Chapter 2
Saturday morning arrived bright and clear. My alarm woke me at six sharp and, while Richard groaned into his pillow, I slid out of bed and into the bathroom. It was my first day as a proper shopkeeper and I wanted to look my best.
I’d slept all night in heatless curlers – much to Richard’s amusement – and carefully unfurled my ringlets under the sterile fluorescents of the bathroom.
I was hoping that eventually turning them on wouldn’t make me wince.
To be honest, ever since we’d moved into the apartment, I’d thought the place gave off a slightly surgical vibe.
The bright white lights, gleaming white tiles and all the glass partitions made me feel as if I was about to be quoted for a new filling and a tooth clean.
The chrome and leather furniture Richard had picked out didn’t really soften the place at all, but at least it always looked clean.
Though there was a part of me that longed for overstuffed pillows, dusty bookshelves and dim lamps shedding golden light of an evening.
Even my vintage record player was tidied away into a seamlessly integrated cupboard and most of the things from Aunt Lou’s were in storage.
The apartment block stood out from the other buildings in Leaford too. Its siding and mirror-filmed windows a far cry from red bricks, leaded glass and whitewash. It was like living in a spaceship that had crash-landed by the canal.
I washed my face and started applying toner, serum and moisturiser.
The little morning ritual helping to calm me.
Today was my first day with actual customers and, even though I had plenty of experience with the public, that was at the library.
This was for my own business, something I was passionate about and had put myself out there for.
After all, if the shop failed, that was me and Emma out of a job and it’d all be my fault.
My stomach was flip-flopping with nerves already.
As I finished up my BB Cream and started tapping on some cream blusher in a sweet, rosy pink, Richard came in behind me. He smiled at me via the mirror.
‘Very cute,’ he said, before jumping in the shower.
I took my make-up into the bedroom to finish up, so the steam wouldn’t make my hair frizzy or get into my powders.
After dabbing on some low-maintenance lip stain, I got dressed in the outfit I’d laid out for myself last night.
Like a kid getting ready for their first day of school.
Copper-coloured loafers, burgundy tights, a brown tweed skirt and a cream blouse dotted with tiny embroidered terriers.
They looked just like Pete – Aunt Lou’s faithful Jack Russell.
As a finishing touch, I found the bracelet Emma had gifted me for Christmas – a sterling-silver charm bracelet.
She’d combed every antique shop and eBay storefront, looking for as many themed charms as possible, all of them reflecting things I loved – a cowboy boot for country music, a terrier, crochet yarn (obviously), a latte, an autumn leaf and dozens of others.
It was my prized possession and today was the perfect day to wear it. For luck.
My phone jingled with a text from Emma herself, as if she knew I was thinking about her. It was a mess of emojis and kisses with ‘opening day!!!!!’ in the centre in pink. I sent back a few popping champagne bottles and anxious faces.
I made breakfast while Richard got ready, packing an insulated bag with extra for Emma, as she was going to have a busy day too.
The kitchen was just as sparse as the bathroom – rectangular brushed-steel sink, white countertops that showed every stray piece of peppercorn, and mountains of chrome gadgetry for making coffee, which I was not meant to touch.
It was all very finicky and I was more of a tea person first thing anyway.
Richard emerged to find me plating up the last of breakfast – fortifying potato farls with crispy bacon, poached eggs and sweet caramelised tomatoes.
He pulled a face. ‘Bit much just for breakfast, isn’t it?’
I set my mug of tea down by my plate, heart sinking. ‘It’s going to be a long day. I thought you’d want something a bit more substantial than a smoothie.’
Richard shrugged. ‘There’s probably more protein in my smoothies, gram for gram. Less fat too,’ he added, eyeing the bacon and its crispy brown edges.
‘Well, I’ve made it now,’ I said, trying to breeze past it. ‘Special breakfast, just for today.’
Richard pulled out a chrome and white-leather stool and sat down. ‘I suppose just once is fine. As long as it doesn’t get to be a habit.’
‘You’ll burn it off at the gym anyway,’ I teased, twisting the pepper mill over my breakfast. ‘They see more of you than I do.’
Richard smirked and dug into his egg, letting the yolk stream over the crisp and fluffy farl. ‘You know me – always trying to push myself.’
I cut into my egg, preparing the perfect bite for myself. ‘I might have to take your measurements again – don’t want to have you hulking out of your cardigans.’
Richard’s lip curled at the edges in a cat-like smile, but he didn’t comment.
I would apparently have to drop less subtle hints if I wanted him to submit to the measuring tape again.
I’d already made him several jumpers and cardigans in our three-year relationship.
He’d even come to me with pictures for some of them – designs he’d seen from Ralph Lauren and Missoni, from which I’d improvised patterns for dupes.
My current project, however, had been in the works ever since I’d decided to set up the shop.
It was a sort of peace offering for not having invested Aunt Lou’s money with him to start buying and developing properties.
I’d been keeping it at the shop and working on it in breaks from the renovations.
If he’d grown extra arm muscle in that time, I’d be devastated.
‘Right then,’ I said, once breakfast was done and I’d put all the washing-up in the dishwasher. ‘Shall we go?’
‘I suppose.’ Richard went to grab a cream cable-knit cardigan to throw on over his blue shirt and beige chinos.
It wasn’t one of mine. Some factory-made creation from Topman – nice, but I couldn’t help wishing he’d chosen one of my pieces to wear to the shop opening.
Not wanting to nag, I just smiled at him, grabbed my bag and my water-bottle holder, and we left the flat.
I always found it a bit of a relief to get out into the hallway, where there was at least carpet and some of the walls were painted a cosy sage green.
It somehow felt homier in the shared corridor than in our spaceship of a flat.
Not that I hadn’t tried to warm our place up a bit.
I’d spent over two hundred hours, all told on a Moroccan-tile-design throw and matching cushions for the angular white leather sofa.
Fourteen balls of yarn later and I’d finished it up, and it had sort of helped.
The design was meant to be bright and festive but I’d toned it down a little for the sake of Richard’s preferred aesthetic.
Most of it was in shades of grey, from dove to slate, in a lovely gradient, edged all over with robin’s-egg blue.
I’d used the same colour scheme for a bedspread in our room, covered in three-dimensional flowers and leaves made of popcorn and pompom stitches.
Though Richard found it too warm and preferred the Kingsley quilt from The White Company that his parents bought us as a flat-warming gift.
We left the block of flats, or ‘apartment complex’, as it was apparently meant to be called, and walked over the curved brick bridge and into Leaford proper.
The bridge over the river separated the newer part of town from the old.
We lived amongst newer terraces built in the style of the original homes of Old Leaford.
Over the other side it was the real deal – Tudor timbers and diamond-glass windows with leaded panes.
Storybook-perfect and also prohibitively expensive.
The rent on the shop was high and, were it not for Aunt Lou’s money, I’d never have been able to afford it.
Her cottage had been rented, but she’d lived frugally and left me a lot of savings.
Now I just had to get the shop off the ground before the first rent payment outside of what I’d already paid.
The river joined up to the canal which ran behind the library where I used to work, bordering Leaford.
The river was narrower, more of a glorified stream, which wound its way through the town under various bridges, bisecting the old and new graveyards, and then up through the park, past the Victorian bandstand and all the way to our apartment block.
Sometimes when I was a lot younger, I’d thought of Leaford as its own island, between the two waterways.
It had been magical, being able to wade there all summer, building dams and rock islands and watching the swans, dragonflies and frogs.
Sometimes I wished it was still socially acceptable to go paddling of an evening.
I enjoyed the walk, the morning air crisp and fresh, as only the start of autumn can be.
Still golden with traces of summer but mellower and softer.
Nearly sweater weather. I couldn’t wait.
I had hoped to have time to make myself a new hexagon cardigan before it got too chilly.
I’d found a nice design in pastel pink, yellow and blue.
But Richard’s jumper was taking longer than I’d thought, and anyway, I could make a cardigan for myself any time.