Chapter 17 #2
The rain clouds of the morning had gradually cleared and bright sunshine flooded in through the high windows, making shadowy shapes as the trees in the street moved gently in the early-summer breeze.
If it hadn’t been for the looming spectre of the appointment she needed to make with the doctor and the prospect of facing Beattie and Edward, Mab thought she would be happier than she’d ever been in her life.
Oh, and there was the small matter of the baby that was growing inside her, of course.
She longed to go back to the days when all she had to think about was how to fit in her writing.
These days, it happened in fits and starts.
The old novel lay undisturbed, waiting for the last two agents to reply to her pitch, but the new one was making her fingers tingle to get each new chapter on the page.
Having a couple of weeks off from writing had done Mab good.
She was relieved that she hadn’t lost the urge to write, but it was hard to concentrate for long.
As usual, the best part of the day came after 8 p.m. It was good to be together in the hours after dinner, when the beautiful lamp-lit room was at its most peaceful.
The four of them had their routine now, all taking turns to make tea or coffee, with Nina supplying everyone with her homemade scones, brownies and cookies.
As they sat around that evening, Mab made a mental note to get Leo to talk to Nina about catering for the café; her cupcakes were melt-in-the-mouth scrumptious too, although Mab couldn’t manage a whole one at the moment.
Mab’s enjoyment of the evenings in the flat seemed to be shared in full by Nina, who was spending nearly all her spare time there now, and seemed to be finding it harder and harder to go back to her own place at bedtime.
Every night, Harry would help her into her coat and then slip on his own donkey jacket.
‘Harry, you really don’t need to keep walking me home, you know. I’m a big girl now,’ Nina would protest, but Harry would only smile and escort her down the stairs, returning later and later each time.
The warm, cosy living room was a haven at night, with Mab at the big table, either typing frantically or sitting thinking with her chin on her hand dreaming, and Leo making book orders, or planning the launch party, or writing out café menus.
Harry amused himself by mending the motley collection of old toys that he’d been collecting from the junk shops and market.
He said that the crèche should have a definite Victorian theme, and had been lovingly restoring building blocks, moth-eaten stuffed dogs on wheels, whips and tops and a magnificent wooden dolls’ house.
He had also managed to get hold of a beautiful rocking horse and had sanded it smooth before painting it in the traditional colours he had found in one of the old picture books he had bought from the charity shop next door but one.
Leo was now working on the built-in bookshelves in the main shop area, and the fat, squashy sofas would soon be delivered, to be installed in all the alcoves and corners, hopefully ready to receive a queue of people in dire need of relaxation.
‘I’ve been wondering,’ said Mab, as she and Leo stood in the shop the next morning, watching the kitchen fitter installing the café facilities.
‘How are you going to let the customers read the books when there’s food about?
Won’t they all get very messy? You can’t sell books with chocolate all over them, surely?
Are you going to go around all day wiping people’s hands? ’
Leo laughed. ‘I’ve been thinking about that.
Each seating area is going to have a small selection of books displayed near to it, on a low coffee table.
There’ll be notices to ask customers to only help themselves to these particular books while they’re eating and drinking, and we’ll sell them off at bargain second-hand prices every couple of weeks. ’
‘Hmmm, that might work. You’re still going to get some selfish idiots who get chocolate icing all over your best stock, aren’t you?’
‘Well, maybe, but that’s a risk I’m prepared to take for the good of the shop. I’ll worry about that one later.’
Nina came into the shop, raising her eyebrows at Mab, who shook her head slightly. Nina frowned and went upstairs. Oh, well, Mab had tried. She’d rung the surgery over and over again, getting the engaged tone every time. When she finally got through, all the appointments were taken, of course.
‘Call back tomorrow, dear. I’m sure we’ll find you something then. I assume it’s not urgent?’ the receptionist had said.
‘Oh… no, not urgent really. Yes, I’ll try again in the morning.’ Mab couldn’t help the feeling of reprieve that this extra twenty-four hours of space brought with it. At least she could put the whole pregnancy thing out of her mind for a little bit longer.
By Friday, the shop area was ready to have the books arranged on the substantial wooden shelves.
The windows shone, and there was never a moment when passers-by were not peering into the depths of the cosy interior, intrigued by the vision of comfort that was coming together daily.
It was impossible to see the full splendour from the street, however, so Nina had taken to writing daily bulletins and displaying them enticingly, such as ‘Nearly Chocolate Day’, ‘Heaven can found in a really good book – come to us and find your Pearly Gates – watch this space’, and ‘Comfy sofas coming soon…’
Mab’s favourite part of the shop was Angelica’s tiny garden, with its rustic benches and trellised arches.
It was a magical, green and shaded haven, scented with tubs of herbs and spring flowers.
She spent every available daytime break out there, and the sun filtering through the leaves soothed some of her fears.
It would soon be time for the day of reckoning, but for now she was in limbo and the garden worked its charms. Leo had spent a small fortune on large, well-developed plants that climbed and trailed across their wooden supports, and he had unearthed some ancient terracotta tiles from a builders’ yard which gave the floor a warm, farmhouse kitchen look.
The garden would be the ideal place for Mab’s writers’ group to meet in good weather, Leo had said, and when it was chilly, they could move into a pretty side room that he had furnished with a large refectory table and long settles.
It had its own door onto the garden, and was painted a delicate apple shade, with heavy damask curtains in a deeper, forest green.
Mab added some pots of pens and pencils, heaps of good-quality paper and two reconditioned laptops that she had persuaded Leo to buy. She was itching to get started.
Her phone buzzed, and Mab saw Nina’s name flash onto the screen.
‘Hi, yes, I’ve done it. Yes, in an hour.
OK, I’ll tell him everything, Nina, honestly I will.
OK, bye.’ Mab looked at her watch. Half an hour before she needed to set out for the doctor’s.
She sat down at the computer, and automatically checked in case there had been another email from Den.
The first one he’d sent had disappointed her. It was short and to the point.
All well up here in Geordie Land, missin u lots, hope your well, luv Den xxx
Mab was horrified. How could she ever have fancied a man who didn’t know where to put his apostrophes?
She had sent a noncommittal message back wishing him all the best for the future.
Where was the passion now? She was relieved to have one less thing to worry about.
She couldn’t have responded in kind if Den had been sending loving messages, not now there was the added complication of the baby.
Mab’s cheeks burned when she thought of the embarrassment of their meeting with Edward and his dog, which didn’t help her dwindling appetite. The pounds were still dropping away.
By the third attempt, Den’s emails began to get more interesting.
He told her about Sophie’s night out, when he’d been called to rescue her at two in the morning, after she’d accidentally downed someone else’s triple vodka and tonic after mistaking it for her own innocent slimline tonic water.
She had been very sick due to lack of food and the sudden whoosh of alcohol into her delicate system.
Mab had sniggered at this one, and encouraged him to tell more, but the next one was more disturbing.
Miss u Mab, when u comin up here to visit? Keep thinkin about the shrubbery…
Mab had tried to resist looking for the emails, but her willpower seemed to be at an all-time low.
She was drawn to her email account like an addict to her fix.
At least the messages took her mind off her immediate anxieties, although they gave her other things to worry about.
She put in her password, waited a moment, and then sighed as she saw the ‘0’ in her inbox.
Running out of delaying tactics, Mab logged off and went to face the music.