by Liz Eeles
The man cuts me off by pulling a twenty-pound note from his pocket and placing it on top of his table, with its bright pink cloth. ‘This should cover the damage,’ he says, coldly.
‘There’s really no need,’ I protest, but he’s already put his arm around Caleb’s shoulders and is guiding him out of the café.
Becca gets to her feet with a sigh and wipes coffee-stained hands down her floral apron. ‘It was definitely an accident. He just got a bit overexcited when he saw the milkshake.’ She dips the toe of her Doc Martens into the yellow froth that’s snaking its way across the floor.
‘I know, and I didn’t mean to be sharp with him. But we can’t afford too many breakages.’
I still sound like a right grumpy old bag. Becca, who always seems a bit nervous when I’m around, nods and goes behind the counter for a dustpan and brush, while I start piling broken crockery into a tottering pile of shards. Concrete is an unforgiving surface and clumps of sheared glass glint at me from beneath nearby tables. As I scrape up squashed cake with a jagged piece of china, I feel wrong-footed and mean. The boy should have been more careful, but he’s only a child, and I hate that he looked scared. I know I’m having a bad day but I shouldn’t have taken it out on a kid.
I sigh, wishing I could rerun the last five minutes. Millicent is right; it is a shame that Callie’s not here. She’d have dealt with the situation with her usual calm good humour. She still helps out in the shop occasionally, and the new arrangement at the hotel coffee house is for the best, but I miss her, even more than I thought I would.
Standing up, I walk swiftly out of the café and through the shop. Pushing the front door wide open, I step outside and stand on the pavement to get some air. It’s baking hot today and there’s no breeze coming off the hills to cool the town.
The man and his son have just reached the end of the High Street and they disappear after turning into a lane that leads down to the river. They didn’t look back and I don’t suppose they’ll ever return to the café. It’s a shame because I really can’t afford to lose customers – and I’d like to give Caleb another milkshake, on the house.
I lean back against the door frame and drink in the scene around me. Immediately, my shoulders sink down from my ears and the tension that’s plagued me all day starts to ease. Honeyford is so ridiculously pretty, it never fails to make me feel better, whatever sort of day I’m having. Sunshine is glinting on the shop window and its display of seaside-themed books, with scattered sand and a soft-toy seagull. Callie’s the one with the artistic flair but I think I’ve made a fair stab at the display – and hopefully it will bring in more customers to the shop. It’s even more important that my business does well now I might be on my own.
I’ve done my best to turn things around. I’ve made some changes in the store recently which have gone down well with customers – a couple of comfy chairs for people who are browsing, a wider variety of books, better lighting at the back of the store and, of course, the café.
It’s been exciting to veer off from my familiar life into unknown territory. Or at least it was until yesterday, when my life took a turn I never expected. I wanted to step out from Malcolm’s shadow, not step away from him completely. Is that what I’m going to do – step away from my husband and not look back? Because whatever Malcolm’s been up to, the thought of being without him forever makes my heart hurt. Closing my eyes, I take in a deep breath of summer air, tilt my face towards the sun and let Honeyford work its soothing magic on me.
Chapter Three
By Wednesday morning, my violet eyes have matching circles beneath them and my skin looks chalk-white against my dark hair. I grab my blusher from my handbag and dab a touch of colour onto my cheeks, trying to ignore a woman with long silver hair who’s staring at me from the biography section. I can feel her eyes on me as I peer into the blusher compact’s tiny mirror. What is she doing?
When I glance up, she catches my gaze and holds it. Her hair is loose down her back, and she’s wearing wide black linen trousers and a long burgundy tunic made of loose-weave cotton. Around her neck is a huge chunk of amethyst on a leather thong. Give her a black hat and a broom and she’d pass for the local witch.
‘Can I help you?’ I ask as she strides over. I’ve seen her in the shop a few times but she’s only ever browsed and had the odd cup of coffee. I think she runs a shop further along the High Street. Callie would know. She knows everyone around here.
‘Is everything all right, dear?’ The woman tilts her head to one side and raises her hands in front of her. Then she circles them around my head, as though she’s polishing the air.
‘Everything’s fine, thank you,’ I say, taking a step back. ‘Are you looking for a particular book?’
‘I’m Luna. And you are?’ asks the woman, ignoring my question. She lowers her hands and extends one towards me. Her long fingers are covered in chunky silver rings.
‘I’m Flora. I run this shop.’
‘Flora, that’s a nice name. Did you know that Flora was the Roman goddess of flowers and spring?’
‘I did not know that.’
Her skin feels rough and warm when we shake hands, and she holds onto my fingers for a beat too long before narrowing her amber eyes.
‘I can see your aura, you know,’ she says, leaning forwards as though she’s sharing a secret. ‘It caught my attention the last time I was in here, but it seems rather dimmed today. Your colours are muted.’
Great, just what I need right now – a New Age customer. Talk of auras and crystals and general woo-woo stuff sends me running for the hills.
Ah, it suddenly clicks! This must be the woman who runs Luna’s Magical Emporium, just down the road from my bookshop. I’ve never been in because the window is full of gleaming gemstones, books about angels, and dreamcatchers, which are so not my thing.
‘Yes, your aura has definitely changed shade since I was last in here,’ she informs me, running her fingers over the amethyst around her neck.
‘What colour is it now, then – black?’
Luna frowns. ‘This is no laughing matter, Flora. Your aura was a beautiful sky blue with orange edges but now it’s smoky grey and flecked with imperfections. There’s a lot of negative energy surrounding you right now.’
‘There’s not much energy at all,’ I say, stifling a yawn. Ruben’s old put-you-up is the most uncomfortable bed ever.
‘Something’s happened to you recently,’ continues Luna, closing her eyes and swaying slightly. ‘Something terribly traumatic.’
‘Not really.’
‘Your aura never lies.’
Bloody aura, I think, grumpily. Broadcasting my secrets to every hippy who comes in.
‘You look tired, dear,’ says Luna, and she suddenly sounds so much like my mum that tears fill my eyes.
‘I’m not sleeping too well,’ I gulp, blinking rapidly.
‘What’s happened?’ When I hesitate, she leans forward and puts her hand on top of mine. ‘You can trust me, Flora. I’m very good with secrets and matters of the heart.’
‘My husband and I are having problems. He’s been having an affair with a younger woman and I’ve left him.’
The words come tumbling out before I have a chance to stop them. I’m spilling my guts to a complete stranger in the middle of the shop and anyone could come in at any moment. Get a grip, Flora!
Luna gives my hand a squeeze and a deep line appears between her eyebrows. ‘I knew it! A trauma triggers a shift in the energies that surround us and that is reflected in one’s aura. Are you staying with friends who can support and replenish you?’
‘Mmm.’ I nod, biting hard on my lip, but Luna keeps on staring, her hand still on mine. It’s crazy but I have the uncomfortable feeling she can read my mind. I shiver and pull my hand away as the shop door pings open.
My breath catches in my throat as Malcolm marches in with a thunderous look on his face.
‘Here you are,’ he says, ignoring Luna, who moves quiet
ly away and starts browsing books nearby. ‘I’m heartbroken, Flora. Absolutely heartbroken but you’re not replying to my texts or phone calls. You could have been dead for all I knew.’
‘Yet it still took you two days to come and find me,’ I murmur.
Malcolm bristles. He doesn’t look particularly heartbroken. He’s wearing his favourite cord trousers and a thin mauve jumper I haven’t seen before. I wonder if Marina bought it for him. It’s a little tight and is clinging to the extra few pounds around his middle.
‘I can’t just abandon the restaurant to search for you. I thought you’d come back.’
Luna raises her eyes from the book she’s holding and gives Malcolm a stare.
‘What do you want, Malcolm, and why are you here?’ I ask, quietly.
He turns his back on Luna so she won’t hear him. ‘I didn’t know where you were.’
‘Where else would I be?’
‘Yes, I should have known you’d be in your beloved shop,’ snaps Malcolm, but then his shoulders soften. ‘I’m sorry you had to find out about me and Marina in that way. I should have told you.’
‘Yes, you should. Or maybe you shouldn’t have slept with her in the first place.’
‘Keep your voice down. We don’t want every Tom, Dick and Harry knowing our business,’ mutters Malcolm. He steps forward as though he’s about to touch me but his arms stay by his side. Maybe he’ll never touch me again. A deep pang of sorrow shudders through me. Over twenty years of marriage – finished by a dropped earring that I didn’t even find.
‘You should come home while we sort out what’s happening with you and me,’ he says, quietly.
And though I’m still in two minds about what to do, annoyance zaps through me that he believes I might actually come back home after what he’s done.
‘Have you ended it with Marina?’ I ask.
Malcolm winces at the sound of her name. ‘That goes without saying. So please come home and you and I can work things out together at the flat.’
‘And then what?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘After we’ve “worked things out”, am I expected to sleep in the bed where you and Marina…?’ I stop and gulp, unable to carry on.
Malcolm roughly pushes his hands through his hair. ‘We can get a new bed, Flora, a brand new one, and put all of this behind us.’
‘If only it was that easy.’
‘It can be,’ he urges, clasping his hands together as though he’s praying.
‘No, it can’t be. A new bed won’t change what’s happened. Nothing will, which is why I need to be on my own for a while. And,’ I add, swallowing so hard it feels like I might choke, ‘maybe for good.’
Malcolm’s face clouds over. ‘You don’t mean that. Are you staying with that Callie girl?’
For a moment, I’m tempted to lie but I honestly don’t have the energy. ‘No, I’m not with Callie.’
‘Where then?’ Realisation dawns in Malcolm’s grey eyes and he glances upwards. ‘You’re not staying here, surely.’
I hesitate because I don’t want to admit that I am sleeping here, with the spiders in the attic. Not when Marina has been enjoying my Egyptian cotton sheets.
‘Flora is staying with me.’ Luna has appeared by my side, wielding a large hardback book like a shield between herself and my husband. ‘Aren’t you, dear?’ she prompts, giving me a slight nudge with her elbow.
‘And who exactly are you?’ demands Malcolm, sounding very like his grandfather, who used to intimidate the life out of me. I’ve never noticed the resemblance so strongly before.
‘My name is Luna Purfoot and I live just outside Honeyford. How very delightful to meet you.’ She holds out her hand so Malcolm feels obliged to take it. He gives it a cursory shake.
‘Flora’s never mentioned a Luna.’
‘Does she mention all of her friends?’
‘I have no idea.’
‘Exactly.’
Malcolm’s left eyelid starts twitching, like it does when he’s confused. It twitches all the way through Game of Thrones because he can never follow who’s killing who or why. Will Marina have the patience to explain plots to him? I wonder. Or will she be too busy watching Love Island and fake-tanning?
He turns to me. ‘So you’re living with this Luna, are you? I thought for one minute you were living here in the attic.’
‘Of course I’m not. I do have some dignity left.’
Malcolm glances at Luna, who’s standing with her arms folded next to me, and shakes his head. ‘I’ve got to go.’ He glances at the watch that I bought him for our fifteenth anniversary. He was very particular about the type of watch he wanted – gold, expensive and large enough to be noticed. ‘Pierre is adamant that he needs a new mushroom supplier so I’m doing the rounds. He’s very demanding and is running me ragged. It’s hard work without you there.’ He lowers his voice and leans towards me. ‘We need to talk properly, Flora. When we’re given some privacy. Are you sure you won’t come home with me now to sort things out?’
When I nod, he gives Luna another glare before marching out of the shop.
‘Hmm, he’s very sure of himself,’ says Luna, placing the hardback book back on the shelf. ‘I don’t like the colour of his aura at all. There’s a vortex of negative energies swirling around him. How long have you two been married?’
I sniff back the tears that are threatening to fall, and gulp, ‘Over twenty years.’
‘That can’t have been easy.’
‘It was fine, thank you,’ I reply, suddenly annoyed by this stranger involving herself in my business.
‘Really?’
‘Really,’ I tell her, and it was – mostly. Just so long as I did what Malcolm wanted or he’d sink into a sulk. I didn’t want to leave Yorkshire and move to the Cotswolds but Malcolm insisted it was the next step in his restaurant plans. The only time I’ve ever really gone against his wishes was when I took on this place.
I look around the shop. It’s been a quiet day for bookselling, but the café has been busier. I can hear the clinking of crockery and the hiss of the coffee machine. And in spite of what’s happened, I don’t regret taking on this place, or coming to this beautiful part of the country.
‘I presume you are sleeping here in the attic. You look as though you are. So you’d better come round to me after work.’ Luna grabs one of my business cards from the side of the till, picks up my pen and starts scrawling. ‘Here’s my address. Have you got satnav in your car?’ She smiles when I nod. ‘Don’t bother using it because the signal goes weird near my cottage and you’ll end up going round in circles. Just follow my directions. You can park around the side of the house but watch out for my pots of petunias, and the chickens. They tend to run free and can get under car wheels.’
She passes me the card and I slide it into a drawer underneath the counter.
‘It was kind of you to tell Malcolm that I was staying at your house. I’d rather he didn’t know that I’m sleeping in the attic. But I’m not really going to stay at yours, Luna. Don’t worry, I won’t hold you to it.’
‘You’ve got a better offer, have you?’ Luna flicks back her silver hair and scrunches up her long, thin nose.
‘Well, no, but I can’t just turn up and move in with you.’
‘Why ever not? I’m not offering you charity. I’ve got a spare room and could do with the extra cash, to be honest. You’ll have to pay towards your board and lodging but it won’t be much. And what else are you going to do? Carry on sleeping upstairs with the spiders?’
I shudder. How does she know about my fear of spiders? Last night I slept with the blankets completely over my head and woke up in a cold sweat, sure I was being suffocated. I’m thinking of picking up a net curtain and rigging up a makeshift spider net over my bed. It’ll be like sleeping in a giant cocoon.
‘Shall we say six o’clock,’ says Luna, in a tone of voice that doesn’t expect a reply. She heads for the door before I can demur and turns
with her fingers on the handle.
‘We follow a vegetarian diet. Is that a problem? You’re not one of these carnivorous types who can’t exist without a steak, are you?’
By the time I’ve finished shaking my head, Luna has disappeared through the door with a jaunty wave.
I take out the card and look at the address she’s written down.
Starlight Cottage, turn left immediately after the elm struck by lightning on Chipping Field Lane and keep going.
It’s kind of Luna to offer me a bed, I think, sliding the card into my handbag. But there’s no way on earth I’m living with a weird woman I’ve only just met.
Chapter Four
I follow the narrow road that’s edged by a stone wall and keep my eyes peeled for a tree blasted by lightening.
My resolve not to take up Luna’s offer of a place to stay lasted right until I nipped upstairs to get my cardi and spotted a spider the size of a small dog on my pillow. Netting wouldn’t keep that one out – it would probably rip the fabric apart with its long legs before spreading itself over my face. Arachnid suffocation? No thank you.
So here I am, driving out of Honeyford, with the town in my rear-view mirror and the Berry Estate, where Callie lives, perched at its edge, high up on the hill. And all I can see around me are perfectly healthy beech trees, with sunshine filtering through their leaves and dappling on the road ahead.
Unfortunately, Luna was right when she warned that satnav would be useless. The signal vanished as I went into a dip just outside Honeyford and now, according to the display on the screen, I’m floating somewhere in the middle of a field. Luna’s house appears to be off-grid.
I emerge from a tunnel of trees bending over the road and blink at the gently rolling countryside ahead of me. Just how far do I drive before turning round and having another go at spotting a zapped elm?
Aha! There, like a lone sentinel, at the side of the road, is a single blackened trunk with splintered, peeling bark. And just past it is a left-hand turn along what can only be described as a track. I take the turning and wince as my car bounces and grinds along the potholed surface. I really can’t afford new tyres at the moment. My head almost hits the roof as my car lurches in and out of a ginormous hole that’s so wide there’s no hope of avoiding it.