Gino banged his mug back down on the table and looked at them both, eyes wide. ‘I’ve got it! We’ll call it’ — he lifted his hands as if seeing the words in neon lights — ‘Around the World . . . in Eighty Gourmets.’
Mary and Ava looked at each other and burst into a fit of giggles.
Gino looked at them, stunned by their less than enthusiastic response.
Mary managed to control her laughter long enough to speak. ‘Gino, how . . . how the hell are you going to come up with eighty gourmets?’
Chapter Seven
Realising there hadn’t been a charity shop in the village before he went to America, Henry had no idea where it might be, or if there was more than one; he cursed himself for not doing more research. He could hardly walk in, proffering a donation, ask if Ava worked there and leave, box in hand if she didn’t.
He’d spent the past week trawling Dapplebury House for an appropriate item but finding anything that wasn’t classed as a family heirloom had proven problematic in a home that had passed through generations for more than two centuries. Eventually, opting for the easier criteria of something his mother wouldn’t miss expedited the task. He didn’t want to delay reconnecting with Ava any longer.Carpe diem!
The wise words of his Latin professor, lost on Henry as a child, had grown in pertinence since seeing how rapidly his father’s health and faculties had become cruelly compromised as a result of his brain tumour. His father’s illness had seen him send for him and pass on the estate long before either of them had ever imagined; for Henry it was a wake-up call.
Having walked into the village, Henry found himself wandering along the cobbled street, carrying the box awkwardly, as he searched for the shop. It had been a long time since he had walked through the centre of the village. There were more coffee shops than he remembered, a couple of bookshops, an art gallery and too many antique shops — seemingly closed by virtue of it being, what . . .a Monday? Before noon?He didn’t know what the answer was but sighed.No wonder the village is on its arse. Seeing two empty shops, Henry groaned. The state of the village, and the fact he still hadn’t found Ava’s charity shop was doing nothing to improve his mood. Deciding to give up, he strode across the road.
Pushing his hair out of his face, Henry glanced at the final run of shops and spotted a sign that said, “All Critters Great and Small”. He recognised the shop name as the same as that of Ava’s mum’s charity, as he said it aloud. He hadn’t seen it as he’d walked up the street, due to the fact the road forked around a central arc of buildings, housing a further two coffee shops, the butchers and a sweet shop, before stretching into the main high street. At least knowing the shop’s name provided some explanation as to why Ava worked there. Her mum was known as a woman with a mission, but Henry also knew it was a mission that generally left her daughter to roam the village and the land of Dapplebury House while she gave her time elsewhere.
He cleared his throat and picked up his pace. Glancing at himself in the shop windows as he went, Henry wondered if he should have got his hair cut. He had been home just over a week, but still hadn’t done anything about his collar-length hair, much to his mother’s frustration. Trimming his beard, taking a shower and putting on clean jeans and a T-shirt, now hidden under his coat and scarf, suddenly didn’t seem enough with the prospect of seeing Ava, just moments away. As he reached the door, he paused. Having spotted a sign saying “No donations until further notice” he muttered a curse. Now so close, he wanted to see it through.What kind of charity shop doesn’t want donations?Shifting his grip on the box, he decided to go in anyway.
A bell rang as the door, lighter than it appeared, clattered into the shelves of bric-a-brac behind it.
‘Oh, bugger. I mean, sorry.’ Henry shut the door apologetically and flicked his hair from his eyes.
The lone customer looked up before returning her attention to an array of pink T-shirts, while the elderly lady at the counter met his gaze and smiled. ‘Not to worry, it happens all the time.’
Henry realised he was staring, disappointment at her not being Ava hitting him with the realisation that this was another turn of events he hadn’t contemplated. To gain thinking time, he smiled and began browsing the shop — impressed as he took it in. The charity shop he’d seen in his university town looked cluttered; he’d imagined it musty inside, full of unwanted and outmoded clothes and artefacts.
This was orderly, more like a boutique. Women’s and men’s clothes were in separate sections, and neatly arranged in blocks of colour on wooden hangers all facing the same direction. The shop wasn’t big, but there was an array of clothes, five shelves of completely random ornaments and cookware, as well as a CD and DVD area, and a children’s section. It smelt much better than he had imagined, with the scent of sweet apples emanating from a diffuser tucked in the corner of a top shelf, reminding him of warm apple crumble — a welcome smell on a chilly day. The shop was a treasure trove hidden amongst the coffee shops and antique places in the village. He wondered how well known it was and how busy it ever got.
Unfortunately, the men’s section of clothes was the smallest of all the displays. Balancing the box in one arm, Henry held up a couple of shirts and looked thoughtfully at the shoes — none of which were his size. With limited reason to stay in the shop, he risked looking like someone loitering with intent — which he was, but he didn’t want the woman at the counter to think that.
‘Looking for something specific?’ The elderly woman was perched on a stool, looking at him expectantly as she awaited his response.
For Ava to walk through that doorwas his instant thought but he didn’t want to answer questions about what he wanted her for, or how he knew her. So far his return to the village had remained discreet. He hoped to keep it that way. If too many people knew he was back and that his father was passingover the responsibility of Dapplebury House and the land that went with it, it would lead to speculation about the prospect of change. As Henry was sure change was listed as something to entice fear, dread and anxiety in the local dictionary, he didn’t want that happening. He needed time. His mind had been in turmoil since he had been back. Discussions had over the telephone and decisions made in theory, became more complex when faced with the realities of their consequences.
‘Umm.’
‘Only, if you tell me, we might have what you’re after out the back.’
Out the back. Henry held on to the words. Perhaps the very thing he had come into the shop looking for was out the back. ‘Umm.’
‘There’s as much out there, as what you see in here. Just not enough time in the day to sort it all.’
Henry began thinking on his feet. ‘So that’s the reason for the sign is it?’
The woman looked puzzled.
‘No donations. Too much stuff, not enough time?’
‘Oh that. Yes, exactly that. Mind you I’ve been taking a few bits in. Can’t bear to send folks away when they are offering donations. You never know what you might be turning away.’
Deciding it might be easier than he thought to take a look out the back of the shop, Henry placed the box on the counter. ‘In that case, I’ll confess to this being a donation. I wasn’t going to leave it, but if you’re happy to take it, then it would save me taking it home again.’
The woman gave a cheeky smile. ‘Worth having is it?’ she asked, with a glint in her eye.
Henry smiled as he thought about the antique, gold photo frames he’d found, wrapped in yellowing tissue paper, stashed away in his father’s office. His mission to find something todonate had been inspired by his desire to see Ava; he hadn’t thought about actually helping the charity. But on reflection, that was precisely what those unwanted but no doubt valuable items would do. The realisation appeased his guilt about taking them, somewhat. ‘Photo frames mostly, but valuable . . . I’d imagine.’
