‘… I’ll write it down for you,’ Cooper said eventually. He picked up the shopping-list pad from the centre console and shifted the dog around so he could reach into his pocket. The phone he pulled out was a cheap little Nokia with a keypad. The kind of phone I hadn’t seen in real life since the 2010s. What people in TV dramas would call a ‘burner phone’ – used exclusively by drug dealers, hitmen and people on the run from the government.
He scribbled the number down from his contact list. I couldn’t help glancing at the screen as he did so and saw only three numbers in the directory: ‘my number’, ‘O2’ and ‘Lloyds Bank’. No family, no partner, not even a Chinese takeaway place or doctor’s surgery. I returned my eyes to the road, frowning. What was his deal?
‘Cheers,’ Cooper said, as I pulled up in the little car park at the end of the towpath. ‘You want to get a picture of him for the Facebook post?’
‘Sure.’ I took my phone out and tried not show my surprise when Cooper got out of the car and left the dog in the passenger seat for me to photograph. He could have just been keen to get his bag out of the boot. It didn’t have to mean that he was trying not to be photographed.
I snapped a few pictures of the dog, who grinned adorably at the camera, blinking politely. I ruffled his ears and watched as Cooper opened the door and attached Pete’s old lead before leaning in to give me a wave goodbye.
‘See you around,’ I called, and watched as he took the dog and walked up the path back towards his boat. He threw me a wave over his shoulder and I caught myself smiling slightly, but slowly that smile shrank under the weight of everything I didn’t know about him. Accompanied by the knowledge that I shouldn’t care what he was hiding.
Chapter 17
Monday morning saw meback in the shop for another week of work, one I was determined to get through without any more upsets or early closings. I just wanted things to go back to normal. To that end, I showed up fifteen minutes early to put the kettle on and get things ready for opening before Emma showed up.
‘Morning,’ she called from outside, as I unlatched the door. ‘You’re keen.’
‘Ready to get back into a routine,’ I said. ‘I looked at property listings for three hours yesterday and there’s nothing going right now, so that means I might have to pay for the flat on my own for a few months.’
‘Is that… doable?’ Emma asked, shedding her black spider-web coat.
‘It’s going to have to be. I can do it, as long as I cut back on some things.’
Like buying coffee, my Audible subscription and eating anything that wasn’t from the yellow-sticker section of the supermarket. I’d also need the shop to start making more money and, to be honest, I’d probably also need to put some stuff on eBay just to try and bridge the gap. God knows how I’d manage once the pre-paid rent on the shop ran out. But I could do it. What was the alternative? Ask my one friend and sole employee to also move in with me? That was too much pressure to put on Emma and there was no way I was going to be able to move back in with Mum and Dad after Saturday’s disaster.
‘Hey, what’s that?’ Emma went back to the door and pulled a piece of paper out of the letterbox. It was set low in the door, so low down that most of the junk mail distributors didn’t even bother to shove takeaway leaflets in there.
‘Probably a parish newsletter or something,’ I muttered, double-checking the amount in the till so I could note it down before we opened.
‘It’s an envelope, unsealed… oh, my GOD!’
‘What?’ I jumped a little in my seat and looked up to find Emma holding a rectangle of paper up at me. Her eyes were wide and for a moment I thought it was an eviction notice or something even more dreadful, like a Reform leaflet. Then she beamed at me.
‘It’s a cheque! For five grand!?’
I blinked at her. The words made sense individually but not when I put them together. Who the hell would be leaving us a cheque, let alone for that much money?
‘Is there an invoice or something in there?’ I waved her over and Emma tripped across the shop floor. She handed me the envelope and the cheque. On the inside of the flap of the envelope someone had written (in appalling chicken scratch) ‘If you’re good at something, never do it for free’. I looked at the cheque. It was indeed for five grand, made out to ‘Ewe and Me’. Then I noticed the name of the sender and let out a startled laugh. Although there wasn’t a full name, it was easy to tell who was behind it.
‘It’s a joke,’ I said, in answer to Emma’s confused expression. ‘From J Cooper – the boat guy?’ It seemed a safe assumption – I’d never met another Cooper in my life. Odd that he was going by his last name. I wondered what ‘J’ stood for?
‘A… joke?’ She looked quite disappointed. I supposed from her perspective the cheque had been the answer to the many crystals and charms placed around the shop. I felt bad for having ruined the mystique.
‘I took his clothes back yesterday and we were talking about how much some of my crochet would cost to make – and I think this is just his way of trying to show that he values it, you know?’ I ran my thumb over the scrawled signature. What a silly… sweet thing to do!
I looked up from the cheque and found Emma looking at me with her brows nearing her hairline. The last time she’d looked at me like that it was because I’d told a visitor that it was absolutely fine for them to ask me for directions (three times) without buying anything. It was her ‘who are you kidding?’ look.
‘What?’ I asked, more defiantly than I meant to.
‘“What?” she says, like she didn’t just get a cheque for five thousand pounds, from a cute man who “just wants you to know he values you”.’ Emma folded her arms. ‘Who also saved you from a canal.’
‘Not a real cheque,’ I reminded her, stubbornly. ‘And we already talked about the rescue thing and I told you it wasn’t romantic or sexy or anything like that. It was just a thing that happened. And now I’ve given him his clothes and the hand warmers and I’ll probably never see him again.’ I thought for a second and then corrected myself. ‘Unless someone messages me about that dog.’
Emma frowned at me. ‘Okay, I have more questions now – what hand warmers and what dog?’ Her expression turned incredulous. ‘Did you… make him something?’
‘Just to say thank-you-slash-sorry for the whole canal incident. I mostly wanted to have a quiet crafting afternoon and he just happened to be the beneficiary of that. Besides I make stuff for everyone.’
‘Except Margaret.’
