ‘No it does not,’ said Jo tartly. ‘We’ve come from a meeting together, that’s all. Probably too little too late, but Patrick has taken it upon himself to launch a one-man rescue plan for Gold’s. He set up an appointment with some dusty old government department about exports. And that is all there is to it.’

  She sniffed, signalling the end of the matter.

  The little garden was a suntrap and the women fell into a contented silence as they basked in the heat. Dave was a little bit red-faced but still expertly churning out burgers, ribs and sausages for the children. He even had a veggie selection for Sarah and Rebecca. She had a lot more in common with Rebecca than she could have imagined, she mused, watching as Rebecca wiped Ava’s hands with a wet-wipe. Alex, the self-appointed barman, had become a hit with the older children by mixing non-alcoholic cocktails and decorating beakers with fruit, parasols and straws.

  Patrick had manfully blown up the paddling pool that Jo had bought Zac for his birthday and was entertaining the little ones by bouncing them in turn down the slide and into the water.

  Jo was observing Patrick playing with the children with a look of pure happiness across her face. Sarah nudged Carrie and they exchanged conspiratorial looks. Jo turned back to them to speak and narrowed her eyes.

  ‘Oh, seriously,’ she huffed. ‘Don’t even go there.’

  Carrie and Sarah held up their hands in mock surrender.

  ‘Whatever!’ said Sarah.

  Jo could protest all she liked, but there was definitely something in the air.

  ‘So tell me about this personal shopper, then?’ said Jo, refusing to be drawn.

  They listened as Carrie regaled them with the whole litany of misunderstandings between her and Alex, which seemingly had started as soon as they’d met, and how she had spent a whole day with a personal shopper who had educated her on shopping for her body shape and totally revamped her wardrobe. Carrie was so bubbly and happy; it was a pleasure to watch. Especially as her eyes kept darting over to Alex with unconcealed adoration.

  ‘Well, you look amazing,’ said Jo, raising her glass again.

  Carrie tugged at her dress self-consciously. ‘I do feel better about myself. And my marriage. And you know what, I’ve realized something about my wish. I don’t need to lose weight to wear a bikini, I’m never going to be a stick insect like you – no offence, Jo.’

  ‘Obviously.’ Jo smirked.

  ‘I should simply be myself and be happy in my own skin.’ She paused and pulled a face. ‘Well, that’s what I keep telling myself, anyway.’

  ‘That’s the best news I’ve heard for weeks.’ Sarah hugged her and thought how fortunate she was to have such a lovely friend living so close by.

  ‘Talking of news,’ Carrie continued, ‘I’m thinking about going back to floristry properly.’

  ‘She’s fantastic with flowers,’ confirmed Jo with a nod. ‘You should see her garden.’

  ‘I’ve had more requests to do flowers for events. So I’m going to ease myself back into it gently.’ Carrie looked down at her knees shyly.

  ‘Good for you,’ smiled Sarah. ‘I could do with your green fingers in this little patch; the flowers have just been growing wild this year.’

  ‘Gladly,’ said Carrie. ‘Although I think you might have a little helper already. Look.’

  The other two turned to follow her gaze; Zac was on his knees pulling the heads off all the marigolds in the border.

  They laughed and Sarah began to top up their glasses when there was a loud splash followed by some loud bawling. Ava had fallen face first into the paddling pool and given herself a shock.

  ‘No harm done, my little mermaid,’ laughed Rebecca as she fished her out.

  Sarah jumped up to fetch a towel and topped Rebecca’s glass up too. She returned to her spot a few minutes later.

  ‘I have news too,’ she said, fizzing with excitement. ‘I’m leaving Finch and Partners; I’m going to set up my own accountancy practice.’

  ‘That’s fab,’ said Jo, ‘and I’m sure your dad would have been even more proud of you for striking out on your own than if you’d been promoted at Finch and Partners.’

  Sarah’s stomach did a little flip. There was an image of her dad’s angry face seared into her memory banks and it had jus
t as powerful an impact on her now as it had when she was eighteen.

  ‘You’re wasting your time,’ he’d said harshly, dropping her off at the coach station for her first term at university. ‘And you’re a fool to turn down that apprenticeship at the hairdresser’s I got for you.’

  She’d tried telling him that she could scarcely tame her own curls and that surely her straight As in every mathematics exam she’d ever taken told a different story? But he wouldn’t listen. He’d managed all right without a fancy degree, he’d said, and she’d be married with kids before long anyway so what was the point?

  She’d spent every day of her life since proving him wrong.

  ‘Me and my dad …’ She swallowed, trying to find the right words. ‘Let’s just say he wasn’t exactly a feminist. When Dad was made redundant from the local pit along with the other miners, Mum got a job for a few hours a day in the corner shop to help make ends meet. When he found out, he came in and dragged her out by her hair, accusing her of showing him up in public. Everyone would think he couldn’t support his own family.’ She popped an olive into her mouth and looked away, her stomach trembling at the memory of her mum’s silent tears.

  ‘God, Sarah, I had no idea,’ said Carrie, rubbing her arm.

  ‘Sounds like a right charmer.’ Jo frowned. ‘Did your mum leave him?’

  Sarah shook her head. ‘Amazingly, no, she adored him. When he died of a stroke, she passed away six months later of a broken heart.’

  ‘So when you said you wanted to be a partner, was that to spite your dad or did you mean it?’ Carrie asked.

  ‘You’ve hit the nail on the head,’ Sarah replied with a rueful smile.

  She looked across the garden to see Patrick holding Zac’s hands and supporting him while he tiptoed over the grass and her heart twisted. Her dad had been the motivation behind many of her actions. She had even cut her maternity leave short knowing that he would have expected her to give up work completely once Zac came along.

  ‘Jo, I owe you an apology. When you admitted that you’d told a white lie about your wish, you asked whether anyone else had not been quite truthful with their wish. You were right. Even back then I was having my doubts that striving to be a partner was the right thing for us as a family, but sticking a metaphorical two fingers up at Dad had been my driving force for so long that it clouded my judgement. But really that job was squeezing the joy from me.’