Chapter Twenty Two
No sooner do I open my eyes and awaken to the dawn chorus, does a wave of nausea hit me. I thought I’d feel better after a good night’s sleep, but my chest is heavier than ever, as if there’s a pile of phantom bricks on top of it.
Scratching my head, I sit up in bed, playing it all over in my mind.
I was so cruel, so casually callous with Finn’s feelings; I can’t believe it was really me spitting that venom at him.
I’ve tried so hard to protect my own heart that I’ve ended up stomping on someone else’s.
I’ve become the thing I despised the most, the kind of person I was afraid of.
And the worst part is that I wanted to tell him I felt the same, that what occurred between us truly was much more than a kiss.
It was putting my trust in someone for the first time, it was taking a leap and letting go of control, it was realising that the tiny ember between us was set to burst into a roaring flame - and I doused it like it was nothing.
I glance down at my hand, the one that Finn scribbled his number onto.
The ink has long since faded away, but I still recall the touch of his fingers against mine as he held them, the gentle tickle of the pen nib as it glided over my bumpy veins and freckly skin.
I’ve since given his number a more permanent home in my phone’s contact list - I could very easily call him to apologise and potentially talk it out.
But it’s not as easy as that, is it? I mean, of course it’s easy to just ring someone up, but the conversation we’ll be having, well, for me, that’s a difficult one.
I don’t even know what I want to say to him, I haven’t figured out exactly what’s going on in my fractured mind and puzzled heart.
There’s literally no point in spilling my guts to poor Finn when it probably won’t even make any sense to him.
Besides, I don’t want to hurt him anymore.
It’s ironic, isn’t it? I was so frightened that if I got too close, I’d end up scarred, so I turned into the monster myself.
A gentle, open-hearted man like Finn is hard to come by, and he’s better off without me in his life.
Wiping the burgeoning tears from my eyes, I shake my head to clear it, leap out of bed and head straight to the shower. There’s no sense in moping about; what’s done is done, and I’ve got to carry on. After all, I have a small business to build, don’t I?
Wrapped up in a towel on the bed, I grab my laptop and jump straight in.
After a bit of trawling around online, I find a free website builder and get to work mapping out my site.
I’ll need to take some decent product pictures soon, I’m sure Lottie’s boyfriend is a photographer; perhaps he could help me?
I write out a funny little bio about myself and my products, pick out the website colours, but when I come to naming the site, I get stumped.
What could I call it? Leesh’s Candles? Spencer’s Scents?
I tap all my ideas out on a blank document, trying to decide which one looks best. I don’t love any of them, to be honest, they don’t feel quite me.
Sighing, I push my back against the pillow and stare up at the ceiling, as if I might find the answer there.
Suddenly, I think back to the book I read at school, the one we covered at book club the other week.
Beaming with inspiration, I delete the other options and type out the perfect name for my business:
The Cheeky Chandler.
Satisfied, I draft an email to send to the organisers of Lily Vale’s annual Summer Fair, linking my under-construction website at the bottom for good measure.
Hi,
My name is Alicia from The Cheeky Chandler. I make hand-poured candles and wax melts.
I’m writing to enquire as to whether there are any stalls left for the upcoming Summer Fair? If so, I would love to book one.
Kind regards,
Alicia Spencer
I blast out a handful of similar emails to a bunch of other crafts fairs, keeping my fingers crossed for at least one response.
They might not have any room for me now, and who knows if I’ll sell any stock?
Even if I do, I’ll need to shift a decent amount of candles to pay for just the cost of materials, let alone make a profit.
Gnawing at my lip, I close my laptop lid with a click.
Gosh, this starting a business thing is a lot more complicated than I first thought.
I won’t be able to sustain myself with craft fairs alone, I’ll need to think of a more permanent base for my business.
The website is a start, but who would buy a candle without being able to sniff it?
I wish I could afford a brick and mortar shop, but that’s a dream that’s dead on arrival.
Pretty soon, I’m going to have to decide on whether to head back to London and try to make a go of things there.
Perhaps I could start selling in Camden, or at Spitalfields Market; there’s plenty of places a sparky entrepreneur could make her name in the capital.
For now, I’ll have to stick around Lucy’s to hopefully do these seasonal fairs.
After that, who knows where I’ll end up?
I spend the rest of the day making brand new candles in the kitchen, carefully pouring the sweet-smelling wax into jam jars I found at the charity shop on the high street. My stock isn’t exactly consistent - all the jars are different shapes and sizes, but maybe that just adds to their charm?
Lucy skips into the kitchen, humming an achingly familiar tune under her breath.
Anything you can do - I’m transported to that night at the pub when Finn and I sang karaoke together.
I can still recall the taste of the Meadow Gold, the subtle scent of his lemony aftershave as he swayed in close to share the microphone, the way I laughed and laughed until my throat was hoarse.
‘Something smells good,’ she comments as she squeezes past me and switches on the kettle.
Putting Finn firmly out of my mind, I turn around to face her. ‘I’ll clean up the mess when I’m done, don’t worry.’
‘Leesh, it’s alright! I keep telling you that you can make yourself at home, you don’t have to prove anything to me. You’re totally welcome here.’
Dipping my head, I offer a grateful smile as I tap a jar on the counter to level out the drying wax. ‘Fancy a takeaway tonight? I don’t much feel like cooking.’
‘Ooh, I’d murder a curry, but we can’t. Alex is bringing over a casserole, we’re having Phyllis over for dinner, you know, to talk about the house.’
‘Oh right, do you want me to stay out of the way? I could see if the girls are busy, I’m sure one of them wouldn’t mind me popping over for the evening.’
After dropping tea bags into two mugs, Lucy folds her arms and cocks her head to the side, a pseudo stern face directed at me.
‘Now, what did I just say about you being welcome here? Don’t be daft, Alicia, I’m not kicking you out for the night!
Come and have dinner with us, Phyllis likes you after all.
’ She tugs at her collar, agony contorting her expression.
‘Besides, you being here might soften the blow we’ve got to deliver. ’
I’m not so sure about that, and yet, I disguise my misgivings with an encouraging nod, biting my tongue lest I speak my mind too freely.
Even just that brief mention of her family home at the book club made it clear how important it is to Phyllis - probably as important as Appleseed Cottage is to Lucy.
I can’t imagine her selling it without some heavy pressure from her son and daughter-in-law, which I know neither of them would dream of applying.
I’ve finished up twenty candles and cleaned the kitchen from top to bottom by the time Alex and Phyllis arrive at six thirty.
Because of the little step at the front door, Alex has to lay out Phyllis’ special ramp to get her inside, but it’s a simple enough operation, and she deftly wheels herself into the living room.
‘Hello, girls!’ she trills cheerily.
‘Hi, Phyllis,’ I greet her just as warmly. ‘You look lovely.’
And she does, dressed in a silk pale pink dress patterned with scarlet poppies, and her soft, silvery hair teased into a halo of curls about her shoulders.
I wish I’d thought to dress up, but I’m just bumming around in faded black leggings and an old band t-shirt that once belonged to my older brother Kevin.
‘That’s a gorgeous dress,’ Lucy agrees, placing three glasses of prosecco on the coffee table. ‘Good enough to wear to the wedding, even.’
‘What, this old thing?’ She plucks at the silk, chuckling. ‘No, just you wait, chicken, I’ve got something much more befitting in store for that special day.’
‘I can’t wait to see.’
‘Not long now,’ Phyllis beams. ‘Just three days to go!’
Lucy sits down on the sofa, grinning like she’s not freaking out beneath the surface.
She can’t hide her nerves from me, and I reach out to grasp her hand, if only to keep her from twiddling her fingers.
‘Erm, dinner will be ready soon, Alex just has to heat it up. He used your lamb casserole recipe.’
‘Ooh, delish! It’s actually my mother’s recipe, she wrote it down for me on the back of an old shopping list once and I never forgot it.’
The three of us chat amongst ourselves while Alex prepares the meal.
We mostly stick to wedding talk, which on an ordinary day would have Lucy buzzing like a bee, but I can tell she’s beginning to get antsy.
She keeps fidgeting in place and her laughter sounds forced, because she knows that once we’re sat down at the kitchen table, the real conversation will have to happen.
Soon enough, Alex calls us through and we all take our places.
The table is laid with a ruby-red linen cloth and the casserole sits steaming at the centre, surrounded by side dishes heaped with honey-glazed veggies and golden mash.
I’m both surprised and delighted to see (and smell) that Alex has lit one of my candles and placed it on the table as a centrepiece.
The soft scent of cashmere and vanilla delicately drifts through the air, not overpowering the meal, but simply adding to the cosy atmosphere.
We munch happily in near silence, only interrupting bites to chat casually about work or the book club. Once we’re all stuffed, Alex clears the plates and freshens everyone’s drink.
‘So, Mum, there’s something we wanted to talk to you about,’ he begins, struggling to meet his mother’s eye. ‘Obviously, Lucy and I want to start living together when we’re married.’
‘Obviously.’ Phyllis nods, not a trace of emotion given away in her voice nor on her face.
He clears his throat. ‘This isn’t easy to say, but … I think we need to consider selling the house.’
Phyllis sucks in a sharp, short breath, but she doesn’t seem particularly blindsided by his suggestion. Perhaps she saw this coming herself - I mean, she must have realised that a married couple can’t live between two homes forever.
‘Right, of course,’ she murmurs softly.
‘I’m so sorry, Phyllis,’ Lucy blurts out, horribly close to tears. ‘I wish there were some way we could keep both the houses, but it’s just not possible. I - I’m sorry.’
Phyllis places her palm over Lucy’s. ‘Sweetheart, the happiness of you both is what’s most important to me, not some silly old house.’ Braving a smile, she nods. ‘I’ll sell the place.’
My heart catapults from my chest to my throat and I make a split-second decision. Sitting up straighter in my seat, I place my knife and fork onto the plate, the clink punctuating my announcement.
‘You don’t have to.’ Everyone looks at me, and I turn to Alex. ‘Well, you said you wanted to find a tenant, here I am.’
A dense silence falls over the kitchen like a spell, save for the gentle crackle of the candle’s wick.
Lucy gawps across the table, her jaw almost hitting her plate. ‘You - you want to stay in Lily Vale?’
I guffaw at her shocked expression and draw my smile around the table. ‘Well, I’ve got nowhere else to be, have I? Besides, I’m trying to have a crack at this candle-making thing, maybe a small village like this might be the place to make my mark.’
‘Oh Alicia, that would be incredible!’ Phyllis whizzes around to my side and hugs me tight. ‘I’ll give you a great rate for rent, truly, I will. Oh, Alex, we can keep our home!’
I know for sure that I’ve done the right thing when I bring my attention to him. His face is a picture, the joy in his eyes can hardly be contained as he fixes them on me and raises his glass in a toast.
‘Thank you so much, Alicia,’ he whispers, the words coming out all soft and thick like he might start crying.
‘No, thank you both,’ I insist. ‘I’ll finally have a home of my own again!’
‘And you’ll just be down the road from me,’ Lucy chimes in, having found her voice once more.
‘Yep,’ I grin at her. ‘I guess my London girl days are well behind me!’
And do you know what, I couldn’t be happier about it.