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‘Well, just if you wanted to run it yourself, that’s all? Or, heaven forbid, close it down and sell up. It seems to be what’s happening around here in the village.’ Delia closed her eyes against the potential heartbreak of not only losing her best friend, but also her reason for getting out of bed every morning.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, I’ve already told you about the teashop, and look at what used to be the butcher’s shop across the road, its frontage clad in a cage of scaffolding. A so-called property developer is renovating the building into “a desirable country dwelling, boasting wood-burning stoves and a sleek, stainless-steel kitchen; a stylish weekend retreat in the stunningly beautiful Cotswolds for the discerning City banker”. That’s what the sales particulars say, or something along those lines – they’re not even attempting to market the place as a home to local residents who will become part of the community. I shudder to think what the village of Somersby will become if yet another shop loses the fight to stay open. And there’s no point in objecting to the planners. We tried that.’
As Sophie met Delia’s eyes a barrage of guilt tumbled through her veins. In that instant her aunt’s oldest friend had understood that Sophie would indeed be selling up.
‘Sorry, Sophie, please don’t pay any heed to me. I’m a sentimental old woman. You have to be free to make yourown decision, unburdened by any feelings of loyalty or, heaven forbid, pity. You have your own life and future to think of.’
‘Delia, I’m so sorry. I’m going back to London tonight. I need to get back to work and resume some sort of normality. I want to be at the salon just in case… well… just in case our design wins. Only the winner is going to be informed, to keep things as private as possible for Lilac, so if we don’t hear anything tomorrow it means our design hasn’t been chosen. Do you think we might have a chance, Delia? It’d be such a fabulous opportunity for everyone at Sophie-Louise.’
‘I don’t know, Sophie dear, but I’m sure your design was the most adorable. Your aunt was so proud of all your achievements, you know, not just these star-studded creations. Every day we’d sit at this very table and chat about you and Seb and Dominic; about your fantastic designs, about Seb and Dominic’s promotions at work, about Noah’s success with his band. It made her happy just to know you were all following your dreams – wherever their paths took you.
‘She was just so excited when we closed the shop on that last Friday. Lots of our customers and friends had called by during the day to wish you luck, before she… before she…’ Delia withdrew a lace-trimmed, cotton handkerchief embroidered with a large blue ‘D’ and dabbed the falling tears away from her papery cheeks.
‘I miss her so much. Every day of the last sixteen years since your Uncle John died we’ve been running Gingerberry Yarns together. Then, after my William passed away, it was just the two of us. This isn’t simply a shop to us, Sophie, a means of making a living. Gingerberry Yarns is an integral part of this community. Oh, I know you youngsters think Somersby is a dull, parochial village, and it may be, compared to the pull of the bright lights of the metropolis, but your aunt’s shop provides an escape, offerssolace from the lonely daily routine that we older people find our lives becoming when our children and spouses have moved on.’
‘I’m sorry, Delia. I can’t run Gingerberry from London, I just can’t. Even if my design doesn’t win, I have enough commissions to keep me working every hour God sends for the next two years. I don’t have a choice. Gingerberry will have to be sold.’
As she spoke those painful words the doorbell tinkled like a wedding ring on a crystal champagne flute, announcing the arrival of a customer despite the sign having been turned to “Closed”.
With the sun behind him it was a few moments before Sophie realised who it was, but Delia knew straight away. She collected her handbag and bustled off, pausing to kiss Noah on her way out of the door.
Chapter Seven
‘Hi, Sophie.’
Noah reached out and pulled her into his spice-infused chest. His familiar cologne caused her mind to zoom back to the last time they had been together. He dropped a kiss on her cheek and awaited her reaction.
‘Erm, hi,’ she croaked as her heart pummelled her chest and a cauldron of emotions whipped through her body, sending sparkles of electricity to her fingertips.
The immediate environs of the shop receded as all Sophie could see were those steel-grey eyes that had frequented so many of her dreams. It was as though the last four years of loneliness had melted into oblivion as Noah stood before her, matching her height and meeting her stare. Unlike her heart, her brain refused to process his presence despite the visual evidence of his choppy, tawny-coloured hair and his strong, determined jawline, sporting a suggestion of stubble, not to mention the familiar curve of his lips.
As always, it was Noah’s eyes that drew her gaze. Now, face-to-face with the only man she had ever truly loved after four long years, Sophie scrutinised his face for a sign that he was a different person to the one she had adored. For confirmation that the passage of time had justified her relinquished love; a love they had sustained throughout their teenage years and the three years of university. But the Noah she saw slouched in frontof her was exactly the same, no wrinkles or errant grey hairs, and her heart confirmed with every beat that she did still love him.
She crushed down that unwelcome confirmation, as she was becoming so adept at doing, and cast around for a topic of conversation that wouldn’t bring their past screaming back. She plastered on a smile and prayed her voice would not give her away.
‘It’s great to see you, Noah. I hear The Razorclaws are playing to sold-out arenas now. That’s fabulous. Even got a gig at the wedding of the year. Congratulations!’
‘Yeah, we’re stoked.’ Noah stuck his hands in the front pockets of his figure-hugging black jeans and flapped his elbows, a clear signal to Sophie that he was nervous about what his reception might be. She led him to the table at the back of the shop, still strewn with culinary debris, and offered him a mug of tea from the big brown teapot. ‘Couldn’t let Finn down. We’ve been friends since uni.’
Sophie struggled to drag her eyes from his soft-pewter stare, annoyed that she still experienced the deep emotional pull of their connection. They had been soulmates, but how could that bond have endured? How could this man’s mere proximity still cause her stomach to churn and her nerve endings to tingle after what he had done?
No, she had to pull herself together, act as though he were a treasured friend, as indeed he was. He remained one of Seb’s best friends, along with Archie who played bass guitar in the band. She reminded herself that she had been only twenty-two when their relationship ended; she was now almost twenty-eight and a lot had happened to both of them since then. She would deal with this situation with maturity.
She smiled at Noah, intending to continue with enquiries about his band’s success or queries about his family’s well-being, but what she saw reflected in the depths of his eyes flashed an unexpected jolt of desire around her disloyal body. But she was determined that her head would fight this battle, and she pressed on with her attempt to prove to Noah that she had moved on.
‘My aunt left me Gingerberry Yarns, you know.’
‘Oh, wow, Soph, I’m so pleased about that. You loved this shop. I have so many happy memories of hanging out here with Seb and Dominic, you and Nessa. I bet you have loads of plans for it. Perhaps it could do with a lick of paint.’ Noah ran his gaze over the walls where the paint blistered like sunburnt skin.
‘I’m not keeping it.’
Noah’s smile died on his lips. ‘You’re what?’
‘I’m selling up.’
‘You’re joking, right?’
