Chapter 12
TWELVE
The next day at Palmer’s Arcade was chillier than the winter wind howling outside. Penn and I kept to our own sides of the shop, and Christa drifted by the doorway at intervals, glaring at him through the glass. He paid her no attention and tended to his stock. He was wearing a beanie hat and a hoodie, in sharp contrast to his dapper countrywear of the day before. I marvelled at the juxtaposition – yesterday he was lord of the manor (or at least son of the lord of the manor), and today he looked like he’d had a trolley dash at Urban Outfitters.
I’d arrived that morning, washed clean of the last of the red paint, ready for a deluge of customers after the roaring success of my Christmas do. But it was as if it had never happened. It was more of a trickle than a flood, and the footfall dried up altogether every now and then. It had been an hour since the last person had come in, for either me or Penn.
He sat at his cash desk, using two pens to drum a beat on the countertop – it went on for a number of minutes before I cleared my throat loudly and gave him a look. He returned my look and carried on. So I turned Harry Styles up a notch.
Luckily, the shop party had made enough money in one day that I’d at least got my parents out of strife this month, with a bit left over to boost my bank account. But if things continued to dwindle, then the surplus wouldn’t last long. Neo had the month’s rent I owed him, but the next one was still all to play for.
The pen-drumming continued but was slightly muffled by the increased volume of The Smiths from Penn’s side in retaliation. I sighed and kicked my music up a bit too. Not this bullshit again.
I’d popped into Mam and Dad’s on my way in that morning and they were in good spirits. Dad was propped on the sofa eating a bowl of Coco Pops, and Mam was bustling around him like a mother hen, at the same time wearing her call-centre headset. When she’d said, ‘I understand you’re frustrated,’ I wasn’t sure if she was talking to the caller or my dad, who was struggling to reach the telly remote. He was still insistent he’d be back at work in weeks rather than months, and although I knew he was talking nonsense, I couldn’t help but hope he made such a miraculous recovery. Despite all my ambitions, the shop didn’t seem like it could sustain the three of us for all that time.
Worryingly, I’d seen another red-topped mortgage bill on the kitchen counter alongside an estate agent’s business card. Anxiety had rippled through me – could they be closer to complete financial collapse than I’d imagined?
My eardrums prickled as Penn turned up his music yet again, and he seemed to be going harder on the pen drumming too. I was just about to reach for my speaker to outdo him once more when Arthur appeared at the door.
‘I wonder if you’d mind…’ he said in such a sweet voice that we both turned our speakers down immediately.
‘Sorry, Arthur,’ we said in unison, like we’d been admonished by our favourite schoolteacher. He smiled kindly and went back to the bookshop. There was near silence as Fleetwood Mac and Peter Andre whispered at each other from across the room.
‘Did you enjoy eating your pheasant and chips last night then?’ I asked archly.
‘You need to hang them for twenty-four hours before you eat them.’ His tone was bored, and he didn’t bother to look at me.
‘Gross. So will you be back next weekend then? To shoot some more?’
‘No. I’ve got a gig.’
An image of Penn standing on stage, guitar against his hip, flashing that seductive smile drifted into my head. The memory of how I’d been drawn to his confidence as well as his looks stirred uncomfortably somewhere deep inside me, but then almost as quickly, I was back in the room. He wasn’t the person I’d imagined he was.
‘Do your family know you’re a secret rock star, or does the deception only go one way?’
‘It’s none of your business.’
‘Aha. I’ll take that as a no then.’ I sat back on my stool, satisfied. I rearranged some receipts, then curiosity got the better of me.
‘Did you go to boarding school?’
He didn’t answer.
‘Do you have any hobbies other than shooting? Like fencing, or falconry?’
His jaw twitched, and he looked out of the window. Then he laughed lightly, rolling his eyes. ‘I’m not going to entertain any of this with an answer.’
‘I suppose us proles wouldn’t understand.’
He shot me a look, any hint of amusement gone. ‘You know, prejudice goes both ways. Just because I happen to come from a… wealthy family’ – his face looked pained as he said it – ‘it doesn’t mean you can take some kind of moral high ground about it. You don’t see me calling you…’
‘Calling me what?’ My voice was icy.
His mouth worked as he seemed to try and find a suitable answer. But he was saved by a jingle at the door, and his wild-haired, leather-clad mates walked in.
‘Don’t worry – I won’t tell…’ I mouthed at him, and he turned his back on me coldly.
The door opened again, and I looked at it hopefully in case it was a customer for me, but it was Melissa, bearing a neat baby-pink bag from her shop.
‘Hi, Annie. How are you today?’ she said with a wide smile.
‘Great! How are you doing?’
‘ Really well. Rushed off my feet, as ever. You know how it is.’ She laughed gaily, and I joined in, very aware that I didn’t actually know how it was.
She glanced around at the empty shop. ‘I’m glad I caught you in a quiet moment. I just wanted to give you these.’ She handed over the little glossy bag.
Inside was a selection of sample-sized products from her shop – creams and serums and fragrances.
‘Thanks!’ I said. ‘But you didn’t have to.’
‘I know, darling, but I like to take care of my friends.’ She put her hand on mine.
‘That’s so kind. Really, I appreciate it.’
I was already imagining scrubbing the tidemark off Neo’s bath and pouring in the bath oil. It was such a lovely gesture.
Melissa walked over to my small array of natural beauty products, running her manicured fingertips over the packaging. ‘You know, I think I’ll give these a try. I do love sandalwood and bergamot. There’s a lot to be said for essential oils in a beauty routine.’
She scooped up several containers and handed over some crisp bank notes. I wavered – it seemed wrong to let her pay the full amount when she’d just given me such a nice present. But when I tried to give her some money back, she flat-out refused.
‘We local businesses need to support each other,’ she said, waving goodbye as she glided out.
I made a mental note to pop round and buy one of her least expensive sheet masks in return.
Mercifully, I made a few sales throughout the rest of the morning, and then Christa came in to ask me out to lunch. I had to say no – I’d brought a sandwich as I couldn’t justify spending money eating out.
She noticed the bag from Visage Unique on the counter and sniffed. ‘I didn’t know you shopped next door.’
‘Oh. I don’t. Melissa dropped them in.’
‘You do know some of her products aren’t ethical, don’t you? This mascara’ – she said, plucking a sample-sized tube from the bag – ‘has carnauba wax in it.’
I blinked. For all I was on the side of sustainability, I wasn’t too clear on what the implication of that was.
‘Its production has been associated with modern slavery and deforestation?’
‘Ew,’ I said, taking it from her and dropping it in the bin.
‘Sadly, when it comes to business, some people are happy to deal in blood money. Success at any cost – and she’s raking it in.’
‘Yeah, she must be.’ I thought of her slick, exclusive shop and imagined its tills brimming with cash. Then I looked at mine, with its pitiful scattering of notes and coins. Despite all that, I knew I couldn’t trade my principles for financial gain.
‘I tried talking to her about it, and she said she’d look into it, but it seems she’s still selling this stuff.’ Christa frowned. ‘Do you know, she’s doing so well she wants to expand? She offered to buy this building from Mike.’
‘Really? I had no idea.’
‘He won’t sell it though. He loves this place, and he wouldn’t let it go for any money. Not unless…’
She gave me a pointed look, and I understood that she’d also heard of Mike’s woes. I wondered then if that was the reason for the strained atmosphere between Melissa and Mike at the party – maybe she was holding it against him.
‘Well, we need to make this place a success then,’ I said stoically. ‘Mike can rely on us.’
‘That’s the spirit! Anyway, I’d better dash. There’s a vegan cheese panini with my name on it.’ She cut Penn a glacial stare and left the shop.
That night, I lay in the bath, having checked that the bath oil was environmentally friendly before pouring it in. I’d done the same with the clay mask before slathering it onto my face too. As I floated there, trying to ignore Neo’s greying bath towel hanging from a hook on the door, I dreamed again of getting my own place. I’d have a cosy bathroom that had pillar candles dotted about and smelled fragrant. My living room would be decorated with pot plants and scatter cushions rather than posters for the director’s cut of Lord of the Rings and half-empty Pot Noodle cups. It felt so close but so far away – the shop had so much potential, but I couldn’t find a way to tap into it.
My mind was drawn back to those horrible messages on social media. There had been more that day, all along the same lines. My shop was garnering a very negative reputation, and I still couldn’t shake the idea that Penn might have something to do with it.
I had a restless night, with dreams of holes in my pockets, money falling through. Then I woke up and decided I just needed to stick at it. If my family had taught me anything, it was that hard work pays off, and to stick two fingers up at anyone who tried to wear me down. I got dressed with a renewed sense of purpose and started to feel more positive on the bus ride over to Pilgrim Street.
I arrived outside the shop, and my breath was knocked right out of me. Across the window was a jagged black bolt of graffiti. A single menacing scrawl.
SHITHOLE.