The Happy Hour

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Nineteen

Mack isn’t speaking to me because I’m abandoning him on Sunday. He says I’ve betrayed him.

Uh oh. Can you do another time? One evening, like

you said?

I offered Friday night, actual FRIDAY NIGHT, when I should be out getting drunk, and he said no because he wants his Sunday paper and coffee combo.

There’s no pleasing some people.

Then, Jess couldn’t help adding:

You go out and get drunk with a whole crowd of banker friends on Fridays? I wouldn’t have thought that

about you.

I don’t really. Sometimes I have a few pints with the personnel team. Mostly I stay in by myself and fire up Netflix. A sad indictment of my life.

You could ask Mack if he wants to Netflix and chill, then get his Sunday paper just before you come here, and see if that appeases him.

I AM still getting his Sunday paper, but that’s not enough. I am too young and stupid for my own good – his words. He knows how to flatter me. Also, how am I going to scrub that Netflix and chill image from my head, Jess?

Sorry. ?? Why not imagine it’s not Mack, but someone else with the Netflixing and the chilling?

Who would you suggest?

No clue. Sure you can think of someone. ?? xx

Jess often spent Thursday tidying the shop, checking orders and stock levels. It was never as busy as Fridays or the weekend, but sales of their smaller items were consistent – the paperweights and candles that weren’t a big financial investment, the dinkier vases which – due to it being in the shop’s name – there were a lot of. But today was the (very soft) launch of Jess’s motivational prints, so there was no calm tidying, no checking of stock levels.

‘I can’t believe I didn’t know about this,’ Wendy said for at least the fiftieth time, rearranging the framed prints on the prominently positioned shelf she’d designated for them. She had also, when Jess had told her about the plan they had all concocted, decided that whatever profits Jess was giving to Enzo, she would match. She said it shouldn’t all be on Jess’s shoulders to help Enzo out financially. Everyone was offering moral support, but it had only been Jess’s prints – so far –that had made it over the fundraising finishing line, and Wendy, as self-designated mother hen of the market,hadn’t wanted her to be the only one contributing. ‘They look wonderful here,’ she went on. ‘I’m going to buy this one for starters.’ She chuckled, then read aloud: ‘If at first you don’t succeed, try a new way of annoying your nemesis.’

‘Oh God.’ Jess pressed her hands into her eyes. ‘And Lola and Spade are coming in a minute, to prance about and play their instruments.’

Wendy laughed. ‘Prance about and play their instruments? I’ve heard them, Jess.’

‘OK, I’m not being fair. It’s a whole lot better than that.’ She tipped her head back. ‘My designs are going to be on TikTok.’

‘You say that like it’s BBC One.’

‘It has more viewers,’ Jess pointed out. ‘Can we just... I’m not sure about this one. Could we put it at the back?’ It was one of her earlier, clumsier designs, created when she had been feeling particularly grumpy, that read: Live, Love, Laugh and then Leave. She didn’t know why she’d chosen it for the shop, except it had a photo she was proud of; the river on a slate-grey morning, the water shrouded in a thin blanket of mist. She went to move it, but Wendy slapped her hand away.

‘No. No hiding anything. They’re all staying and they’re all going to sell.’

‘Shit balls,’ Jess said with feeling. ‘Why the fuck did I agree to this?’

Wendy waggled a tenner at her. ‘Stop swearing, go andget some muffins, and calm your nerves until the musicians gethere.’

Jess sighed and took the note, felt a brief surge of glee at the thought of stuffing some mini-muffins in her face, then saw Lola, Spade and Deano heading in their direction. ‘Oh God,’ she said, and then, when she saw who was with them, added, ‘What the hell?’

‘Ah. Yes.’ Wendy folded her arms. ‘Braden asked if he could come in today. He wanted to hear Spade and Lola perform; he’s actually very musical himself.’

‘He is?’ Jess said faintly. She knew that Braden was still working in the shop on Tuesdays and Wednesdays, and that Wendy thought he’d proved himself. No items had gone missing – not even any hares, sadly – and he was a hard worker. And now, here he was, hoody-clad and grinning.

‘They look great,’ Lola said, zeroing in on the display of Jess’s prints immediately. ‘Really professional.’

Jess sold them unframed online. She didn’t have a lot of space to store frames, and it made posting them more effort and more expensive. They were printed on glossy, good-quality photo card and that was it. But for the shop, she’d put each of her designs in a white wooden frame. People came to No Vase Like Home for trinkets and decorations, not DIY projects.

‘You’re just saying that,’ Jess mumbled to herself, but Lola heard her.

‘No, I’m not.’ She looked Jess straight in the eye. ‘You have to start believing in yourself.’

‘All talents are valid talents,’ Spade added, as he took his guitar out of its case. It was a glittering peacock blue, and Jess was drawn to it whenever he had it with him. The musicians, their cameraman and Braden had taken up the whole shop – one of the men was wearing overpowering sandalwood aftershave – and Jess felt on the verge of claustrophobia. She wondered if she could hide in the storeroom until they were done.

‘You need to be in the background,’ Lola said, as if she could read her mind.

‘I don’t,’ Jess protested. ‘Just focus on the prints. Nobody cares who made them.’

‘We care,’ Lola said. ‘And everyone else will too.’

‘What am I going to do, though? Just stand there like a lemon? Gesture to the pictures like some kind of QVC model?’

‘Hold one up,’ Lola suggested. ‘Smile for the camera.’

‘I don’t—’

‘Do you know what you’re doing, Braden?’ Lola asked him, cutting Jess off.

‘Fuck yeah I do!’ He punched the air, his fist hidden by his oversized sleeve.

‘What’s your role in all this?’ Jess asked, curiosity overriding her nerves. ‘Do you have an instrument, or are you their official cheerleader?’

‘Cheerleader!’ Braden scoffed, then tapped his cheek. ‘It’s all in here.’

‘You’re a singer?’

‘Nah, man. Beatboxer.’

‘Oh!’ Jess said. ‘OK. With a violin and a guitar?’

‘He’s really good,’ Lola told her. ‘We’ve made it work, our little trio of misfits. Right. Deano, are you all set up?’

‘Just about.’ Deano had long, dirty blond hair in a ponytail, and his skinny jeans looked painted on, but he clearly knew what he was doing.

Jess gritted her teeth, let herself be manoeuvred into position next to the display of her artworks, and hoped that Lola, Spade and Braden would block her from view.

Braden, it turned out, was a revelation. The moment he joined in, Jess wanted to stop him and ask how he did it. Did he have a tiny electronic speaker hidden in his cheek? She didn’t know how anyone could be a walking percussion section with only their tongue and soft palate.

Lola and Spade were unfazed, and Jess watched from her awkward spot as Deano panned round the shop, zoomed in on the prints, and hopefully left her out of it. Their music filledthe shop and reverberated through her bones, while the lights on Spade’s portable amp danced like a mini disco. It flowed through her like electricity, making her fingers and toes tingle: Lola’s soaring violin, the growling Fender, Braden adding structure with his beats. It made her think of her last kiss with Ash, the desire and desperation growing between them, her certainty that, if they had been somewhere more private than an alleyway, they wouldn’t have stopped.

The music cut off all of a sudden, and Jess swayed slightly on the spot.

‘That was marvellous.’ Wendy clapped, her voice raised as if the music was still ringing in her ears.

‘Thank you.’ Lola gave them a low bow, then straightened. ‘Is the landing page all ready to go?’

Jess nodded. She had written a blurb telling Enzo and Carolina’s story, the long tradition in their family of making delicate filigree jewellery, Carolina’s sudden illness and how sales of the prints would go towards getting them back on their feet. She had checked Enzo was happy with the wording, emphasising that it was a temporary measure to get them through a tough time, notbegging for handouts, and she hoped that a combination of the Misfits’ music, TikTok’s ability to latch onto the unusual, and some brightly coloured wall prints could make a difference to the couple’s future.

The Misfits left as noisily as they’d arrived, and then it was just Wendy and Jess and their empty shop, and the whole thing felt surreal and a bit anticlimactic.

‘You just wait,’ Wendy said. ‘In a few hours’ time there’ll be a mad rush, and you’ll have to leave early and make more of these for tomorrow.’

‘I doubt that,’ Jess replied, but she felt a small blossoming of hope. Maybe they would all sell out, and it wouldn’t only be Enzo’s business that got a boost, but Jess’s side hustle too.

‘Oh God, I love these!’ The familiar voice snapped Jess’s head up. She had been sneakily looking at her phone below the counter, waiting for Lola to send through the video. The shop had been unusually quiet, as if laughing at Jess for letting herself believe she might make some sales.

‘Hi, Margaret,’ she said.

‘I adore these prints. You’ve got a new supplier?’

‘Sort of.’

‘Some of them are so funny!’ Margaret picked one up, and Jess’s palms prickled with sweat.

‘Our new supplier,’ Wendy announced, arms outstretched towards Jess as she came out of the storeroom.

‘Really? You made these?’

‘Yup,’ Jess admitted. ‘Profits from every sale are going to help Enzo, one of the stallholders here whose wife is unwell.’

‘Even more reason for me not to resist.’ Margaret grinned, then went back to examining each print, letting out little bursts of laughter as she flicked through them.

Wendy and Jess exchanged a hopeful look. If Margaret bought one, it would be the first shop sale Jess had ever had, the first time she’d broken beyond the bounds of Etsy. It didn’t matter that she was giving the profits to Enzo –and she wouldn’t want to do anything else right now –if she exchanged money with a customer who had deliberately chosen one of her designs, wanted it inside their home or office or caravan, then she would feel triumphant, as if she could accomplish anything.

‘Oh now, I really like this one.’ Margaret held it up, and Jess’s heart thumped. It was Ash’s first quote: Flying isn’t as hard as it looks, just make sure a part of you stays tethered to the ground. ‘It really resonates, right?’

‘I think so,’ Jess said.

‘Sort of like, reach for the stars, but also don’t get ahead of yourself. Obviously yours is worded better, which is why it’s on a poster.’

‘A friend of mine came up with it,’ Jess admitted, as Margaret handed it to her and she wrapped it in tissue paper. She was aiming for nonchalance, but wasn’t sure she had managed it.

‘Lovely to see you,’ Margaret said, once the sale had gone through.

‘Come back again soon,’ Wendy replied.

‘I’m sure I will!’

When she’d gone, Jess squealed and flung her arms round her boss, breaking all her own rules about respecting personal space.

‘I’m so proud of you, Jessica Peacock,’ Wendy said.

‘I’m proud of me too. One sale down, only about thirty more to go.’ They swapped grins.

‘Want a celebratory muffin, seeing as we didn’t get a chance earlier?’

‘Always,’ Jess said.

Once she was alone, she picked up her phone, but there was still no video from Lola.

She realised that her life felt very different now to how it had done a month ago. It was busier, brighter, more full of people, and it made her think of one of her earliest quotes, one that would never make its way into No Vase Like Home: Being alone doesn’t always mean you’re lonely. She still stood by that – she still valued time by herself –but she did wonder if, before the separate parts of her world had started to converge, she had been a bit lonely, too.

Her phone beeped and she glanced at the screen, the smile coming easily to her lips.

Know where else in Greenwich is haunted besides the tunnel? There’s a whole load of spooky history. Some of this stuff is fascinating. ?? x

Jess rolled her eyes and tried to think of a reply to Ash’s message. She was still smiling when Wendy returned with two bacon and spinach muffins in one of Kirsty’s red gift boxes, their tantalising smell filling the shop. As she thanked her boss and bit into the fluffy, gooey centre, she wondered how wise it was to rely on Ash for her daily dose of happiness when, around a month ago, she had tried very hard to rely on nobody but herself.