The Happy Hour

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Seven

That week Jess felt supercharged. She was the perfect saleswoman in No Vase Like Home on Monday, even selling some of the hated hares and their new, equally sinister owl friends, with a smile on her face. On Tuesday and Wednesday, she got fully up to date with her overflowing Etsy orders, and started to think of some new designs.

She and Ash messaged constantly, and she began to imagine how the next few months might go. Friday nights spent with him, Saturday breakfasts – she could make him scrambled eggs and bacon, or they could eat croissants in bed (as long as she remembered to hoover up the pastry flakes), and then Sundays helping Felicity, who was becoming more confident every week.

On Thursday morning, Wendy messaged to say she had to drop one of her teenagers off at the airport, so Jess opened the shop, made herself a coffee and surveyed the shelves. She indulged in tidying what was left of her latest batch of prints, turning them all outwards, putting her favourites at the front. She realised she was humming tunelessly and went to turn on the radio, to add music to the July sunshine. Outside, the stalls were already buzzing with customers, and she felt open to anything – ready to embrace what the day had to offer.

She heard the shop door open, heard someone say, ‘This is them,’ so she came out of the storeroom and stepped behind the counter.

A young couple, dressed in T-shirts and shorts and carrying smoothies in see-through plastic cups, were over by her print display.

‘The ones from TikTok?’ the woman asked.

‘Yeah.’ The man rubbed a hand over his scruffy goatee. ‘Bit shit, aren’t they?’ He put his drink on a shelf and picked one up.

‘Anyone could make these,’ the woman said. ‘Just google motivational quotes, slap one over a photo, print it out. How are they raising money for that jeweller?’

‘He needs to go back home an’ all,’ the man said. ‘Course he’s losing his business. Nobody here wants the rubbish he makes.’

Jess gripped the counter, her knuckles turning white. She closed her eyes, wishing fervently that Wendy would storm through the door in the next five seconds.

‘You going to buy one?’ The woman giggled. ‘Look at this: We all have superpowers, you just need to believe in yourself to discover yours. What a load of sentimental shit! Who are these idiots?’

‘Fucking artisan crafters. They’re all just—’

‘Excuse me!’ Jess swallowed. Her whole body was hot, sweat prickling down her spine.

The couple stared at her, the man’s eyes flinty. ‘Yeah, love?’

‘Are you going to buy anything? Or are you just going to stand there and bad-mouth everything in the market? Because if you don’t like it, you don’t need to even look at it. Just go somewhere else.’

The man smirked. ‘Touched a nerve, have I?’

‘Let’s just go.’ The woman tugged his arm.

‘Why are you even here?’ Jess went on. ‘Being rude about my prints, saying unforgivable things about the people who work here, who are just trying to make a living selling the art they’ve put a whole lot of time and effort into. Unforgivable things!’ Her voice cracked, but she kept going. ‘Enzo is one of the kindest people I know, he works so hard, and all you can do is insult him! Can you get out now, please.’ She pointed at the door.

‘We have every right to be here—’

‘Let’s just go, Matt.’

‘Yes,’ Jess said. ‘Just go.’

He glared at her for a second, then flung the frame he was holding into the display, the loud crash making them all jump. Then he and his girlfriend left the shop, the woman hooting with laughter. As she went to see what the damage was, Jess realised her hands were shaking.

‘I’m OK,’ she said into the phone, half an hour later. ‘I feel a lot better. Wendy’s been looking after me.’ She was sitting on a stool in the storeroom with a cup of tea and a muffin that Wendy had got her. She still felt a bit trembly, but some of the shock had worn off.

‘Shit, Jess.’ Ash’s voice was tight with anger. ‘Are you sure you’re all right? Do you want to go home?’ He let out a long breath. ‘I wish I was there.’

‘I’m fine.’ She pressed her forehead against a pile of soft blankets. ‘It was a surprise, that’s all.’

‘What the fuck is wrong with people? Nobody has a right to come into your workplace and insult you, scare you like that. Are you going to report it to the police?’

‘Wendy’s told Roger, but I don’t want to do anything else. Only one of the frames got broken, and I’m not sure how we’d find them again, anyway. I just want to forget about it.’

There was a pause, and she listened to the quiet on Ash’s end of the call. Did he have his own, cushy office? What would it be like to work in such a peaceful space?

‘I can come and see you tonight,’ he said. ‘Not for long, but—’

‘That’s OK,’ she cut in. ‘You have work tomorrow, and my Etsy orders are still coming in. Despite what those idiots said, lots of people do like my prints.’ Her laugh sounded hollow.

‘Jess,’ Ash said softly. ‘I’m so sorry this happened to you.’

‘It’s OK,’ she said again.

What she didn’t add was that this phone call felt almost as frightening as what had happened earlier. Despite everything she’d told herself when they were having breakfast together, she was afraid of Ash breaking through the last few boundaries. She didn’t want to rely on him when things got hard. A phone call was bad enough, but if she depended on him for comfort and reassurance, got needy for his hugs and kisses, then what? She didn’t know that he was going to stick around, so she had to hold on to her independence; she had to be able to survive on her own. ‘I’m almost back to normal now,’ she told him.

She heard Ash sigh, heard him fiddle with something metallic on his desk. ‘I’m here if you need me. You don’t have to do this on your own, Jess.’

‘I know,’ she whispered, even though that was exactly what she had to do to keep her heart intact.