Kaisha took payment and wrapped a customer’s yarns in a paper bag. When she’d handed it to the lady who went on her way, she said, ‘It’s totally fine. It’s been manically busy in here.’
‘It has. But I do apologise. I’ll do it tonight the second I get home.’
‘Is there anything else wrong?’ Kaisha asked. ‘It’s not your grandpa, is it?’
Cleo looked up from the box on the floor that she’d cut into to reveal that morning’s delivery of yarns she’d yet to unpack—a whole box of camel cashmere that had been selling like hotcakes, along with the pattern for a poncho she’d been promoting on a poster hanging in the store. ‘No, my grandpa’s fine. Why?’
‘Because something is bothering you so much that you’re not focusing, and in here, you’re always on the ball.’
‘I’ve just got a lot on my mind, that’s all.’
‘The store closing?’
‘That… and other things.’ She waved a hand dismissively. ‘All very dull, none of it very interesting at all.’
Kaisha followed her to the wall unit where Cleo began to stash the rolls of cashmere. Usually it was one colour per section, but this time she dedicated the three sections at the top of the stack for this popular colour. Reds, greens, and chocolatey browns were still in demand, but each year announced something new and it seemed camel cashmere was it this time round.
‘Try me,’ said Kaisha. There was only one customer in the store, currently perusing the haberdashery.
Cleo tilted her head to one side. ‘I met someone.’
Kaisha’s eyes lit up. ‘Oh yes, tell me more.’
‘He’s the man who’s selling the premises here.’
Kaisha’s enthusiasm plummeted. ‘Oh.’
‘But I like him.’
‘Oh?’ She looked hopeful.
‘It’s complicated.’
Kaisha lifted up the empty cardboard box and folded it in on itself ready to put out back for recycling. ‘Honey, it always is.’
Cleo told her employee all about Dylan, the market, his children. There was something so approachable about Kaisha, maybe why Cleo had employed her in the first place, and with her funky appearance – today it was jeans and ankle boots, a tribal, blue and red patterned cardigan, and a rhinestone, ethnic necklace – Kaisha came across as so laid back and open that Cleo found she could be honest with her. Perhaps it also had something to do with the fact that Kaisha was different to anyone else she knew, detached from her life outside of the Little Knitting Box.
‘He has two kids,’ said Cleo. ‘And that adds a whole new level of complicated.’
‘I don’t see why.’
‘And an ex-wife, who seems to want to get back together. Did I mention that?’
Kaisha drew in her breath. ‘Now that does sound tricky. Does he want her back?’
‘He says not, and I don’t think he does. But Kaisha, I’ve…’
‘Go on, don’t stop now.’
‘I’ve been that child, the one whose mum disappeared from their life, and I’ve been the child who got a stepmother when she didn’t want anyone else to share her dad.’ She shook her head, embarrassed to admit it. ‘Ever since my dad remarried, I’ve been a total cow to Teresa. I could only see that once I’d left. He was so happy but somehow I couldn’t let myself condone it, give it my blessing. It felt as though I was betraying my mum.’
‘But you know that’s not true, don’t you?’
‘Of course I do, deep down. But I’m sure I lost Teresa’s respect a long time ago.’ She bit down on her lip. ‘She’s coming to visit.’
‘To see you?’
‘It’s a holiday with friends but Dad has given her all the details, says she’d love to meet up with me. She’ll be here in a couple of days.’
