The Happy Hour

Chapter Four

Chapter Four

On Monday morning, Jess stood behind the counter in No Vase Like Home, in a staring contest with one of the hares, and thought about Ash. His eyes were grey, with a slight shift towards green, and for most of the time they were together his gaze was all-consuming, as if he could see past the creases on her forehead to the thoughts tumbling inside. It had been exhilarating and excruciating, but she also couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed so much. Her cheeks still ached with it. Wasn’t it worth seeing him again, just for that?

Monday was duller, both in terms of the weather and the market’s atmosphere, and while the chance to replay the pertinent bits of the previous day was welcome, Jess also felt more exposed. She could lose herself in a crowd, and everyone else would lose her too. When visitors were sparse, it was as if all the people who passed by the window of the shop turned to look at her, assessing and wondering about the woman behind the counter.

‘That Braden lad isn’t too bad under the surface,’ Wendy said, putting the hare Jess was staring at back amongst its friends.

‘I expect you and Roger showed him what’s what,’ Jess replied. ‘Is he ready to put his criminal past behind him and be an upstanding, moral citizen?’

Wendy leaned her elbows on the counter and gave Jess an amused side-eye. ‘We’re not that good. But he apologised for stealing the watch, didn’t try to make up an excuse, and he’s coming here on Wednesday to help tidy the storeroom.’

‘You’re employing him?’

‘Very much on a trial basis,’ Wendy said. ‘He knows I run a tight ship, and that if there’s even the suggestion of something going missing, then Roger’s original threat of calling the police comes back into play.’

‘I’m sorry I’ll miss it,’ Jess said.

She had Tuesdays and Wednesdays off, because they were the quietest days at the market. It made sense for Wendy to give Braden a trial then – if at all. She wasn’t sure she’d have been as charitable if she owned the shop. Her eyes roamed the clocks and ornaments, the selection of cushions: silky and fluffy, some pastel and soft, others with bold prints or clashing colourways. There was a tangle of sparkly rainbow twigs that Wendy had ordered by accident in a tall vase by the door. Nobody had bought them yet, much to Wendy’s irritated acceptance and Jess’s secret surprise. This was one of the places she felt comfortable in – a space she knew off by heart and loved like a second home.

‘I hope he appreciates what you’re doing for him,’ she said.

‘I’m sure he will eventually,’ Wendy replied. ‘If he’s a hard worker, I might ask him to come in while you’re here. I know you’re secretly itching for a new project.’

Jess frowned. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘It’s been ages since you helped Susie redesign her stall, and Jasmine said the mice haven’t been back in Art Everywhere since you spent that afternoon chasing them round with bits of cheese and humane traps.’

‘They weren’t projects.’She tried not to sound affronted. ‘They were just things that needed doing, and because you’re so generous with my time, I was the one that did them.’

Wendy raised an eyebrow. ‘If you say so. Anyway, I need sustenance to think, so I’m getting a coffee from Kirsty. Want anything?’

‘Has she got her mini-muffins today?’ Jess asked, her tastebuds coming to life at the thought.

Kirsty Connor was a few years older than Jess, and her Moreish Muffins stand was at the front end of the market, in one of two food-focused areas that ensured Jess was never far from the temptation of something delicious. Moreish was an understatement for the treats Kirsty sold: a standard blueberry muffin wouldn’t even get a look-in. Hers were filled with buttercream or ganache in decadent or unusual flavours, gooey toffee sauce or, if you fancied something savoury, ham and melted cheese. Recently, she had been doing selection boxes of mini-muffins, where you could satisfy all your taste cravings in perfect, pocket-sized morsels.

‘I’ll check,’ Wendy said. ‘A selection box if she has them?’

‘Yes please.’ Jess went to get her purse, but Wendy waved her away.

‘We’ll sort it out later.’

Once she’d gone, Jess set about tidying the already pristine counter, her actions dictated by restlessness. Wendy had hired a shoplifter, Lola was days away from charming Jess’s colleagues with her larger-than-life presence, and she had agreed to meet a man – basically a stranger, and one who upset her calm equilibrium – for a second time. It was as if there’d been some kind of rip in the space–time continuum and everything had been turned on its head.

She went into the storeroom to put the kettle on, hoping tea and a muffin would make her feel more at ease.

‘Hello?’ The voice was familiar, and Jess returned to the shop floor to find one of their regular customers hovering in the doorway.

‘Hey, Felicity,’ Jess said. ‘How are you?’

‘I’m very well, thank you.’ The other woman was, Jess guessed, in her sixties, but still had beautiful skin and a perfectly coiffed grey bob, her blue eyes bright. She was wearing a silk blouse, cream with a bold pink flower pattern, and a long grey skirt and matching jacket. Jess had gathered from previous discussions that she lived in a large house close to Greenwich Park, which she shared with three cats but no other humans, and she was constantly on the lookout for elegant items to fill it with.

‘Anything take your fancy today?’ Jess asked. ‘Other than the usual?’

Ever since she had worked in the shop, there had been a large oval mirror with an intricate gilt frame on one wall, and Felicity always gave it a longing look. She had bought plenty of other things, and it was a mystery to Jess what temptation the mirror held and why Felicity had never given into it.

She tried to imagine the room in which the older woman might place it: a hallway with black-and-white diamond tiles on the floor, where she could check her evening ensemble before a night of dancing and champagne; or in her bedroom, so she could perform her daily skincare routine, which would include Crème De La Mer; or in a separate, private dressing room, because even though she was in her sixties, she still treated herself to delicate undergarments – tasteful teddies and slips in shades called oyster and blush.

Felicity glanced at the mirror, then at Jess, and let out a tinkling laugh. ‘I’m not quite there with the mirror yet,’ she admitted. ‘But I am considering this.’ She ran her hand over the smooth globe of a water feature that wasn’t turned on but, from the label Jess had put up, copying the words directly from the brochure, would provide a gentle, meditative sound once it had water running through it.

‘That’s a very popular piece,’ Jess said, because she’d sold one last week. ‘Especially with summer on the way. If you have a pond, the moving water helps keep mosquitos and midges away.’

‘I don’t have a pond,’ Felicity said, ‘but I am considering one.’

‘Are you remodelling your garden?’ Jess had spent far too much time daydreaming about what Felicity’s beautiful house might look like. The garden, of course, would be tranquil, with the mature trees of Greenwich Park adding another layer of green beyond an elegant, red-brick wall.

‘Potentially,’ Felicity said. ‘If I were to order this, would you provide a delivery service?’

‘Uhm.’ Other than the large mirror and the taller vases lining the wall below the window, the water feature was the only substantial item they sold; all the others were easy to take away in tote bags or strong carriers. They hadn’t had to consider delivery before – the customer who bought the water feature last week had taken it out to his van, which was apparently parked around the corner.

‘I’m only a five-minute walk away, but I couldn’t manage it by myself.’ Felicity held out her slender arms to demonstrate.

‘Of course not.’ Jess frowned when she noticed the cuff of the other woman’s sleeve was frayed. Had she caught it on a wall on her walk here? She didn’t know what she could offer without asking Wendy, so she walked around the counter, bent her knees and tipped the water feature, sliding her fingers under the plinth. When she lifted it, she found it wasn’t as heavy as she had expected.

‘Is shoplifting contagious?’

Jess almost dropped it on her fingers. She lowered it gently, smiling when she saw that Wendy had returned with a selection box and two large takeaway cups.

‘I was seeing how heavy it was,’ she explained. ‘I think it’s made of resin, rather than stone.’

‘Goodness, of course it is,’ Wendy said. ‘Stone would be impossibly heavy, especially as we can’t offer delivery. Hello, Felicity.’

‘That’s what I was wondering about,’ Felicity said. ‘Whether Jess would be able to deliver this to my house, if I bought it.’

‘She’d walk it round for you, as you’re one of our best customers.’ Wendy put the cups on the counter. ‘Wouldn’t you, Jess?’

Jess held back her frustrated sigh. Hadn’t Wendy just said they couldn’t offer delivery? But she probably could walk it round, with only a couple of rest stops, as long as Felicity wasn’t exaggerating about how close her house was to the park. ‘Of course,’ she said, because she couldn’t exactly complain about being loaned out in front of the customer in question.

‘Wonderful.’ Felicity clasped her hands together. ‘It’ll make such a difference to the patio. And aren’t these adorable?’ She plucked one of the hares off its shelf. It was the most disturbing one, in Jess’s opinion, with its front paws raised in what was perhaps supposed to be a coquettish gesture, but to her looked grasping.

‘They’re lovely,’ she said, and Wendy’s amused glance told her she hadn’t sounded remotely sincere. ‘Though I do prefer our glass ornaments. What do you think of these?’ She showed Felicity the paperweights with swirling colour patterns and bubbles inside, some twinkling with suspended glitter. Felicity seemed charmed, even though she must have examined them on her previous visits.

Once she’d left, saying she’d be back in a few days to arrange payment and delivery of the water feature, Wendy passed Jess a hot chocolate and opened the selection box.

Jess took a strawberry cream mini-muffin.

‘You’re very tolerant with Felicity,’ Wendy said.

Jess smiled around her mouthful. ‘You’re very keen to give me extra jobs to do.’

Wendy ignored her comment. ‘You didn’t want her to have a hare.’

‘I don’t want anyone to have a hare. They creep me out.’

‘They’re gorgeous.’

‘They’re sinister, and they have impure agendas.’

‘They’re inanimate objects.’

‘That’s what they want you to think.’ Jess folded her arms, her back to the items in question. Her neck was prickling, as if they were all watching her, and she wondered if she was taking this flight of fancy too far.

‘You have too much time on your hands,’ Wendy said. ‘That’s why I have to give you extra jobs. And you should make yesterday a habit – take a proper lunch hour again today, and go and have a walk in the sunshine.’

Jess dropped her eyes to the counter. ‘I would like to take one again next Sunday, if that’s OK?’

‘Of course!’ Wendy said, laughing. ‘You’re supposed to have one every day.’ She left a tiny pause, then asked, ‘Anything fun planned?’

Her attempt at casual was piteous, and Jess would have found it amusing if her own attempt wasn’t ten times worse. ‘Just a thing I... have to see to.’ She could feel heat blooming across her cheeks.

‘Well,’ Wendy said, her takeaway cup raised to her lips, ‘enjoy your thing. And if you happen to take a bit longer than an hour, please don’t worry. It’s not as if you haven’t got a whole lot of time in the bank.’

‘Thanks.’ Jess couldn’t work out whose gaze she was least enjoying: Wendy’s, or the creepy inanimate hares’. She definitelyneeded to take more advantage of her lunch hours away from the shop.