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Chapter Eighteen
Elodie
“I can’t believe you’ll start trading in a month.” My sister congratulates me a few days later. “You’re the successful one now. I might be asking you for help in a month if things don’t improve,” she jokes, but her anxiety is almost audible.
It’s Friday morning which means they’ve just finished dinner in New Zealand and her husband is on bath and bed-time duty, so she can chat privately.
“Soph?” I stretch and get out of bed. “What’s wrong?”
She tells me. They’ve committed to buy a bigger house, their forever home, in an expensive suburb. The sale was agreed just as David’s business started struggling. Upshot is, they’re quite tight for money.
“Why don’t you ask Paul for help?”
“You’re joking, right?” She scoffs. “So, he can preach to me aboutneither a lender nor a borrower be?”
Yeah. My brother, always the judgemental one, has become surprisingly sanctimonious since his marriage. Any sign of things not going well elicits a lecture about not managing our affairs properly.
“So, if the shop is ready, why wait a few weeks?” she changes the subject.
“The only thing ready is the walls. I don’t have any fittings. The floor needs sanding. I’d like to paint it a nice colour to fit in with my theme.”
“Start with the essentials and do the rest slowly.”
“Soph, we’re not talking about a car-repair shop. It’s honey. Food. It needs to be very clean and healthy. Besides I want the shop to feel like a sensual experience, delicious and inviting,”
“Okay, okay, so how are you going to make it shiny?”
I flip through my list of outstanding tasks, three pages starting with, “Rip out the old musty and paint-splattered carpets.”
Sophie listens without comment until I explain the rest of my vision.
“It all sounds expensive. How will you manage without a grant? I would give you the money if I could, you know that, right?”
“I’ve applied for a business loan, nothing much, just enough to buy shelves, display cabinets and soft furnishings.”
“Don’t tell Paul, or he’ll lecture you about debting.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll manage.”
The wordsI’ll manageare still fresh in my mind when I go downstairs, still in my pyjamas, to make coffee.
The front door opens, and a man walks in. A stranger in a suit.
I squeal in surprise, my hand going to my thin vest top.
He simply glances up with a brazen smile as if I’m the intruder. “Is Hedge in the kitchen?” He strides towards the kitchen without waiting for me to answer.
I run upstairs to throw on a jumper and jeans, push my feet into my shoes while trying to comb my hair with my fingers. When I make it down to the kitchen, the man is there with a steaming mug of coffee. “Hedge must still be asleep.”
My hackles rise. “I’m sorry, I don’t know who you are.” The words are polite, but my tone is cold.
“No need to be sorry.” His smile makes me want to cross my arms in front of my body. “Name is Alastair.”
“How do you know my grandfather?”
“We’re buying the cottage from him.”
I stare at him, my hand on the kettle.What cottage?
