The Happy Hour

Chapter One

Chapter One

Before: A Sunday in April

Jessica Peacock stood behind the counter in No Vase Like Home, the pastel-coloured gift emporium that was housed in one of the shop spaces along the side of Greenwich Market, wrapping a stone hare in green tissue paper. Beyond the large picture window, the Sunday morning market was a wall of colour and sound, as people pored over the enticing stalls, picked out gifts, ate pizza slices and took photos on their phones. Inside, everything was slower, the quiet punctuated by the chorus of clocks – alarm clocks and carriage clocks, old-fashioned and modern, analogue and digital – that marked time on the shelves. Inside No Vase Like Home, Jess could watch the bustle from her haven of calm. Except, of course, for the hares.

Why were the sinister creatures so popular as mantelpiece ornaments? Was she inadvertently sending witches off into living rooms, under the guise of tall-eared statues? What had compelled Wendy, her boss and the owner of the shop, to introduce them as their latest stock line? Was she now under the control of the hares?

Her thoughts were disturbed by a commotion beyond the glass and she looked up, Sellotape stuck to her thumb, and peered past her oblivious customer, only to realise the commotion was actually laughter.

Olga, six foot two and blonde, with wide shoulders that put Jess in mind of Olympic swimmers, sold hats on the stall outside the gift shop, her designs as quirky and eye-catching as she was. Right now her head was tipped back, her laughter cascading out and up, like the bat signal fired into the sky. The cause of her hilarity seemed to be her current customer. He was shorter than Olga by an inch or so, and was wearing a grey jacket, jeans and – at that particular moment – a felt hat. It was a deep red, the colour of crushed rose petals, and had a gold satin band around the crown. It was far too big for him but he was soldiering on, the hat’s jaunty angle obscuring most of his head, so Jess could only see the sharp line of his jaw, and what looked like a charismatic, pearly-teethed smile.

The loud buzz of the market made it hard for her to make out anything beyond the sharp splinter of Olga’s laugh, but she thought she heard the deep rumble of his voice as he spoke, and then the bat signal sounded again. Jess turned back to her customer, who was tapping away at her phone screen, and to the hare, which was lying on its back and giving her a glassy stare. She was about to shroud it in a final layer of tissue paper when there was a louder sound, a shriek and a ‘Stop!’

Jess raised her head just in time to see figures rush past the window. There was no laughter now, just Olga, staring after the runners and holding the crushed rose hat, her mouth open in alarm.

‘What was that?’ Wendy appeared in the storeroom doorway, tucking her thick auburn hair behind her ear.

‘No idea,’ Jess said. ‘But it didn’t sound good.’

‘Go and see, will you?’

Jess bit back a sigh and slipped out from behind the counter as Wendy took her place. The owner of No Vase Like Home treated the market vendors like her flock, and Jess wasn’t surprised to be asked to go and investigate. As she pushed open the door she heard Wendy address the customer, who was still lost in her digital world. If that hare really was a witch, then its new owner didn’t stand a chance.

‘What happened?’ Jess asked Olga, but the other woman just pointed and, suspecting time was of the essence, she hurried up the side of the market, dodging tourists who were oblivious to anything except their Sunday morning browsing. She reached the side exit, a wide alleyway that was busy with artists’ stalls, a food court that branched out on the right and then, if you kept going straight, led to one of Greenwich’s bustling commercial roads.

It was a bright day at the end of April, the sun enticing people out of their homes despite the chilly wind, and Jess’s stretchy star-print dress felt too thin without her denim jacket over the top. She slowed down, realising she didn’t know who she was looking for, and was about to return to her post and Wendy’s unsatisfied curiosity when she saw him: the man who had been making Olga laugh.

He had the jeans and the grey jacket, and without the hat she could see his walnut-coloured hair, short around the back and sides but thick on top, a wavy chunk falling over his forehead. His smile had gone, his jawline was tight, and he was gripping the shoulder of someone who was no more than a navy shadow, slouchy jeans and a hoody with the hood pulled over their face.

Jess stopped and the man turned in her direction. Their gazes snagged, and his eyes widened in an almost comical expression of fear. She felt the hairs prickle on the back of her neck. This situation did not fit into her neat, hassle-free lifestyle. She worked at the market, hung out with her best friend Lola, created motivational prints and sold them in her Etsy shop, and phoned her mum and dad occasionally, to let them know she hadn’t fallen off the face of the earth. Predictable, small and safe. This didn’t look like it would be any of those things.

‘He’s got him, the bloody blighter!’ The voice, and the accompanying scent of menthol, belonged to Roger Stott, owner of one of the market’s antiques stalls. Hat Man was still holding onto the hooded figure, but he was no longer looking at Jess, instead casting his gaze around as if in search of an escape route.

‘Was he shoplifting?’ Jess asked Roger.

‘Technically it’s a market stall, not a shop,’ Roger said. ‘But that is the offence, yes.’

‘There’s no such thing as stall-lifting, then?’ Jess smiled, but Roger didn’t return it. He was an ex-policeman, and his stall had a distinctly patriotic feel, selling medals, hip flasks and a range of royal and forces memorabilia. His tan leather jacket and Starsky and Hutch moustache were less regimented, and Jess thought that he fancied himself as a cavalier peacekeeper, when in reality he was as rule-abiding as they came. If Wendy was the market’s mum, then Roger was its security guard. It seemed ironic that it was his stall the hooded figure had stolen from. ‘What’s next, then?’ she asked.

He gestured towards the shaky standoff. ‘I suggest we assist this gentleman, then call my old muckers in the police.’

‘Good plan,’ she said, just as Hat Man’s voice rose above the market chatter.

‘Not a chance, buster.’ His tone was deep and forceful, and Jess felt as if a mini-earthquake had reverberated through her lower half.

‘Right.’ Roger stomped forward and Jess followed, though less enthusiastically. Some of the visitors were eyeing them now, clutching burgers or burritos, eating from cartons of chips, as if the scene was part of a street theatre performance and they were entitled to stare.

‘It’s very commendable, what you’ve done here,’ Roger said, and Hat Man’s expression collapsed into pure relief. ‘Take your hood down young man,’ he added, to the faceless shadow. The reply was an inaudible mumble and a complete failure to comply. Roger widened his stance and crossed his arms, and Hat Man looked as if he was about to let go of the thief, but Roger anticipated it, saying, ‘I wouldn’t, son. He’ll run like the wind, I guarantee it.’

‘Right.’ There was that deep voice again, and Jess felt her cheeks heat for no good reason.

‘Hood down, then I want your name, and then I’m calling the police.’ Roger took out his ancient mobile phone, which had a tiny screen and not a single smart feature, and waggled it like a threat.

An arm came up and yanked off the hood, the action sharp with irritation. The man who emerged was young – a boy, really – his blond hair cut close to his head and a spray of freckles over his nose. Jess saw her surprise echoed on Hat Man’s face, but not Roger’s. He’d clearly seen it all before.

‘Braden,’ the boy muttered to his chunky trainers.

‘Good lad,’ Roger said. ‘And what did you take from my stall?’

‘Nuthin’.’

‘Try again.’

Hat Man shot Jess a look over Roger’s head that was mostly relieved, slightly amused. His eyes were grey, his cheeks tinged pink. He was put-together and ruffled all at once, like the first, sketched draft of a Disney hero. A bit more polish and he would have been ready to franchise out, alongside a doe-eyed princess in a sparkly dress.

Slowly, Braden reached into his low-slung jeans pocket and pulled out something small and glinting. He held it in his palm like a pebble.

‘Ah, the gold-plated Elgin half-hunter,’ Roger said. ‘You know this was made in New Jersey by the Keystone Watch Case Company? It came to me via a very lovely widow who lives in King’s Cross. I paid handsomely for it.’

‘Who gives a shit?’ Braden said.

Hat Man made a disapproving sound in the back of his throat.

‘I do, young man,’ Roger said. ‘It’s worth four hundred, at least.’

Braden’s eyes became twin saucers.

‘You have a keen eye,’ Roger told him, and the boy’s spine went from slouched to straight. ‘You should use your talents for good, not ill.’

‘I don’t want to be no market trader,’ Braden said. ‘Much easier nicking things.’

‘Not if you end up with a custodial sentence. Then, I promise you, you will wish you were a market trader. Now, am I calling my friend Sergeant Allison to deal with you, or can you and I come to an amicable arrangement?’

Braden twisted his head left then right, his nose scrunching when he realised there was no easy getaway.

Jess decided she wasn’t needed. Roger was in his element – using the theft as a teachable moment – and she had enough information to satisfy Wendy’s curiosity. She edged backwards, pressing her hand to her stomach when it rumbled from being in close proximity to the fish-and-chip stall, but Braden pointed a finger in her direction.

‘What about her?’ he said. ‘What’s shedoing here? She just a nosey parker, or... I bet she put you up to this!’

Roger glanced at her. ‘That’s Jess. She’s one of the linchpins of the market, and—’

‘What’s a linchpin?’Braden cut in.

‘Someone who’s crucial to something,’ Hat Man said. ‘They hold it – in this case, the market – together. It’s a pin that goes through an axle to hold a wheel in place. The wheels would come off without them.’

‘Ta very much, Dictionary Corner.’ Braden scowled at him.

Hat Man looked exasperated. ‘You literallyjust asked what a linchpin was.’

‘Yeah, but I didn’t—’

‘Enough!’ Roger raised his hands. ‘Braden, do you want me to get on the telephone to my police sergeant friend?’

Braden’s trainers were interesting again. ‘Nah.’

‘Good,’ Roger said. ‘So let’s talk about this sensibly. No running, understood? Because I will track you down.’

‘Can’t be arsed now, anyway,’ Braden murmured.

Jess went to turn away, and saw that Hat Man had also decided he wasn’t adding anything useful. He edged past Roger, shoving his hands in his pockets as he gave her a tentative smile.

‘Nice to meet you, Jess the linchpin.’

‘And you, Hat Man.’ She winced. ‘Sorry, I—’

‘Hat Man?’ He laughed and ran a hand through his hair, as if to check he wasn’t still wearing one.

‘You were at Olga’s stall,’ Jess explained. ‘The red felt hat?’

‘Ah.’ His gaze was amused. ‘So you were watching me?’

‘No! It’s just that Olga’s stall—’

‘I’m joking,’ he said. ‘You work in the market, obviously. You’re the linchpin.’

‘Not me, my boss,’ she told him. ‘I’m just an extension of Wendy, so we get lumped in together.’ She had still felt a glow of pride when Roger had said it, though. ‘And you’ve done your good deed for the day.’

He shrugged. ‘I didn’t have a clue what I was doing, to be honest. Following him was pure instinct, then I thought I was going to be stuck there for ever, just trying to stop him wriggling out of my grip.’ He frowned. ‘You know the stallholder?’

‘That’s Roger,’ Jess said. ‘He used to be a policeman, and he’ll know exactly what to do with Braden. I’m guessing...’ she glanced over to see Roger giving the boy a firm telling off. ‘He’ll be lenient with him, despite what he’s done.’

‘He’s about twelve.’ Hat Man sounded outraged. ‘I couldn’t see his face properly before. I wish I’d had the balls to steal something in broad daylight from a crowded market whenI was that young – not that I would have,’ he added quickly.

‘I was still playing with my train set.’

Jess laughed. ‘You never grow out of train sets, from what I’ve seen.’

‘Oh? Who’s the guilty party in your life?’

‘My dad,’ she admitted, stumbling slightly over the word, as she often did with new people. She always wanted to add adopted on the front, get that fact in quickly, even though she was twenty-seven now, and Graeme Peacock had been nothing but fatherly to her. ‘He has one in his garage – studio. That’s what he calls it.’

‘Sounds like he’s serious about it. I’m Ash, by the way. Ash Faulkner, not Hat Man.’

Jess smiled. ‘Ash, not Hat Man. Got it.’ Should they shake hands? Her fingers flexed at her sides. This close, she caught a waft of something delicious, somewhere between coffee and chocolate. It could have been aftershave, or a lingering smell from something he’d bought at the food hall. A few dark locks curled in front of Ash’s left ear, and she saw a faint mark on his lobe, as if he’d worn an earring a long time ago.

‘I should really...’ She thumbed in the direction of the market.

‘Do you sell antiques, too?’ Ash asked. ‘On your stall?’

‘I work in one of the shops along the edge. It’s a gift shop – No Vase Like Home. I suppose one day, years from now, some of the items might become antiques.’

‘No Vase Like Home?’ He frowned.

Jess rolled her eyes. ‘Try it in an American accent. Then you might get it.’

‘No Vase Like Home. Vase. Vase? I see. Sort of.’

Jess laughed. ‘It’s one of my bugbears, that Wendy – my boss – thought it would work as a pun. But it’s a talking point, I guess. Are you just here for the morning, or...?’

‘I’m killing time,’ he told her. ‘The market’s an interesting place to be, as this has proved.’

‘You can lose hours to it,’ she agreed. ‘And it’s a great place if you’re waiting for an appointment, or to meet someone.’

‘It’s my third Sunday,’ he said darkly, as if he was admitting to attending some kind of support group – and maybe he was; maybe that’s what he was killing time until. He exhaled and glanced at Braden. ‘I hope he figures it out.’

‘Roger will do all he can,’ Jess said with confidence. He wouldn’t send a teenager like Braden back into the wild, free to steal another day – potentially from someone a lot less tolerant. He’d get in touch with his contacts on the force, social services, see what could be done. ‘Braden might have a bright future ahead of him.’ She smiled. ‘I should be getting back.’

‘You’re here every Sunday?’ Ash asked.

‘Of course. Sunday’s one of the market’s busiest days, and the best for home sales.’ He gave her a questioning look. ‘People laze around at home on Sunday mornings,’ she explained, ‘and they think “I could clear out the spare room”, or “we could do something different with the kitchen”, or “wouldn’t a creepy hare ornament look amazing next to the picture of little Billy on the mantelpiece?”’

Ash laughed, and even though it wasn’t as loud as Olga’s cackle, the earthquake was back, rumbling low in Jess’s belly. She felt stupidly proud that she’d made him laugh. ‘You sell creepy hare ornaments?’ he asked. ‘I’ll have to come and have a look. Do you get a lunch break?’

She did, but she rarely took it. ‘Sometimes.’

Ash glanced at his watch. ‘I’ve got an hour now, if you’re free? I need to be gone by one, but...’

Jess’s pulse sped up. ‘You’re just killing time until then?’

‘Exactly. We could do it together if you fancied. I could buy you a coffee?’

Jess was already shaking her head. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘Why not?’ Ash asked, a half-smile on his face.

‘I just... why would we?’ Why did two strangers ever get coffee together? His voice made her insides fizz. His face was open and friendly, and he was undeniably handsome, but they didn’t know each other – at all. And she had to get back to the shop.

‘You came to help,’ he said, gesturing at Braden. The teenager was nodding at whatever Roger was saying, his sulking demeanour replaced by a spark of intrigue. Something warmed inside Jess’s chest. Roger was a good person – and Ash, too; hehadn’t tackled the boy to the ground or shouted to alert a mob, and that might partly have been indecision, a what the hell do I do now? moment, but some had been instinct: that the boy deserved a chance.

‘You helped more,’ she told him. ‘If it wasn’t for you, Braden would have been long gone by now, and who knows who he might have tried to steal from next? I should buy you a coffee.’

‘Excellent,’ Ash said quickly. ‘Let’s do that then. Know anywhere good?’

Jess narrowed her eyes at him, and his smile widened.

‘You clearly want to, deep down,’ he said.

Jess pressed her lips together. ‘I don’t—’

‘I’ll let Wendy know,’ Roger called, somehow managing to counsel Braden while also listening to their conversation. ‘You hardly ever take a lunch break, Jess.’

‘See?’ Ash said. ‘I’m doing you a favour. Breaks are important.’

Jess huffed, fighting against a traitorous smile. ‘There’s a café just round the corner. It’s not fancy, but that means it’s more likely to have a free table.’

‘Lead the way.’ Ash swept his arm wide, then looked over to Roger and Braden. ‘Will you be OK?’

‘We’ll be grand.’ Roger’s smile was triumphant. ‘I’m going to take Braden and introduce him to Wendy.’

‘Oooh you’re in for a treat, Braden,’ Jess said.

‘Fuck’s sake,’ Braden muttered.

She patted the teenager’s shoulder as they passed, and wondered how much smaller her hand was than Ash’s. She glanced at him, but he was waiting patiently, his hands in his jeans pockets so she couldn’t see. Nerves and excitement bubbled up inside her.

‘Ready to go and have a drink in a dingy little café?’ he asked.

Jess laughed. ‘That’s not how I described it.’

‘I was reading between the lines. And, honestly, I don’t mind where we go. Sitting cross-legged on the pavement would be fine with me.’

‘But not with all the people who were trying to get past you.’ She could picture him sitting nonchalantly on the dirty ground while tourists and locals threw him angry looks, and her smile was back. ‘Let me show you how not dingy this café is.’ As she brushed past him to head away from the market and onto Greenwich’s busy streets, she couldn’t help noticing that Ash was smiling too.