Chapter Fourteen
In the end, it was Sarah and Mitch who made the soup, while Bart studiously compiled a list of the things he thought he’d need.
Eloise’s job was to keep an eye on Toby, who was busy stacking pots and pans on the kitchen floor and making enough of a ruckus to burst an eardrum at fifty paces.
Eloise was positive she’d get a headache, but she was mercifully still headache-free by the time the lunch things had been washed up.
Toby was excited to go out, but not quite as excited when he learnt he would have to be carried due to his lack of footwear.
Sarah wasn’t faring much better in the shoe department, having borrowed Eloise’s Wellington boots, which only fitted with the addition of three pairs of socks since Eloise’s feet were two sizes larger.
Eloise wore the walking shoes that the sales assistant back home had assured her were water-resistant.
They were going to be put to the test this afternoon, although she didn’t have much hope they’d live up to the hype.
As they set off, Bart shot a regretful look at the two cars sitting on the driveway.
One was his and the other was hers, and neither of them could be used to transport Sarah and Toby into the village due to the lack of a car seat.
Thankfully it wasn’t far to walk, and Sarah assured them she was used to carrying her son, despite Mitch, who’d insisted on accompanying them, offering.
“Do we need to see if we can borrow a pushchair?” Bart had asked, but Sarah assured him that even if Toby had one, he’d refuse to go in it.
“He insists on walking himself or being carried,” she said, hoisting him onto her hip as the five of them set off into the overcast afternoon. It was barely one-thirty, but dusk was only a couple of hours away. Not surprising, really, since tomorrow was the winter solstice.
Eloise shivered. She hated this time of year. It was so dark and dismal, and spring seemed such a long way off. She always breathed a sigh of relief when January came, and not just because the nonsense of Christmas was out of the way.
“Are you sure you’re all right carrying him?” Mitch asked again, watching Sarah shift the boy to her other hip as they walked down the road.
Eloise had suggested phoning for a taxi, but apparently such vehicles were few and far between in Honeycombe.
To Eloise, it looked as though Mitch was itching to take a turn in carrying Toby, but Eloise could understand Sarah’s reluctance.
After all, she’d had a traumatic near miss last night; and besides, she didn’t know Mitch from Adam.
Eloise also had a feeling the girl was so used to coping on her own that she didn’t know how to accept offers of help.
“I’m fine,” Sarah said, “but I’m glad we’re going downhill and not up.”
“If he gets too heavy, let us know, and me or Mitch will take over,” Bart told her. “First stop, the shoe shop,” he added. “Then you can walk by yourself, can’t you, Toby?” He ruffled the boy’s head, knocking the oversized hat that Eloise had given him askew, and he hastily straightened it.
“Mama, I want to go to the beach.”
“Not today, pumpkin.”
“I want to,” he replied stubbornly, and Eloise recalled seeing them there the other day, Sarah chasing the boy across the sand and Toby giggling and squealing. It’s strange how things turn out, she mused.
“Shall we see if we can get you a new pair of wellies?” Eloise said to him. “What colour would you like?”
“Red.”
“And your mummy needs wellies, too. What colour shall Mummy get?”
“Red.”
Sarah shook her head indulgently. “Red is his favourite colour.” Her smile faded. “The odds of finding a pair of red boots in his size in the secondhand shop are practically nonexistent.”
“Who said anything about a secondhand shop?” Eloise demanded.
“I’m not buying new; I can’t afford it. And I insist on paying you back as soon as I can.” The girl wore a determined expression.
Eloise opened her mouth to argue, caught Bart’s tiny shake of the head, and closed it again.
She had to admire Sarah’s independence and her determination not to be beholden to anyone.
She reminded Eloise of herself when she was younger—minus the child, of course.
Eloise had been fiercely independent, too.
But then, she’d learnt at a young age that the only person she could truly depend on was herself.
Had Sarah learnt the same harsh lesson?
Eloise’s heart went out to her, but she wouldn’t let her curiosity get the better of her. It wasn’t any of her business, and since Sarah wouldn’t appreciate anyone poking their nose into her affairs, she wouldn’t ask.
Independent or not though, Eloise was determined the girl wasn’t going to pay her back, but that would be an argument for another day. Right now, the priority was to kit her and the little one out.
Toby’s situation wasn’t as dire as his mother’s, but it soon would be, as he’d already gone through two changes of clothes today, mostly due to his overenthusiastic enjoyment of his food.
At least he didn’t appear to be a fussy eater.
In fact, he was a sweet little boy all round, and his mother was a lovely woman.
As they made their way into the heart of the village, Eloise noticed Sarah beginning to flag, despite refusing further offers to carry the boy, and she guessed she’d be relieved to put Toby down so he could walk on his own two feet for a while, especially since he was fed up of being carried.
Eloise guessed he was desperate to explore, since there was so much to capture the attention.
The high street was at right angles to the promenade, with narrow cobbled streets leading off it, which were mostly pedestrianised.
At the top of the street sat a pretty little church decked out for Christmas with a nativity display outside and the Salvation Army brass band playing “O Come, All Ye Faithful.” The doors were open, and a chalkboard sign indicated there were refreshments to be had.
On the opposite side of the street was a community centre called The Hive, and it too had hot drinks and cakes available.
And no wonder, Eloise thought, seeing the number of people around.
The village was almost as busy as it had been on Saturday morning.
The centre of the street was lined with the wooden chalet-style huts she’d noticed previously, all draped with twinkling lights and festive bunting, and off to the side, in a small square, sat an ice rink with “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” blaring out of its speakers and competing with the more traditional carols being blasted out by the brass band.
A cart selling roasted chestnuts made her pause and sniff appreciatively (they smelt delicious), but when she caught the eye of the man doing the roasting, who held one out for her, she hastily looked away.
She wasn’t here to be seduced by the ridiculousness of the Christmas season; she was here to make sure that the poor young woman and her little boy had some decent clothes and footwear.
Practical things, items they needed, not novelty soap made with lavender and honey (honey being an obligatory ingredient in many of the things sold in Honeycombe Bay, along with anything else bee-related) or a ceramic gnome in a Santa suit.
Eloise did a double take at that, asking herself who on earth would be daft enough to buy one of those?
Bart led the way, dodging around people, aiming for a shop with a display of slippers in the window, and as Mitch held the door open for the others to go ahead of him, Eloise saw yet more racks of slippers inside.
What was the fascination with buying slippers as Christmas gifts?
she wondered. Did people only wear slippers at Christmas?
With a groan, Sarah allowed Toby to slide to the floor, and she flexed her arms. “He’s getting so big.”
“They tend to do that.” Bart chuckled as Toby scampered off, heading towards a brightly coloured display of children’s slippers.
Mitch sent Bart an exasperated look, and Bart gave a small shake of his head.
Sarah was one stubborn, independent lady, and Eloise could relate to that, even if Mitch couldn’t.
His heart was in the right place though, so she forgave him.
Sarah darted forward to catch hold of Toby just as he made a grab for a bright blue pair of slippers with a monster’s face on the front, earning herself a piercing shriek of indignation at being thwarted.
She wrestled them out of his clutches and put them back.
“We’re here to get you some shoes,” she reminded him, “not slippers.”
“I want those,” he protested, his voice rising.
Sarah’s expression was mortified. “I’m sorry; he’s not normally like this.”
“He’s been through a lot,” Bart sympathised. “Poor little mite.”
Eloise tried not to wince at the escalating noise level.
She wasn’t used to children, and her nerves were already shredded today.
Mitch didn’t seem affected in the slightest, and she assumed he was used to it, despite teaching older children.
In fact, teenagers might well be worse, she surmised, with all those hormones and the invincibility of youth.
Suddenly, longingly, she thought of her nice, quiet room back at the guest house and wished she hadn’t agreed to this little jaunt into the village.
Then she remembered why she was here and felt remorseful for being such a grouch.
Sarah didn’t want to be here either, but she had little choice.
The least Eloise could do was put her opinions about the festive season to one side and do whatever she could to make life a little more bearable for this sweet young mum.
While Eloise had been having stern words with herself, Sarah had been distracting her son with the wellies on sale. But something wasn’t right, and Eloise could see her surreptitiously checking the prices and guessed she was looking for the cheapest.
Eloise decided to swoop in. “Which is your favourite, Toby?” she asked, and wasn’t surprised when the little boy pointed to a bright yellow pair with a duck’s face on them.
He seemed to have a thing for footwear with faces.
Eloise assumed it must be the novelty factor, deliberately designed to appeal to children.
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Sarah flinch as she turned them over and saw the price on the sole, then pick up a bog-standard unexciting green pair, the kind that a farmer in his fifties might own. “Have you got these in a size eight, please?” she asked the sales assistant.
“I’ll just go check,” the woman said, taking the wellie from her.
Eloise waited until Sarah turned away, then hurried after the woman.
“Excuse me,” she whispered, as loudly as she dared.
“Would you do me a favour and tell her you don’t have any of those wellies in his size, but you do have those.
” She pointed discreetly to the duck wellies.
“In fact, bring out a pair of the unicorn ones as well, if you have them in his size, and say those are the only ones you’ve got, and—I know this is a big ask and rather unorthodox—but could you tell her that the duck ones are seconds and that they’re the same price as the boring green ones?
” Eloise spoke as quickly as she could, hoping Sarah wouldn’t notice the interaction.
“I’m paying for them, so I’ll pay the correct price, but…
” She trailed off, not knowing how to explain.
Luckily the sales assistant understood what she meant.
“I’ll see what I can do,” she said, and disappeared into a storeroom, leaving Eloise feeling quite discomposed by the subterfuge, especially when Mitch sent her a questioning look.
She pursed her lips, daring him to say anything, and he stayed silent.
A niggling worry at what Sarah might say if she found out gnawed at her, but Eloise wasn’t doing this to embarrass the girl; she was doing it because Toby deserved to wear a pair of duck wellies. And he was going to look so cute in them.
True to her word, the assistant returned with a regretful look on her face, but she was holding a couple of pairs of wellies, one of them being the yellow ones.
She said, “I’m sorry, we haven’t got those.
We’ve had a run on boots and wellies because of the snow.
These are the only ones in his size.” She showed Sarah a candy-pink pair and the duck ones.
The assistant grimaced. “I wouldn’t have brought these out because they’re seconds and I should, by rights, send them back; but since we don’t have any others, I could let you have them for the same price as the green ones. ”
Eloise wanted to clap her performance. The woman should be on the stage.
“What do you mean by seconds?” Sarah asked, squinting at them.
“The duck’s beak is the wrong colour.”
“It is?” Sarah sounded doubtful. “It looks the same to me.”
“I can assure you it’s not; it takes a trained eye to spot the difference,” she replied glibly, and Eloise heard Mitch’s surprised snort turn into a muffled cough.
The sales assistant continued, “We expect our suppliers to meet a certain standard, but as I said, you can have them for the same price. Or if you’d prefer to wait, our next delivery will be after Christmas.”
“No, that’s fine. I’ll take them.” Sarah shot Eloise and Bart a look. “We’ll take them,” she amended, flushing. “If that’s all right?”
“Of course it is,” Eloise declared. “You put them on Toby, and I’ll go to the till.”
She could see Sarah struggling between knowing that her son needed something on his feet and not wanting to be any more beholden than she already was.
Tempted to buy them regardless, Eloise nevertheless hung back, waiting for Sarah to give her the go-ahead, which she eventually did with obvious reluctance.
“Thank you,” Eloise whispered to the sales assistant as she paid for the wellies.
“You’re welcome. What are grandchildren for, if not to be spoilt?”
Eloise’s face flamed at the woman’s misconception, but she didn’t correct her. Instead, she nodded awkwardly and wondered if that was what people perceived when they saw her and Bart with Sarah and her child: a couple out shopping with their daughter and grandson.
Disconcerted, she repeated her thanks and put the idea firmly out of her mind. Now was not the time to lament what she’d missed. The clock couldn’t be turned back, no matter how many regrets she might have.