She admired the roll of material still on the counter. ‘Mum, this fabric is gorgeous.’ A blend of creams and greens on a caramel background, it was festive, depicting ice skaters, figures wrappedup in winter attire, scarf tails flying in the breeze as they pushed sledges about the ice.
Loretta handed her a mug of tea. ‘It’s a brand new design this year. Beautiful, isn’t it? It would make a lovely quilting fabric. You could make something with it if you like.’ She peered over the top of the glasses that had slipped down her nose a little.
‘You know I don’t have time for needlework thesedays.’ Ginny dismissed the idea and instead wandered around to see what else was new.
As Loretta served a customer, Ginny finished the remains of her tea and was about to take her cup out to the back when she noticed a girl peering in through the front door. She was pretty, looked around fifteen or sixteen years of age, if Ginny were to guess, with blonde hair in the sort of waves in its lengththat reminded Ginny of beach waves. Effortlessly natural.
Ginny opened up the door. ‘We’re open, come inside out of the cold.’
But Loretta stepped forwards and took over. ‘Ginny, would you mind fetching the tapestry bag from upstairs. It should be on the table in the room at the front. This young lady left it here a few days ago.’
The girl looked awkward, perhaps too shy to explain the situationto anyone other than Loretta, and Ginny headed upstairs to fetch the bag.
By the time she got downstairs there were another three customers milling about near the fat quarters and from what Ginny could overhear they had no idea about where to start with quilting. ‘Want me to handle it?’ she asked her mum who handed the young girl the bag as she and Loretta stood beside the Christmas tree.
‘Thanks,Ginny.’
Ginny didn’t mind. She could still remember the basics and when she spoke to the customers they were clearly total beginners. She showed them a couple of books they had on display in the shop that would teach them how to get started, so they bought some of the fabric on special offer, some thread, and left excited that they were going to give it a go.
‘We’ll be back for lessons in thenew year,’ one lady wearing a pink woollen coat called over her shoulder to Ginny before the door clunked shut behind them. The girl Loretta had been talking to had left, so it was just the two of them again.
Ginny nodded to the till. ‘You’re still resisting any suggestion of a new one?’ It was a bronzed relic that had been through a major restoration a few years ago. You had to punch the buttonshard as they often got stuck, as did the drawer, which needed a tug and then a shove to complete any transaction. ‘I wondered whether Fern might have finally persuaded you to upgrade, get everything up-to-date so you could monitor sales and inventory.’
‘Not a chance, my customers love it.’ Loretta smiled.
‘Well I’m glad you’re keeping the till. It’s part of the shop, part of its charm, alwayshas been.’
‘I have a little machine for card payments now too, so the system works just fine.’
‘What time is Daisy coming in today?’
‘Knowing her and your grandad she’ll be hours. I honestly don’t know what they find to talk about. She runs workshops up at the lodge, but not today.’ Loretta looked as though she was now questioning Daisy’s real whereabouts too. ‘And her camera was at home earlierso she can’t be flitting about taking pictures of whatever she can find.’
Ginny looked around the shop. She’d always thought her little sister would go on to be a photographer, a famous one even. She always had the drive and the skill, forever snapping pictures of them, sometimes when they least expected. She had an ability to capture emotion on faces that most people would miss as though thecamera shot had seen into that person’s very soul.
Unfortunately Ginny could also remember a time when Daisy’s photography hadn’t been welcome.
Daisy had taken a picture of Ginny weeks after their father’s funeral, curled up on the sofa when she thought she was on her own. When Ginny found the photograph days later she’d yelled at her sister, accused her of having warped emotions, no sensitivity.And then she’d torn the picture into little pieces and thrown it at Daisy’s feet, anger not only fuelled by the picture itself but by losing their father, and by Daisy’s selfishness that had led to all three girls losing something so precious to them all.
Something that could never be replaced.
