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I walk out and lock the door behind me and have to take several lungs full of crisp clean air and breathe through the disappointment. I want to do the right thing to help; Grandad needs the money, and the shop needs a manager with new ideas and good business skills. It also needs a good clean and a lot more room.
What’s that line about feeling the fear and going ahead anyway? Well, I’m halfway there because I’m feeling the fear and no mistake.
Behind the shop, there is a small field of something. Rows and rows of twiggy small plants. I let my eyes roam aimlessly for a few minutes before I realise the plants are lavender. Of course, it’s winter, they won’t come back to life for a couple of months. This must be the lavender field Grandad mentioned when he talked about lavender honey. Now that I look again, I can see the hives at the far end. Unlike the shop, the field is wide, bright and must look beautiful when in bloom.
If I could, I’d move the shop somewhere better. But where? I look around the village square on my way to the Municipalité. There are no empty spaces, no unused shops with a poster sayingpremises to let. There is room at the cottage, obviously. The entire front is empty and would make a fantastic shop but what’s the point if the neighbourhood is deserted? Who is going to walk half an hour to buy a jar of honey?
In the village square, Eileen is outside her shop arranging jars of chutney around the different cheeses.
My feet stop. If they sell chutney, she might be tempted to sell honey too. Until I can reopen the shop, any sales would be a great help.
She looks up and smiles pleasantly. “Are you going to the public meeting?”
“Yes, are you?”
She shakes her head. “It’s mostly for the returning residents.” She arranges a display of cheese segments around a selection of tomato chutney, onion marmalade, chilli paste and piccalilli.
“These look delicious,” I say as a prequel to asking if she’ll stock some of Grandad’s honey.
“Made here on the island.” She picks up one wedge of a blue-veined cheese that might be stilton. “This is a new one. Come in, I’ll give you a taste.” She beckons me inside.
Her shop is everything that Grandad’s isn’t. Different wrapped cheeses are displayed in gingham-lined baskets. The place is bright, clean and smells of deliciousness.
“It’s one of my favourites,” she says while cutting a sliver of the same stilton and offers it to me to taste.
It’s sharp and creamy and makes my mouth water just as my stomach growls.
“Sorry.” I hide my mouth with my hand. “I think I’ll buy some of this lovely stilton. I skipped breakfast this morning.”
“I’m not surprised with your Grandad and everythin’. Wait a minute.”
Before I can object, she has disappeared into the back room and returns a moment later with a steaming mug of tea.
“You must be cold, too. We have short sharp winters, here,” she says. “We call it the needle because it gets in under your clothes and pierces through to your bones. But it’s thin like a needle and will soon be over, I promise, by Valentine’s.”
Eileen is friendly and keeps a constant stream of chatter. “Here try this, it’s woodsow yarg made from ewes’ milk.”
The sliver almost dissolves on my tongue; rich and nutty. Whatever it’s called, I want some of this.
She waits for me to wash the taste down with another sip of tea before holding out her knife with a slice of runny brie.
“My brother makes this one.”
The brie is so very soft, it’s almost like clotted cream, and a moment later, my own knees soften to the same consistency. “This. I want to buy all you have of this.”
She laughs. “I’ll give you a wedge, it won’t last long in your fridge. Come back every week and I’ll give you more.”
After buying the cheese, she gives me something wrapped in brown paper and string. “For Hedge. And give him my love.”
I’m touched by the good will people seem to have for Grandad. Hopefully, some of this will spill over to help me with the shop. The more I think about it the stronger my conviction grows that we can’t run a business from a small, damp, dingy, cluttered room.
With a shock, I realise I’d forgotten to ask Eileen about selling honey. Tasting the cheeses has driven everything else out of my head.
This. Exactly this.Enticing customers to try, fall in love with the products and buy more.
What Grandad should’ve been doing with his honey. What I should be doing. We only need a new shop space that doesn’t smell of fungus.
“Eileen? I’ve been thinking. Would you be able to sell some of Grandad’s honey here? You know along with the chutney and so on.”
