Chapter 10
Rick pulled into a small, deserted car park in the nearby village of Ambleford. Grabbing a pair of sunglasses from the glove compartment, he went in search of a ticket machine.
An older woman wearing layers of purple fabric was being dragged along by a dog the size of a small horse. ‘It’s free to park, pet,’ she called.
The dog showed an alarming interest in Rick’s crotch. He took a step back and held out a tentative hand to be sniffed instead.
The woman laughed and tucked a stray strand of silver hair back into her bun. ‘For all her size, she’s a chicken really. A rescue. Mastiff crossed with a Great Dane, I think. She’s far too big for me, but I love her anyway. She’s… Tiny. Stop it!’
Tiny ignored Rick’s hand and licked his smart Italian loafers instead, leaving a shiny trail of slobber.
‘I’m so sorry. I’m Reena. Are…’ She dissolved into a fruity coughing fit suggestive of a forty-a-day habit. She composed herself, watery eyes peering over gold-rimmed spectacles. ‘Are you new around here?’
‘Yes. Just moved in.’
‘You’ve timed it well, pet. This little car park was packed ten minutes ago.’
Rick glanced around at the empty spaces.
‘Parents dropping kiddies off at the preschool, over there.’ She gestured across the green. ‘They fight tooth and nail to park at eight-thirty every weekday, but they’re all gone by nine. Off to work or Pilates or some such, one supposes. We’re very proud of our preschool, but ever since they got an outstanding from Toffsted, it’s been bedlam.’
Toffsted?
A glimmer of amusement in the old woman’s eyes told Rick she was as sharp as a tack. ‘Wealthy incomers bring their little darlings here to avoid forking out for private nursery fees.’
‘Ah.’
‘It’s one reason all our local shops survive.’ She gestured out of the entrance to the car park. ‘Rich customers, pet.’
The car park was adjacent to a pub with a painted swing sign announcing “The Crashing Boar”. Across the road from it was a stone war memorial flanked by stone benches. Past that was the green – a large rectangle of lush grass edged with pansy-filled flower beds and encircled with a ribbon of tarmacked road. Quaint cottages lined the far side. On the nearside stretched a parade of shops with jolly rainbow paintwork and matching awnings. A wide stone pavement between the shops and the road encouraged customers to linger. In the distance, a sunshine-yellow Victorian schoolhouse sat squat and steady inside a fenced playground, adjacent to a traditional red-brick church with a small bell tower.
‘Craft shop, bakery, hairdresser, pet shop. You name it. We’re spoiled for choice,’ Reena said. ‘Are you after anything in particular?’
‘Coffee.’
‘Aha. Stacy in The Coffee Pot serves excellent coffee, although…’ Reena glanced at a slim watch on her wrist and pursed her lips. ‘Oh, dear me, no. It’s Wednesday. The local businesswomen hold networking events in there on a Wednesday morning. It’ll be packed to the gills. Best avoided.’
Damnit.
‘Don’t worry, pet,’ said Reena. ‘Barbara Trenchard does lovely takeaway coffee from the deli counter at the back of the general store.’ She nodded at a sprawling store-cum-post office opposite the entrance to the car park, a shiny red postbox standing to attention outside.
‘Thanks.’
‘You know, pet,’ Reena said, ‘you look ever so familiar. Have we met before?’
Rick shook his head, the hairs on the back of his neck standing to attention.
Tiny whined and suddenly started moving. Reena grasped the lead with both hands. ‘Looks like we’re off again. No doubt I’ll see you around, pet. Toodle-oo for now.’
Rick pulled the hood of his fleece over his head, took a deep breath and crossed the road to the general store.
*
Beth stood just inside the general store, scanning the noticeboard for local job vacancies, still reeling from the telling-off she had received from Mrs Fintan over Grace’s flexible uniform choices. Several cards requested cleaners and pet sitters. She could do both, but they wouldn’t pay much – and she had enough cleaning and animal care to do at home. A small pink card, tucked behind a larger flyer, caught her attention. Beth pulled it out for a closer look.
‘I hope you aren’t going to lurk there all day, Mrs Hope.’
That voice set Beth’s teeth on edge. She swung around to see the short, well-upholstered form of Mrs Trenchard behind the deli counter. The second to last person in the world that she would ever choose to speak to – the first being Paul. Known to Rose, Jack and Daisy as ‘Aunty B’, Mrs Trenchard made her disapproval of Beth clear with every encounter. Today was no different. Unfortunately, as a stalwart of the WI and owner of the village store, the woman’s opinions held a lot of sway in the local community.
Beth shifted from foot to foot.
‘It’s an inconvenient spot to grow roots, I must say.’ Mrs Trenchard waved a pair of tongs at the crowded shop. ‘You can see how busy we are. Might I encourage you to leave? Unless you’re planning to spend money, of course.’
All the bored people in the queue for the post office counter turned to stare. Beth muttered an apology, darted for the door and barrelled straight into a man coming the other way.
Large gentle hands grabbed her shoulders and stopped her from falling. A voice she recognised said, ‘Steady on. Are you okay?’
Electricity sang through her veins at the contact, making her hormones give a happy little skip as they instantly recognised the Wolverine.
Mrs Trenchard tutted.
Beth’s cheeks burned. Got to get out. Her instincts took over. She thrust both arms up and out, breaking his grip. ‘I have to… uh, I need to…’
He stepped back.
She dashed past, straight out onto the pavement where she almost tripped over the extendable lead connecting old Mr Whitely to his asthmatic pug, Peter.
‘Watch where you’re going, madam,’ roared Mr Whitely, waving his stick in the air under her nose.
She reared backwards and grabbed the postbox to prevent an ungainly topple into the gutter. ‘Sorry, so sorry.’
Peter whined, farted and then continued to propel his crumbly owner towards the war memorial, just as he always did at that time of the morning.
Beth wanted the ground to swallow her up. She staggered away from the shop door and leaned against a table outside The Coffee Pot. The little pink card from the noticeboard was in her hand. Pushing the Wolverine from her mind, she focused on the pretty lettering.
Do you feel crafty? Help wanted.
Inquire at Bits and Bobs for more details.
As a rule, Beth didn’t have much truck with signs from the universe, but this one was practically smacking her in the face. Bits and Bobs, the craft shop at the far end of the parade, was a stone’s throw from the preschool. A job there would be very convenient… well… apart from the need to be creative.
Beth’s self-belief was at rock bottom. Worse than that. It had chiselled a further fifty fathoms down through solid bedrock into whatever crud lay beneath. But desperate times called for desperate measures. She had to apply for this job. And even if she failed to get it, nothing could be more embarrassing than the last few minutes. Could it? She tucked the card in her coat pocket and marched along the parade to the craft shop.
A dainty bell tinkled overhead as she entered and a waft of hyacinth and geranium engulfed her, bringing with it a surreal sense of calm and positivity. Around her, textures and colours in a restful yet inviting arrangement drew her in. She couldn’t resist touching a display of woollen shawls.
‘Soft, aren’t they?’ An amused voice came from the back of the long, thin room, where a large wooden table was surrounded by ladder-back chairs with vibrant seat covers. A woman sat in a rocking chair, crocheting. She had smooth tawny-brown skin and black box braids pulled into a simple twist that cascaded over one shoulder. Jewelled pins were tucked into the braids at intervals – glittered accents of magenta that matched a silk scarf draped around her neck.
‘Hi, I’m Lucy.’ That Lucy was creative was obvious. She held up her crochet and a fuchsia-pink wrap, identical in design to the blue one that Beth had been stroking, draped into her lap. ‘All-natural fibres, perfect for baby blankets.’
‘You’re very clever.’ Beth moved closer to admire it. ‘I’m Beth, by the way.’
‘Hi, Beth. I’m obsessed with all things baby-related, for obvious reasons.’ A complicated cloth-based sling secured a sleeping infant to Lucy’s chest. ‘This is Hazel.’
Beth’s heart melted at the sight of candyfloss-soft baby hair and a chubby brown fist. ‘Oh. She’s adorable.’
‘While she’s sleeping, she is.’ Lucy grinned. ‘The blankets are a new line. We carry a lot of handmade stock by local artisans, as well as the materials to make your own. Very popular with the tourists.’
‘I’m not surprised.’
‘You’re not a tourist, though, are you?’ Lucy put her head on one side. ‘Tom and I moved here last summer. It’s taken every second since then to get this place up and running. I’ve not met everyone in the village, yet, but I’m sure I know you.’
‘I come this way most days. My daughter, Grace, is at the preschool.’
Lucy snapped her fingers in triumph. ‘That’ll be it. My Hari’s at preschool, too. He’s always talking about a Grace. I only dash in and out at pick-up and drop-off, though. It’s no wonder I don’t really know anyone. And now I’ve got this little handful, I’ve even less time.’ She patted the baby’s bottom gently and shrugged. ‘Anyway, enough about me. Are you looking for anything in particular?’
‘You have a job advertised.’
‘Blimey, that was quick. I only put the ad up this morning. Are you into crafting at all?’
Beth opened her mouth, scraping the inside of her skull in search of some way to dazzle Lucy with her creative prowess. ‘Uh… No, not really. I just need a job. I… oh, blast! I’m sorry. Daft idea. I know nothing about crafting and I’m only available when Grace is at preschool, which is probably no good for you. Plus, I’m not exactly popular around here. I’ll scare off all your customers.’
Lucy’s eyes bugged. ‘Woah! Hang on. Before I go back and unravel all that, let me ask you one thing. Do you understand that a job interview is the part when you try to convince a potential employer that they should give you the job? Listing all the reasons why it would be a terrible idea isn’t usually considered to be the best approach.’
Beth studied her shoes, kicking herself for running off at the mouth. ‘Yes. Sorry.’
‘No need to apologise. Now, have you got time to make us both a cup of tea?’
Beth glanced up. ‘Uh, yes. I do.’
‘Good. There’s a tiny kitchen through that door. I daren’t move for fear of waking the monster from the deep.’ Lucy stroked Hazel’s back. ‘Mine’s milk and no sugar, thanks.’
Beth went to make the tea. She’d be mad to offer me the job but there’s no harm in hanging around for a bit. I’m desperate for caffeine and Jane said I needed to get to know people, so here goes. She returned to the shop with two mugs. ‘Here we go.’
‘You are a lifesaver. Now, tell me why you think you’re not popular.’
Beth perched on a chair. ‘I married a local boy under less-than-ideal circumstances. The local grandma mafia are a tough crowd.’
‘Oooh! Tell me more.’
‘My husband was originally one half of a pair of childhood lovebirds. Paul and Isla. The entire village watched them grow up together, fall in love and get married. Real Mills & Boon stuff – or so I’m told.’
‘That’s sweet, but I’m assuming it didn’t last, since he’s now your husband?’
‘Yeah. No, it’s really sad. She died. Hit by a car on New Year’s Eve seven years ago. Drunk driver.’
‘That’s awful.’
‘Paul was left with three young kids. Rose was only twelve. The twins were nearly nine. Anyway, I met him about eighteen months later, at a work event in London, and… well, about six months after that I got pregnant, accidentally. I was getting on a bit. Forty-six is late to start having babies. So, for me, it was kind of a now-or-never situation. And I was in love. With him, with the children, with the forest.’ Beth shrugged. ‘We got married.’
‘Hardly the crime of the century.’
‘Not technically, maybe, and no one said anything outright, but… well, it was a bit soon. And you can tell when you’re being judged. And Isla was the perfect wife and mother, of course. I’ve never quite measured up.’
‘I sense an inferiority complex.’
Beth relaxed back into her chair. ‘Maybe, but that’s old news. Mrs Trenchard even talks to me these days, although I think I preferred it when she didn’t.’
‘Barbara? From the general stores? She’s a sweetheart.’
‘Sweetheart, my arse. She’s a dragon.’
‘She’s one of my crochet circle ladies. Looks intimidating, I admit, but—’
‘She had me too scared to go in the store for nearly a year after I first arrived.’
Lucy dissolved into giggles.
‘I’m serious!’ Beth struggled to keep a straight face. ‘I made a right tit of myself in there only this morning.’
‘I’m sure you didn’t.’
‘Trust me, I did.’
‘I’ve clearly had a very tame introduction to village life in comparison, then?’
‘You’re not a jumped-up Mata Hari from London like me.’
‘Nah! I’m only from Southampton.’
‘Practically a local.’
‘I’m sure your lovely husband and kids are worth it all,’ said Lucy, stroking Hazel’s back.
Beth grimaced into her mug. ‘The husband? Not so much. He left. It’s just me and the kids now. And no matter how challenging they are. Underneath it all, I know they’re good kids.’
‘Gosh. I am so sorry.’
‘It’s fine. I’m fine. Honestly.’ Beth blinked back traitorous tears. ‘I’m just rubbish with men. I’m going to swear off them.’
‘Oh, don’t do that.’
‘No, I really should. I have no judgement whatsoever.’
‘That’s not true.’
‘It is. I met this guy the other day.’
‘Is he good-looking?’
Beth blew out her cheeks, an image of the Wolverine’s craggy face floating before her eyes. ‘Not in the traditional square-jawed and handsome sense, but there’s something about him. Just being close to him scrambles my brain. It’s intense.’
‘I’m sensing a “but” coming.’
‘Yeah. It turns out he’s my new neighbour and… it’s complicated.’
‘Complicated doesn’t have to be bad.’
‘Trust me. This time, it is. I just can’t go there. There’s too much going on. I don’t have the bandwidth.’ Beth put her mug on the table and stood up. ‘Sorry. I’m talking your ear off. This was supposed to be a genuine job application. You’re far too good a listener.’
‘Ah, that’s not me,’ Lucy replied. ‘That’s the crafting environment – it’s more effective than the confessional. Don’t look at me like that. It’s true. There are studies that prove creative activities are good for building positive mental health and resilience. They’re real stress-busters. You’d be amazed what people share during the crafty crochet session, for example. Not that I’d repeat anything. Confidentiality’s vital. What happens in crafting stays in crafting.’
‘I believe you. And I don’t usually rattle on, I promise.’ Beth gave a sheepish grin. ‘I don’t suppose you’ll consider me for the job, will you?’
‘I wish I could…’ Lucy wrinkled her nose, ‘but I really need someone with practical experience. I’m so sorry.’
‘Don’t worry, I expected as much. If only I were more like my stepdaughter, Daisy. She’s doing a textiles A-level at college. She probably knows all sorts of useful stuff.’
‘Does she want a job?’
‘She might, actually. She’s a bit of handful but only for me, because of the whole wicked stepmother thing. She’s sweetness and light with everyone else. Mrs Trenchard adores her.’
‘There you go, running yourself down again. You really should stop that. Listen, mention the job to Daisy for me. If she’s interested, send her in and she and I can take it from there. Leave me your phone number, too. I’ll let you know if I hear of any other jobs going.’
‘That’s kind. I’ve one teen who doesn’t stop eating, two others with hot shower dependencies, and don’t get me started on Grace and her obsession with unicorns and sparkly stuff.’ Beth scribbled her details on a scrap of paper and said goodbye with a heavy heart.