Emma’s interest in the supernatural was already working its way into the shop. There were several crystals in my till and a special piece of paper hidden above the door with a mysterious symbol on it. I wasn’t really a believer in anything like that but, as we were a new business and I’d given up my job as a library assistant to do this, I needed all the luck I could get. Aunt Lou’s savings wouldn’t keep us going forever.
Perched on stools, we sipped our respective teas and soaked up the feeling of all our work coming to fruition. At least, I was soaking it up. I couldn’t vouch for Emma. But it had been an intense few months of effort. First all the paperwork – the deposits, ordering stock and setting up insurance and electricity, all the boring bits. Then we’d had to roll our sleeves up and banish the remnants of the nail salon this place had been before. From the bubble-gum-pink walls to the dust-encrusted crystal chandelier and the leopard-print vinyl flooring. Not one inch of the place had been well painted or properly finished and there had been pink paint spattered on the kitchen sink, the ceiling and the floor. As if Mr Blobby had been massacred there. Half the floor had been rotten from a leaky sink and we’d had to replace the boards and install new flooring.
Now the shop was back to its old-fashioned roots, painted a blessedly neutral cream colour, with all the brightness coming from the stock. The walls were covered in timber shelves holding different weights and types of yarn, from traditional wool to cotton to bamboo and alpaca. From the high-priced cashmere at a whopping fifteen quid for fifty grams, to the bumper acrylic yarns sold by the kilo – bright, fun and cheap. Primary and secondary colours, ombré, confetti, colour-changing and self-patterning yarns, all tucked neatly into pigeon holes and labelled in Emma’s precise bubble writing.
On top of the shelves down the centre of the shop were paint dipped jam jars full of colour-coded crochet hooks and knitting needles. Then plastic tubes of buttons, wicker baskets of zips and elastic. Rolls of ribbon were mounted behind the till and over each section was a tapestry I’d crocheted, indicating what could be found there.
It had been a long road and yes, there were times when I was prying up floor vinyl at one in the morning that I wanted to cry (and did, though I kept working through it), but it was worth it. We were finally ready to open.
‘Do you know your sign’s crooked?’
With one notable exception.
It was Maeve, from the Scrummy Cup Bakery down the road. She’d heard all about the remodel every time I stopped in for fortification in the form of boiled fruitcake and tea – before the kitchen was serviceable. Delights like cake pops and pumpkin spice had yet to reach us in Leaford. Something which I was actually sort of happy about. I’d take a slab of tiffin over some biscotti any day.
‘Is it?’ Emma asked, smiling pleasantly as Maeve put her head through the bobbin curtain. Bless her for remaining cheery no matter what, she was made for customer service. ‘Thanks for telling us.’
‘No problem.’ Maeve beamed and looked around the kitchen. Her candyfloss perm was tinted pink, and the crinkles around her eyes were iced with matching pink frosted shadow. She reminded me of my aunt – she was also a bit of a magpie with colour and sparkle, and she was always smiling. Today Maeve was wearing three rhinestone brooches on her café-issue tabard, and a pink mohair beret on her head.
‘I meant to say last time you were in the café – I need some name tapes for my granddaughter’s school uniform. Do you have any in?’ she asked.
‘Sure, let me get some.’ I got up and headed for the ‘sundries’ section.
‘Oh, love, don’t worry about it. As long as you have them, I’ll pop in on Saturday.’
I plucked up a packet and returned to her, passing it over. Behind me the bell jingled, and I couldn’t hold back a smile. My shop was already attracting attention and we weren’t even fully open yet.
‘On the house,’ I told Maeve. ‘Consider it a thank-you for dropping those scones round the other day.’
‘They were just leftovers,’ Maeve protested, but she accepted the name tapes and smiled at me. ‘I can have my Ian come round to help with the sign, if you like – he bought a fancy drill and he’s never used it for anything except pretending it’s a ray gun to scare the dog.’
I stifled a laugh. ‘I think we’re good but I’ll keep him in mind.’
Maeve left and I turned to see who’d come in while we were talking. A familiar dark head of meticulously styled hair was bobbing down the pattern-book aisle.
‘Richard!’ I darted after him and he caught me in a hug, lifting me off the ground as if we were in a film. ‘I didn’t know you were going to be able to make it.’
‘Finished golf early – but I got a firm offer to invest in Hollings Property Development,’ he said proudly. He was glowing with a light tan from being out on the greens several times already this month and he smelled of cut grass and crisp G&Ts. I pressed my cheek against his polo shirt and breathed him in: my sophisticated, fancy boyfriend, who golfed.
‘I’m glad. We’ve been setting up in here – finally got all the buttons out. Just got to fix the sign.’
‘I saw, it’s a nice sign.’
‘It’s crooked,’ I snorted.
He grinned. ‘It is, but that’ll only take a minute to put right. You should have waited for me to do it but, by the time you’ve made me a tea, it’ll be done.’ He kissed my forehead and gave me a squeeze. ‘And don’t go giving your profits away before you’ve even made any. This is your business, not a charity.’
He said it gently but my cheeks burned nonetheless. It was just some name tapes, barely a three-pound order. But he had a point. It wouldn’t take long for me to give away a fortune in ‘little bits’ here and there. I’d have to watch that, especially now all my inheritance, bar a few hundred in my savings account, was sunk into this place. I was glad he was there to remind me to be sensible. Emma was my rocket to the stars, but Richard kept me grounded. They were a good team. Even if they didn’t like each other much. It was nothing personal, they were just very different. Emma was all recycling, meditation and animal rescue. Richard was more… next-day delivery, protein shakes and marketing podcasts. The only thing they had in common was me.
I went back to the kitchen to refill the kettle. In its reflection I saw my flushed face, slightly frizzed-out ginger pigtails and a paint-spattered T-shirt I’d won on Brighton Pier five years ago. I winced. Not exactly the look boyfriends dreamed of coming home to. Still, now the shop was basically ready, I could start dressing up again. After all, when Richard met me, I was working in the library, in smart skirts and tights with Mary Jane pumps. He’d been bemoaning the fact that I now lived in painty, wrinkled jeans and trainers. Or, heaven forfend – my Crocs.
‘That Richard?’ Emma asked, looking up from her phone, perfectly plucked inky brows drawn together.
‘Yeah, he’s fixing the sign.’ I smiled. ‘My hero.’
‘Great,’ she said, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. I chose to ignore it, as she’d never been the biggest fan of shiny-shoed businessmen or landlords and Richard was set on becoming both. ‘Roll on opening day!’
I toasted her with my mug and fizzed with excitement. Just one more day and I’d officially be the owner of a fully functional craft shop. Aunt Lou would have been proud.
