Miss Moonshine's Emporium of Happy Endings: A feel-good collection of heartwarming stories

by Helena Fairfax

  Perhaps she should pay the shop another visit.

  *

  The scent of perfume hit her as she went in. The bell tinkled as Lola closed the door, and the chandelier danced a little before settling. Tourists in raincoats and walking boots milled about the place, and Lola spotted the shopkeeper behind the till serving a customer.

  Lola climbed the stairs to the second floor. It was quieter up here. Old wooden chests were filled with folded blankets, and glass baubles strung from the windows caught the sun and scattered rainbow shards around the room. A wicker basket spilling over with balls of wool sat in the brick fireplace. Lola paused in front of it. She could tell the fireplace was original, and wondered what it had witnessed over the centuries. How many people had walked past it or gazed into its flames?

  ‘Not as many as you might think.’

  Lola span round. The white-haired lady was standing behind her, calm and unruffled, not even slightly out of breath despite the steep stairs.

  ‘This place used to be a chapel – before it passed to me and I opened this shop.’

  Lola nodded politely. Had she really spoken her thoughts out loud? Crikey. She was losing it.

  The lady straightened a pile of greetings cards. Her fingers were crooked, her skin pale as marble. She wore a curious outfit; a tweed skirt and a red blouse with ruffles around the cuffs and throat. Her heels were at least three inches high yet she moved around with the grace of a ballerina.

  ‘Who – who are you?’ asked Lola.

  The lady beamed and bobbed a curtsey. ‘Why, Miss Moonshine, dear. Pleased to meet you.’

  Lola couldn’t help but smile. It was strange; she had grown up in this town where everyone knew everyone, yet she’d never heard talk of this eccentric lady before.

  She felt in her pocket for the stone. ‘When I came in yesterday you gave me this.’

  Miss Moonshine’s thin lips stretched in a plum-coloured smile. The creases around her eyes spoke of a full life, rich in experience.

  ‘I – I just wondered why you gave it to me?’ said Lola, feeling the pinch of guilt for the way she’d reacted.

  ‘Because you needed it.’ The lady’s hair glinted like pearls as she looked at Lola. ‘Has it made you rethink?’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Your future, of course.’

  Lola didn’t reply. She’d thought of nothing else, but had only gone in circles.

  The lady peered at her. ‘Everyone has a dream, a goal, a wish they’d like to come true.’

  The stone seemed to glow in her hand, and a gentle heat seeped into her bloodstream. Lola looked out of the window at the mill by the river and pictured herself in a workshop making jewellery, taking commissions for bespoke pieces.

  But that was silly. She’d tried displaying it in her mum’s salon and once she’d taken a stall at the market, but people had barely glanced at it.

  ‘Ah, so you do have a dream,’ said Miss Moonshine, stepping forward to peer at her more closely. ‘But you’re afraid.’

  A shiver travelled through her. Afraid?

  ‘There’s no need to be. When you find your true path everything will simply fall into place. It’s a magical feeling, as if the universe has realigned itself just for you.’ The lady turned and busied herself, straightening piles of folded tea towels and plumping up cushions with surprising strength. ‘Try it,’ she added. ‘Follow your heart.’

  Lola bit her lip. ‘What if I don’t know where my heart wants to go? I mean, we all have dreams, don’t we? But real life gets in the way.’

  Real problems, like losing your job. Frustrated, she turned away. She hurried downstairs and across the shop, but as she reached for the door, Miss Moonshine’s voice stopped her. ‘I’ve always thought real life was overrated, don’t you agree?’

  Lola did a double take. The old lady was wearing a full-length ballgown, and the green satin shimmered like a mermaid’s tale. Tucked under her arm was the tiny dog.

  ‘How did you do that?’ asked Lola.

  ‘What, dear?’

  ‘Get changed so fast?’

  Miss Moonshine looked down at her dress as if she herself wasn’t quite sure. She shook her head. ‘Anyway, what was I saying?’

  ‘You said real life was overrated.’ Which might work as the old lady’s mantra, but in the last forty-eight hours Lola’s life had turned upside down, and she didn’t have a clue how to put it right. ‘It’s not always that easy, though, is it? I mean, it’s not just about me. There’s Mum and my sister – and Greg…’ She bit her lip. Was she making excuses? She sighed. ‘I just don’t know what to do for the best.’

  Miss Moonshine tilted her head in a look of sympathy. ‘Let the stone guide you.’

  *

  Mum had been chopping carrots. Hearing Lola’s news, she put the knife down. ‘She did what?’

  ‘Mum, please. Don’t overreact.’

  ‘Overreact? She sacked you because the love of your life asked you to marry him!’

  Greg wasn’t the love of her life, thought Lola, but Mum was already snatching at the strings of her apron, saying, ‘I’ve got a good mind to go over there right now and –’

  ‘Mum, don’t.’

  ‘Who does she think she is? Debbie turns up late every day but I haven’t given her the push.’

  Lola cringed to be compared with the salon’s moody and argumentative receptionist. ‘It wasn’t just that,’ she said quickly. Her mum stopped. Lola took a deep breath. ‘She had given me a warning already. Two, actually. About my efficiency. I sometimes got distracted.’

  Her mum frowned. ‘That doesn’t sound like you, Lo.’

  ‘It was just so boring stacking shelves or sorting through best-before dates. Sometimes I did daydream. A bit.’ The glimpse of a customer’s hairclip or some bright new packaging could be enough to trigger ideas for jewellery she wanted to make. Pat had caught her jotting notes and quick sketches more than once.

  ‘I see.’ Mum sat down.

  Lola wished she would be cross, rather than looking so disappointed.

  ‘So what are you going to do?’

  She shrugged as if it was no big deal. As if that stone wasn’t burning in her pocket and Miss Moonshine’s words weren’t filling her ears. You don’t have a dream?

  ‘I’ll look for something else.’ There were always waitressing jobs going in the town’s many cafés and pubs. She added hesitantly; ‘And I might try again to sell my jewellery.’

  Mum lifted a brow. ‘That won’t pay the rent.’

  Lola felt a shot of hurt. ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Well, how much do you earn from it at the moment?’

  ‘Not much, but if I had more time and promoted it, I might sell more. I was thinking I could join one of those online craft stores. And could you display it again in the salon?’

  ‘I can,’ Mum said carefully, ‘but remember last time? It didn’t sell, love. It’s too colourful, too chunky. Round here people want copper, wood, glass. Natural materials, muted colours. And all those designers in the mill, they have degrees and things. They’re not like you and me, Lo.’

  Lola blinked hard and looked away.

  ‘I just don’t want you to raise your hopes and be disappointed again.’

  Alone in her room, Lola opened her jewellery case and picked out her favourite necklace. The turquoise and coral beads rippled through her fingers, making her think of ancient civilisations and exotic places where the sun was fierce and the colours intense.

  But Mum was right. Jewellery-making was for people with all the qualifications and letters after their name. Lola had left school with the bare minimum of exam passes. She mustn’t lose her head to a silly dream just because of an eccentric old woman.

  Still, she loved creating it, and right now she needed cheering up. There wasn’t space in her small bedroom, so she laid out her beading mat on the kitchen table and started arranging and rearranging beads until she got a pattern that pleased her. She found it therapeutic,
all the bending and clipping of metal, the stringing of beads and stones, the alchemy of combining colours in different ways and watching the results emerge like a butterfly from a chrysalis.

  She noticed her mum kept popping back into the kitchen and glancing her way. When she came in for the fourth time Lola told her; ‘I’m fine, you know.’

  Mum turned in surprise.

  ‘You don’t need to keep checking on me.’ She threaded a bead onto the wire and picked up her round-nosed pliers to twist the metal into a loop.

  ‘I wasn’t –’

  ‘Honestly, Mum, I’m good.’ Lola’s tone softened. She put the pliers down. ‘I hated that job anyway.’

  ‘Did you?’

  ‘Yeah. I fell into it because there was nothing else at the time and you needed help with money while you set up the salon, but I never meant to stay there so long.’

  Her mum’s forehead creased with guilt. ‘Money isn’t so tight now I’ve built up a list of regular customers.’

  ‘I know.’

  She was fine, Lola assured herself. OK, so she was still angry at the injustice of losing her job over Greg’s proposal, and she may have squeezed her pliers tighter than was necessary while she’d enjoyed a little mental fantasy that she was snipping Pat’s head rather than a metal headpin. But the more she thought about it, the more she saw what had happened as a release. This was her chance to try something new. To really think about what she wanted to do with her life.

  ‘Mum, do you know Miss Moonshine?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘She owns the shop next to the bank.’

  ‘The emporium?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’ve seen it but never been in. I’m not sure when she’s open. Why?’

  Lola shrugged. ‘Just wondered.’

  Mum nodded at the laptop. ‘Have a look if her shop is on our community web page.’

  It was, but the photos looked really old and grainy. Curious. Lola wondered if the lady had used a black and white filter.

  Lola glanced at the earrings she’d just finished. Making jewellery might not be something that would pay the rent, but there was no harm in setting up an online store, was there? And while she had time on her hands, maybe she’d catch the train to Manchester, check out what was happening there, too. She touched the small lump in her pocket. She’d never dared before, but now what did she have to lose?

  *

  She found the craft centre in a former indoor market which had been divided into workshops and stalls. Research had told her that the owner was a jewellery designer himself, and Lola had emailed to ask if he’d consider selling her pieces. He’d replied with a terse and non-committal message telling her to drop by so he could take a look at her work.

  After speaking to a couple of stallholders, she found him in a workshop, soldering.

  Lola cleared her throat.

  He turned. ‘How can I help you?’

  His eyes were the most startling shade of blue. Pale and clear, like a summer sky reflected in a raindrop. He was much younger than she’d expected. Around Greg’s age, at a guess. Her heart skidded. Oh God, she was so nervous. What if he laughed at her? Or worse, pitied her?

  She reached for the Angel Stone, which now hung from a long silver chain. She’d taken to wearing her new pendant all the time, and at night she slept with it under her pillow. Of course, she didn’t believe for a minute that it would do anything, but it was reassuring somehow.

  ‘I’m looking for Scott Allen?’

  ‘You’ve found him.’

  His voice was deep and velvety – or was it simply his Australian accent she found so enchanting? He wiped his hands on a rag and stepped forward to shake hers.

  ‘I’m Lola. I emailed you.’ She handed him one of the business cards she’d designed and printed.

  ‘Yes, I remember.’ He looked at the small card. ‘Lola. Nice name.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Unusual.’

  ‘Mum was a Barry Manilow fan.’

  ‘Ah. What was the song called – Copacabana?’ His lip curved a fraction. ‘How big a fan are we talking? Did she throw her knickers at the poor guy?’

  She giggled. ‘No, but she sang backing vocals for him once.’

  ‘She’s a singer?’

  He watched her intently, as if nothing were more important than what she had to say.

  ‘Not any more. When my dad died she had to give it up and get a steady job.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  She shrugged. ‘I don’t remember him. I was very small.’

  ‘Lola.’ His lips twitched. ‘Gotta admit, I’m feeling the urge to break into song, but I bet everyone does that, right?’

  She nodded. ‘Please don’t. I can’t stand his music.’

  He laughed. ‘Could have been worse,’ he said. ‘My Dad was a film buff. If he’d had his way I’d have been christened Woody. Woody Allen, see?’

  With his broad shoulders and solid build, he couldn’t be more unlike the actor. She laughed, and her shoulders dropped as she relaxed a little.

  ‘Luckily,’ he went on, ‘my mum put her foot down.’

  Lola smiled. The air seemed to fill with a static buzz.

  ‘So you have jewellery to show me, Lola?’

  ‘Oh – er, yes.’ She flicked open the catches of her case and pulled out a selection of earrings, necklaces and rings, crossing her fingers he’d like some of them, at least.

  He picked up an Aztec-style bracelet and examined it. The beads glinted crimson and black. She watched for his reaction, but he gave nothing away. She pushed her hands into her pockets and found her gaze lingering on his blonde lashes and the strong lines of his jaw. Her jewellery was chunky, but in his hands it looked small and delicate.

  ‘These are unusual,’ he said finally. ‘I’ve got to be honest, though, I’m not sure my customers will go for these styles.’

  Lola’s heart sank. She almost reached for her case. Then capitulation gave way to something else. Something fierce.

  Why did no one have faith in her? She loved her pieces. Miss Moonshine’s smiling face hovered in her mind, and her left hand made a fist around the Angel Stone pendant. She glanced behind at the displays of pewter and pearl. Her work would stand out here.

  ‘You don’t know unless you try.’ She smiled, feigning confidence. ‘I love the colours and styles of ethnic art and I try to use them in my work.’

  His brow lifted. ‘So I see. Have you been to Australia? I think you’d love Aboriginal art.’

  She shook her head. ‘But I’ve studied it.’

  All those hours spent gazing longingly at pictures on the internet and in magazines had to count for something, didn’t they?

  ‘You’re right, we should give it a go. And don’t get me wrong – I like it. I’m just not sure what Joe Public will make of it. How about a month’s trial and I’ll return anything that hasn’t sold? Agreed?’

  Relief rushed through her. ‘Agreed.’

  On the train home Lola sat by the window, and as the apartment blocks and warehouses rushed past to be replaced with emerald and bronze hills, chaotic hopes began to unfurl. In her head she cradled the image of Scott bent over the soldering iron in concentration. What would it be like to make jewellery full-time? To have a workshop of her own? A place where she could hammer and solder and have space to come up with even more imaginative designs. Oh, she knew it was a dream, but it made her blood fizz to think –

  A dream.

  She glanced down at the Angel Stone and a fiery determination spread through her. Suddenly she knew what she wanted.

  To make jewellery for a living. And one day to travel, to see the places which inspired her so much, to work with people and learn new techniques. One vision interlocked with the next, and it blossomed, this dream of hers, as if for too long it had been denied light and air. Perhaps it was unrealistic, impossible even, but she held on to it nevertheless.

  As the train pulled up at her station, Lola stoo
d, her spine straight with resolve. Tomorrow she’d really get to business making a quantity of jewellery, and she’d make a list of all the other outlets she could approach too.

  *

  ‘Lola, is that you?’

  ‘Yes, I’m home!’ She pushed the door shut and shook off her coat, impatient to tell Mum and Mandy about her trip.

  But before she could say a word, Mum appeared in the doorway. ‘You won’t believe what’s happened.’ Her face was pale, her eyes raw. Mandy hovered behind her, jittery too.

  Lola stopped. ‘What?’

  ‘Debbie walked out.’

  ‘Debbie?’ It wasn’t a complete surprise. The receptionist had always been volatile. ‘Why?’

  ‘We had words because she’s been coming in late again. She got in a huff, waited until we were busy with clients, then left and never came back.’

  ‘Oh Mum, I’m sorry –’

  Mum’s bracelets jangled as she waved a hand through the air. ‘That’s not all. She ripped out pages from the appointment book. Can you believe it? It’s already causing pandemonium. Eight years it’s taken me to build up my business and now I could lose it all.’

  ‘Oh no.’ Lola bit her lip. ‘Have you called her?’

  Her mum nodded. ‘She won’t answer.’

  ‘It’s been mad,’ said Mandy. ‘We didn’t know who was booked in when or what for so we couldn’t prepare and we’ve been running late all day.’

  ‘The customers have been very good about it,’ said Mum, ‘but I don’t know what I’m going to do. The phone hasn’t stopped ringing and we can’t answer when we’re with clients.’

  Lola reached to hang up her jacket. When she turned back, she suddenly realised the two of them were watching her expectantly. ‘What?’

  ‘I need to advertise for a new receptionist,’ said Mum.

  Mandy nodded.

  So did Lola.

  Mum went on, ‘But I don’t have time to do interviews while I’m coping with all the chaos she’s caused.’

  Silence filled the hall. Then realisation dawned on Lola. ‘You want me to –?’

  Her heart plunged as she thought of the plans she’d made on the train home.

  ‘Well you’re not working, are you? Please, Lo. If you could cover on reception – just until I find someone…’