Chapter 2 #2
I could have become so many things in my life, and I blame my mother for my lack of success.
Maybe if she’d stayed, I could’ve honed my talents and become a songwriter or a vocalist. Whether I’m right or wrong is another story.
The fact is that I let her suck every ounce of confidence out of me when she left.
And she left because she was a bad mother.
Not because I was a bad daughter. I know that now.
And my crumbling marriage? I know I’m a good wife, despite the fact that Simon is, let’s say, not every woman’s dream husband.
You could say I should have thought of that when I married him. But back then, I was pregnant and I didn’t think there was anyone better out there. All I wanted was the security of a complete family, something I had lacked growing up. For my children to grow up with both parents.
But for years now, whenever I turned around, it was always Markus who was there for them and not, sadly, their father.
They love Markus. And although I would never say it out loud, so do I. I’ve been playing the role of his best friend for years, acting my arse off, and quite frankly I should be winning BAFTAs and Tonys and Oscars and Golden Globes left, right and centre, because the man has absolutely no idea.
I still remember the day we met at a craft market in Copenhagen.
It was in front of a furniture stall opposite mine.
I sewed, knitted and stitched pretty things for around the house: tea cosies, tablecloths, curtains, tea towels.
And I’d wanted to branch out. Simon always said that I couldn’t compete with international products, whatever that meant.
So I’d booked a stall to display my own creations and see what was what.
The furniture for sale in the stall opposite mine was very shoddy: the material used for the upholstery was very low grade, the stitching hurried, the quality of the thread sub-par and altogether the designs were just naff.
I’d have been embarrassed to display that kind of quality.
That was when I knew I had a real chance at this business after all.
I already had a series of loyal customers who regularly put in orders at the beginning of every season.
I even had one customer who bought everything I made, which was a bit weird.
Every time I came up with a new product, they were always the first to order it.
I worried that they were trying to steal my designs, but I hadn’t been able to find them online.
‘What a load of absolute skid. Who tries to sell this kind of crap?’ came a deep voice from behind me, making me snort my coffee through my nose.
I turned around and ohmygod, was he not absolutely top-notch gorgeous! Early thirties, tall and broad-shouldered, with dark hair and piercing blue eyes, he was the most beautiful man I had ever seen in my life.
‘Hello! Mind if I have a browse? I need to get that pile of rubbish out of my eyes,’ he said. By the accent he was definitely Scandinavian, which would justify his Jaime Lannister looks.
‘Huh?’ I said like an absolute idiot. ‘Oh, of course not, browse away!’
‘Thank you. I’m Markus S?rensen.’
‘Olivia Foster.’ I use my maiden name at work.
His face lit up. ‘Olivia Foster? It had to be you! I recognise the quality of the workmanship.’
‘Oh? Are you a customer?’ I ventured.
‘I’m from Creatie. We finally meet.’
My jaw dropped. He was the mystery company that had bought one of everything I ever made!
‘Pleased to meet you in person!’ I beamed. ‘So, uhm, what do you do with all the stuff you’ve bought from me, if I may ask?’
He grinned, and blimey, let me tell you, the entire market lit up. ‘I’ve been buying to see what you’re capable of. I think that you and I should go into business together.’
‘Business?’
‘I’m a carpenter by trade. I make furniture. But I think that your love for your craft would make my work even better. How are you at upholstering?’
I remember blinking at him. I couldn’t quite believe what I was hearing.
‘If you’re interested in the idea, perhaps we could discuss it over dinner, once the market is over?’
‘Uhm… sure.’
‘Great! I’ll swing by later, then. I can’t wait!’
‘Me too…’
And the rest is history. Markus came into my life, blindsiding me while I was stuck in a rut in oh-so many ways. It shaped the person I am today, and Timber & Thimble, the business Markus and I created together with such love.
Luckily our stuff sells all year round, not only Christmas and Halloween or Easter.
We started out with furniture pieces like armchairs, which Markus hand made, and I upholstered, and eventually branched out into all sorts of furniture and homeware.
We have a ‘Spring Beginnings’ sale where we offer linens and housewares in new pastel colours.
We have new plant pots, outdoor furniture, barbecues and bunting, along with indoor furniture, window furnishings, lamps.
Anything you can think of, sourced directly from Scandinavia, thanks to Markus.
Our summer themes are in vibrant colours.
In autumn, like the leaves on the trees, out come our wreaths with burnt leaves and gourds and chestnuts scented like cinnamon.
In December the gourds go but the cinnamon stays as Christmas decorations fill the oast house.
And then we kick off the New Year with discount sales of our Christmas stock and a run-up to Valentine’s Day with an explosion of red hearts, ceramic hearts, wooden hearts, golden hearts and all things romantic.
And after ten years, we’re still going strong.
Even my father loves Markus, much to Simon’s displeasure. My husband already wasn’t keen on having Dad live with us, so you can imagine how the presence of a Scandinavian god in our home would wreak absolute havoc.
Markus is my measuring rule against other men.
And most of the men I know are absolute knobs.
Every time I run into any at Parents’ Night or a meeting, one of them will always try it on when their wives aren’t listening.
Is andropause so bad that they need to prove to themselves that they’ve still got it?
That some random woman who just happens to be in their immediate vicinity will actually find them interesting?
I mean, have they seen themselves? It’s not so much their looks, which was never a deal-breaker for me, but their behaviour.
What happened to carrying yourself with dignity and class?
I’ve a busy day at the shops, today. After I stock up on food for Cassie’s study group back at the house, I make my way to the lingerie area.
I’m looking for another pair of blue stockings for her.
She’s obsessed with blue stockings, but she’s always losing them and blaming me.
So the next time she misplaces them, I’ll be ready with a brand-new pair.
Actually, they’re on sale so might as well stock up.
And while I’m at it, I might as well get her some new knickers.
‘Never took you for a chaste, cotton knickers kind of girl,’ comes a voice at my side.
I jump, only to see Brian Halston, the father of one of Cassie’s classmates, Jen.
He is slimy, always giving me the eye. It’s obvious things at home aren’t going too well.
They aren’t in my household, either, but I don’t go around stalking men at Sainsbury’s.
And now Brian, who is head of the father–son football team, and thus coach to my little Joe, is leaning against the shelf I’m scanning, his arm blocking my escape. I put on my brightest, You-don’t-scare-me smile. ‘Oh, hello, Brian. How’s Gemma?’
But he ignores my question about his wife. ‘I’ll bet that beneath that perfect mother disguise, you’re actually a loooot of fun, aren’t you?’ the slimy bastard says, one eyebrow shooting practically halfway up his forehead.
What is he on about? I spot the blue stockings, size S, and snatch them off the rack.
‘Right! Must dash, many things to do! Give my love to Gemma,’ I call back, barely concealed disgust on my face.
Wow. What was that? Did I have ‘Available and dying for it’ written all over my forehead?
Doesn’t he know I’m a married woman? Albeit struggling, fed-up and out-of-love, I’m still married.
I don’t do messed-up. That was my teenage life. I’m a grown woman now.