‘She’s not that scary, is she?’
Cleo realised how dramatic she sounded. ‘I don’t suppose she is. Thing is, I’ve never been in a room alone with her, unless you count the kitchen as we’ve set the table for dinner. I made a point when I was younger to escape her company as quickly as possible, and I was damn good at it.’
‘Is she so terrible?’
Cleo cringed. ‘No, she’s not.’
‘She’s just not your mom.’ When Cleo didn’t answer, Kaisha said, ‘So give her a chance.’
Cleo had played up as a teenager, going out until all hours, getting drunk with her friends. One night they’d gone out to London, and ignoring curfew, had rolled in totally wasted at five o’clock in the morning. She’d been met with a fuming Teresa who said her father had been going out of his mind with worry. Part of Cleo had been happy Teresa was tearing her hair out, the other part was sorry for causing her father any angst and upsetting his wife.
When Cleo met Aaron, moved in with him, and got married, she hadn’t had any more run-ins with Teresa until the cracks began to appear in her own marriage. Aaron was a hometown boy, lived around the corner from his family, his siblings had given him nieces and nephews and he wanted to add to the brood. He was offering Cleo what looked like the whole package: marriage, a beautiful home, children. But he’d always known how she felt about kids, long before they married, and when he realised he couldn’t sway her and make her change her mind, the problems between them had gone from niggling to astronomical. He’d always known the reason why she made this choice, he’d said he understood, and yet there he was acting as though she’d only just told him. They’d stayed together for months afterwards, but the cracks had never been repaired and eventually it drove a wedge between them too big to come back from.
The breakdown of Cleo’s marriage and the inevitable stress it led to meant Cleo spent more time with her dad and Cleo had resented Teresa having any part in the equation. The constant asking her how she was, offering a shoulder to cry on. It had all been too much for Cleo and she’d barely been able to exchange a civil word with her stepmother.
When the store bell tinkled now, Kaisha said, ‘I’ll get it, you go down to the corner of the next block and get us a couple of mulled ciders. It’s nearly closing time and you’ve been stressed all day.’
Cleo grinned because a mulled cider was just what she needed right now.
Kaisha helped the customer find the buttons she needed – long, wooden toggles to go with the navy cardigan she’d knitted for her granddaughter – and wrapped them in the smallest brown paper bag they had.
‘Don’t you have friends you’d rather hang out with, you know, of your own age?’ Cleo asked as she grabbed her coat from the hook in the back room. ‘Look at me in my drab clothes and you in your bright apparel. Surely you’ve got better options than me.’
Kaisha rolled her eyes and laughed. ‘Just go, would you?’
Cleo stepped out into the New York air and walked briskly to the mulled cider stall to keep warm. The city was gearing up for Christmas, the feeling of snow hung in the air, and the smell of the holidays was upon her as she approached the street corner.
Two mulled ciders in hand and the waft of cinnamon and allspice drifting upwards to her nose, Cleo hurried back to the store. A customer leaving the Little Knitting Box held the door open for her and she thanked them, before taking the drinks inside and straight out to the back. She noted the clock was almost exactly on seven, so the day was almost at an end.
‘Get it while it’s hot!’ she called through the kitchen area to the storeroom behind.
Kaisha appeared. ‘That smells good. Should I turn the sign on the door?’
‘Oh, yes please.’ Wearily, Cleo pulled out a wooden stool and sat down, closing her eyes. She’d cash up later, after she’d enjoyed this. They’d dim the store lights so no more customers came.
When the bell tinkled, Cleo realised they’d not turned the sign quickly enough. She sighed and settled her cup on the nearest shelf. She’d go out front and help the customer as quickly as she could. Hopefully it was a buyer looking for something specific, not someone browsing and looking at every item they had.
But when Cleo met the customer at the till when she emerged, she realised it was neither of those. ‘Teresa.’ Her mouth fell open, suddenly dry, suddenly wishing she’d downed that cider.
Teresa opened out her arms and Cleo stepped out from behind the till and let herself be hugged, but not so tight she didn’t catch Kaisha’s face behind her, pulled in confusion.
‘You’re here early.’ Cleo pulled away first. ‘I wasn’t expecting to see you for a couple of days.’
‘Our plans all went haywire. Nancy is holed up in the hotel with a stinking cold, so we cancelled the trip out to Staten Island to meet an old friend of hers who lives there now. And I found myself at a loose end and thought I’d come and find you.’
She could’ve called first.
‘Am I intruding?’ Teresa looked at Kaisha.
‘Oh, Teresa, I’m sorry.’ Cleo shook her head, found her manners, and introduced the two women.
Kaisha grabbed her bag from the back room before Cleo had a chance to protest. ‘I’ve got to go but it was lovely to meet you, Teresa. Help yourself to the mulled cider out the back. It smells divine. Rain check?’ she said to Cleo.
‘You can count on it. And your wages will be dealt with tonight.’ Cleo let her employee out the store and locked the door behind her.
There was an awkward silence until Teresa said, ‘Did somebody mention mulled cider?’
‘Oh, yes.’ Cleo was stuttering and it was embarrassing, but she’d thought she’d be able to prepare for this. Out back in the kitchen, Cleo handed one cup to Teresa and they sat on a wooden stool each. They covered the usual topics: Dad, the weather in the UK, Christmas shopping, and of course the inevitable, the store and how it was going.
