Chapter One
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Henry stretched out his legs and pushed his hand through his too long hair. The seemingly static view from the window belied the speed at which the miles were slipping by. Feeling a throb at his temples, he looked in the bag of wellbeing essentials he had been given for his in-flight comfort. Deciding there was nothing in it that would ease his headache, Henry welcomed the sight of the flight attendant, carrying a glass of whisky towards him. He sat up accepting the much-needed drink, with thanks. The tall, slender woman flashed him too much cleavage, and a smile — her cherry-red lips contrasting against her bright white teeth — as she held on to the glass longer than was necessary.
If only his father’s PA hadn’t insisted on booking the flight, he could have flown economy, and got a little less attention from the cabin crew, and a further ten-and-a-half hours to be himself before the pretence began.
* * *
‘The thing is Mary, this might be a charity shop, but not every donation that’s brought through that front door is suitable for resale.’ Ava looked again into the carrier bag she was holding, still not quite able to take in its contents. With the back of the shop so full, after it seemed the entire population of Dapplebury had donated the bounty of their post-Christmas clear-out, she was beginning to feel overwhelmed.
The wooden pens separating Gift Aid and non-Gift Aid donations were overflowing; the bric-a-brac shelf was bowing in the centre, the box of shoes was spilling onto the floor, and the children’s shelves looked like a Marvel meets Disney mash-up. A stack of boxes donated while she had popped out to get milk that morning hid the books and media shelves.
‘Flo means well. You know she finds it hard to say no.’ Mary poured three mugs of tea. ‘Perhaps it’s a post-war mentality?’
‘Flo’s in her sixties. I don’t think we can blame her inability to say no to a bag of forty-four, double-D cup bras, on the war. Do you?’ Ava held up a handful of the offending items, revealing an array of bright colours and animal print material before dropping them back inside the carrier bag. She thought about her own bra collection — two black, one white and one nude for when discretion was required. ‘Who even owns this many bras?’
‘Ask Flo, she’ll tell you.’ Mary laughed and moved to dodge the zebra print bra Ava threw at her. Picking it up, Mary slipped it on, leaving it flapping over her sweatshirt. ‘Hey, they’re not Gift-Aided are they? You could find out who donated them and return them.’
Ava rummaged through the bag. ‘As tempting as that is, I’m not sure it’s ethical. I’ll just have to remind Flo about our no underwear policy,again.’ She held up an emerald green bra to her definitely-not-forty-four-double-D-cup chest and slipped it on over her clothes, as Mary had. They both looked in the mirror, tilting their heads as they assessed the inadequacy of their busts to fill the garments draped over them. ‘Unless, of course, you want to remind her for me.’
‘Sorry boss, discussing underwear with Flo is not in my remit.’
Ava scoffed. ‘I never imagined it being in mine either! Honestly, Mary, when I took this place on, I never thought it would be so . . . so . . .’
‘Glamorous?’ Mary struck a pose in the mirror, flicked her bobbed, blonde hair and mock pouted as she pulled the zebra print bra tighter over her chest. It was a look that contrasted with her skinny, muddy jeans and Doc Marten boots.
‘Ha, no, definitely not glamorous. I just never thought it would be quite so . . . consuming, I guess. I don’t know. Sometimes I feel these clothes and’ — Ava held up an item from the bric-a-brac shelf, unable to identify what it was she put it back — ‘things, have seen more of life than me.’
‘But—’
‘I’m twenty-eight years old and spend most of my time in the back of this shop, sorting through other people’s cast-offs. And I know I sound bloody ungrateful because without those cast-offs I couldn’t keep this shop going, but last night I dreamt I was drowning under a sea of clothes unable to call for help. It was terrifying.’
Mary snorted as she attempted to hold in a giggle. She put her arm around Ava’s shoulder and gave her a squeeze. ‘What are you like?’
‘Overwhelmed, in need of a break and it’s not like it’s just here — at home I still have Mum’s things to sort through, too.’
Mary looked directly at Ava’s reflection in the mirror and sighed. ‘You need to make Critters’ Cottage your own. You know your mum would want you to. It’s time. And you’re right, you do spend too many hours in the back of this shop, and we are going to rectify that situation starting with you coming to The Brown Dog with me tonight—’
‘You know I can’t. I’m sorting the window display. I need to get this sale underway. Mum was amazing at what she did, but she never paid much attention to the fact that books still need to balance, even when you’re running a charity, so—’
‘It’s Friday night. What kind of friend would I be if I let you spend it stressing over this place and sorting the shop window instead of coming to the pub?’
‘But—’
‘Besides, I told Gino we’d go. It’s his 1950s night. He’s even hired in a jukebox. You have to come.’
‘Honestly, I can’t.’ Ava gestured to the donations surrounding them.
‘Of course you can. You just said you need a break.’
Ava thought about the bubble bath, good book and bottle of wine type of break she had in mind and went to speak, but Mary continued.
‘Come on. You can’t let the life these clothes and other things have seen get you down. Let them get you inspired. You can be the belle of the ball.’ Mary held out the skirt of a pre-used prom dress from the rail, before dropping it and grabbing a pair of binoculars still in their tan leather case. ‘You can go on adventures. You can own a’ — Mary picked up the same item Ava had held from the bric-a-brac shelf — ‘well I think this is a butter cutter and nobody needs to own one of those.’ She tossed the white plastic implement into the bin. ‘But you know what I mean. Live your best life, Ava. Your mum would want you to.’
As Mary pulled Ava into a hug, Ava’s eyes fell to the stack of framed paintings on the floor. She knew Mary was right, but there were only so many hours in the day.
