The Pet Shop at Pennycombe Bay

by Sheila Norton

  ‘I didn’t like to ask.’

  ‘But of course you can! You know how much I admire you for volunteering with them. You might get a few more volunteers that way. Lots of people probably don’t even know about it.’

  ‘Thanks, Jim. That would be really good.’

  I went into the back of the shop to make our coffee, feeling very satisfied. A good day’s work, and it wasn’t even nine o’clock yet! I felt a bit less excited, though, when Jim said thoughtfully as he sipped his coffee:

  ‘I’m glad you asked me to get involved in this, really, Jess. I’ve been thinking that when I retire, I’d like to do more to help the community here. I might even ask about joining the events committee.’

  I put down my coffee mug and stared at him. ‘That’s the second time you’ve mentioned retiring, recently.’

  ‘Well, got to face facts. I’m getting on a bit now. Can’t keep working forever. Now Ganesh has gone, from next door—’

  ‘Only because he was struggling with the competition.’ I paused. ‘You’re a spring chicken yet, Jim! What would you do all day, if you didn’t have the shop?’

  ‘Lots of things.’ He sipped his coffee again. ‘Maybe get a dog again, one that’s used to cats, and go for long country walks before I get too old. Do my bungalow up a bit. Have a holiday.’

  ‘You deserve it,’ I admitted, but my heart was sinking. It would have been selfish to say it to him; it was selfish to even be thinking it. But my heart was screaming: That’s all very well, but WHAT ABOUT ME?

  The shop next door had been empty for weeks now. After he and his sons had finished clearing everything out, Ganesh Patel had come in to say goodbye. He’d clasped us both in a hug and said how much he’d miss us.

  ‘You’ll come in now and then though, won’t you, Ganesh, for a chat?’ Jim had protested.

  ‘Not for some time, my friend. Rupa, my wife, and I are planning to visit India, to see our families. All these years, since we came to the UK in 1966, we have not been home to see my dear brother and Rupa’s two sisters and their families. This has been our dream, and now we can do it. I should have given up the shop years ago. Life is too short, my dear friends, we must make of it what we can.’

  Jim had been quiet for the rest of that day and I knew he was thinking about his friend’s wise words. So it should have come as no surprise to me now that he was talking again about retiring.

  We’d seen various people turn up at Ganesh’s shop with the estate agent to look around, but as far as Jim or I or any of our customers knew, nobody had yet decided to take it on.

  ‘It brings down the character of the rest of the street,’ Jim complained that Saturday when we’d had the Father Christmas conversation, ‘having a shop empty and boarded up like that for any length of time.’

  ‘Well, let’s hope someone soon takes it over,’ I said.

  ‘Hmm. Another charity shop, I suppose, as if we haven’t got enough of them around here already,’ he moaned. ‘I’ll be glad to get out of it, if that’s the case.’

  I sighed. I was sorry to hear him being so grumpy and downbeat. He needed cheering up.

  ‘When do Mr and Mrs Patel leave for their trip to India?’ I asked him, an idea growing in my mind.

  ‘Next Sunday. They’ll be away until after Christmas,’ he said.

  ‘So why don’t we have a little farewell gathering for them? He closed the shop so suddenly, he didn’t have a retirement party or anything. It seems a shame.’

  Jim looked at me in surprise. ‘It’s too short notice, surely.’

  ‘Not if it’s something really informal. Maybe just a get-together at one of the pubs?’ I had a sudden memory of Nick standing at the bar in the Smugglers’ Arms, and added hurriedly: ‘The Ship might be best – it’s bigger than the Smugglers’. We can put signs up in our window, and ask the pub to put a notice up too. And we’ll tell everyone who comes in. Word will soon get around.’

  Jim was beginning to look interested. ‘That’s a nice idea, actually, Jess. I’ll give Ganesh a call. He might be busy, of course—’

  ‘It only needs to be for a couple of hours. Go on, call him, Jim!’

  Within ten minutes it was all agreed. And Jim had given me some money and asked me to go out and buy Good Luck balloons and Happy Retirement banners. And we were both feeling a bit more cheerful.

  CHAPTER 25

  That same afternoon, Tom came into the shop again. I’d noticed that he was coming in more and more frequently. At one time, it had just been the occasional visit to stock up on cat food. Now he appeared at least once a week, to browse the shelves and buy something, often something quite small. A new cat collar, or a small packet of treats. I was always pleased to see him.

  ‘I met your son on Wednesday,’ I told him as I served him that day. ‘He’s a lovely kid.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Tom nodded. ‘Yes, he told me a dog called Prudence had listened to him reading his book. And when he said Prudence was there with a pretty lady with a nice smile, I kind of put two and two together.’

  I felt myself blush crimson. ‘Jacob’s a very good reader,’ I said, to turn the subject back to the child, ‘and Mrs Armstrong thinks it should help him a lot, reading to Prudence.’

  ‘That’s fantastic. Thanks so much for what you’re doing.’

  ‘I’m not really doing anything!’ I laughed. ‘Well, it was only my first time, but I just had to sit there and hold Prudence still. She’s really good with children.’

  ‘Well, anything that helps Jacob is worth millions to me. I just wish it wasn’t necessary. I wish he didn’t take life so seriously. I’d like him to have fun – to fit in with the other kids, you know, be a bit boisterous and noisy and normal, but—’

  ‘But perhaps this is his normal,’ I said gently. ‘Some children just are quiet and shy and serious. And that’s fine, isn’t it, as long as they’re happy?’

  ‘I know what you’re saying, and you’re right, of course. Actually, I was like that myself, as a child.’

  ‘Were you? Me too,’ I admitted – surprised at myself, even as I said it, for confiding in him like this.

  Tom smiled, that smile that always lit up his face, reminding me so much of his son’s little smile.

  ‘I guess I always hoped Jacob would take after his mum. She was so different, such a ray of sunshine. So much more of an extrovert than me.’ He took a deep breath and added. ‘Jacob hasn’t done well since Sarah died. He took it very hard.’

  ‘Of course he did. I’m so sorry to hear about his mum.’ I glanced at Jim, who’d been making himself busy at the other end of the counter. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ I asked Tom quietly. ‘I was just about to make one.’

  ‘Oh. Well, yes, that would be nice – thank you.’ I had no idea what had come over me. Of course, we often made tea or coffee in the shop and shared a cup with our regular customers. That was what the chair by the counter was for. But this was different, and I knew it. I was doing it so that I could keep talking to Tom for longer. Because I was enjoying chatting about Jacob, and I wanted to hear some more about the quiet, serious child Tom had been. I could imagine it, already: imagine the young Tom, looking so like his son did now, with his black hair and those dark, intense eyes. A thought came to me suddenly as I poured water over teabags, measured milk into a jug and put sugar on the tray. Was I flirting with Tom? Was that what was happening here? Just because of that comment he’d made about Jacob referring to the pretty lady with the nice smile? I went hot all over, just at the very idea. It was ridiculous! I’d never flirted, with anybody. I wouldn’t even know how to – that was why I’d been so upset when Ruth suggested I’d flirted with Nick!

  At the thought of Nick, and how that had turned out, I began to regret starting to be friendly with another man, even such a nice one as Tom. I didn’t want him to get the wrong idea. But surely it was OK to just be friends?

  ‘Here,’ I said, horribly aware that I was sounding a bit brusque now, in my attempt not to sou
nd like I was flirting. I put the tray down on the counter. ‘Help yourself to milk and sugar.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Tom gave me a slightly puzzled look. ‘That’s really kind of you.’

  ‘Oh, it’s just what we do. All the time. For all our customers, you know. It’s all part of the service.’ I was gabbling. Jim looked up at me and frowned. ‘Buy some cat food, have a free cup of tea – you know,’ I went on. ‘Like a loyalty card, only with hot beverages.’

  Tom laughed. It was a nice laugh, if a little uncertain.

  ‘Well, it’s a great idea. Pity more shops don’t try it.’ He sipped his tea and nodded. ‘Lovely, thank you.’

  ‘We might introduce biscuits next,’ I said. My voice was coming out a bit peculiar. What was wrong with me? ‘Or cakes. We’d charge for them, though, of course.’

  ‘Yes! I can see it now.’ He gave me that lovely smile again. ‘Paws4Thought: Feed your pets – and we’ll feed you!’

  ‘Do you work in advertising or something?’ I asked, in my new strange voice.

  ‘In marketing. I mean, I was. That was what I used to do, but I had to quit, after Sarah died. I was working long hours; it didn’t fit with being a single parent.’

  ‘Oh, yes. Of course, I can understand that.’

  We both sipped our tea in silence for a moment. Then he nodded at the poster I’d just designed and printed off – still lying on the counter, as I hadn’t had time to pin it up yet.

  ‘What’s this about Mr Patel?’

  ‘Oh, we’re having a farewell party for him and his wife – they’re off to India. It’ll just be a quiet little thing in the pub. A few close friends, you know—’

  ‘Everyone’s welcome,’ Jim corrected me at once from the other end of the counter. ‘Why don’t you come along, Tom? It’s on Friday evening, in the Ship.’

  ‘Only if you want to, though,’ I said. ‘I expect you’re busy—’

  ‘No – I’m not busy that evening. I’d love to come. Thank you, I’ll see you both then.’

  He gave me another smile, and I looked down, feeling awkward.

  ‘Obviously, you can bring … whoever you want … with you,’ I said without looking up at him.

  By the time Tom had drained the last of his tea, Jim was staring at me openly, and when the shop door had finally closed behind him there was a long silence. I busied myself starting a new stock order, keeping my eyes on the computer screen, waiting for him to ask me why, suddenly, I was behaving so strangely with one of our customers. I could have asked myself the same thing. But instead, he just coughed a couple of times and then said:

  ‘Put the poster up, then, Jess – we want everyone to see it.’ He paused, and then went on: ‘So … are you serious? About serving tea and cakes?’

  I was just about to laugh and say no, it had been a silly joke, a throwaway comment, of course I hadn’t been serious, when he added:

  ‘It could work. Give it some thought.’

  I shook my head. ‘I don’t think so.’ The idea of slicing up fruit cake and buttering scones at the same time as weighing out dog biscuits was pretty ridiculous. ‘Even for tea and coffee, we’d need more chairs. And tables. And we don’t really have the room,’ I said, thinking aloud. ‘I was being a bit facetious.’

  The shop door had opened again while we were talking, and Vera hobbled in, leaning heavily on her stick. ‘What’s this about tables?’ she said, sinking down gratefully into the chair beside the counter.

  ‘Nothing, Vera,’ I said quickly.

  ‘Jess was suggesting something to our last customer,’ Jim said. I noticed a twinkle in his eye now, but I wasn’t sure whether he was enjoying teasing me, or whether it was because Vera was here. ‘Serving teas and coffees, and maybe cakes too.’

  ‘In a pet shop?’ Vera said, staring from Jim to me and back again.

  ‘Exactly. It was a joke,’ I said.

  ‘She was serving tea to our last customer, you see,’ Jim went on, grinning. ‘Young chap who comes in all the time, on any kind of pretext, to talk to Jess—’

  ‘Jim, that’s not true!’ I protested, blushing furiously. ‘Tom comes in to buy his cat food—’

  ‘Tom?’ Vera interrupted, giving me an old-fashioned look. ‘That wouldn’t be Tom Sanders who lives down by me, would it? I did warn you, Jess, didn’t I, about his wife.’

  ‘His wife died, Vera,’ I said calmly. ‘He’s a widower.’

  ‘Oh, is that so? Well, there seems to be a woman around, that’s all I’m saying. Watch your step, Jess.’

  ‘Thanks, Vera, but he’s just a customer.’ I returned her stare, then looked away and caught Jim staring at me too. ‘What?’ I exclaimed. ‘For God’s sake, both of you, there’s nothing going on!’

  I picked up the empty mugs and flounced off to the back of the shop to make another tea for Vera. I wasn’t going to rise to their teasing, I told myself. Tom was just another customer, one who happened to be friendly and pleasant. And rather nice. With a nice smile. That was all!

  The evening of the farewell party was chilly, with a horrible fine rain coming off the sea. But the atmosphere in the Ship was warm and convivial. I looked around me at all the familiar faces. Jim had brought Vera along with him and had found her a seat near the window, where he stood holding onto back of her chair in a proprietary manner. Dan was there, chatting to a couple of people I recognised as other members of the events committee. There was Mr Phillips, the school headmaster, with a group of the teachers including Mrs Armstrong. Several of the other shopkeepers had turned out, too, including the greengrocer from next door to Patel’s on the other side, and the two ladies who ran the bookshop, and some giggly girls from the hairdresser’s, Pennycombe Bay Cuts. Ruth had said she’d try to get home in time, but she hadn’t turned up, and I wasn’t really surprised. I guessed she’d find the pub atmosphere difficult. And fortunately, there was no sign of Nick either. But to my surprise and pleasure, one person who’d managed, unexpectedly, to finish work early enough to get here was my new friend Edie, who used to be Vera’s carer. I hadn’t seen her for some time. She gave me a hug, said what a nice idea it was to organise the party, and made straight for the bar to grab herself a drink.

  ‘So nice to see you,’ I said when she fought her way through the crowds to find me again.

  ‘You too. We really must try to fix a date one weekend, to get together.’

  ‘That’d be lovely. I’m a bit busy helping Dan with stuff for the Christmas market at the moment, though. I’m having a stall, too, for the pet shop.’

  ‘Ooh, that’s a good idea!’ She smiled at me. ‘I’ll try and come, then. I don’t normally have so many calls to make on Sundays – some of my people get looked after by their families so they don’t need me. They look forward to it all week.’

  We chatted a little more about her work, and she asked after Vera, of course, and the time passed quickly as we filled in the gaps and greeted other people we both knew from around the town.

  Mr and Mrs Patel, as the guests of honour, were seated on a table in the centre of the bar, looking stunned and quite overcome with emotion at the number of people who’d turned up to wish them well. Everyone wanted to buy them drinks, and when they began to run out of room for any more glasses on their table, Mr P got to his feet and made an embarrassed little announcement to the effect that neither of them drank much alcohol, and there was only so much orange juice or lemonade a person could tolerate in one evening, so they wouldn’t want anyone else to spend their money. There was a lot of good-natured laughter and even applause in response, and calls for Mr P to make a speech. He looked around at the crowd and hesitated.

  ‘Well, there isn’t much to say, my dear friends,’ he said finally. ‘Except to thank you all from the bottom of my heart. You know, Rupa and I were made more than welcome here in Pennycombe Bay, back in 1966 when we first arrived from India, and we know this was not always the case for immigrants at that time. We were lucky, and we’ve been lucky ever since, to have suc
h wonderful friends and such supportive customers. So … yes, we’ve left the shop, and yes, we’ll be away for a while, but we’re not leaving Pennycombe Bay for good, absolutely not. We will be back of course, to enjoy our retirement, and perhaps to begin to help out with some of the community ventures here – that is something I’ve always been too busy to do before.’ He looked behind him for his glass of orange juice and raised it, turning around to encompass everyone in the bar. ‘Thank you for tonight, especially to you, Jim and you, Jess. Thank you all our dear friends, we’ll miss you while we’re away!’

  There was a chorus of ‘Cheers!’ and ‘Good luck, both of you!’ and ‘Bon voyage’, and a rush of people went to shake both the Patels by the hand before a few people started to drift away.

  ‘I’d better go,’ Edie said, giving me a kiss on the cheek. ‘Got an early start tomorrow. Hopefully see you at the Christmas market!’

  ‘Yes! Watch out, though: I might try to sell you a Santa hat for a dog, or a festive cat collar,’ I teased, and as she walked away I was still smiling to myself, happy in the knowledge that I’d finally made a nice new friend in Pennycombe Bay, when a voice from behind me suddenly said:

  ‘Thanks for inviting me, Jess. I’m glad I came: they’re such lovely people, aren’t they?’

  ‘Oh!’ I jumped, slopping some of my wine down my jacket. ‘Hello, Tom. I didn’t see you—’

  ‘I only got here just in time to hear that nice little speech he made. Had a bit of a rush.’

  ‘Well, at least you’re here.’ I sipped the wine, unsure what else to say. I could have asked him if he’d rushed here straight from work, or if he’d been held up by something else – but everything I thought of asking seemed too nosy, felt too much … like I was interested.

  ‘Yes.’ He gave me that nice smile of his, and added: ‘I’m here, you’re here, and as it looks like you’ve spilt half of your wine, and I’m en route to the bar to get myself a beer, so maybe you’d let me buy you another drink?’