Chapter 30
It was a good plan in theory but, as it turned out, it lacked a little in the execution. For starters, it was quite hard to break up with your boyfriend when he was never bloody around.
Not only was Richard not in the flat when I went to sleep, he was not there when I woke up.
He’d been there – the blender was full of protein-shake sludge and the shoes he’d worn yesterday were in the middle of the floor, a wet towel left in the bathroom.
But Richard had come and gone, presumably to work, though I wasn’t prepared to bet on it any more.
So the break-up would have to wait. I didn’t want to do it over the phone.
It had to be in person or he’d only want to meet up and talk it over.
Try to ‘manage’ me as if I was a potential buyer that had just discovered a rat in the master bedroom of one of his properties.
I sent him a text saying we should have dinner together tonight and then got ready for work.
While I tried to repair the damage the rain had done to my hair yesterday, I thought about Cooper.
I didn’t want to think about him, but there he was.
Clearly, he didn’t want to talk to me and whatever had brought him back to Leaford after his short absence wasn’t related to me at all.
He’d probably been laying a false trail for whatever creditors or scary characters were trying to find him.
It wasn’t my problem. He’d made that very clear.
I left the flat and walked to the shop, blushing furiously when I saw Margaret putting a bin full of DVDs out on the pavement.
She was wearing her usual scowl and a rollneck jumper over stirrup trousers that she had to have bought in the nineties.
No one sold them any more, surely? As she turned, she spotted me and I tried to arrange my face into an expression that said, ‘I have no idea of your history with my father and no wish to find out.’ I hurried past her and she shunted the DVDs into place with an irritable shove, before disappearing into the mothball-scented embrace of the charity shop.
Emma was never going to believe me when I told her about Margaret. I barely believed it and I’d heard it from my dad’s own mouth. Much as I wished I hadn’t.
When I arrived at the shop, Emma was already waiting outside, playing a game on her phone. She had an umbrella with her today and had brought in the tubs of leftover brunch for us to polish off before work. She brightened when she saw me and put away her phone.
‘Sooo, how did things go yesterday with your dad?’ she asked as soon as I was within talking distance.
‘Unbelievably,’ I said, unlocking the door. ‘As in, if I hadn’t heard it myself, I would not believe it.’
Inside, while the microwave whirred away to make our breakfast, I filled Emma in on the sordid details. The advocaat, the peonies and Margaret.
‘Ugh, you could have waited until after I’d eaten – my GOD!’ Emma pulled a face. ‘I can’t believe it – your dad and… I don’t know what to do with this information.’
‘Repress it?’ I suggested, piling a paper plate with food and handing it over to her. Despite her protestations, Emma dug in immediately. ‘That’s what I’m planning to do.’
‘Aside from the trauma of that mental image… did you get anything out of talking it through with him?’ she asked.
‘A bit,’ I hedged. ‘I mean, he said he gave Mum space and then, when she was ready to give him a chance, he promised her he’d do better. He didn’t drink again at all until they got engaged. That was over a year later.’
‘Wow, sounds like he was really serious about making things right with her… and not repeating the same mistakes,’ Emma said.
I heard the pointedness in her tone, as much as she tried to hide it. She was right, more than she knew. Richard was already backsliding into his old habits – lying and going off to the golf club without any hint as to when he was coming back.
‘I mean,’ Emma continued, ‘it makes it clear that he made a mistake – being so drunk that he’d sleep with Margaret of all people. Instead of just… choosing to cheat.’
‘Yes, I get it, thank you,’ I said without much heat.
Emma winced. ‘Sorry. I know it’s your decision…’
‘And I’ve decided to break up with Richard… again,’ I said.
Emma threw her hands up, sending a piece of waffle flying through the bead curtain. ‘YES! Thank God, I am so proud of you!’ She hugged me and I couldn’t help laughing.
‘Obviously you’re on the fence about it,’ I giggled.
When Emma pulled back, her cheeks were pink. ‘I was really, really trying to be impartial.’
‘You’re awful at it.’
‘I know!’ She cracked up. ‘But honestly, he’s a waste of your time – I’m glad you’re breaking up… again. I meant it when I said I was here for you no matter what, but I was basically just trusting that you’d make the right decision for yourself eventually… What was it that finally convinced you?’
I felt a small smile twitch at my mouth. ‘Aunt Lou.’
‘A wise woman,’ Emma nodded.
‘Wiser than me. But… I just sat with it for a moment and thought about what she’d say and how unfair it was to think of her life as being worse than life with Richard.
She was happy with her hobbies and her friends…
and I have a really great friend who’s actually there for me and cares about my interests.
And who I’ve been taking for granted while I focus all my time on a man who couldn’t tell the difference between knitting and crochet at gunpoint.
I’m sorry, and I promise not to do that again. ’
She ‘cheersed’ her plastic fork to mine. ‘Welcome back, bestie! And hey, you don’t need to be sorry. We all lose our heads from time to time. Especially when it comes to love.’
We got back to our plates but, a few moments later, Emma swallowed a bite of sausage and tapped her fork on the edge of my plate.
‘Speaking of love… have you been up to the boat yet?’
‘Emma!’ I chased her fork away with my own and she looked abashed. ‘Just because I’m breaking up with Richard doesn’t mean I’m about to go chasing after Cooper.’
‘I know! But… did you go up there?’ Emma asked, eyes twinkling.
‘I… yes, okay? I did,’ I admitted. ‘But only because I wanted to see where we stood, you know? If he was maybe more open to being friendly now that the shock of seeing that car was over.’
‘And was he?’ Emma asked.
‘He didn’t answer the door,’ I muttered, sinking into myself a little. ‘I could hear the dog moving around and there was a fire burning but he wasn’t answering.’
‘Oh… are you sure he knew it was you?’
That was a fair point. I wasn’t exactly hallooing him with my full name while standing on the deck.
But if he was hiding from someone specific, why not peek to see who it was?
Either he didn’t want to see anyone, including me, or he didn’t want to see me specifically.
I wasn’t sure one was better than the other.
‘I don’t really want to talk about it,’ I said eventually.
‘Okay, sure thing. Let me clear up from breakfast and we can start getting the Stitch and Witch supplies together and planning those crafting classes we were talking about – I think we can even get a temporary licence to do wine and cheese one evening.’
I was grateful to her for knowing when to push and when not to.
I wasn’t really ready to talk about Cooper and how him ignoring me had made me feel.
Step one was breaking it off with Richard again.
Step two would be finding somewhere to live.
I was right back where I’d started before the bust-up with Cooper. Fantastic.
Between us we planned out some ideas for the crafting classes, from specific projects like market totes and Croc liners to more general skills like granny squares and crochet in the round.
By the end of the hour, we had a full syllabus, which Emma could type up, and I was going to print them out at the library and post them in as many windows as possible.
With the exception of the charity shop, because I could never go in there again now.
I’d also pop the details online and hopefully draw in enough people to turn a nice profit.
The supplies for the Stitch and Witch – black, purple and orange sparkly yarns, hooks, pattern sheets and stitch markers – were all set aside for later. Emma had even brought in a black lace tablecloth and I had my record player in the boot, along with some of Aunt Lou’s crystal dishes for snacks.
I updated my spreadsheet and was surprised to see how good the numbers were looking.
If sales held firm and the classes and Stitch and Witch had even half attendance, we’d be comfortably in the black by the next rent period.
The shop might actually not be a colossal mistake.
It might just turn into a real business.
I’d spent so long thinking of it as a failure that the prospect of mild success sort of blindsided me.
By the time Emma went on her lunch break, I was feeling quite positive about the classes.
I’d already found some more cheap brown boxes that we could rubber-stamp with the shop logo and post kits in, for anyone who wasn’t local but wanted to join in virtually via our website.
I had a webcam somewhere that would work for that.
I was hunting around in a box of cables for it when the bell over the door went.
I stuck my head over the counter and saw a woman with dark curly hair all around her shoulders wandering towards me up the centre aisle.
She was wearing jeans and a grey leather jacket over a Breton stripe top.
She smiled at me, and I took a second to marvel at how precise her red lipstick was.
I always ended up looking like the Joker.
‘Hi – I’m Addy,’ she said, ‘I was hoping you could help me.’
‘I’ll certainly try. I’m Tabitha, by the way,’ I said, filled with newfound enthusiasm for customer service now that I wasn’t an abject failure at business. What a difference one spreadsheet could make.