Chapter 38 #3
'Have a look around. Have you seen that lamp in the window?
That's from the same place as the dresses.
I put it in there earlier. There's also some lovely broderie anglaise bed cushions down the end there, and if you could do with a parasol for that decking of yours, there's a gorgeous one and an old Bentwood chair. '
'Goodness. You should do this for a living.'
'My nan used to say that! How funny. Nah, I'm studying at night school so that I can go to uni to be a vet. Can't be doing with faffing about in boutiques for the rest of my life.'
After a really good old mooch around the shop and a lot of nattering, Tilly stood at the counter as Maisie performed her duties. My word, did Tilly charity-shop-score. She'd found all sorts of lovely things for both herself and the cottage. On a roll, Tils, on a roll.
Maisie totted it all up on a little notepad, her tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth in concentration.
The two dresses for twenty. The wicker lamp, broderie anglaise cushions, with scalloped edges that Tilly had fallen for instantly and could already see plumped up in the Boat Shed.
A stack of heavy vintage linen napkins with somebody's faded embroidered initials in the corner, a white heart-shaped serving platter she'd unearthed from the back of a shelf of crockery, a pair of tortoiseshell sunglasses from the window display, a designer candle in a printed tin, that Tilly had sniffed and very nearly wept over, all fig and sea salt, the kind of candle that cost the earth and which was, apparently, two pounds fifty.
Maisie underlined her total twice. 'Okie-dokie. I've knocked a bit off the candle 'cause it's been lit and the napkins can be a freebie; they've been hanging about since Easter. Brenda has been moaning that we need to do a refresh.'
Looking at the small mountain of loveliness on the counter, Tilly thought about the person who had dropped two hundred pounds on a single dress and presumably without blinking had not only not taken the tag off but had donated it to a charity shop.
Maisie wrapped Tilly's goodies as if they were in a boutique where dresses cost more than a week's shopping. Tissue paper, a nice bag from a fancy store, a smile. Taking the bag, Tilly had one last mooch round the shop as she resolved to come back once a week for the rest of her natural life.
It was just a cosy, happy, friendly sort of place without any attitude from snotty assistants and zero stress.
Somewhere, a radio played, Darling fog drifted up off the sea outside the window, and all felt right in the world.
Through the window, the bay curved round, the other little shopfronts’ awnings rustled in the breeze, huge tubs of flowers were plonked here and there, and the masts of a few small boats clinked away.
Tilly adored all of it. The quiet, gentle pace, old school feel, quaintness, Blighty showing off its silverware.
A sleepy, hidden-away place that had never heard of a hotel bar, a cruise ship, or a man called Lennixx.
Not only had it not heard of any of it, nope, nor did it want to.
Our Tils was feeling all the feels for a small shop tucked into a parade on a curve of sea.
She'd gone in to solve the problem of what on earth to wear to a not-a-date she still wasn't entirely sure was a not-a-date, and she was walking out with two dresses, a lamp, a candle that smelled like a clifftop, a heart-shaped platter and a head full of plans for the Boat Shed.
Lovely, glorious, full-of-potential plans.
When had she last had plans that weren't somebody else's gig in somebody else's city?
She couldn't rightly remember, and she didn't much want to.
All she knew was that on Darling, it was as if a little glimmer had lit underneath her, urging her onwards and upwards to better things.
Maisie beamed. 'There you are. That’s what I call a successful haul and all sustainable, too. How about that then?'
Tapping her card, Tilly rooted around in her bag for some cash and dropped it into the little lifeboat box by the till. ‘Yes, I scored. Thank you so much.’
'See you soon. I hope you enjoy that little lot. You can tag us on Insta in the dress. Brenda would love that.'
'I'll be back. Try and keep me away.'
As, laden down with bags, she stepped out to the soft tinkle of the bell, a wicker lamp under her arm and a to-die-for candle into the pearly Darling afternoon, all was right in Tilly Bloomwood’s world.
Oh, what delights a little bit of retail therapy and a chat could do.
Who needs self-care rituals when pottering along by the sea and chatting in a shop is on offer?
Setting off along the parade towards the tram with fog coming in gentle puffs off the water and seagulls wheeling overhead, Tilly smiled.
A funny little plonk arrived somewhere between her chest and her stomach.
A feeling she was beginning, cautiously, to recognise as something rather a lot like happiness. Who would have thought?