Snowflakes at Lavender Bay Page 8

  Nerves turning her stomach to acid, Libby tugged up the hood on an old sleeveless sweatshirt she’d teamed with a pair of frayed denim shorts and hurried along the prom as fast as her flip-flops would let her. Almost tripping over her feet in her desperation to get the hundred yards from the chip shop to the emporium, she cursed the already scorching temperature for making her boots impractical. Approaching the front door of The Siren, Libby paused to scan the busy stretch of pavement before she then scurried past and into the safety of the emporium. The bell door jangled loudly above her head as she leaned back against the door with a sigh of relief at getting past the pub unnoticed. She’d never make a secret agent.

  ‘There you are, we thought you must have forgotten us!’ Beth called out brightly from her spot behind the counter. ‘Eliza’s in the back making a brew.’

  Having removed her hood, Libby ruffled a hand through her short hair as she skirted around the counter with a quick smile to the customer Beth was serving. Mrs Bradshaw was the self-appointed chair of the Lavender Bay Improvement Society and made it a point to know everybody’s business. There was no way Libby was getting trapped into conversation with her if she could help it. ‘I overslept so a cuppa sounds perfect.’ She’d have been on time had she not lain awake for hours fretting over what to do about Owen until finally nodding off around 3 a.m., but she kept that juicy titbit to herself.

  ‘Here, take this one and I’ll make another.’ Eliza thrust a mug into Libby’s hands as she entered the back area of the shop which held a tiny kitchenette area and a couple of old armchairs.

  Libby sank down into one of the chairs with a huge yawn. ‘Thank you,’ she managed through watering eyes.

  ‘Late night?’ Eliza patted her shoulder sympathetically before perching on the arm of Libby’s chair as she waited for the kettle to re-boil.

  ‘Just one of those ones where I couldn’t sleep for some reason. Too hot, I suppose.’ Though the night temperatures had been oppressive of late, it still felt like a lie.

  ‘You’re not kidding. If I didn’t have a fan in my room, I don’t know what I’d do with myself.’ Eliza patted her pocket, pulled out a sugar-pink scrunchie and secured her long curls in a high ponytail. ‘That’s a bit better.’ She brushed a hand over the spiky-ends of Libby’s crop. ‘When it’s hot like this I envy you.’

  Horrified at the idea Eliza might be contemplating cutting her beautiful hair, Libby almost spilled hot tea in her lap as she made a grab for her friend’s arm. ‘Don’t even think about it! If it’s bothering you, let me put it in a French plait for you, or something.’

  ‘I’m only kidding…well mostly, but I do get a bit bored sometimes of all this hair everywhere.’

  By the time Beth joined them, Eliza was settled on the floor cross-legged in front of the armchair and Libby had made good progress with the plait. ‘Phew! I didn’t think Mrs Bradshaw would ever stop talking.’ The three of them shared a knowing grin.

  ‘What was she going on about now?’ Eliza said between sips of her tea.

  Beth grinned. ‘She was telling me about some ruffian with a crew cut and dreadful tattoos she saw coming out the pub this morning, said she was shocked how early some types needed a drink. You should’ve seen her face when I pointed out it was probably Sam’s new business partner and that Owen ran his own development company.’

  Eliza laughed, whilst Libby ducked her head, pretending to focus on the plait in her hands as she felt her face flame. If she couldn’t hear his name without blushing, she was in big trouble. Just tell them. It was on the tip of her tongue to confess all, but when she opened her mouth nothing came out. She knew she was being ridiculous—though they might tease her a bit, there’d be no judgement from either of her friends over her decision to sleep with Owen. Perhaps it would be better to wait and see how things went with him first. If they made a big deal of it and then he made it clear it was a one-off she’d feel even more foolish than she already did. She wasn’t lying to them exactly, just withholding information until she had a clearer picture in her own mind of where things stood. Yeah, yeah, yeah.

  ‘So why did you want to see us this morning?’ Eliza asked, providing a very welcome change in subject as Libby tied off the end of her plait and gave her a pat on the shoulder to let her know it was done. Eliza leaned her head back to blow her a kiss before turning back to Beth. ‘Not that I ever mind spending time with you guys, especially as Jack’s having a boys’ weekend with Noah and his friend Michael.’

  Stepping back out into the main shop area, Beth bent to retrieve something from beneath the counter then thrust it at the two of them. ‘I got this in the post from one of my suppliers yesterday!’

  Libby stared at the thick sales brochure covered in ceramic Santas, packs of greetings cards and novelty bobble hats. ‘But…it’s only July.’

  ‘I know,’ Beth wailed. ‘It’s hotter than Satan’s armpit outside and I’m supposed to somehow get my head around ordering stock for Christmas.’

  Reaching forward, Eliza took the brochure and began leafing through it. Libby peered over her shoulder at the pages of cute snow globes, embroidered cushions and baubles. ‘There’s so much choice,’ she said with a shake of her head. ‘I had no idea.’

  ‘Neither did I.’ Beth slumped into the chair opposite. ‘I don’t know where to start.’

  ‘These are lovely.’ Eliza held up a page of simple wooden table decorations so both of them could see. ‘Really simple and elegant. I think they’d fit right in with the kind of stock you’ve been introducing, Beth.’

  A matched pair of figurines caught Libby’s eye—a doe leaning down to nuzzle at a fawn curled at her feet. ‘Want these!’

  ‘Well, that’s your first sale sorted.’ Eliza grinned at Beth.

  ‘You’re clearly a natural at this,’ her friend retorted as the bell above the shop door rang. ‘I shall leave you to it.’

  Sliding from the chair to join Eliza on the floor, Libby joined her in poring over the brochure. Once they’d had a browse through to get an idea of what was available, they started again from the beginning, turning the corners to mark the pages of items which caught their eyes. ‘I love these.’ Eliza smoothed her hand over a page of cushions embroidered with slogans of good cheer.

  ‘You could make ones better than that.’ Libby had a gorgeous set which Eliza had made to match her favourite bedding as a surprise for her eighteenth birthday. They looked as good today as when she’d first unwrapped them and they never failed to bring a smile to her face whenever she dressed the bed with them. Always an incredibly gifted crafter, Eliza had recently started up her own business making dresses and knick-knacks which Beth was selling through the emporium, as well as homemade soaps and other luxury body products using the lavender Jack produced up at the farm.

  Eliza sucked her lower lip between her teeth and began to chew it, her expression thoughtful. ‘I hadn’t really considered doing seasonal-specific stuff…I suppose I could.’

  ‘Suppose you could, what?’ Beth asked as she walked back in so Libby filled her in on her suggestion about the cushions. ‘I think that’s a great idea. I could sell them for you, or better yet, why don’t you take a booth at the Christmas market and sell them yourself?’

  Confused, Libby looked between the other two. ‘What Christmas market? Nobody tells me anything these days!’

  ‘It’s the first I’ve heard about it as well,’ Eliza said.

  ‘The local traders’ association sent an email last week suggesting they organise a Christmas market as a way of encouraging visitors to the bay out of season. They want to get enough people to take booths to fill the promenade from one end to the other.’ Beth picked up the fallen catalogue and studied one of the pages they’d marked. ‘I was talking to Sam about it last night because he’s keen to do one for the restaurant, and I suppose that’s what made me panic a bit about getting stock organised in time for this place.’

  ‘I’ll check with Dad when I get back, see if he’s seen
it.’ Libby let the conversation continue between Beth and Eliza as she thought about the market idea. Her dad could do a fish and chip stall, of course, but perhaps she could take one for herself, do a bit of a test run for the kind of things she wanted to sell as and when she converted the shop to a café. Easy things that people could walk around with like hot sausage rolls and cheese and onion pasties; mince pies and stollen bites for those with a sweeter tooth. ‘Maybe I’ll take a stall, too.’ She outlined her plan. ‘If I can show Dad what I want to do is popular, it might go easier on him when it comes to changing directions if he really does decide to retire next year.’

  Eliza reached her for hand. ‘Have you talked to him about it yet?’

  ‘No.’ Libby shook her head, feeling pathetic. ‘I know I should, but I can’t bear the idea of upsetting him. What if he takes me wanting to change things the wrong way, like I think running the chippy isn’t good enough for me?’

  ‘I know how hard it is.’ Eliza squeezed her fingers. ‘I was terrified of telling Mum and Dad I didn’t want to take over the pub from them. It took a bit of getting used to, but they’re coming around to the idea.’ She gave a wistful sigh. ‘They just want me to be happy, and I’m sure it’s the same for your dad, too.’

  ‘You’re right, I know you’re right, I just haven’t found the right time to bring it up with him yet. I also don’t want him to think I’m looking to push him out of the door, but some nights he looks so flipping tired when we close up that it worries me.’

  Eliza tugged her close for a hug. ‘It’s scary growing up, Libs. I always thought my dad was so big and strong, invincible to everything. When he got sick last year it really brought things home to roost.’

  ‘He’s been making good progress, though?’

  ‘Oh, yes, but he’ll never be the same. And I look at Mum and she’s suddenly got all this grey hair and then I worry about the future. Perhaps I shouldn’t be fiddling around with cushions and soaps and should just knuckle down at the pub, so they can have some peace of mind.’ She rested her head on Libby’s shoulder with a sigh.

  Beth hunkered down in front of them. ‘What would your mum say if she could hear you, Eliza?’ She looked at Libby. ‘Or your lovely dad for that matter? If either thought you were giving up on your own dreams in order to please them, they’d be horrified.’ A broad smile lifted the frown between her brows. ‘Besides, if I can stand up to my mum about keeping this old place rather than selling up and pocketing the cash, then you two have got nothing to worry about!’ If you looked up the word mercenary in the dictionary, there’d be a picture of Beth’s mum next to it. At least these days her nagging was confined to the odd transatlantic phone call, and then only if it was Beth who bothered to place the call.

  ‘All right, I’ll do it!’ Libby held up her hands in defeat. ‘Now come on, let’s get your Christmas stock order sorted out.’

  Hunkered down on the floor, the three of them spent the next couple of hours reviewing the catalogue and making a short list of items they thought would work well on the eclectic shelves of the emporium. Beth was up and down like a jack-in-the-box responding to the front door bell of the shop which could only bode well for her business. As they waited for her to return, Libby took the opportunity to stretch out her cramped legs. ‘How did the soap-making trial go?’ she asked Eliza who’d got up to flick the kettle on again.

  A telltale blush heated her cheeks. ‘It was very nice, umm, good, it went really well. I was very pleased with the blending.’

  Ha! Seeing as how she’d gone up to Jack’s farm to use the large workspace in his lavender processing shed, Libby could just imagine how well things had blended. It was on the tip of her tongue to say exactly that when Eliza changed the subject. ‘So, are you watching the football match tomorrow? I have to work the bar because Mum and Dad already have plans and Beth is hoping it will bring in some extra visitors, so she can’t leave the shop. Jack, Sam and Owen could do with a bit of cheerleading.’

  The incongruous image of herself dressed in a short dress waving a set of pom-poms as she yelled Owen’s name popped into Libby’s head. Ducking to hide a blush, she shook her head. ‘No, I’m working too. We’re hoping for lots of hungry spectators.’ Even if the chippy wasn’t going to open, wild horses couldn’t drag her anywhere near the beach tomorrow. Sleeping with Owen had been a one-off silly mistake. His silence over the past week had been enough to make that clear. She would not be repeating it again.

  Chapter 9

  ‘Noah James Gilbert, you stop right there!’ Exiting the pub with Sam, Owen found himself freezing on the spot at the shouted command, and he wasn’t the only one. Dozens of heads turned to regard the kindly looking woman with short grey hair standing with her fists pressed to her hips in the middle of the prom. Two guilty-faced small boys stood statue still about thirty metres in front of her, heads bowed as though waiting for the sky to fall in on them.

  ‘Someone’s in trouble already,’ Sam observed with a grin as they watched the woman blow on her nails before buffing them on the front of her pretty peach sleeveless blouse. She turned to say something to Jack who stood beside her laden down with several bags and a large cool box. In moments his expression was as hang-dog as the boys.

  By the time they’d made their way to where Jack was waiting for them, his mum had taken both boys in hand and led them onto the beach. Sam clapped Jack on the shoulder. ‘Is that your mum? She’s terrifying.’

  ‘Here, make yourself useful, will you?’ Jack thrust the cool box at Sam, seeming to take no offence. ‘And as I recall, your mum can give mine a run for her money.’

  Sam laughed as he jogged down the steps beside Jack. Feeling awkward at their easy banter over such an alien topic, Owen gave them a bit of distance. There was no malice in their observations, more a resigned affection. Sam dumped the cool box on the sand then straightened up. ‘Don’t remind me! We must make sure they never meet, or they’ll be plotting world domination within the first half-hour.’

  ‘Too late. Mum’s decided to pop in to the pub later and see Eliza.’ Jack rolled his eyes.

  ‘We’re doomed, then, mate.’ Sam grinned. ‘All mums are the same, right, Owen?’

  A tumult of emotions swept through him. Confusion, anger, and more than a touch of shame. ‘I wouldn’t know.’ The all-telling words were out before he could stop them. Not wanting to see surprise—or worse, pity—on their faces, Owen shouldered past the two of them and strode across the beach to where Jack’s mum stood with the boys.

  Ignoring her curious glance, and conscious of the way he towered over the kids, Owen dropped onto one knee to bring himself to their height and held out his hand. ‘Hi, I’m Owen, and you must be Noah.’ With the same blue eyes and dark hair there was no mistaking the boy as anything other Jack’s nephew.

  Taking his hand with a shy smile, Noah shook it then turned to the wary boy beside him. ‘This is my friend, Michael.’

  Owen studied the boy who was the reason he’d found himself volunteering to help out in the first place. Never a joiner, he’d been unable to ignore the conversation between Jack and Sam a couple of weeks previously in the pub. Owen had felt an immediate pang of sympathy for the kid’s plight, though his own many experiences of missing out on stuff had been down to general neglect and disinterest rather than a parent struggling to make ends meet by pulling extra hours driving a taxi as was the case with Michael’s dad. Whatever the reason, feeling excluded could seem like the end of the world at his age so Owen had found himself offering to fill the gap. He smiled at Michael but didn’t try to force the boy to take his hand. ‘Hey, I’m going to be your playing partner for today, if that’s okay with you?’

  Michael eyed Owen uncertainly, but eventually gave a nod of assent. Relieved to be over the first hurdle, Owen turned his hand to helping set out the blanket, beach towels and other paraphernalia Jack had hauled onto the beach. Sam decided they’d benefit from a couple of sun umbrellas and headed back to the pub with Jack’s m
um on his arm, promising her an introduction to Beth and a friends and family discount at the emporium.

  ‘I’m going to go and get us signed in.’ Jack pointed to where a slightly harassed-looking young woman stood a few feet away, clutching a clipboard. ‘See you in a minute.’ When Noah slipped his hand in Jack’s, obviously intent on going with him, Jack paused to glance at Owen, a question in his eyes.

  Owen waved him on. ‘Michael and I will be fine, won’t we, mate? We can work out our winning tactics.’ Patting the edge of the blanket next to him, Owen waited until Michael sat beside him then began to sketch stick figures in the sand as he laid out options of what they could do. He kept it simple, doubting either of them would remember once they got running around but it was an easy ice-breaker and he soon had Michael chattering about the players from his favourite team.

  Bastian, Jack’s chocolate Labrador, took advantage of their distraction to claim the blanket while no one was paying attention and when Owen glanced over his shoulder, the big dog looked set for the day. He didn’t do much more than wag his tail in approval when Sam returned and unfurled the first of two huge umbrellas and bathed their bit of the beach in welcome shade.

  As they stood on the sidelines awaiting their turn to play, Owen watched Michael eyeing the other pairs gathered around them. The easy affection connections between father and son were in marked contrast to the slight stiffness between the two of them, and Owen resolved to try harder. He’d volunteered to do this to make sure Michael didn’t feel left out, but he was at risk of making him look as out of place as if he’d not been there at all. Squatting down, he placed himself in Michael’s eyeline. ‘I bet your dad is sorry to be missing out on this today? I’m sure he’d be here if he could, though.’