Читать онлайн книгу «The Vintage Cinema Club» автора Jane Linfoot
The Vintage Cinema Club
Jane Linfoot
A witty, warm-hearted romp through the lives and loves of three friends – with a cool retro vibe, and a sense of fun that will never go out of fashion. – Debbie Johnson, author of the best-selling ‘Cold Feet At Christmas’ & ‘Pippa’s Cornish Dream’Meet The Vintage Cinema Club….Izzy is a wow at making unwanted things pretty, but with three brothers and her shabby chic furniture business to run she doesn’t have time to date. Could a fabulous French proposal change her mind?Single mum Luce’s vintage bridal dresses are exquisite, but there’s no way she’s ever going to wear one or walk down the aisle for that matter. She’s a strictly no romance, one night kind of woman – or so she thinks…Dida seems to have it all – a chocolate and banana cake recipe to die for, lovely kids (most of the time!) and a great lifestyle. But what good is a fabulous home, when your marriage has more cracks than a pavlova and your husband is having it off with half of Lithuania?Three retro fabulous friends, in love with all things vintage, run their dream business from the faded grandeur of a rescued cinema. When that dream comes under threat, they’ll do whatever it takes to save it.Fans of Lucy Diamond, Michele Gorman and Milly Johnson are going to love this heartfelt, funny story.
The Vintage Cinema Club
JANE LINFOOT
A division of HarperCollinsPublishers
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
Copyright (#uf98bf655-74e6-5a61-b155-60113b52c740)
HarperImpulse an imprint of
HarperCollinsPublishers
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2015
Copyright © Jane Linfoot 2015
Cover images © Shutterstock.com
Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2015
Cover design by Jane Harwood
Jane Linfoot asserts the moral right
to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is
available from the British Library
This novel is entirely a work of fiction.
The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are
the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is
entirely coincidental.
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Ebook Edition © May 2015 ISBN: 9780008119355
Version: 2016-10-17
Praise for Jane Linfoot (#uf98bf655-74e6-5a61-b155-60113b52c740)
'For those that like Sophie Kinsella style books, this is a cute story about a guy determined to prove he won’t fall for a woman…'
Cosmochicklitan on How to Win a Guy in 10 Dates
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'A delightful romance.'
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This one’s for Sophie…
Contents
Cover (#ud5acaafd-3f50-52f2-92ad-9aefad5b20f0)
Title Page (#u93e6fead-244f-5386-a797-20fbec50c313)
Copyright (#u420d6dfe-9ab7-52cd-a5a6-900fb871fcf6)
Praise for Jane Linfoot (#ua1dc6229-d377-5032-993a-674b1f2ae119)
Dedication (#u800d981f-9fdd-538a-9aaf-c983c88347b2)
Chapter 1 (#u093ec0a1-9fd4-5600-a518-b228b471a0df)
Chapter 2 (#uae595b4c-7aac-50d1-9392-85fb8efd20d4)
Chapter 3 (#uc60eaef4-f016-5e66-b052-03a46604bdc3)
Chapter 4 (#u1caccf4b-9d2b-5f2e-85a4-5fdbfa105aad)
Chapter 5 (#ue1516ccd-0d92-5f2c-9fb8-a2813e900eae)
Chapter 6 (#ua209564a-8079-5e82-a908-4de7591ece4e)
Chapter 7 (#u32655103-6d5e-55d6-8e0d-a110ca5cd7e6)
Chapter 8 (#u38a749df-5e1c-5316-ae50-7a469c90cee2)
Chapter 9 (#u62fffef0-9dbb-5319-bee4-254231a6fba2)
Chapter 10 (#u685425cc-f696-573f-8389-7c69d55c318e)
Chapter 11 (#u29805019-e322-56ac-b23e-dadc808cbf99)
Chapter 12 (#u655b20fe-8f3e-540d-91dc-29652705ae6b)
Chapter 13 (#u9630458a-8a87-5cad-8b29-b146f28e3447)
Chapter 14 (#u61343952-7c1f-5c0f-a6dc-090ba921550e)
Chapter 15 (#ud44fd4a8-c80a-5ada-b482-4008dfbb5a8e)
Chapter 16 (#u14058a45-dca5-5a83-93a7-dac8553ff78c)
Chapter 17 (#u3fd9f217-dedb-5f2e-848e-fb268088adcc)
Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 19 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 20 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 21 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 22 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 23 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 24 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 25 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 26 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 27 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 28 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 29 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 30 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 31 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 32 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 33 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 34 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 35 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 36 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 37 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 38 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 39 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 40 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 41 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 42 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 43 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 44 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 45 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 59 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 47 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 48 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 49 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 50 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 51 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 52 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 53 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 54 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 55 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 56 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 57 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 58 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 59 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 60 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 61 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 62 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 63 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 64 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 65 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 66 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 67 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 68 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 69 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 70 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 71 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 72 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 73 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 74 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 75 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 76 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 77 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 78 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 79 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 80 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 81 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 82 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 83 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 84 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 85 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 86 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 87 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 88 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 89 (#litres_trial_promo)
Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo)
Also by Jane Linfoot … (#litres_trial_promo)
Jane Linfoot (#litres_trial_promo)
About HarperImpulse (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
1 (#uf98bf655-74e6-5a61-b155-60113b52c740)
Tuesday Afternoon, 3rd June
IZZY, LUCE & DIDA
Vintage at the Cinema, Matlock
Birthdays and Bubbles
‘So a few words, to celebrate our achievements, before we get on to the cake.’ Dida gave a toss of her head as she cleared her throat. Then she stamped her foot to get the attention of the people gathered in the shop, although to be fair, most of them already had their eyes fixed on this powerhouse in red, standing up there, on her makeshift soap box. Waving her bubbly in the air, she grinned down at Izzy and Luce.
Izzy glanced up at the banner high above Dida’s head, fluttering in the breeze from the open door. Happy Third Birthday to Vintage at the Cinema, and that retro turquoise font they’d gone for looked fab.
Dida might well have had a champagne flute grafted to her hand at birth. Whatever the occasion, she managed to involve Moet & Chandon. It was the same with her ever present high heels. Izzy grimaced at the wooden box Dida had grabbed as her temporary stage. Good thing it was already distressed, as Dida’s Manolo Blahniks were stabbing a hundred tiny indentations in the top as she teetered on her five inch stilettos.
‘So Vintage at the Cinema is three today, and it’s been an amazing journey. Three years since my other half accidentally acquired the cinema building…’ Dida paused for the fleeting grimace that passed over her face every time she mentioned awful Aidie, the husband from hell. She certainly had her hands full being married to that guy, even if they’d all benefitted from this particular impulse buy of his. Getting hold of a building he had no interest in, in some very dodgy deal, was Aidie all over. Dida snatching and commandeering the abandoned cinema building had been a gift for all of them.
She took a slurp of champers, and carried on. ‘Three years ago, Luce, Izzy and I decided to set up a pop up shop in the empty cinema, selling the vintage things we all love so much.’
Luce gave Izzy a nudge, and slipped her a sideways smile. Izzy swallowed down the lump that always came in her throat when she thought how proud she was of her best friend Luce for nailing being a single mum, and launching her vintage dress business at the same time, all thanks to the lucky break of Vintage at the Cinema. Before that they’d both come back from uni, armed with their art degrees, Luce with the additional bundle of baby Ruby, and slipped straight back into their default setting jobs at the coffee shop, where they’d worked before they left. Before the cinema, the furthest Luce and Izzy had got with their creative careers, were occasional stalls at craft fairs. But somehow with Dida, the three of them together had found the momentum to do amazing things. A pop up shop had been much less scary than committing to a lease, and given a risk free opportunity, they’d finally dared to do the things they’d been dreaming of for years.
‘And the rest is history.’ Dida paused for dramatic effect, neatly fast forwarding over all the slog and toil that had gone in along the way. ‘But we couldn’t have pulled this off on our own. Our success is also down to all of our lovely friends and fellow sellers, who joined in with us to make this the fabulous emporium it is today, and of course all our wonderful customers.’ Dida waved her glass towards the crowd in an expansive arc, before knocking back another gulp.
Dida had come a long way too, even if the income made less of an impact on her domestic finances than those of Luce and Izzy. It wasn’t that she’d had ever grumbled previously about being a stay at home mum, managing a home which might have been super-sized on steroids, and a husband as capricious as a stormy day in spring. But Vintage at the Cinema had given her something else to focus on by taking her away from the hell that was her home life. These days Dida glowed with a new found confidence and zest for life she’d never had three years ago.
Looking around the shop now, Izzy knew she’d personally excelled herself with the preparations for this birthday bash. Flowery bunting mingled with the twinkly chandeliers, soaring across the lofty space, above the gorgeous creams and greys of painted cupboards and dressing tables and dressers below. Artful piles of trunks and suitcases nestled against cascades of vintage fabric, and every shelf was decked out with an array of beautifully displayed objects, like a series of arty still life paintings. There wasn’t a corner of the shop that didn’t look as if it had come from the pages of a glossy up market country homes magazine.
Izzy and Luce had first met Dida at art college, when they were eighteen, and she was a thirty something, desperate to find some sanity after having her first baby. The friendship was cemented when Dida and Luce rocked up at the same ante-natal class, having Lolly and Ruby, who were sitting together on the counter now, fingers entwined, swinging their legs. Ruby caught Izzy’s eye as she gazed around, and her little wave made Izzy’s tummy turn over.
Ruby was so like Luce, all pale slender beauty, in her flowery shorts, snuggled in next to the vision of frills in pink fluo net that was Lolly, Dida’s daughter. Whereas Dida got the champagne flute, Lolly had exited the birth canal complete with diamanté tiara. Izzy knew without asking the battle that would have gone on at Alport Towers, Dida’s home, this morning, over Lolly’s insistence on day glow pink and orange glitter wellies.
Her friend was in full flow now. ‘We were the first vintage shop, and as others followed, Matlock has become the retro shopping destination in Derbyshire.’
Izzy and Luce exchanged indulgent smiles. Dida was extending the short and punchy she’d agreed on for her speech, but they had pulled off something spectacular here, and just for once Izzy was enjoying a few minutes of basking in the glory. After the way her dad had treated her mum when he left, all Izzy had wanted was a means to make her way in life, without having to rely on a partnership with a guy who might up and leave at any moment. What seemed at the beginning like a happy accident of a retro shop, had gone a long way to giving her that independence, and she had her wonderful friends Luce and Dida to thank for that.
‘So thanks to Byron from Corks, for the wonderful cocktails we love so much, Gigi at Amandine’s Patisserie for keeping us supplied with delicious tarts especially the blue berry ones, to Evan at Majestic Wine, please don’t count the Moet bottles…’
Izzy gave a wry grin, and noted that Aidie’s name didn’t appear anywhere on Dida’s ever growing list.
Dida bashed on. ‘…and huge hugs to my mum and dad, I am so, so, so grateful…’
Talk about out of control at the Oscars. Izzy knew Dida’s mum was a total nightmare. Dida was doing a Gwynnie here. It was time to cut to the cake.
Izzy put on a five hundred watt beam, and chimed in. ‘So, shall we raise our glasses, and do confectionary?’ She gave Dida’s hip a large nudge, and nodded in the direction of the glorious tower of cupcakes, decorated with roses and lace, in sludgy blues and pinks and creams.
Luce had Izzy’s back. ‘Great idea.’ She added with her own wide grin.
‘Okay, so to sum up…’ Dida took a deep breath, her voice wavering now. ‘Vintage at the Cinema represents three women – Izzy, Luce and I – and we have worked our butts off to create something truly unique, that surpasses all our hopes and dreams.’ Dida wrapped her arms around Luce and Izzy, and pulled them against her.
Tears welled up in Izzy’s eyes at that last bit, and despite her best attempts to control it, her bottom lip began to wobble, as all the love she felt for Luce and Dida burst up in her chest. She was only saved from full blown howling by an overpowering blast of Dida’s Diorissimo, and the pain in her shoulder, as Dida squeezed her tight enough for the linen of Dida’s jacket to graze her skin.
‘So let’s raise our glasses, to the very awesome Vintage at the…’
Dida held her glass high, but before she could say the final word, a loud mechanical sound reverberated through the shop.
A shadow flickered across Dida’s beatific smile. ‘What the hell is going on out there…? Can someone please tell whoever that is, this is not the time for hammer drills.’
Izzy, peering past the crowd, could make out a ladder propped up on the pavement beyond the shop doorway.
As the crew moved towards the door and peered out, Luce got there first. ‘What are those two huge for sale signs propped against the window for?’ Her brow creased into a worried frown.
Dida staggered down from her trunk, and elbowed her way out onto the pavement. Then she grabbed an umbrella from a flower pot, rapped hard on the ladder with the handle, and shouted to the man above. ‘Excuse me, what exactly do you think you’re doing?’
‘98 Derwent Street, Commercial Freehold For Sale.’ The man said, glowering down from ten feet up and sounding casually confident.
Dida’s jaw dropped, but she squared her shoulders, ignored the collective gasp behind her, and shouted up. ‘I’m sorry, there must be some mistake.’
Izzy’s heart plummeted. She knew Dida’s husband, Aidie, was ruthless, but surely he wouldn’t do this to them. Although on second thoughts, this stunt had Aidie written all over it. From his snarky comments whenever he was around, which happily wasn’t that often, he clearly resented Dida’s growing independence. His wife’s success was a direct threat to a control freak husband like Aidie, and selling the building was a fast forward way to wrestle back his power, simultaneously wiping the floor with all of them. And if he was hell bent on bursting Dida’s bubble, in the most spectacular and public way possible, his timing was impeccable.
‘Definitely no mistake.’ The workman up the ladder sounded very sure of himself. ‘Don’t blame me, I’m only doing my job.’ His shrug and weary sigh suggested this happened a lot, then his tone became conciliatory. ‘Best ring the agents love, they’ll clear it up for you.’
Izzy, feet welded to the pavement, by a mixture of shock, and panic watched Dida bristle. She hated being called ‘love’.
‘Eldon and Trellis. Right. I’ll do that now.’ Dida’s growl was ferocious. ‘I hope you realise you’re wasting your time up there, you’ll be back in half an hour to take it down.’
Fighting talk, and good on Dida for not taking it lying down, but Izzy, whose stomach was languishing somewhere at pavement level, wasn’t so sure.
Dida bustled back through the shop waving her mobile. ‘So sorry about this, carry on with the cupcakes. One minute, I’ll sort this out.’
Nice try, but nothing flattened bubbly faster than bad news. Realistically, this party was over.
Izzy, Luce and Dida threaded their way past the customers, as they discarded their plastic champagne flutes on the counter next to the untouched cupcake tower, and discretely began to disperse. Izzy’s heart was racing, and she wasn’t sure if her shaking knees were due to anger or pure fear. Dida might have pulled off an upbeat exit to the kitchen, but Izzy had caught the wild whites of her eyes as she passed. The gash of her red lipped grimace reminded Izzy of the face in Munch’s The Scream, and it was enough for Izzy to know that Vintage at the Cinema was in big trouble here. And that had to be awful news for all of them.
2 (#uf98bf655-74e6-5a61-b155-60113b52c740)
Wednesday Evening, 4th June
IZZY
A building site in Bakewell
The downside of upcycling
‘Hey, you! Get out of my skip.’
Izzy froze, rammed her shoulder against the rusty metal container side, and crouched lower, cringing as the male voice resonated above her head and echoed across the building site.
Damn it. She kicked herself for coming back for one last look, when she should have got away. In some ways this afternoon’s bombshell news that the cinema building was up for sale made it more important than ever for her to get her hands on stock. They weren’t going to give up, they were going to fight to survive, and tonight’s skip raid was a symbol of that determination. Ever since she, Dida and Luce had launched Vintage at the Cinema, they’d dreamed of a time when business would be booming, and it was ironic that now it was actually happening, it looked as if it might be snatched away.
Something about tonight’s desperation spun Izzy back to the time when she’d first discovered the joys of skip scavenging, when her mum walked out on her dad. With four kids and an empty flat, skips had provided Izzy with most of her bedroom furniture. Those fledgling finds had kick started Izzy’s love of rescuing what other people threw away. It turned out she had a flair for making old, unwanted things beautiful. At least one good thing had come out of her parents’ break up, and the talents she’d discovered back then had exploded with the opportunity of Vintage at the Cinema.
A stripped out cinema building was a big place to fill, especially when the furniture you put in there was flying out as fast as it went in. But ending up on a building site, in a skip, with some guy yelling at you, wasn’t the best of places to spend a Wednesday evening.
‘Oi! I said move it!’ He was still there then.
Izzy shuddered. Luce, always teased her about her compulsion for searching through skips, but it was true that Izzy found it very hard, if not impossible to pass a skip without diving into it. In her experience, there was often treasure to be found, but right now, with an angry man bearing down on her, she was wishing she hadn’t let that last glance into the second, almost empty skip, entice her. She closed her hand around the small carved plaster cherub she’d found lurking at the bottom. Dusk was no time to get caught in the act, even if she had okayed it with the builders earlier.
‘Think you can come round breaking my windows do you, just because the house is empty?’ Enter one apoplectic guy, who’d totally got the wrong end of the stick. He didn’t sound too close, but he only had to walk across, and peer over the skip edge, and she’d be done for. ‘Did you hear me? I know you’re there.’
Fierce and well spoken – they were the worst sort. Izzy grimaced, braced herself for trouble, and began to unfold her legs. Time to face whatever was coming her way. It was a daily hazard of skulking round skips – sometimes it was inevitable, you pissed people off. And Izzy couldn’t bear to see old pieces with the potential to be pretty being tossed away. It broke her heart to think of lovely old things being smashed up by ignorant people who didn’t know any better. As she saw it, she was on a rescue mission here, and no one in their right mind would object to that, once they saw reason. Although from the way Mr Shouty was limbering up, she wasn’t sure reason was going to have much to do with this.
Slowly, she unfolded, to get a peep at what she was dealing with here, and as her nose drew level with the skip edge, she got a full frontal view of the man she was annoying. Talk about chiselled cheekbones. Add in eyes the colour of darkness, a body that would have made most women she knew ache to peel off his well-cut clothes, and for a fraction of a nano second she fell resoundingly, heart-stoppingly, scorchingly in love. She’d always wondered what her friends meant when they talked about thunderbolts, and now she knew. Before she could say “oh my sweet Jesus”, her lips had parted, and she was letting out a long, wavering sigh.
Smitten or what?
‘You little vandal.’ The guy’s scowl darkened as he whipped his growl into overdrive. ‘I won’t tolerate trespassing scumbags, get off my site, and I mean now.’
Phew. That went some way to blasting away the cupid dust.
Izzy straightened, poked her head and then her shoulders above the edge of the skip, and watched with satisfaction as the guy’s jaw dropped. That would be surprise. And then his gaze honed in on her cleavage. That would be…
Oh shit. Nothing like eye-glue stuck on your boobs to give a girl yet another reality check. And her reality was the one where love and men were top of her Things-To-Avoid list. Yay! to Awful Alistair, who had messed with her heart for three years before stomping on it with the “it’s not you it’s me” thing, throwing in the added rider of “but you are coming over quite possessive” when what it turned out he really meant was he’d been shagging someone else for months. Enough said about that one.
Meanwhile, there was no point wasting her time explaining to this perfect specimen in his impeccably cut suit that she had okayed all this with the builders here earlier in the day. She shuddered to think what his reaction would be, if he knew her van was round the corner, full of things she’d dragged out of his other skip, only minutes before. Driving a van plastered with signs saying “Vintage at the Cinema, Everything Retro” might be great for publicity on a day to day basis, but it was hardly going to help her make an anonymous getaway.
The knot in her stomach tightened. She liked to think of herself as cool in the face of provocation, not that Luce would agree with that, but his unwarranted verbal attack had sent her almost as apoplectic as him.
Behind him, parked next to the house, she glimpsed the over-blown tank of a car he’d just arrived in. Nothing like a gas guzzler to add fuel to her fire. So, not only was he rude and aggressive, he was also that arrogant type who thought he could rule the road, as well as the world, by swanning round in one of those “the rest of humanity can fuck off” vehicles. Izzy always saved her most savage contempt for that kind of guy.
She might be in his skip, behind his hedge, on his building site, but he had it coming to him.
‘If you weren’t such a wasteful and ignorant prat, people like me wouldn’t have to go round rescuing the perfectly good stuff you’d discarded, would we?’ Catching another glimpse of the half renovated house in the background, with piles of discarded floorboards in front of it, gave her a second wind. ‘People like you, who rip the guts out of everything, with complete insensitivity, deserve a lot worse than thieving vandals.’
As she paused for breath, teeth clenched, she noticed he was scrutinising her, and that the thunder on his face had moved on like a passing storm. Wonders never ceased, but she suspected it was her chest popping into view that was responsible. Sad to say, she found her D cups often smoothed the way, although she always preferred to make her progress on a gender neutral footing, on the basis of her own merits. It was a depressing fact of life that some men were remarkably a) shallow and b) susceptible, and Mr Shouty was obviously one of them.
‘So, it’s a female dumpster-diver – and dressed for a party too.’ His tone had morphed from angry to mocking, as he strode across and peered in at her.
Izzy glanced down at her frock. Okay, maybe her flowery fifties tea dress was a bit close fitting, and it might be incongruous, but was there really the need for the attitude? She was only picking up a few bits and bobs – well a van full actually, but that was beside the point. It should have been a piece of cake, in a skirt and heels, without this unwelcome spectator.
‘So what? Are you telling me there’s a dress code now?’ She swished her skirt, and an unintentionally vigorous jerk of her head dislodged her hair comb, and next thing her unruly curls were cascading across her face. Damn. Now she was essentially fighting with one eye.
‘Marilyn Munroe curves, and a red head? Who’d have thought?’ He was almost laughing now.
One raised eyebrow? Curves? She needed to close this down.
‘Whoa, can we cut the sexual harassment?’
Her protest seemed to work, because he baulked momentarily, blinked, and when he looked up again the lust had reverted to bad temper.
‘You’re on my land, you’re invalidating my insurance cover.’ His glare sent her insides onto fast-spin. ‘Just get out before I throw you out.’
Izzy took that as a dismissal. Great, time to go.
She put her hands on the skip edge and pushed, but nothing happened. She tried again, scrabbled with her feet, and winced as the lemon leather of her pointy shoes scraped down the skip side. Authentic fifties footwear hadn’t been the best choice.
She’d got into the skip by climbing on a pile of pallets, then dropping over the side, with no thought to getting out. Now the sides of the skip had her trapped, like a hedgehog in a cattle grid. Clenching her teeth, and forcing her shoulders down, she let out an exasperated sigh.
The guy’s hands were on his hips now, resting on his high end leather belt.
‘Get on with it then.’
Could he not see she was trying to? His attitude was definitely not attractive, she noted. Except he was. He was horribly attractive in fact. Everything about him, from his stubble shadowed jawline to his muscular thighs tensing against the grey wool of those über expensive suit trousers, screamed SEXY, with the caps lock on. She gave herself a mental kick. What the hell was she thinking? After Awful Alastair, she was steering clear of men. Especially men with choppy brown hair, and definitely arrogant gits like this one. Her resolve was strengthened now she was well on her way to the financial independence she’d always craved. She bit her lip, and blew again.
‘Well, what are you waiting for?’
His gravelly voiced query sent goosebumps scurrying up her arms, hotly pursued by a large dose of self-disgust. She was in the shit here on every level, and it was time to admit defeat.
‘Actually, I can’t get out.’
She lowered her eyes, tried to swallow the shame-faced words, desperate not to acknowledge the gleeful sneer chasing across that disgustingly beautiful face of his.
‘Not so stroppy now, then.’ He gave a low grunt that might have been a laugh. ‘What do you suggest? Shall I come to help you, or will I get accused of sexual harassment?’ His tone was lazy, and he didn’t move, but the flash of humour in his eyes had Izzy’s heart skipping a beat.
‘Just sling me a pallet, stop gloating, and shut up. Please.’ She watched him stroll forward, grasp a pallet, and swing it high into the air with brutal ease. A hollow clang rang out as the wood thumped down on the skip base, and sent reverberations through the soles of her feet.
‘Thank you.’ She pulled herself up to her full five foot four inches. Then grasping the pallet, she heaved it into position against the skip side, and checked out its stability with one foot.
‘Careful. If you’ve invalidated my public liability cover, I don’t want any accidents.’
God, this guy was a stuffed-shirt. She let out another impatient snort. ‘If you don’t stop going on about insurance, I might have to squash you on my way down.’ And it was bad news that he made her even more insolent than usual, but at least she hadn’t sworn at him yet. She already owed Luce, and her Customer Service Initiative swear box a bomb as it was.
Izzy clambered up the pallet, nudged her way onto the skip edge, and it was just too bad that her skirt was riding up somewhere around her bottom as the guy looked up. She really hadn’t planned to give him an eyeful of underwear.
He staggered backwards, clearing his throat and looking away quickly. ‘Alright up there?’
She dreaded to think what kind of acreage of her knickers she was showing, but frankly she no longer cared. Two kicks sent her pumps flying through the air, then as she splayed her legs, ready to jump, she heard a rip. Crap. The last thing she needed here was to leave her skirt behind her.
‘Hang on…’ The guy sprung towards her with a strangled squawk.
‘Okay, keep your hair on.’ Izzy gasped. Two strides later his hands closed around her waist. The breath left her body as he spun her through a glorious crazy arc, before setting her lightly and neatly on the ground beside him. For a moment she wobbled against the soft fabric of his jacket, getting a blast of aftershave that was way too delicious for someone so bad tempered. And then he stepped away, and she was the one left with wide eyes, and a sagging jaw.
3 (#uf98bf655-74e6-5a61-b155-60113b52c740)
Wednesday Evening, 4th June
DIDA
In the kitchen at Alport Towers
One husband, thinly spread
NEW MESSAGE TO: THE CREW @ VINTAGE AT THE CINEMA…LUCE, IZZY, OLLIE, LYDIA, DAMON, HENNI, DECLAN, SUZIE, ARTHUR, LEIGHTON, MAGDA, THOM, ALLIE
Dida checked the names on the email, crossed her legs, and gave a heartfelt sigh. Even if Aidie had slammed the cinema building on the market, it was doubly important to carry on as normal. However determined Aidie was to put a hatchet through her proverbial baby, not to mention her success, she was ten times as determined not to let him succeed. Though she hadn’t yet managed to track Aidie down to actually speak to him in person, or at the end of a phone, she was certain that her husband’s motivation for selling the building was as much about trying to limit her new found success, as it was about making a profit now the property market was improving. Although Vintage at the Cinema had started out as a tentative experiment, so much creative energy and talent had gone into making it what it was now, there was no way was she giving it up without a fight. Even thinking about it made her feel like her head was about to implode with rage at Aidie for doing what he’d done, and rage at herself for being so powerless to stop him. Whereas she should have been floating around on a champers-induced cloud, basking after a fabulously successful celebration, she was instead grinding her teeth in frustration, and biting on the bitter taste of humiliation.
Tonight she’d already bustled her youngest child, Lolly, off to bed in a blur, and now she was ready to sweat the bigger stuff. The disembodied roar of a football crowd meant that Eric was fully engaged with FIFA14 in the breakfast room.
Dida scowled round her apple green kitchen. The vile green paint was another reminder of Aidie’s tyranny. That Aidie flatly refused to let her get the fifty seven kitchen units repainted in a more appropriate colour sent her round the bend on a daily basis and it was so typical of him to make this into a battleground. Now, her perpetual fuming about the argument she referred to as Granny Smith-gate only aided her incandescent rage about what had happened today at the cinema.
It was alright for Aidie, he was hardly here long enough to get tired of anything, even something as extreme as vommy green paint. He flew in, then he flew out again. Right now he was in Lithuania, working on “something big” to do with pipes, and as usual she had zero idea what. In fact some weekends he was home so little, they had barely enough time for an argument. Unfortunately for Dida there was always enough time for sex, and that would be sex not once, but twice a day. She gave a rueful eye roll at the thought of his whale-like bulk grunting on top of her, and thanked her lucky stars it was only Wednesday and so she didn’t have that to look forward to. Although given what he’d pulled today, she’d be withdrawing that privilege until further notice. As far as the kitchen repaint went, if there was any excuse to wield his power over her, Aidie grabbed it with both his chubby hands. It was time she gave him a taste of his own medicine in the bedroom.
Her husband hadn’t always been bloated. The twenty something guy she first hooked up with at the office Christmas party back in ’94 had been relatively slender, albeit in a chunky kind of way. She’d first noticed him because he was the only one in the office with his own house, and she had an idea his sense of humour had been better in those days too. But years of expense account dining had pushed his BMI through the red zone, and straight on out the other side. His success had turned into one big power trip and now he pretty much claimed to be in charge of the world as far as the pipelines industry was concerned. He got his rocks off all week, ordering people around at work, and at weekends he brought his testosterone excess back home, and slammed them all into submission here too. And today he’d even managed to exert his power remotely, in the most awful of ways.
Aidie and his control issues. Dida gave a grimace. She was well used to them. It was an ironic twist that if Vintage at the Cinema hadn’t dropped into her lap to take her mind off the most difficult thing in life, i.e. her husband, she wasn’t sure she’d even still be here, despite the gorgeous home she’d thrown herself into creating. Ice cream was a crutch she leaned on in her struggle to stay cheerful. Usually, at ten o’ clock, in a mere seventy six minutes from now, she’d be having a two scoop helping, and tonight she should be dipping into dark chocolate and raspberry, and pralines and cream. But this evening she was so wound up, she had no appetite at all, not even for ice cream.
‘Mum, I just went up a league on FIFA, have you got any cake?’ Eric, play station controller in hand, wandered into the kitchen, his floppy fringe only partially masking his glazed expression, and walked towards a large pile of plastic containers stacked on the work surface.
‘Nope, hands off those, they’re Vintage at the Cinema ones, and I’m delivering them first thing.’ How much of a bad mother did it make her that she had cake for work and not for home? ‘How about ice cream. Toffee chip okay?’ She slid off her stool, grabbed a dish, trundled to the fridge and dolloped out some soft scoop, pushing it towards Eric, who gave a grunt.
‘It would be nice if you could say thank you properly.’ She knew she had to insist on the manners thing, although she’d be lucky to get anything as complex as two syllables out of Eric in his current PlayStation induced trance.
‘Thanks.’ He mumbled and waggled his spoon at her.
‘Bed by ten, alright?’ She was talking to Eric’s back as he sidled away, sighing as she saw how he even shuffled across the marble floor in the same way as his dad.
One of the many problems with Aidie was, as her Granny used to say, the all fur coat and no knickers thing. He boasted long and hard about his six figure salary, but when it came to housekeeping she simply couldn’t get him to part with his money. Vintage at the Cinema kept her sane, by giving her something other than the warfare with Aidie to focus on, but, more importantly, it gave her access to cash. For the first time since she gave up work and had the kids, so long as she fudged the figures she showed to Aidie, she had some kind of financial autonomy.
The morning after Aidie came home from Corks Bar saying he’d got his hands on the old cinema building, she’d got straight on the phone to Luce and Izzy, and, as she’d said in her speech, before she’d been so rudely interrupted, the rest was history. And as Vintage at the Cinema emerged, so had the new independent, happier, Dida. There was no way now she could go back to being who she was before. Vintage at the Cinema had made her into a new person.
Dida looked at the names on the email again. Everyone already involved with the cinema was there on this week’s email, although should she really still be including Ollie? Ollie, who’d waltzed off to the other side of the world five months ago at a moment’s notice, leaving his sister Izzy to fill his shop space as well as hers, and do a double share of the shifts? Dida was very fond of Ollie. He’d been hauled on board at the start to help with painting, and proved so useful he never left. He also made the most fabulous one off metalwork pieces, and had brilliant contacts on the industrial side. Dida tapped a thumbnail on her teeth as she deliberated. No doubt Izzy would have emailed Ollie to tell him the awful news from today. Not that she was in denial, but somehow Dida couldn’t actually bear to type the awful physical words in the weekly rota email, because that made the whole nightmare seem too real. Losing the business just wasn’t an option she could contemplate.
Even though she was pretty much in charge of the business admin, and it gave her a fab excuse to organise to the nth degree, she liked to think of this as a cooperative venture. Everyone pitched in, they played to their strengths and helped each other. True, they paid her rent, but mostly this was all about everyone benefiting, and having lots of fun along the way. And Ollie was fun, and he was dependable, when he was around, and she had an idea that it wasn’t just his sister who was feeling his absence. Luce was missing him a lot more than she was letting on. So she’d leave him on the list for now, in the hope that if he read the email, in some far flung internet cafe, he’d remember to miss them, and remember to come back soon.
She flipped the screen to take one last look at the rota, then hammered out the email.
The rota for week beginning June 9th is attached. FYI we have a guy with very deep pockets who’ll buy ANYTHING by Susie Cooper.
Come back soon Ollie, we’re missing your industrial pieces.
The week’s cake of the week is cocoa and banana :)
Dida xx
PS. Vintage at the Cinema is ready for the fight - we WILL survive!
That would do. She hoped the last line was enough of an acknowledgement of today’s disastrous events. She liked to send the email out at nine exactly, not that she was obsessive, but if you were consistent, everyone knew where they were. The sky might be falling in on her own personal world, but she could still stick to a timetable.
Ten minutes to spare before nine then.
Just enough time to make the daily updates to her Aidie Special spreadsheet. She opened his email account, and tapped in his password, grimacing at the double bluff. Aidie’s email account was the nerve centre of his life. He knew she knew his password, and he also knew she scrutinised his emails, which was his way of proving to her that he had nothing to hide. Quite how the negotiations for the sale of the cinema had slipped by her, she had no idea, but from now on she’d be doubly vigilant.
Dida never failed to be amazed at Aidie’s meticulous management of his email account, given that dotting the “i”s and crossing the “t”s wasn’t Aidie’s natural way. His approach to life was usually way more sloppy, which was probably why he’d failed to spot the fatal flaw in his plan. It was a constant source of amusement to Dida that Aidie deleted all the emails he didn’t want her to see, but just the same as at home, he never bothered to empty the trash.
Now for today’s deleted mail. She clicked on the dustbin icon and leaned closer to the screen as she flipped through the list, and read intently. Wow. This was going some even for Aidie. A breakfast meeting with someone called Bambi, an eleven o clock with Viktorya, then dinner with Dominika, Elvira and Albina.
Two minutes, and Dida had copied and pasted the names into her spreadsheet of Aidie’s misdemeanours, and added times and locations.
Had this been anyone else’s husband, she might have been impressed by the stamina of the guy. Some weeks he appeared to be keeping the sex industry of Lithuania in business single-handedly. When he managed to get any work done, she had no idea. Given today’s developments, she may well be using the ammunition she’d been collecting sooner than she thought. The way she felt about Aidie now, after he tried to crush her dreams, she couldn’t imagine being able to look at the man, let alone live with him.
Now nothing mattered, except what Aidie was trying to wrestle from her and her friends. It was too late to do anything more this evening. First thing tomorrow she was seeing Luce and Izzy. They’d have their emergency meeting. And together, they’d get their proverbial boxing gloves on.
4 (#uf98bf655-74e6-5a61-b155-60113b52c740)
Wednesday Evening, 4th June
LUCE
At her flat
Lace, sweat and tears
‘Thanks for being so patient, I’m almost done.’ Luce paused as she fingered the satin hem of the dress she was pinning, smiled up at Steffie, the soon-to-be bride, and took a minute to sit up, wriggling the ache out of her shoulders. ‘These full skirts take an age to get around, but they’re worth it.’
Steffie shifted slightly. ‘No Ruby this evening?’
‘It’s my lucky night. I think the cupcake sugar rush from this afternoon’s party knocked her out.’
Steffie laughed. ‘It isn’t the same without Ruby entertaining us whilst you pin.’
If Ruby hadn’t fallen asleep by the time Luce’s evening fitting appointments arrived, her bedroom was so close to the living room she invariably heard the chatting, and crept through in her pyjamas. The flat was such a good deal, and so close to work and school, the compromise on layout was one Luce was happy to live with, for the time being anyway. All her other vintage clothes and textiles were at the cinema, but she kept the wedding dresses at home because the fabrics were fragile, and so easily marked. Right now her bedroom was so full of lace and tulle, some nights it was hard to find the bed.
Luce did a mental double take and she gulped so hard she almost swallowed a pin, as she remembered in a sudden rush, that work might not be at the old cinema for much longer. She tried not to think how scared that made her. Vintage at the Cinema had brought a lot of things to her and Ruby’s life. She was so lucky to have found a way of working that gave her satisfaction, an income, and which let her be here for Ruby too. The thought that it might be whipped away from her made her spine go rigid. And even though she knew that Izzy and Dida would go to hell and back for her and Ruby, for some reason the sheer, unadulterated fear of losing the livelihood she’d worked so hard to establish, made her feel very alone.
Luce tried to push that thought away with a smile, but the most she managed was a grimace. ‘No, once Ruby comes through, it’s impossible to get her back to bed again. At least I won’t have a sleep deprived grump to deal with tomorrow.’
‘She’s such a cutie though.’ Steffie looked wistful. ‘Hard to stand up to I guess.’
Too true. There were times when Luce wished that the random guy who’d accidentally donated his genes to her child, via a broken condom the last night of her second year at uni, had been slightly less good looking, and way less good at sweet talking. Soulful brown eyes and a penchant for fast come backs proved hard to handle in an offspring, and neither of those things came from Luce.
It wasn’t that Ruby was naughty, because she wasn’t especially, but Luce often found there just wasn’t enough of her to go around. She couldn’t work and constantly keep her child entertained.
However high her ideals on bringing up children had been before she had one, now she was in the thick of it she often felt she failed on every level. And it had been much worse since Izzy’s brother, Ollie, left to go travelling. It was only since he’d been away that she’d realised how much she’d grown to depend on him. Lying awake in the early hours, she kicked herself for how much she’d taken him for granted. And she kicked herself too for letting everything get so out of hand between them, and it being completely her fault that he’d left. In the first three years of Ruby’s life she’d been determined to go it alone. She still was. But the friendship with Ollie had kind of crept up on her as they’d worked together. And tonight, when she was feeling scared and very alone, she knew it was wrong, and she knew it was weak, and she knew it was against everything she’d ever intended, but she could really have done with leaning on Ollie. Except he wasn’t here.
Luce grabbed a few more pins, rammed them between her lips, and bent down to secure the last yard of silky hem.
‘You look beautiful sweetheart.’
Steffie’s mum, perched on the arm of Luce’s sofa, finally broke their silence. Since she’d been working with bridal wear, and more importantly, brides, Luce had noticed that taking on the role of Mother of the Bride seemed to transform reasonable women into a) control freaks, and b) emotional wrecks.
‘Hankie?’ Luce caught the tremor in Steffie’s mum’s voice and offered her the flowery, fabric covered tissue box.
‘Thank you.’ Mrs Beeston plucked out a tissue, gave a loud sniff, and dabbed at the corner of her eye.
In her sleepless times, not that she enjoyed the luxury of many of those, given she usually fell into bed exhausted, Luce was already rehearsing her own “give this wedding lark a miss” speech to Ruby, to circumnavigate that particular minefield, and save herself from what had to be the last piece of hell in a mother’s line of duty.
But she couldn’t help herself but say, ‘you do look amazing, Steffie. The antique lace is so pretty over the champagne satin.’
Despite the fact that Luce just couldn’t see the point in getting over emotional about weddings, by the time they’d all been to hell and back together over the wedding dress, Luce invariably loved her brides and their mums.
‘We’ve done so much work here. All the changes, and then you’ve dropped three dress sizes or more.’ Luce thanked her lucky stars that not every bride who chose one of her one off vintage dresses was going to put both the dress and herself through the wringer in quite the same way as Steffie and Mrs Beeston had done with this one.
‘I know we’ve changed our minds on the shoes three times now.’ Steffie said as she rolled her eyes. ‘But the first pair of Rachel Simpson ones were so high, and we were sure the second pair were perfect right up until the moment I saw the Charlotte Olympia ones.’
Luce tried not to think that each discarded pair had a price tag in excess of her monthly food spend. And despite the fact that Luce had been on her hands and knees three times realigning this particular roll edged hem, her smile was genuinely warm. ‘Let’s hope it’s third time lucky then.’
What Izzy and Dida couldn’t get their heads round, was that someone as anti-marriage as Luce should end up dressing brides. Luce’s true feelings on matrimony for herself – no fucking way – were a well-guarded professional secret, and they all kept their mouths firmly zipped for the sake of their joint commercial venture. Dida and Izzy were big on loyalty as well as support, although they did rip the piss out of her too at times, especially about her customer service ideas and her sex life. Definitely no link between the two of those things.
Luce managed her sex life meticulously, and it had nothing at all to do with being a mum. When Ruby went to sleep over with her granny some Fridays, Luce went out on the town, and sometimes brought a well-chosen guy back home. Well chosen as in nice, and not wanting any more than the one night, because no way could Luce allow a guy into her life. She’d never had a relationship, and it wasn’t fair to make her mistakes and involve Ruby too. Ruby being used to having Luce to herself was the final decider.
Ollie had been different somehow. He’d come around the back way, almost letting Ruby coax him in, when they’d been thrown together at the cinema. Ollie and Ruby had this perfect understanding, and Luce had known Ollie since Izzy turned up at school in sixth form. But once he dropped firmly on the Ruby side of the fence, that automatically disbarred him from the Friday night area of Luce’s life. It was non-negotiable. There was no crossing that divide.
‘Okay, I’m finished, Steffie,’ Luce put in her last pin, and sat up. ‘Try a gentle swirl, and we’ll see if it’s level.’
Not that she was a religious person, but a tiny part of her was pleading to the god of beaded sashes that this was the last time she was going to be on her hands and knees in front of Steffie’s dress.
Luce half closed one eye, and studied the dress as Steffie slid across the carpet, hands clasping a make-believe bouquet in front of her waist.
Luce turned to Mrs Beeston. ‘What do you think, Betty?’
‘Yes, it’s lovely.’ Mrs Beeston was dabbing her eyes frantically again, as Steffie stopped in front of the full length mirror.
‘Steffie?’ Luce, smiled at Steffie’s reflection, and Steffie gave the kind of definite nod she’d given so many times before, but Luce had to sound optimistic here.
‘Well I reckon that’s a wrap. I’ll get the hand sewing done and you can pop around same time next week if that’s okay.’ Luce reined in her grin, and mentally punched the air, for now at least. ‘Lucky we’ve still got a couple of weeks before your big day. Fingers crossed we won’t need any more changes.’
‘I’m going to miss you once the wedding’s over.’ Luce folded out the screen for Steffie to change behind. ‘Wednesday evenings aren’t going to be the same without you two and your dress.’
No doubt about it, she’d also miss the money too. Another eeek to that, in the light of this afternoon and the ‘For Sale’ sign. Steffie and Betty’s mind changing had kept her and Ruby in luxuries this last six months. Hell, who was Luce kidding about the luxury part? In reality they’d probably kept them solvent. She’d dreamed of working with vintage clothes ever since she did her final degree show, which she’d somehow dragged together against all the odds a couple of months after Ruby was born, but the income was still precarious.
As she waited for Steffie to change Luce heard her phone ping, and looked at her watch. ‘Hmmm, nine o clock on the dot. That’ll be Dida, sending out the work rota.’
And how much longer would that be happening for? That thought alone was enough to make her heart jump against her rib cage, and kick up the beat rate to double speed. She tried to make her eyes less wide, before Steffie and her mum noticed she was sporting the saucer eyed loon look again. In the morning she’d meet up with Izzy and Dida, and together they’d find a way through this. But before then she had a whole night of worrying to get through. And for the first time since forever, she wished she didn’t have to spend the night alone.
5 (#ulink_12e30484-7426-55f8-a240-9cd5befdedf8)
Wednesday Evening, 4th June
XANDER & IZZY
His building site in Bakewell
A vandal would have been so much less trouble
‘At least lads would have legged it by now.’ Xander was muttering under his breath, not that it was helping any.
As he rubbed his hands absently on his biceps, he stared at the wobbling girl he’d just dropped onto the ground. Somehow he couldn’t shift the warmth of her off his skin. Broken glass might well have been preferable to a stroppy woman, who was so small and weedy she couldn’t even climb out of a skip. Given the appalling state of the house, a few more smashed windows would hardly have mattered anyway.
He’d bought what he thought was a house needing slight refurbishment, in an up market area on the outskirts of Bakewell, and thanks to the combined efforts of builders and vandals, he was now the proud owner of what passed at best for a shit heap. Even if Bakewell was on the Telegraph’s Top Ten Places To Live In The UK list, he was failing to see the attraction himself. Served him right for buying a place for the wrong motives, and shutting up your sister was no kind of good reason. Christina might be kicking his ass big time, but one land registry transaction was never going to transform his life from dysfunctional to socially acceptable. Although he hated to disappoint her, some leaps were too big to make.
He’d given up on relationships, stable friends, and places to live so long ago he’d forgotten what normal was. Glossy women throwing themselves at you came with the territory, when you were in film production and finance, but he had his avoidance tactics honed. One glance at the wasteland of a building site was enough to show anyone that even as a seasoned developer he was currently lacking the necessary motivation to push this large family house renovation to completion on his own behalf, let alone move into it. Now it was actually happening, it was going to be just another place to turn over, the same as all the rest.
‘Thanks for that.’ The words interrupted his thoughts. Her voice was smaller now, momentarily less objectionable.
Presumably she was referring to him putting her feet back on the ground. She was flapping her hands over her skirt, and the buttons on the front of her dress looked set to bust with every gasp. Worse still, he couldn’t take his eyes off her.
Today just got better and better. Not.
‘Okay, the show’s over.’ She said, attempting to straighten herself out. She then jutted her chin at him. ‘I’ll just get my shoes and I’ll be off.’
So that was good news. Right now his priority was to get her as far away from here as he could, and fast.
Shoes.
If he grabbed her shoes she could go. To his untrained eye, the pointy yellow heeled shoes he picked up looked completely inappropriate for scrabbling around on a building site, but what did he know.
‘There you go.’ He picked them up and tossed them in her direction, then turned away quickly.
‘Thanks.’
From the corner of his eye he saw her make a lunge to retrieve them. ‘Ouch.’
Xander heard her sharp cry, and pivoted in time to see her jack-knife to the ground.
‘Okay, what now?’ This time he made no attempt to hide his exasperation.
She crouched, then slipped back to sitting and grasped one bare foot, and a mile of thigh slid into view as her skirt bunched-up.
Christ. Not what he needed.
‘Damn.’ Her fingers were dark as she pulled them away from her foot.
He leaned in for a better look. ‘Is that blood?’
Ignoring both him, and the scarlet smears all over the lemon leather, she rammed her shoes on, got up, and began to hobble past him.
‘Wait.’ Somehow he’d already stepped into her path, and was barring her way. ‘Let me take a look?’
As she screwed up her face and hesitated for a minute he suspected she was about to argue. Then she thought better of it, and stuck out her foot.
He’d take that as an okay then. Crouching, he grasped her ankle, and her weight wavered against his arm. ‘You might want to grab my shoulder if you don’t want to fall over.’ Given her scowl, he’d let her decide for herself.
‘Right. Now bend your knee so I can see the bottom of your foot.’ Brushing away the blood with his thumb, he closed his eyes to the view straight up her skirt and focused on the wound. ‘It looks quite deep.’
‘I’m fine, it’s nothing.’ She was rifling through her skirt pocket now, sending a shower of sweet wrappers past his cheek. ‘You don’t have a hanky do you?’
‘Sorry.’ He gave a helpless shrug.
‘I thought men in suits always carried them.’ She let out a snort of disgust, and yanked her ankle away. ‘In that case I’ll go.’
He was on his knees, her dress so far in his face he was breathing in the scent of fabric conditioner, and more. No matter how much he wanted her gone, no matter how fast his heart was pumping, he couldn’t let her go when she was hurt.
‘No.’ He was already on his feet. ‘There’s a first aid kit in the car, I’ll get you a plaster.’
She hesitated, then began to shake her head.
‘How about I’m not taking no for an answer.’ Part of his brain was telling him he should never have touched her, and another part was telling him he had to touch. ‘I’ll carry you so you don’t get more dirt in the wound.’
‘I don’t think…’
There were times when you had to overrule an argument, even if it made you look like a caveman. He sprang forward, and this time he grasped her under her arms and knees.
‘Hold on tight.’ A curiously strong, sweet scent drifted up from her hair. No way was he going to enjoy the feel of her body, hot and heavy, bumping against him with each stride. Judging by her squirms and squawks of protest, she’d decided the same.
He supported her easily with one arm, as he undid the tailgate, and slid her onto the carpeted floor of the Range Rover. ‘Can I smell bubble gum?’
‘Oh, it’s probably my tutti-frutti kiddy de-tangler, I use it when I’ve got paint in my hair, and I don’t have time to wash it.’
‘Right.’ That information dump left him none the wiser. ‘Lean up against the back seat if you like, pretend you’re in Holby City…’
He grabbed the green plastic first aid box and flipped it open. He rested her dusty calf on his hand and set about examining the base of her foot before tearing open an antiseptic wipe.
‘Sorry, this may sting.’ He felt her flinch with the first touch, then he began to clean away the blood, determined not to look above her ankle.
‘You don’t have to do this.’
Xander carried on wiping. ‘I’m responsible. You trod on my broken glass after all.’
‘But you’re a Range Rover driver, and by definition, Range Rover drivers don’t know the meaning of responsibility.’
He gave her ankle a tug. ‘And you’re more stupid than I thought, making comments like that when I’ve got your foot in my hand.’
She gave a snort and sank back down.
‘I don’t think you need A & E. There was a lot of blood, but I think an Elastoplast will do the job. Maybe a dinosaur plaster to go with the tutti-frutti?’ If he talked seamlessly there would be no space for her belligerent comments.
When she didn’t reply, he dared to look directly at her, taking in the flecks of freckles across her nose. Her cheeks were paler than he’d remembered, she almost looked…
Shit. He slapped the Band-Aid into place. ‘Are you feeling okay? If you’re going to pass out you need to lie flat.’ From back here she almost looked green. ‘Lie down, breathe deeply, you’ll be fine again in a minute.’
Her face was an unearthly white now. He needed to sound reassuring not exasperated, because exasperation would only prolong things.
He gently pushed her back flat, and began to fan her with a map he’d grabbed from the back seat, trying to ignore how small and helpless she looked. He winced as he caught sight of a slice of a bright pink bra between buttons, and rammed his spare hand firmly in his pocket. He flapped the map harder.
‘Don’t worry, just lie still, and you’ll be fine again soon. There’s some water here for you to sip when you feel better.’
Jeez, he spent his life avoiding women who were vertical, the last thing he needed was a horizontal one, in the back of his car. She gave a low groan. With any luck, she’d be insulting him again at any moment. He waited, and the silence stretched to what felt like forever. Perhaps conversation would drag her back to consciousness.
‘So did you bring anything out of the skip in the end then?’
‘I left it…’
A mumble, but at least she was conversing. That was a good sign.
‘You’re telling me you didn’t get whatever you went in for?’ He shook his head. All this for nothing. How stupid was that? ‘What was it?’ He leant in towards her to see if she was moving. The scent of tutti-frutti engulfed him again, but there was another, indefinable, delicious overtone, that set his heart on edge. Warm woman. How long was it since he’d smelled that?
‘I was rescuing a cherub.’ She was almost coherent again.
‘Save a whale, adopt a tiger, rescue a cherub…Would you like some water?’
Xander held his breath as she lifted her head, pushed back her hair, and stuck out a hand to grasp the bottle he was holding towards her.
‘Please…’
She lifted the bottle to her lips, and the way the column of her neck moved as she swallowed sent his stomach into spasm. As he waited, he counted broken window panes in the garage, and shut out the knots in his gut. She was sitting up now.
‘Stay there.’ He wasn’t sure that she had any choice about that. ‘I won’t be long.’
One impulsive thought, and he was heading off towards the skip. At least it was an excuse to put distance between himself and the girl, and good thinking on that. What he didn’t understand was the sense that on some deep and hidden level he wanted to please her.
He vaulted over the skip side, found the elusive cherub in the dirt, and twenty seconds later he was putting it into her hand.
‘Thanks for that.’ She examined the cherub, rubbing the dust off it. ‘But why throw it away in the first place?’ One coherent reply he could have done without, and, grateful might have worked better than an insolent pout.
‘I only hope you think it’s worth a cut foot.’ He wasn’t up for a wastefulness lecture.
She shrugged, and her mouth curved into an involuntary smile as she turned the cherub over in her hand. ‘He’s beautiful. I love cherubs. Are you sure you don’t want him?’
As her face lit up, Xander’s pulse raced, and he gave himself a hard mental kick for that. ‘No, rubbish really isn’t my thing. How come cherubs are always male?’
He watched her smile stretch further at this, and when she turned to look up at him, he caught the smoky blue of her eyes, and something about her raw vulnerability shot him through.
Shifting, she tossed him a grin. ‘Not sure, just a fact of angel life.’ She began to scramble out of the back of the car.
Result. Or maybe not.
Because now she was pointing at his thigh and wailing. ‘Oh no, I’ve got blood on your trousers…’
‘It’s nothing.’ He looked down at the splodge next to his fly, not sure he could stand the scrutiny.
‘I’m really sorry.’ Her eyes had locked onto his cock. ‘Can I pay for dry cleaning?’
‘Really, not a problem.’ Except there would be if she didn’t stop staring.
She raised her eyes at last and looked at him. ‘I’d better be going then. Thanks…for the stuff…and for looking after my foot.’
Was she hesitating? Fleetingly Xander wondered where she was going next, what she was about to do, who she was going to be with. Whatever, it definitely had nothing to do with him, and he really didn’t want to know.
‘Wait. Do you need a lift anywhere?’ He heard himself make this polite query, and was appalled by his sudden reluctance to see her leave. Any excuse to prolong the contact?
‘Thanks, but I’ve got my own transport round the corner.’ As she limped away she shot a grin over her shoulder. ‘In any case I’d rather have my finger nails pulled out than travel in a Range Rover.’
Xander watched her uneven progress across the site. Just as she was about to reach the gateway, he raised his hand, and shouted after her. ‘Just don’t let this happen again, okay.’
If a voice inside his head was insisting that he wouldn’t mind one bit if it happened again, he really wasn’t going to listen. Automatically he stooped to pick up the rubbish she’d scattered across the dirt when she’d gone through her pockets earlier. Tidying up was futile, but maybe someone needed to start. There was one tattered card in amongst the sweet papers. Vintage at the Cinema. That faded retro font might have come straight from one of his sister Christina’s colour boards. The address rang a bell, probably from a property alert. Due to his spending power, he was first in the agents’ email firing line when new properties came up. The card was in his pocket before he realised. To pass on to Christina, obviously.
When he looked up again, the girl had reached the tall stone gate post. She turned to give him a last defiant smirk, and then a second later she’d disappeared into the dusk.
6 (#ulink_e1b93e16-31a3-5b97-8ed3-81dd4bb3726b)
Thursday Morning, 5th June
DIDA
On the school run
Lunch bags and swear boxes
‘It’s really important to go as fast as you can, please Lolly.’
There were many times when Dida regretted her decision never to use the word “hurry” in the presence of her children, and this morning was one of them. She just had that idea that if she did include it in her vocabulary she’d over use it to the point where no one would take any notice anyway, and somehow she wanted her kids to have the kind of idyllic life where they didn’t ever feel rushed or pressured. This early in the morning her high ideals were still in place for the day, whereas by six o clock in the evening it was a whole different ball game. She’d barely slept the night before, kept awake by the double adrenalin rush of anger and anxiety about the cinema. Then at six am, just as she was dropping off, a text had come through from Aidie about the cinema sale, that had her wide awake with rage. The derogatory way he talked about Vintage at the Cinema as her “playing at shops” made her want to stamp on his head all over again. The only vaguely positive news was that it didn’t sound as if he actually had a buyer in the pipeline, which at least gave them a bit of breathing space. But however shite she was feeling, she must try not to pass her fatigue and irritability on to the kids. She was failing.
‘Who the hell thought it was a good idea, or even possible, to set off on a school trip at eight in the morning anyway. It’s bloody inhuman.’ Damn. Her swear box account for today was already long open and showing a large and unhealthy deficit. ‘Lunch boxes are your responsibility. If you forget them, I won’t be bringing them. Right, jump into the car, and make it snappy.’ Waving her keys in the air as she ran, she clicked the button, and heard the clunk as the car unlocked.
Eric was onto her as he arrived. ‘That’s your fifteenth swear word this morning.’
Dida bristled. ‘You’re counting well for someone who was barely awake enough to eat their Weetabix. Remind me what you’re doing on this trip?’
Eric gave a shrug as he clambered into the front seat, and pulled out an earphone. ‘How should I know, you were the one who was supposed to read the letter.’
Eye roll and head shake to that one. Dida hurled her bag and the lunch boxes onto the seat, then flung open the back door, and shouldered Lolly onto her booster.
Lolly’s squawk of protest left Dida’s ears ringing. ‘Hey mind my wings…’
‘Isn’t that tiara a bit ornate for school?’ Dida grimaced at the Barbie pink crystal clusters as she clicked Lolly’s seatbelt into place and made a dash for the driver’s seat.
Her daughter’s withering stare flagged up the stupidity of the question.
‘Hills and caves.’ Eric sent her a grin as she pushed the key into the ignition.
‘What…?’ Sometimes this boy was so random.
‘Hills and caves, that’s what we’re going to see.’ He fished a crumpled bit of paper out of his bag. ‘The impact of tourism on the physical landscape around Castleton. Remember?’
‘Yes, of course.’ Not entirely.
Dida swung the car around on the gravel drive, then, as it slid between the gateposts, she braked, flipped down her sun visor mirror, and whipped a lippy out of the door pocket. Regardless of how late they were, her first and last rule of the morning was never to leave home without lippy. While Marilyn Munroe said “Give a girl the right shoes and she will conquer the world”, Dida put her faith in lipstick. In her experience you couldn’t underestimate the power of a perfectly applied pout. Not so much of the perfect this morning, but it would have to do. This morning she needed every bit of help she could get. Pursing her mouth onto the red slick of Mac Ruby Woo, she flicked the sun visor back up, then glanced into the rear view mirror, for her second affirmation of the day – a flash of the front facade of Alport Towers. That glimpse of tall sash windows, the mellow coursed stone, and the gently carved parapet, never failed to fill her chest with warmth. This house gave her both a direction and an identity, and this one fleeting snapshot, caught in the mirror each time she left home, reminded her why she was carrying on, and somehow rebalanced her. Today more than most she needed that view, to remind her why she was still here, when Aidie was such a bastard.
She drew in a long breath, and then she nosed the car out through the monumental gateposts, and out onto the main street of Alport. She’d scoop up Luce at school, and head off to Izzy’s to discuss the sale of the cinema. And together, they’d work out a fight strategy.
One lamp post later, Lolly was onto the next thing. ‘Mum, can I have a falabella?’
Dida accelerated through the village, momentarily blocking the thought of the local speed vigilantes, twitching their lace curtains. ‘What the hell’s a falabella?’
‘Sixteen swear words.’ Eric’s triumphant cry morphed to a whine. ‘If she’s having a falabella, I’m definitely having Black Ops…and a new pair of Vans.’
‘No one’s having a bloody falabella, okay?’ Whatever it was, Dida wasn’t about to buy one. Full stop.
‘Seventeen…and it’s not even half past seven. You may be heading for a swear record here.’
Dida took a deep breath, counted to ten, and reached to push on the stereo. She wasn’t used to being under fire from Eric. She viewed the weekdays as ceasefire time. Hopefully Radio One might shut them up. Calvin Harris, she could cope with. As for lyrics about falling in love and lying cheats…
Talking of Aidie, there was something niggling her which she needed to get onto as soon as she had a minute. So many of the names of the women Aidie saw were full of V’s, and they all sounded vaguely similar. Logged on her spread sheet like some Soviet birth register, they were bound to become a blur. She’d have checked it last night if she hadn’t been so preoccupied, but thinking about it this morning, she had a feeling she might have seen one of the names before. Not that there was anything for her to worry about, it was completely feasible for two women in Lithuania to have the same name. But one area where Aidie was completely reliable, was that he always dated a different woman every time – that was his trademark thing – and she derived some strange kind of security from knowing that he wasn’t deviating from the norm.
Dida zoomed through the lights on amber, slowing down as she turned along Derwent Street. Snatching a sideways glance, and checking out the shop windows of Vintage at the Cinema gave her a thrill every time, but this morning the monster For Sale sign hanging high on the wall above the door turned her heart to ice.
‘What the hell…?’ Three shops further along the road she jumped on the brakes, and the car behind screeched to a halt inches from her back windscreen. The spray tan shop had changed overnight. Yesterday it was a plain shop front albeit one that was adorned with tacky ads for fast bronzing. Now there was brown paper on the windows, but, way, way worse, was the sign that said Heart your retro home? Watch this space!.
‘You need to learn more swear words Mum, Miss Raymond in English says repeating yourself is a sign your brain is stagnating.’
‘Thanks Eric, I’ll bear that in mind.’ Ball ache bastard fucking assholes to Miss Raymond. And ditto to whoever was taking over the tanning shop with what looked like more competition, right under their noses. That was all they needed, as if they didn’t have enough problems already.
Lolly piped up from the back. ‘A falabella would stop my brain smating.’
‘Definitely not proven, Lolly.’ Dida banged the car into first gear, and with a squeal of tyres that left the passing postman on the pavement open mouthed, they roared off in the direction of High Hills School.
Somewhere along the line, preferably later rather than sooner, Dida was going to have to find out for herself what a sodding falabella was.
7 (#ulink_7fd40c7a-458b-5f08-bcda-5e3143b8a210)
Thursday Morning, 5th June
LUCE, DIDA & IZZY
At Izzy’s house
It sounds like a plan
‘Brace yourself for fighting talk, I hope Izzy’s got the coffee on.’ Luce took a deep breath, as Dida swung the car into Albert Street, and pulled up next to an ornate lamp post. Luce and Dida got out of the car, turned in at the smart grey gate, and picked their way along the neat herringbone brick path. The lofty Victorian semi’s, with their tight plots, and steep patches of garden were popular for divorcees, offering lots of space at half the price of the more desirable family areas. Izzy’s mum had landed here years ago, along with her four kids, and this was where they’d stuck.
Knocking on the door, they watched Izzy’s shadow approach through the frosted glass. The number eight, cut out on the fanlight etching, impressed Luce whenever she came here, with its clean modern lines, but then Izzy’s whole place was like that. It was so obvious that Izzy’s absent mum was a whizz at interior design. What’s more, Luce never failed to be amazed that Izzy managed to have so many of the rooms full of junk in the course of her renovations, without appearing to make a mess of anything except herself.
‘How’s you? Half past eight, and already painting I see.’ Luce, bobbing towards Izzy’s ear, got a blast of candy-sweet scent from her hair. Air kissing might be frowned on, but for today it was the only way to avoid the paint smears on Izzy’s cheeks.
‘Pretty pink geraniums.’ Dida said, strangely quiet this morning, stroked the petals in the planter, as if she was on remote control.
Izzy stood by the open door, ushering them in with the wave of a paintbrush. No doubt she was using work to take her mind of the bigger problems.
‘I got the plants from the market in the park yesterday.’ Izzy nudged her visitors further into the hall. ‘That bright fuscia colour reminded me of the prom dress you made me Luce. That giant peony print was so awesome wasn’t it?’
Izzy had arrived in sixth form, traumatised by being forced away from her prissy private school. It had taken a month of working with Luce at the local coffee shop before she’d thawed out enough to dare to speak, but shortly after they were best-friends-forever.
Izzy raised an eyebrow at Luce. ‘I got up early to paint. I’ll tell you about last night’s haul later.’ As Izzy led them down the stairs to the basement kitchen, the scent of warm baking met them head on. ‘Don’t worry, the kettle’s on, caffeine’s on its way.’
‘Something smells delish.’ Luce was regularly in a state of open mouthed awe at Izzy’s drive, and her capacity to obsess over both work and home. Whereas Luce had one small girl and a tiny flat to look after, since Izzy’s mum had headed off on her extended four year holiday, Izzy had been in full charge of this big house and her three brothers. And it wasn’t just the brothers Izzy ran around after. She invariably ran around after everyone else too, including Luce and Ruby.
Today, most of Izzy’s rampant strawberry blonde curls were caught up in a high ponytail that left her dimples on full show. Standing at the work top, in faded T-shirt, thumbs looped through the straps of her gigantic dungarees, she looked particularly childlike and vulnerable, which just showed you shouldn’t be taken in by appearances. Izzy’s inner Rottweiler was something she channelled on a regular basis.
‘New cups on the dresser too I see.’ Dida made more distracted comments, as she raked her hands through her hair. ‘What’s the khaki coloured stuff on the table?’
Izzy picked up a square plate. ‘They’re Susie Cooper, like you asked for on your email, unearthed from the back of Ollie’s garage. I think they came from that house clearance he did with you Luce, just before he left.’
‘Possibly.’ Luce gave a shrug, and took in the familiar calm shades of the long spacious kitchen, which all looked as if it might have happened entirely by accident, except Luce and Dida both knew better. Luce tried to ignore how it felt a little bit sadder and so much emptier now Ollie wasn’t here, with his blustery banter, and boyish grin.
‘Wow, lovely detail on this.’ Dida ran her hand over the carving on the half pained sideboard which stood on a dust sheet at one end of the long kitchen, then sank onto one of the cream painted chairs.
Three guys to run around after, and Izzy still managed to keep the place immaculate. At least there had been three before Ollie headed off so suddenly. If only Luce had handled things differently, and hadn’t stuffed up so spectacularly, he’d be here to help them now. It wasn’t that Luce ever felt the need for a guy. But Ollie not being here made her realise that if he had been, she’d have been very grateful for his reassurance. Something about his broad shoulders and laid back attitude had made him a very comfortable person to share her troubles with.
‘Thanks for that, I bloody need it.’ Dida took the steaming mug Izzy handed her.
‘Anyone fancy a cronut? They’re what happens when a croissant meets a donut.’ Izzy didn’t wait for a reply, but slammed two down in front of each of them. ‘The holes in the middle are calorie free, and I’m hoping they’ll help us with our brain work.’ She licked a flake off her finger.
Luce broke off a piece of pastry to nibble. ‘These taste amazing.’
‘So…’ Dida swallowed as Izzy sat down, and her chest heaved under her topaz cashmere cardi.
Luce braced herself as Dida began to speak.
‘First I need to say sorry, this fiasco is my fault for so many reasons.’ Dida puffed her cheeks out. ‘If I hadn’t made a fuss about the birthday celebrations, Aidie would never have noticed how well we were doing. And I should never have let the peppercorn rent go on long term, I should have negotiated a proper lease with Aidie a lot earlier. So I’m truly sorry for all those things.’
Izzy’s nostrils flared. ‘This is like bloody déjà vu, It’s taking me right back to when my dad left – it’s all about one guy with money, who is calling the shots, and having the control, and the power to take everything away. Only this time instead of my dad screwing the family over, it’s Aidie ripping Vintage at the Cinema away from us.’ The volume rose as she spat out the words. ‘I hated it then, and I hate it now, but this time I’m older, and I’m damned if I’m going down without a fight.’
Luce took in the thunderous look on Izzy’s face. The fiery anger, that so often got Izzy into trouble, could be just what they needed.
Izzy was in full rant mode. ‘I can’t believe I’ve let it happen again. If anyone should have learned, it’s me. All this time I’ve been congratulating myself, and thinking I was standing on my own two feet, when all the time our happiness was in the hands of someone like Aidie, who only cared about the bottom line and who is now about to take it all away.’
Luce chewed her lip. ‘Good points, but we need to move forwards. So what are we going to do?’
Dida gave a grimace. ‘The good news is, I reckon we might have a month or two before Aidie finds a buyer, and after that the conveyance will take time. It’s possible that anyone who buys might give us a lease, or, if we put together a really attractive offer, Aidie might even be tempted to give us one himself instead of selling. But we need to get our act together, and we’ll need to sort out a business loan.’
‘Right.’ Izzy and Luce both nodded.
Dida opened her iPad. ‘So, we need to pull out all the stops, maximise the income from the business, and get our hands on as much cash as we can.’ She leaned back in her chair. ‘Any ideas?’
Izzy sat up, and folded her arms through her dungaree straps. ‘We need to do everything we can to get more customers in. I’m thinking stand up signs out in the street, pushing the Facebook page, improving the website…and we could also do free coffee.’
‘Great. Free coffee is a brilliant idea. It’ll pull people in, and they’ll buy cake to go with it too.’ Dida’s lips, pursing into a determined red line, gave Luce the idea this was only the start.
‘I’ll need to do more analysis of our figures, for a loan application.’ Dida narrowed her eyes. ‘It would be great to know the seasonal breakdown of turnover for different types of stock too. That way if we survive long-term, we can make sure we’re providing what the customer is searching for. That would work for sales, as well as happy shoppers. How’s your customer service thing going Luce?’
Luce looked up. ‘Well, what about broadening out and offering extras, like deliveries? There’s other stuff we could do too.’
When they’d first moved into the cinema building, they were only the second antique shop on the road, but as more shops selling old stuff opened up, filling the cluster of un-let units on the street, the customers had arrived too.
Luce went on. ‘These days Derwent Street on a Saturday afternoon is swarming with thirty somethings with their designer push chairs, out trawling all the shops. We’re a retro destination, but we need to make sure the hordes come to us.’
Dida took a swig of coffee. ‘What was Ollie’s name for them?’
Luce remembered, with a twist in her stomach, how often Ollie had made her laugh about this.
To her relief Izzy chimed in. ‘He called them DRRABs. Dressed up, Rabidly Running After Bargains, or something like that.’ Izzy gave a grimace. ‘Geeks in tweeds and designer specs, scouring the shops for the perfect piece to complement their retro styled lives. Not that I’m knocking them, their tweedy pounds are phenomenal for business.’
Dida tapped her pen on the table. ‘The point is, the more we offer people, in terms of service, and variety of what we sell, the more likely they are to spend with us rather than the other shops.’ She frowned as she considered. ‘That’s the other news, this morning I spotted another potential vintage store opening in the tanning place.’ She added a huge eye roll. ‘I’ll send an email to the rest of our crew and see if anyone knows any more.’
Luce hesitated, then decided to take the plunge. ‘Talking about quality stock, are you going on a buying trip to France this summer Izzy?’
There was a long silence. Luce knew this was something Izzy usually did with Ollie.
Her friend pulled a face. ‘I hadn’t thought of going on my own…’ She hesitated. ‘But I’ll see what I can do. In the meantime I promise to keep my motor mouth under control with the customers, although the swear box takings might drop.’ She sent Luce a wry grin.
Luce drew in a breath. Pushing the business was going to mean them all pushing themselves out of their comfort zones. It was going to be a challenge, but wasn’t challenge supposed to be good for you?
‘One more thing…’ Dida turned to Luce. ‘I know your clothes and textiles do really well, but it would be brilliant if you moved the bridal side out of your flat, and into the cinema. Wouldn’t the projection room work brilliantly as a Vintage Bridal Studio?’
Luce opened and closed her mouth without any sound coming out. Her bridal sideline had been growing, but she wasn’t sure she was ready for such a big step.
Izzy cut in. ‘That’s a fabulous idea. It would be great for the business, and for you too Luce.’
‘I’m not sure.’ Luce was hesitating, although she didn’t know why. It was a great opportunity, and another step back towards being a real person, and not just a mum. ‘I have some “vintage look” wedding dress designs that are almost ready too, but…’ There were times when she kicked herself for not daring to be more ambitious and confident. So much for moving out of their comfort zones.
‘I know your bedroom is bursting with wedding dresses, you’ve definitely got enough.’ Izzy grinned at her. ‘There’s only one way to beat Aidie, and that’s by being bloody marvellous, and that’s what your vintage bridal line will be Luce. Seize the day, spread your wings, you know you can do it.’
Luce blinked. Maybe she could do it, for the team.
Dida, typing furiously on her iPad, came to the end of what she was writing, and her lips curved into a smile. ‘So you could say we’ve got a plan then.’
‘Too right.’ Izzy sounded jubilant. ‘All we need now is a name.’
Dida’s head jerked up. ‘For the three of us here, fighting to save what we love?’
‘Exactly.’ Luce smiled. ‘We’ve been a team for years, but a title would make us stronger somehow.’
Izzy pushed one paint splattered thumb against her chin. ‘At half past five this morning, when I was stirring my Farrow and Ball Cinder Rose, it hit me that three of us really are a club.’
Luce grinned. Izzy and her paint colours. But it was a fab idea.
Dida’s lips curved into her first smile of the morning. ‘It’s obvious. We’re The Vintage Cinema Club aren’t we?’
‘That’s it.’ Izzy thumped her fist on the table so hard the Susie Cooper tea set rattled.
Luce chimed in. ‘And we’re not going anywhere.’
Dida’s mug was already in the air. ‘Let’s drink to that. Here’s to us, here’s to The Vintage Cinema Club, and here’s to a battle we’re going to win…’
There was a clunk as their mugs clashed, and they all shouted.
‘To The Vintage Cinema Club!’ ‘To saving the cinema!’
Luce only hoped they could.
8 (#ulink_f481165b-4210-56e8-b8a5-57f3c92b7af3)
Subject: RED ALERT
As if we don’t have enough problems, there’s another home shop opening in the spray tan place. If anyone hears/knows/discovers any info please shout IMMEDIATELY. Forewarned is forearmed. As for “the other problem”, Izzy Luce and I, a.k.a. The Vintage Cinema Club are working on “a plan”.
Dida xx
9 (#ulink_b96752ba-7131-5949-88fd-ade7ad8a9250)
Thursday Morning, 5th June
IZZY & LUCE
Vintage at the Cinema.
Flapjacks and post mortems
‘That’s the outside displays set up, and the geraniums sorted. Oh, and there’s no change in the shop along the road.’ Izzy wandered back into the old cinema, watering can in hand, wincing slightly as she caught her bad foot on the step, and looked around to see what job to tackle next. ‘But as I was saying before, it’s just such a waste.’
Izzy knew she was repeating herself, but as Luce seemed miles away, sorting through a huge pile of buttons, the repeating part probably didn’t matter too much today. They were still in shock about the cinema, but throwing themselves into work seemed like helping the cause. Izzy had blurted out last night’s skip story to Luce when they’d first opened up, but a customer searching for the perfect vintage summer dress came in before Izzy got past the main headlines. Then two elderly ladies had come for coffee whilst they deliberated over which of two art deco lamps to buy. In the end they’d bought both, more power to Dida’s chocolate and banana cake, and high five to the free coffee idea.
Izzy moved over to dust a dresser full of plates, and tried another tack. ‘Are we going out tomorrow tonight then?’
Luce looked up at last. ‘Ruby’s going to Dida’s, so I’d say that’s a yes.’ She gave a slow smile. ‘So long as I can summon up the energy.’
Now Izzy examined Luce more carefully, she was definitely lacking something in the sparkle department, and it was more than just worry about the cinema. Luce had been flat even before the birthday party.
‘That’s not like you.’ Izzy flicked her duster. ‘Whatever happened to Lucy paint-the-town-red Morgan?’
Luce being reluctant to go out had Izzy’s alarm bells clanging. This was the girl who’d been dancing on a table as she went into labour, but she was taking pale to a whole new level this morning. Izzy admired the way Luce embraced single motherhood, yet still managed to treat herself to some no strings fun on her fortnightly Friday nights out. Izzy steadfastly refused to follow her friend’s lead, as her own disillusion with men, which had begun with her dad, was pushed off the scale by Awful Alastair. And whereas Izzy was short and curvy, edging towards dumpy on a bad day, Luce rocked the whole blonde and delicate thing, despite being five eight and rising. She had the kind of totally uncalculated appeal which had men falling over each other to try to do things for her, and that didn’t stop at buying her drinks and taking her to bed. They would literally fight to open doors, carry her shopping, put petrol in her car, and if they put sugar in her tea, they invariably stirred it for her too. Frankly Izzy had never known anything like it. Anyone else with Luce’s looks and fan hoards would have been totally insufferable, but Luce’s saving grace was her older, even more attractive sister, who had gone on to have a super duper career as a model, and who had given Luce the impression as they were growing up, that Luce wasn’t that pretty. As far as Luce was concerned she was just another ordinary girl, who barely noticed the trail of gawping guys she left in her wake.
Luce gave a shrug. ‘Too much sewing, and working Saturday morning is what happened…’
Izzy shook her head. ‘Jeez, that’s what the rota is for. We should never need to come to work after a big night out.’
‘True, and ideally I don’t work weekends, but I’ve got two brides booked in for this Saturday, so my mum’s having Ruby. Great for business, but…’ Luce gave a long sigh.
Izzy jumped in, to ensure Luce didn’t wriggle out of what they’d planned earlier. ‘I’ll help you move your dresses over tomorrow, then you can take those appointments here in the cinema. The projection room will be perfect for you, and we can move some mirrors and a sofa up there too.’
The projection room refurb had been Ollie’s last job before he went AWOL, which, to Izzy, although technically not quite correct, was a much more appropriate way to describe a guy of thirty two shoving off with no notice on a so called gap year. To Izzy’s mind, gap year implied a lot more planning and forethought, not to mention youth. Despite the fact it had given her the opportunity to expand her own business, on a personal level, the break neck speed of Ollie’s departure had left Izzy feeling distinctly huffy.
Rearranging the plates, she gave them a final flick. ‘I’m guessing coffee and some of my special flapjack might help?’ She made a point of never leaving home without a large supply, given that Dida’s cakes were supposedly for customers not staff. Oats and sticky golden syrup, gave the perfect combination of slow release and rocket fuel energy burst. People might laugh at her, but times like this proved how right she was.
Luce gave her friend her first proper grin since they’d arrived. ‘Did I ever tell you I love you, babe.’
Izzy gave a laugh and dived off into the kitchen.
* * * *
‘So what’s this about waste again?’
Izzy peered around the chandelier she was twiddling with. She wasn’t big on post mortems, possibly because she never did anything out-there enough to warrant one, but right now she really did need a debriefing with Luce.
‘It’s a complete waste for an awful guy like him to get looks like that.’ Izzy mentally crossed her fingers, hoping for five minutes without interruption from customers, while she got her thoughts straight about the guy with the skip.
‘If we’re talking about the guy on the building site I may need more flapjack.’ Luce said as she sank her teeth into another piece. ‘So, just tell me again, how come you knew about these hidden skips in the first place?’
‘I spotted some builders coming out of the Butty Box in Bakewell, so I followed them.’ Izzy clocked Luce’s eyes rolling skywards.
‘Have you been hanging round sandwich shops again?’ Luce was tutting and giving her a hard stare.
Izzy was well known for stalking anything in overalls and work boots in her mission to find skips. Saving old furniture gave her a warm feeling inside. She knew it wasn’t logical to most people, but for Izzy it was a throwback to the time her family collapsed. Back then every item Izzy had rescued represented a step towards domestic stability, and rescuing other people’s cast offs, and using them to make the family home pretty had been a way in which she grappled back control in a situation where she had very little. Even last night, when the threat of losing everything they’d worked for was hanging over her, she’d found it immensely soothing to dive into a skip. And that was where her fledgling obsession for all things vintage had begun.
Izzy heard her own voice rise in protest. ‘I just happened to notice a builder on the street so I followed him, and hey-presto, there were two skips on his site. It’s a cut-throat world out there, I make no apologies for my methods, especially now.’
‘You get worse.’ Luce shook her head, and wiped a flapjack crumb off her chin. ‘So later, when you go back for your stuff, that’s when you get stuck in the skip, and meet the fit guy…’
Izzy chimed in. ‘…the rude one whose looks are wasted on him. You got it.’
Luce’s cogs were obviously turning very slowly today.
‘So let’s get this straight.’ Luce licked her finger. ‘This spectacular man finds you stuck in his skip, on his building site. He drags you out, looks after you when you cut your foot, then offers you a lift home. So remind me, how does this make him a bad guy, because from where I’m standing he sounds like a great guy who fully deserves to be drop dead gorgeous?’
Izzy pursed her lips, and let out a long breath through her nose. ‘You’d need to have been there to understand. We just didn’t get on, simple as. And incidentally, he wasn’t a normal drop dead G, he was kind of totally exceptional.’ Izzy wasn’t going to elaborate, especially about on the stomach on fast spin thing.
Luce considered for a moment.
‘Izzy, you weren’t by any chance being difficult, were you?’
‘Me?! Difficult!’
Izzy knew Luce despaired of her tendency to tell it like it was. Cue Luce’s special customer service initiative, which everyone knew was directed straight at Izzy, full stop. As far as Izzy was concerned, if a customer was out of line, someone needed to tell them, and to hell with all that the customer always being right shit.
‘I might have been…slightly stroppy…perhaps.’ Izzy decided to come clean. ‘But in my defence, he was driving a hideous tank thing…and you know how that winds me up?’
It was all down to one bloody deserting dad, driving off in a blingy four by four, not only leaving the family destitute, but whipping all the assets off to where the divorce courts couldn’t touch them. Who wouldn’t hate four by fours?
‘Does this mean you might be about to get back in the saddle again, Iz?’
Luce had heard enough ranting about Izzy’s dad, especially in those sixth form years, when every day brought some new parental horror story, so it was only to be expected that Luce would head onto Luce’s favourite soapbox topic – fixing Izzy up with a guy. Somehow, according to Luce, the answer to every problem Izzy had was man-shaped.
‘Definitely not.’ Years of practice, and Izzy had the excuses ready to roll out. ‘After home and work, I have no time for dating. You know this already’
Since her ex, Alastair, Izzy had made her life so full that dates were out of the question, and that was how she liked it. It wasn’t because he’d smashed her heart into teensy pieces either. Actually, he hadn’t. It was just that in the end, like the guys who drifted through her life before him, he’d been ultimately disappointing in every respect. Given today’s reminder that she never wanted to have a guy controlling her life, staying well away from them was doubly important. With her brother Ollie away, and the extra urgency to maximise income, she had to be entirely work focused. Now more than ever.
‘I’m constantly pointing out hot guys, who you resolutely ignore.’ Luce’s tone of complaint lightened. ‘It’s the first time you’ve mentioned a man since forever. You can’t blame me for encouraging you.’
‘Thanks, but no thanks.’ Izzy tried to breeze past it. ‘Well-spoken really isn’t my type, and he’d never measure up anyway.’ Both those things were true enough, especially the last one. It was damned difficult when any guy you locked mouths with ended up being a disappointment, compared to what had gone before. That it was once, only, a long, long, long time ago, didn’t make it less valid a comparison.
‘Well spoken? You can’t dismiss a whole section of the population like that Izzy, and you definitely can’t let one snog in a cupboard, in the dark, when you were sixteen ruin you for all other guys.’
Izzy stared wistfully, and ended up looking at the bunting loops draped around the walls. ‘The thing is, no one’s ever come close to that snog in a cupboard.’ Alastair hadn’t got within a mile.
Luce’s face was stern. ‘And no guy ever will if you don’t get out there and try a few.’
Then her face cracked into one of her grins. ‘I sense a chink in your man repelling armour. Just be sure from now on I’ll make it my business to bring any hot guy around to your immediate attention – not that I don’t already.’ Luce’s grin widened. ‘So did you find anything good in the skips then?’
Hopefully that was Luce’s man hunt lecture over for today. ‘It was a brilliant haul. I was up at five working on it. There are some lovely frames, and lots of cupboards and little bits which don’t need much doing to them at all before they can go on sale. It’s a real boost, especially now.’
It wasn’t only the panic over Aidie’s threat – since Izzy had taken over Ollie’s section as well as her own, she was under pressure. If your brother went off, it was a no brainer that you’d cover for him, but lately she’d felt like she’d been running to stand still.
‘If it’s quiet today, I can cover here for you this afternoon, so you can get to work at home on all your new finds.’ Luce raised her eyebrows. ‘Your new stuff will keep things looking fresh here. You’ll be doing it for The Vintage Cinema Club.’
Izzy considered. Luce was right, so long as she didn’t mind.
‘Thanks, I’ll do that.’ Izzy looked up to see Thom and Declan, two other twenty-something Vintage Crew members, wandering in from the street. ‘Here comes the muscle. I’m guessing they’ll be here to help you out too if there’s anything you need.’
Meanwhile Izzy had to make sure that mind reading Luce didn’t twig exactly how much the awful guy from the building site was distracting her. ‘If that’s all out here, I’ll go and sort out the kitchen.’
Izzy had no idea what was going on with the skip man. Even now could still feel shivers on her skin, where he’d touched her foot. If Luce had the slightest inkling there was still a trace of his smell on Izzy’s jacket, and worse, that Izzy kept breathing it in, Izzy would never hear the end of it.
10 (#ulink_c4cb46ef-1eb6-541e-89f6-305956a3c7c4)
RE: RED ALERT!!!
To Dida and the cinema crew,
Quick tan central has been taken over by someone local called Joe Kerr, according to my mate who works in traffic at the council. Watch this space. Will send more info as I get it, the spies are out,
Ollie, sent from Goa, India
11 (#ulink_3cc1565d-bde1-5521-a9e9-b86a630f7b73)
Friday Afternoon, 6th June
IZZY
At home
Nirvana
Back home, Izzy dived into her painting dungarees, and pushed her jacket firmly out of reach to stop herself from breathing in the scent of that insufferable man. Under her pillow, in her bedroom, two floors up from the sunny terrace outside the kitchen where she was going to be painting, seemed like the best place. That way she definitely wouldn’t be tempted to bury her face in it – two days on and the scent of the hot guy was still vaguely there, and she still wasn’t even sure what it was. Paco Rabane? Soap? And a hefty smudge of testosterone, no doubt.
Izzy had spent the morning helping Luce transfer her wedding dresses across to the cinema. Given Luce’s reticence, she had decided that direct action was the only way forward to ensure the Bridal Studio idea became a reality. A few well-chosen accessories transformed the projection room, and another part of their Vintage Cinema Club Plan was in place. Luce’s pale anxiety had been replaced with flushed excitement by the time Izzy left her.
As far as Izzy was concerned, the fastest way to reach Nirvana, apart from burying your head in fabrics that smelled of someone delectable, was to paint. The moment she had the brush in her hand, the real world around the edges melted out of focus, and all she concentrated on was her brush strokes. It soothed her, it calmed her, it took her to another level. Better still, the giant endorphin boost of satisfaction for whatever transformation she’d just pulled off, made her feel like she was flying. Talk about afterglow. And better still she got paid for the end result. Who wouldn’t have been obsessed with it?
Three years ago, when Vintage at the Cinema began, Izzy majored in white and cream and pale grey, but the huge public demand for all things white was turning. Fifties brights were very popular now, and rich aubergines were also going down a storm. As for sludgy pink chairs, they were flying out so fast, she could barely keep up with demand.
Izzy had hauled lots of bits and pieces from her storage shed lower down the garden, onto the terrace, which she had swathed in dust sheets. Sitting in a splash of sunlight, by the open kitchen French windows, she began to paint. Today, despite the air being filled with the scent of early-summer lilac, her mind refused to wander any further than yesterday’s grubby building site, and guess who…? It was as if her brain had the whole action replay on repeat. It was like when her younger twin brothers played on their FIFA game on X box, and the snippets of commentary kept coming round again and again. Except each time she heard her own voice in her memory, she cringed, and kicked herself, wishing she’d said something different. Talk about torture.
By four o’clock she was exhausted and bemused, but at least she had a satisfying array of transformed tables, cupboards, chairs and frames, drying in the sun. Just looking at them made her insides go all warm with a glow of well-being. Every time she made something perfect again, it reinforced that she was in control of her life. She was just about to head inside to wash her brushes when her phone rang.
She grabbed her handset. ‘Luce, shouldn’t you be picking up Ruby?’
‘No, I’m at work, Ruby and Lolly are at Dida’s.’ Luce gave a husky laugh. ‘And I’m ringing to tell you about a hot guy, at six o’clock.’
Automatically Izzy scanned the horizon, as she did whenever Luce tipped her off about talent in the vicinity. ‘Thanks for the heads up, but I’m definitely too far away to appreciate him from here.’
‘I’m not talking six o clock positions.’ Luce sounded as if she couldn’t believe Izzy hadn’t understood. ‘Six o’ clock is the time for the delivery I’ve organised for you to do. Remember the new initiative? And this delivery is to the yummiest guy ever, who’s just walked out of here. I’m setting you up, okay?’
Or how about not okay. Izzy was kicking herself now, but she’d brought this on herself, when she should have known better. The merest mention of a man this morning, and Luce had launched into a full blown “grab a man for Izzy” offensive.
‘Why didn’t you grab him first?’ Izzy queried. It was a fact of life that the male shoppers honed in on Luce, and she was exceptionally up for fun times, so long as it wasn’t any more than that. What’s more, sometimes flirting sold furniture, simple as.
‘I’ve got someone else in mind for now…’ Luce didn’t elaborate. ‘And to be honest this particular guy didn’t seem that interested in me.’
Not interested? Izzy couldn’t see that being true. As for whoever Luce was thinking about, Izzy didn’t always keep track of the string of guys who Luce saw. Sometimes she hooked up with Josh, who was a dead ringer for Henry Cavill, guaranteed any girl a great time in bed, but shied away from anything more permanent since his mum died. Or Cal, who was similarly gifted, and up for no ties, whilst working past a break up. The others came and went. End of.
A while back it had maybe seemed like Luce was going a bit more crazy than usual on her Friday nights off. But now Izzy came to think of it, lately she’d barely been aware of Luce’s liaisons at all. Luce passing over the guy with the delivery was maybe a sign of a bigger trend Izzy had been a) blind and b) stupid, not to notice.
Luce carried on. ‘There’s only a couple of bedside cupboards to deliver to him, and that small rocking horse of yours.’
‘No…’ Izzy let out a groan. ‘I know I have to sell things, but I love that horse, it’ll be a real wrench to let it go.’ She knew she shouldn’t complain. Sales were sales, and getting attached or sentimental in this business was not an option, especially now.
‘A rocking horse is definitely a better bet that a falabella pony.’ Luce complained. ‘Honestly these falabellas are all we hear about at the moment, Ruby and Lolly are crazy about them. Daisy Benson from school’s got one, unfortunately for Dida and me. They’re the size of a dog, but they’re actually a horse, in perfect miniature detail - they even smell of horse apparently.’
‘Sorry, but I’m with Ruby and Lolly on this one, they sound adorable.’ Izzy gave a smile.
‘Exactly, that’s the whole trouble.’ Luce let out a wail. ‘Daisy’s pony is just big enough to pull a little cart with a can of lager in. Ruby isn’t so bad, because she knows there’s no chance of getting one in the flat, but Lolly’s making Dida’s life a misery, pleading for one.’
‘What a pain.’ Izzy had so much admiration for the way Luce handled having a child.
‘Anyway, at least some lucky child is getting your rocking horse.’ Luce switched back to business. ‘I got the impression that yummy guy is looking to buy a lot, which is another reason I offered him one of our new Vintage Cinema Club special deliveries. He left written directions by the till, but remember, you need to be nice to him.’ Luce paused, supposedly to emphasise that last point. ‘You can thank me for the date you get, later.’
Date? As if. ‘As of yesterday morning I’m on my best behaviour, but I should point out I was only ever rude when it was warranted.’ Izzy had to stand up for herself on this, and she was having to ignore that Luce wasn’t agreeing with her here. ‘Fine, I’ll be round soon to pick up the things. And try not to devour any more male customers in the meantime.’
Izzy could imagine Luce’s eye roll here.
‘This one’s worth the drive, I promise.’ Luce wasn’t giving up. ‘Stop resisting, go and enjoy the view. If I miss you, I’ll see you later in the bar, okay?’
12 (#ulink_6b0ebb05-f62d-51b6-83f8-51d88c3bb0da)
Friday Evening, 6th June
IZZY
Ashbourne
Special delivery, fully loaded
Batting along country lanes towards Ashbourne, Izzy was driving a vehicle that was a dead ringer for a dustbin and which was both noisy and bumpy. She suspected an actual dustbin may have been slightly more comfortable than Ollie’s battered old Citroen Tube van, affectionately known as Chou-fleur, but at least it had started without a problem. Ollie had spent months on a total rebuild of Chou, working outside in the back lane, with his welding gear. Izzy was very grateful to her brother for leaving her Chou, but at times Izzy found the mechanical idiosyncrasies hard to work with. What with flagging batteries and dying starter motors, leaving home at all was a game of chance. Perhaps the clunky engine had sprung into life without complaint because Chou-fleur appreciated an outing on this sunny evening, and the bursting hawthorn blossom on the hedges, much the same as Izzy did.
She yanked on the wheel, and attempted to coax Chou-fleur round a sharp bend. Steering wasn’t that easy in the van, but then braking wasn’t her strong point either. But the up side was that with Vintage at the Cinema, Everything Retro written in large letters across both the grey sides, Chou-fleur was very distinctive, not to say eye catching, and free mobile advertising was a fab way to spread the word. And if you were entirely without transport, as Izzy had been since her last car died a few months back, you were damned appreciative of anything with an engine and some wheels.
Izzy pulled the scrap of paper with directions on, out of her pocket. She was looking for a large pink house, at the end of Carrington, which was the chocolate-box village north of Ashbourne, which she was driving through now. So much for Luce’s promise of jaw-dropping talent here. She didn’t want to pre-judge, but surely there was a teensy chance that a man who lived in the only pink house in the place, wasn’t going to be interested.
Izzy’s eyes widened, and she let out a low whistle, as the pink house came into view. After a slight disagreement with Chou-fleur about the exact course they were going to take as they left the main street, Izzy swung the van through between high gateposts. She made herself ignore the profile of a large four-wheel drive vehicle which passed through her sight-line as she wrestled the van around the sweeping drive, and thought instead about the satisfying scrunch of the tyres on the gravel, as she pulled to a halt in front of an exquisitely pretty Georgian house.
For a minute, Izzy’s stomach tightened. Something about the proportions of the facade were so like the house she used to live in, a lifetime ago. She stamped on that thought. No point revisiting the past. Strange how today had raked up a lot of the old pain. She always tried not to think of how things used to be. It was way better to live in the here and now. Their family may have had an amazing home when they were small, but the anguish that the family went through when they left it all behind was something Izzy preferred to blot out entirely.
But her mum had made it okay. In the end. Her beautiful, amazing, lovely, talented mum, had picked up all the pieces, and, with the strength and determination of a superhuman, she had glued them back together again. Their new life was very different from the life they’d left, but, all credit to their mum, it was definitely not worse, and in some ways it was a whole lot truer, and maybe better than what had gone before. Izzy had learned so much, hanging on in there with her mum, as they started again from zero.
And a lot of what she’d learned was that you didn’t have to have a house like this pink one, or that other one she’d once lived in, to be happy. Being happy was about many things, and what her mum had taught her was that the last thing on earth being happy was about, was splashing money around. Her mum had made everything alright, and her mum had made everything good again, and now they were all okay. Different yes, but definitely okay.
Once she’d moved on from that thought, she took in the understated grandeur of the house in front of her. Something about the pink stucco made her smile. Without giving herself any time to think about what she was going to find inside, she thumped her shoulder into the van door, which was the only way to guarantee that it opened, and jumped to the ground. Damn. A stab of pain, shooting through the sole of her foot, reminded her she should have been more careful getting down.
The house door was already open a crack, so it looked as if someone was expecting her. She took a deep breath, and imagined the huge potential sales that Luce had been banging on about. Right. Definitely no swearing, regardless of the four by four she’d spotted parked outside. A big house like this would take a lot of filling, which could mean a shed load of sales. Izzy tweaked the corners of her mouth into what she hoped was an acceptably agreeable smile. She tucked in the bit of vest that had accidentally hitched up to reveal her midriff, smoothed down her oversized dungarees, and adjusted the belt that clinched them in at her waist. If she’d realised she was coming anywhere this upmarket, she might have changed into something less paint spattered. As it was, she hadn’t wanted to be seen to be making too much of an effort. Much as she appreciated Luce’s efforts on her behalf here, going phwoar over hot guys when she and Luce were bored at work was a whole different ball game from being set up. Izzy really wasn’t interested in joining in that game, no matter how much Luce had her best interests at heart. If her friend was trying to set her up against her will, she sure as hell wasn’t going to cooperate by trying to look pretty, hence the ‘take me as I am’ dungarees. As she walked, a little unevenly, towards the beautiful six panelled front door, with the worn stone surround, her heart did a teensy flutter, not for who she might meet inside, but simply because the doorway was so perfect. She took a moment to admire the deep midnight blue of the paint, the original detailing, and the white china door knob. But the door was already swinging open.
‘I’ve brought a delivery…’ Eyes lowered meekly, she heard her own voice, sounding sweet enough to be someone else entirely, and gave the imaginary Luce, who was lurking, barely three feet behind her, a mental thumbs up.
Beyond the doorstep Izzy caught a glimpse of luxurious polished boards. Then bare feet, tanned and male appeared, sticking out below frayed jeans. She assumed this must be HIM. Had she been at all interested in Luce’s hunk, she would have called that initial view promising.
‘A delivery from Vintage at the Cinema…’
She pressed on with her announcement, as she slowly lifted her gaze, and prepared herself to take in the full glory of what Luce had enthused about, confident that it would leave her completely unmoved.
Her eyes skimmed up impeccably-muscled denim clad thighs. So far so good, Luce, but still not interested. Past a perfect six pack beneath a tattered Superdry t-shirt, beyond a jaw with just a brush of stubble, to a chiselled cheekbone with a tiny scar. Then the words died in her throat, and her smile crashed to the floor, as she met a horribly familiar, dark brown gaze, coming through a flop of straggly brown hair.
‘Bloody he…’
Izzy zipped her lips, in a dual effort, to keep her mouth under control, and stop her wildly jolting heart from escaping, and landing somewhere, far along the hallway.
The guy from the skip. The guy who had been hammering round her head all afternoon. And now he had teleported, changed his city suit for something way more casual, and re-appeared, behind the front door of the pink house. And he was looking disgusting. Better than anything Luce could have expressed. Completely disgusting. Completely disgustingly, amazingly awesome. Drop. Dead. Gorgeous.
‘Did you know you’ve got paint on your face?’
He was laid back, cool, laconic even, and giving nothing away through that steady, narrow eyed gaze of his. And shit, shit, shit to the way his impossibly low dusky voice sent shivers scattering down her neck. Her hand had risen in slow motion, and now she was rubbing her cheek, trying desperately to locate the offending paint, but without a mirror there was no chance. And somehow this caveman didn’t look at all surprised that the girl who’d been rooting through his skip had rocked up at his very own front door.
‘And you’ve got paint on your vest…’
Another useless observation from him, and definitely no need to look that pleased with himself about it. Great. Whatever… She resisted the urge to say the words out loud. Uncomfortable under his scrutiny, she shuffled her shoulders, fiddled with her vest strap, and shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her dungarees.
If he was trying to pull off a snarky smile, he’d just failed. Epically.
‘So…Vintage at the Cinema?’ He sounded vaguely bad tempered. ‘Does this mean I’ve just bought back what you took from me yesterday?’
From somewhere she found the fire to reply to his taunt.
‘Well you’d only have yourself to blame if you had bought everything back – given that you threw it out in the first place.’ Shit, she was jutting her chin out, and that meant she was careering towards out-of-line, at a hundred miles an hour. Future business. Right. Keeping that thought firmly in her head, she sweetened her tone. ‘But, I’m equally happy to assure you, nothing here was pre-owned by you.’ She was cringing at the saccharine here, but the fact it was starting to sound like she was taking the piss, made it easier to carry on. ‘And incidentally, I also apologise profusely for any paint in the wrong places, but this is an out of hours delivery, and some of us have actually been working elsewhere before coming here.’
Izzy was wincing at the grammar of the thing, but she hoped this speech would lick the requisite number of boots. Given the teensy size of the items, and the fact that this glowering man had his Range Rover languishing in the drive, she was questioning why she’d had to make this delivery at all. She suppressed her exasperation, and reverted to detached, ultra-professional mode.
‘Okay.’ Time to bring on the no nonsense approach. ‘I’ll bring the items from the van, and you can tell me where you’d like me to put them.’ If he couldn’t have been bothered to stick these few things in the back of his car when he was at the cinema earlier, he was hardly likely to want to carry them in for himself, was he.
She marched across to the van, flung the back doors open, grasped a cupboard, and arrived back at the house. The door was open, but the guy had disappeared, so she dumped the cupboard on the doorstep, and returned to the van for the second one. She was on her way to the house with the rocking horse by the time he re-appeared.
‘Just went to get some shoes…’
‘Sure.’ Damn she shouldn’t have said that, even though that might have been the hint of a shamefaced grimace on his face. ‘Too late now, this is everything.’
Shit, his feet looked sexy in those flip flops he’d put on. She gave a shudder. Feet, sexy? He grabbed a cupboard, and headed off inside. ‘Come in, follow me.’ He’d already set off down the hall.
She stepped, tentatively, into a light echoing space, kicking off her converse as she hit the floorboards. Lugging the rocking horse past an elegant staircase, she wrinkled her nose at the sharp smell of paint and newness. If the house had looked impressive from the outside, now she was inside, she could see it was to die for. Not that she would have personally. But she knew high quality when it smacked her in the face. Even though she’d only seen the hall, she could already tell from the impeccable finish, from the plasterwork to the perfect wide oak floorboards to the brushed stainless electrical switches, that this was a stylish, luxurious, money no object renovation.
Izzy knew from working with her mum, that for a finish like this, you were talking serious dosh. As for the man of the house, if his jeans were slipping down over his bum as he made his way into the next hallway, she, for one, was not going to notice.
‘It’s all newly done.’ He offered an unexpected burst of conversation over his shoulder as he went. ‘All that’s left to do now is the furnishing.’
Stating the obvious here, obviously.
Izzy always found it strange plunging into the heart of people’s homes as she carried furniture in. One lucky family, moving into this place, although she suspected that houses like this had a lot less to do with luck, and more to do with hard work on someone’s part.
The guy thumped down his cupboard on the hallway floor, opposite a doorway.
‘Dobbin’s going to live here.’ He pushed open a wide panelled door, and stepped back, and gestured for Izzy to walk through first with the rocking horse.
She hesitated slightly, trying to take a line through the doorway, to ensure she made it into the room, without knocking into either the paintwork or the customer. Her heart lurched as she arrived in the huge space, and saw toys scattered across the floor.
‘A playroom…’ Of course, why wouldn’t it be a playroom? Her mouth went dry, and her gut dropped. Why the hell did she feel as if she’d been thumped hard in the stomach?
‘Are there children?’ It came out as a croak, but she had to say something to fill the space until she started breathing again.
She kicked herself for being ridiculous. Of course he’d have children. Why wouldn’t he? Hunky, virile, thirty-something men like him did. He was hardly going to live in this big family house on his own was he? She’d had no expectations at all in his direction, so why the hell should it matter to her if he had children or not.
‘Two, actually.’
His gravelly confirmation echoed around the room, stamping on the hopes she hadn’t even know she’d had. Not just one child then, but two. That was doubly resounding. She took a deep breath, and asked herself why she even cared that he was spoken for. Of course he’d have lovely children, and a beautiful wife. A life and a family to go with the perfect surroundings.
She needed to remind herself. She was making a delivery to a resoundingly unfriendly, arrogant customer, who was too idle to take his own purchases home, who she happened to have encountered the day before. Who was completely and utterly unavailable. It was nothing more, or less, than that.
‘I hope Dobbin will be very happy here with them.’ She lowered the rocking horse to the floor, gave the horse a pat on his dappled grey velvet rump, tugged his woolly mane for the last time, and turned to leave.
Izzy had to get the hell out of here and fast, before she made any more of a fool of herself. She arrived at the door, expecting the guy to have already melted away down the hall, but instead she came to an abrupt halt, faced with the faded grey of his t-shirt.
‘Excuse me.’ She looked up at him, close enough to see the stubble on his jaw, the creases on his lips. He smelled just the same as yesterday. She shuddered, then reminded herself to get a grip.
He hesitated, staring straight at her, with those eyes full of darkness, his head inclined, for what seemed like an age, as the blood rushed through her ears, and her heart clattered against her chest wall.
Then he cleared his throat loudly.
‘S-sorry. I was miles away’ He shook his head, stepped back, and turned to walk down the hall.
Izzy followed him, her hands scrunched into tight fists, her nails digging into her palms, her breath coming in shallow bursts. She had the strangest feeling that he had been about to kiss her back there. It was only half a feeling, the kind that makes you feel totally wrong, and stupid all at the same time. Perhaps she’d completely misread the moment, which she had every reason to have done, given how out of practice she was. The immediate thrill that had pulsed through her was replaced by a seeping revulsion. What a sleaze. A great looking guy who thought he could, literally, have it all. Well that went some way to compensating for the fact that he was taken. Not that she was in the slightest bit interested, because she wasn’t. Who would want a guy who behaved like that?
‘Thanks anyway.’ She hurtled towards the open front door, overtaking him half way down the hall. Remembering Luce’s firm instructions, she yanked herself to a halt at the door, and as she shoved her feet into her shoes, she forced out a sickly smile. ‘You know where we are if you need anything else.’
Vaguely aware of his slightly bemused expression as he squinted after her, rubbing his chin, she stumbled over the cabinet on the doorstep, and fled for the sanctuary of the van.
13 (#ulink_676d3771-2253-5031-abc3-ba0836306b93)
Text from Luce to Izzy:
And…?? Was the hot guy hot enough for u Izzy? Did you nail a date? Need deets!!!! :D xx
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Text from Izzy to Luce:
Already spoken for xx
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Text from Luce to Izzy:
OMG!!! Really???? :( xx
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Text from Izzy to Luce:
Married with two kids. Also loaded. You KNOW I’d never do loaded xx
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Text from Luce to Izzy:
Eeeek, sorry :/ XX
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Text from Izzy to Luce:
Give you deets l8r ok? xx
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Text from Luce to Izzy:
Might give Corks a miss 2nite…need to do Steffie’s dress :/ x
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Text from Izzy to Luce:
Me too. STACK of painting height of house. Catch u 2moz then, hugs xx
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Text from Luce to Izzy:
((((HUGS)))) for you 2 Izzyboots :) xx
14 (#ulink_5d8db017-1745-565e-8d9d-d44adbf78183)
7th June, Saturday Afternoon
LUCE
The Bridal Suite
Coup de Kerr
‘So, do you have anything special in mind?’
Luce put down the mugs on the table next to the chaise lounge, and waited for Jules the bride, who was tentatively flipping through the wedding dresses hanging on the rails. So far, so good, with her very first Bridal Studio appointment. Even though she’d done it lots of times before at her flat, something about being in her own studio made her heart beat really fast. It was scary, yet at the same time, exhilarating.
It was so strange how life worked out. If it hadn’t been for The Vintage Cinema Club needing her to do this, she’d never have taken the plunge. As it was, Izzy had kind of fast forwarded it, so Luce hadn’t had time to put out the mental anchors, and resist. She hadn’t even had the time to feel how far out of her comfort zone she was going, and like so many things, once you were there, it wasn’t half as uncomfortable as you thought. In fact now it was done, and she was into her first appointment, she was feeling incredibly happy about it. Whatever happened with Aidie and the cinema, she’d always be able to say she’d had her own Bridal Studio. Luce mentally mouthed OMG, then punched the air with an imaginary fist.
Luce looked back at Jules. She was small, with a neat figure underneath her oversized shirt, and most of the dresses Luce had in stock would be an option for her. And not your everyday bride either, given she’d said no to the chilled cava in champagne flutes, which had been Dida’s contribution to Luce’s new venture, and opted for tea instead.
‘You know I’m really not a wedding-y kind of person.’ Jules sank down on the grey velvet chair. ‘I hated it the first time around, and at forty it’s even worse. I really don’t want anything white and pouffy, but the guy I’m marrying loves vintage, so here I am. I really hope you can sort me out.’ Jules gave a hopeless shrug, and a sigh.
Oh dear. Somehow Luce was used to more enthusiasm in her brides. ‘Is there anything on the rail that catches your eye at all? You’re not having a “coup de coeur” moment?’
A lot of brides said they knew instantly, the moment they saw “the dress”. Often it was a love at first sight thing, but Luce definitely wasn’t sensing any love here.
‘To be honest, I can see all those dresses would be beautiful for someone, but for me they’re all a bit lacy, or satiny, or beady…’ Jules trailed off, and pulled a face.
At least she was being honest. Was this her first anti-wedding bride? If so Luce was completely sympathetic.
‘Lace and tulle and beads tend to go with the territory, even for the vintage dresses.’ Luce gave her a smile that came right from her heart. ‘But don’t worry, we can easily do something different. What kind of wedding are you having?’
Jules took a sip of tea and gave a desperate grimace. ‘It sounds awful, but I’d really rather not be doing it at all. I’d much rather just wake up one day and find I’m married, but it’s really important to Joe, so here I am.’
‘Oh dear.’ Luce had never had anyone this reluctant before.
Seeing someone else mortified at the idea of a wedding was almost like looking in a mirror. Somehow it spun her straight back to Ollie, and the way she’d reacted to him, when he’d started suggesting they should take things further. At the time, the idea of Ollie crossing the great metaphorical divide, from being friends, to landing in her bed, had sent her right up in the air. Looking back, she wondered if she hadn’t over reacted. There was something about today’s bride and her reluctance that reminded Luce of herself. She’d always kept Ollie firmly on the friends side of the divide, not because he wasn’t hot, but because she valued his friendship too much to lose it. Breaking her own very rigid rules would not only make things complicated, but there was too much at stake to risk it.
It wasn’t as if Ollie had done anything as extreme as proposing marriage, and it hadn’t come totally from out of the blue, but it all went horribly pear shaped all the same. What began with hints that he was thinking about her differently, had blown up into a full on explosion one Friday night, as she was leaving Cork’s Bar with a guy she didn’t really give a fig about. The next thing he was saying was he couldn’t bear to watch her with other guys any more, and if she didn’t want to go out with him, and only him, he was going to have to leave. For Luce, being pushed into a corner only made her more determined not to bend. If Luce had been like Jules, and not over reacted, but instead tried to overcome her fears and work something out with someone she cared a lot about, the outcome might have been very different. Because in the end she’d lost Ollie anyway. And although she’d been desperate to prove to herself she didn’t give a damn, and now she was just left kicking herself. Very hard.
Jules went on quickly. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I am happy about getting married really, I just hate being the centre of attention, and it’s all a bit last minute, I haven’t even got an engagement ring yet. Joe’s brother and his wife live in the states, so the ceremony’s in Las Vegas. I’m hoping it won’t be too brash. It’s all tied in with the business Joe and his brother are doing together.’
‘I’m sure a Vegas wedding can be tasteful.’ Luce tapped her thumb nail on her teeth, sounding a lot more certain of that that she was, and desperately burying thoughts of Ollie back where they belonged. If she was in Jules’ place what would she want to wear? ‘Lots of brides are going for short dresses now, how would you feel about that? Maybe something with an American swing, like the dresses in Grease?’
Jules’ face lit up. ‘It was seeing those lovely fifties dresses on the rail downstairs that made me finally book in to see you. I’ve noticed them every time we’ve passed on the way to our new shop. Joe’s taken the lease on the quick tan place just along the road, do you know the one I mean?’
Luce felt her spine stiffen, and her mouth dropped open. Joe who liked vintage? Wasn’t it Joe on Ollie’s email? That unexpected email from Ollie that had made her almost drop her phone, and sent her heart leaping right to the other side of the room. Joe, opening a “We heart home” store.
‘Err…’ Luce tried to act casual. ‘You mean the place near the Italian, with brown paper on the window?’
The future Mrs “Heart your retro home -– watch this space” was the first customer in her new bridal room? What were the chances of that? All Luce could think was OMG.
‘That’s the one. Joe’s been negotiating for months, but he finally got the keys this week. It’s a brilliant area for antique shops isn’t it, it’s getting quite a name for itself.’
Funny how they’d noticed that too. Not.
‘Yes. It certainly is…Great.’ Luce faltered. So what now? Should she pump Jules for all she was worth, or was it more professional to just get on with the dress. ‘Sounds like we’ll be neighbours.’ Luce cringed, and threw out a grin. What a corny thing to say. She hurried on. ‘You know, if it was me getting married in Vegas, I’d go for a dress like the ones downstairs. I could make you one up in whatever fabric you like, maybe in white or cream. We could always add in a really special belt.’
She’d blurted it out, to fill the space and move the job on, and only then remembered she should never be imposing her own views on her brides. She always tried to let them take the lead. It wasn’t even as if what Luce was saying were true, because if Luce was actually in Jules’ shoes, well, frankly, you wouldn’t see her heels for dust. Talk about runaway brides. If it were Luce, she would be legging it faster than the speed of light.
‘Wow, that’s a fab idea.’ Jules, suddenly brighter, sat up straight. ‘I love those off the shoulder necklines. One of those would be lovely, and white cotton would be great. We were in the states recently checking out the vintage American things we’re going to be importing for the shop here.’
Vintage American. Two words that made Luce’s heart plummet. A uniquely different shop was a lot worse than more of the same.
Luce blurted out the first thing that came into her head. ‘Wow, GI Joe is having his own Home Store?’
‘The whole thing is pretty exciting.’ Jules gave a grimace. ‘Joe’s brother is going to get the stock, and ship it over. You can pick masses of stuff up over there for next to nothing.’
Worse and worse. Luce shuddered at the information dump. ‘Wow, it all sounds so amazing. I’ll just grab the fabric samples, then you can try some dresses on to check out the sizes. The nipped in waist will really suit you.’
‘Thanks.’ Jules stood up, and smoothed down her shirt. ‘All we need now is a name for the shop. He was thinking of The Diner, but I’m not sure that’s right. Come to think of it GI Joe’s would be a fabulous name. Would you mind if we used it?’
Oh no. Luce wished she didn’t have to say. She was already kicking herself for having said it at all. Shit, shit, shit.
‘You can call it whatever you like, really you can.’ Right this second Luce wished she had Izzy’s ballsy attitude, instead of being wet and weedy, and so damned polite.
‘I can’t believe that by the end of August I’ll be Mrs Kerr. I’m so pleased I came in here. I’m about to find the perfect dress, and I’ve maybe found a name for the shop too…’ Jules looked suddenly doubtful. ‘Of course, that’s if you don’t mind me using what you said.’
Effing hell. How many mental effs could Luce get away with, before she was owing the swear box?
Luce gritted her teeth, and made her voice so light, it was almost a shriek. ‘Mind? Of course I don’t mind.’ It wasn’t poor Jules’ fault, and at least she’d been decent enough to have a qualms about it. Luce composed herself and smiled at her. ‘It must be your lucky day.’
As for Luce, she’d got a sale underway, dropped the clanger of the decade over the rival shop name, and found out a whole bunch of stuff she’d maybe rather not have known. She just wasn’t sure how this was going to go down with the rest of the crew.
15 (#ulink_ba450878-4106-5352-b6b5-5b6a492d0a0a)
Monday Morning, 9th June
IZZY & LUCE
Vintage at the Cinema
What’s in a name – expletives, implosions, and introductions
SUBJECT: TANNING SHOP
To Dida and the crew,
Just heard on the bush telegraph that the Retro American shop is going to be called GI Joe’s - obvious for someone called Joe Kerr, but a damned good name, unfortunately for us. Was hoping they were going to call it American Tan - geddit??
Ollie Sent from Bangkok, Thailand
‘Oh crap bloody asshole shit.’ As Luce let out a stream of expletives, her phone smashed down onto the polished teak counter top, bounced off, traced a perfect arc through the air, and landed in a basket of jugs.
Izzy had been propping up the last of the Free Coffee and Bridal Studio signs she’d hurriedly painted yesterday evening, when the email had arrived on her phone, but she had managed to get to the end without going postal. She stared at Luce until her eyes wouldn’t go any wider, then blinked, and stared again. What was going on? Luce swearing? And not once, but a whole colourful string.
Oh crap bloody asshole shit – what the hell?
‘Are you okay sweetie?’ Izzy swooped in and put her hand on Luce’s wrist. By rights, her first move should be to pass Luce the swear box, given the way Luce jumped on Izzy if she swore in front of the customers, but something told her she needed to cut Luce some slack here.
‘No I’m bloody not alright as it happens. Look at that bloody email.’ Luce’s pale cheeks were uncharacteristically pink.
Izzy flinched. She didn’t think she’d heard two bloody’s in one of Luce’s sentences, ever, not even when she’d been in labour, having Ruby. ‘Yes, I was looking at the email, isn’t it mostly what we know already…?’
Luce hammered her hand on her forehead. ‘You don’t understand, I was the one who handed them the bloody GI Joe name on a plate. I didn’t say before, I was hoping they wouldn’t use it. They were going to call it The Diner, which is completely lame, and would have ended up with everyone being cross they weren’t being served burgers.’
Izzy raised her eyebrows, then knitted them into a frown. ‘Whatever, at least we’ve got a couple of weeks before they open, that should give time to raise our game. As Ollie says, GI Joe’s is a damned good name.’
‘That’s the other thing…’ Luce was taking through gritted teeth here. ‘What the hell is bloody Ollie doing in bloody Thailand? I thought he was in Goa.’
‘And this matters because…?’ As far as Izzy was concerned, all that mattered was that Ollie was away, which meant he wasn’t here. He sent her emails now and again, mentioning where he was, but one foreign destination sounded very much like another. That was the thing with far flung places, they only became significant when you were actually there yourself.
Luce’s eyes were flashing, and she was tossing her head. ‘Everyone knows Thailand’s the sex tourist capital of the world. What’s the tagline…“Land of Smiles”? Those smiles are for one reason only.’
Luce looked ready to implode.
‘I thought Thailand had jungles and pandas?’ Izzy was puzzled. It was hardly like Luce to pass judgement, especially on someone who definitely wasn’t on her Friday night list. Ollie and Luce hung around with the rest of the crew. They were friends, that was all. Izzy had once seen Ollie flare up on a night out and tell Luce she was worth more than some guy she was about to leave with, but apart from that, as far as Izzy knew, that was it. Izzy knew Ollie had always had a soft spot for Luce, ever since they made friends at school, but Ollie was punching above his weight as far as Luce was concerned.
When Izzy first brought Luce back home, back in the day, which must be twelve years ago now, Ollie had followed Luce around the house like a doe eyed puppy. Even if Luce had laughed a lot at Ollie’s jokes, Ollie didn’t have the rock star looks to make him a serious contender. That was the one time Izzy had to get fierce with Ollie, and insist that his sister’s best friends were totally off limits.
That was when Izzy was sixteen and prickly, and mortified at having to leave her upmarket school, and go into the sixth form at the local comprehensive. Izzy got a job at the coffee shop, to help with the dire family finances, and Luce, who worked there too had seen beyond Izzy’s growling, and befriended her. It helped that they were both doing art. A shared, if unhealthy, obsession with Busted and Robbie Williams cemented the deal. Luce, whose calm exterior was a front that hid a riotous sense of humour, considered Izzy, with her rarefied girls’ school background, to be underprivileged, and took it upon herself to fast forward Izzy’s real world education.
Since they’d all worked together at the cinema, Izzy was aware that Ollie sent Ruby into fits of giggles on a regular basis, and sometimes helped Luce out with babysitting, but as far as she knew, that was the extent of it.
‘Apart from anything else, think of the STD’s.’ Luce’s voice was verging on a wail.
If Izzy needed anything to prove Luce was off kilter today, this was it.
‘Yuk, this is my brother we’re talking about, please can we not go there.’ Izzy cringed. ‘Ollie’s old enough, he’s miles away. And it’s nothing to do with us anyway…Is it?’
Izzy watched, as Luce’s mouth froze in the open position, as Izzy posed that last question. It was almost as if someone had put Luce on pause, as if she’d suddenly been reminded it wasn’t anything to do with her. Which it wasn’t.
‘Errrr…’ Luce appeared to be struggling to pull herself together here. ‘No…You’re totally right…I wouldn’t have even mentioned it if I wasn’t kicking myself over that GI Joe thing.’
Right, Okay. Why might Luce be suddenly interested in Ollie’s sex life? It didn’t make sense at all. Even if Luce hadn’t been out of his league, the kind of one night stands Luce dealt in weren’t Ollie’s style at all.
Izzy had a sudden thought. ‘Have you emailed Ollie at all since he left?’
Luce pulled the corners of her mouth down, and shook her head. ‘No.’
Exactly as Izzy imagined. So there was no reason at all for Luce to be getting her thong in a twist over this then.
Izzy’s phone beeped, and she looked away from Luce as she opened the text. It was Dida. No surprise there.
GI Joe’s? Let’s have a Vintage Cinema Club Progress Meeting
Izzy banged off a return text,
Good idea - tomorrow before we open? xx
When Izzy looked up again, Luce was already half way down the cinema, and disappearing behind a large wardrobe.
16 (#ulink_4beedef9-bac5-506a-90f3-ea6589a9e7f6)
Monday Afternoon, 9th June
IZZY & LUCE
Vintage at the Cinema
Hand signals and hidden messages
Pssst. Stop messing about with cushions and get over here quick. Talent in the grey section x
Izzy hooked the ribbon garland she was hanging on the stepladders, took out her phone, and read the text message from Luce.
Luce could arguably have walked across the shop and said the words to her, in the time it took to send the text, but Luce had been playing hide and seek all morning, and still was this afternoon. Wherever Izzy had been – and actually she’d been everywhere, desperately assessing ways she could make things better – Luce had made sure she was somewhere else. Izzy wasn’t quite sure why Luce was avoiding her. It was obviously something sparked by Ollie’s email, but although she wracked her brains, Izzy couldn’t imagine what it could be, other than that Luce was feeling mega guilty about the tanning shop name.
As for Luce’s messages about talent, after Friday’s delivery fiasco, Izzy wasn’t sure she wanted anything more to do with Luce’s particular brand of talent spotting. The wave of crashing anticlimax that had engulfed Izzy since Friday evening made no sense at all. A guy she had no interest in was flagged up as unavailable, end of story. Right now, there was no space for romance in her schedule, regardless of whichever hot guy popped his head over the parapet. The radical re-styling of the stock she was working on in response to the Vintage Cinema Club crisis was a welcome distraction, that kept her mind off a certain man she shouldn’t be thinking about at all.
‘What do you want?’ Izzy squinted across the store to where Luce had now bobbed up behind the counter. She was handing a receipt to a customer who was propping up a gigantic mirror, by the main desk.
Luce gave a nod in the direction of a monumental grey armoire, and held up five fingers. Izzy got the message. Hot guy, five star rating.
But then Luce flashed her fingers again. And again.
In hand signal terms Izzy read this as a cross between a red alert and a mayday signal. She craned her neck to see, but despite being half way up a ladder, she failed to get a view past the massive butler’s pantry piece. Luce’s hands were both flapping now, so Izzy untangled herself from the ribbons, climbed down, and went across.
‘He’s here.’ Luce was hissing excitedly. ‘Over there by the chiffonnière, looking at the daybeds and the chests of drawers. It’s the guy you delivered to.’
Izzy felt her heart fray, and her stomach lurched, and landed somewhere down by her knees ‘Forget the hot. I told you, he’s taken.’
She fished in her pocket, pulled out some gum, unwrapped it, and chomped on it hard. One unavailable guy elsewhere, she could cope with. Having him dangled under her nose, yet again, seemed downright unfair.
Luce brushed away Izzy’s protest. ‘Whatever, he’s doing just what he did on Friday. Taking pictures on his phone, then talking to someone. Look out, he’s turning this way.’
Izzy chewed, narrowing her eyes to get a better view, then as the broad shoulders turned towards her, and she snapped her head away.
Luce breathed in Izzy’s ear. ‘Wow, from the look of pure lust he’s just given you, I’d say you’re in big trouble, of the best sort. I know a come on when I see one, and that’s the hottest one I’ve seen from twenty yards in ages.’
Izzy plunged down behind the counter.
‘Hide if you like, but I’m going to see what’s going on.’
Luce might look waif-like, but once she decided something, there was little point in arguing.
Izzy, crouched on the floor, grabbed a strawberry Hubba Bubba from her pocket. Whenever the going got tough, it always helped if she chewed. She began to rearrange the boxes on the shelves under the counter. Now she came to look, there was enough chaos to keep her down here for most of the afternoon. That sounded like half a hot man avoidance plan, but with Luce racing around the store in trouble shooter mode, there was no knowing what might happen. Izzy might be better to make a run for it. Through the slice of space between the counter side, and Luce’s rail of dresses, Izzy had a view straight through the shop doorway, to where Chou-fleur was parked, out on the road. She was just contemplating a dash for safety, when Luce’s yell echoed across the shop.
‘Izzy!’
Shit. What now? Izzy wasn’t sure how Luce balling across the shop fitted in with the improved customer service initiative. Izzy didn’t move. Sometimes if you stayed completely still, whatever you didn’t want to face would go away.
‘Izzy…’ Luce was definitely persistent. It just goes to show that the quiet ones were always the ones you needed to watch out for.
Hunched down, in the shadows under the counter, it reminded Izzy of how she used to hide under her bed and freeze when she was younger, and hope the shouting would stop when her parents were having their worst slanging matches, in the last few weeks when their mum had decided she wanted out, and family life had imploded.
‘Izzy…Where are you?’ Luce’s voice was nearer now. Definitely not giving up then.
Izzy looked up to see Luce’s face peering at her over the edge of the counter.
‘There you are.’ Luce shook her head, and gave Izzy a scolding scowl. ‘Can you come over here right now please, because Xander’s interested in buying your bed.’
So it was Xander now. Xander somehow sounded a suitably arrogant enough name for him. As for Luce, she certainly didn’t hang about, getting to know people.
To Izzy’s horror, a second later there was a blur of choppy brown hair, and then the face of a horribly familiar guy was staring down at her too.
Skip guy? Pink house guy? Hot guy? Or how about none of the above, because this was the original Mr Smoulder, and he appeared to be getting a view right up her dress, yet again.
Izzy grabbed at the folds of her skirt, scrabbling to pull it down. Somehow her footless tights offered very little cover at all the way she was sitting.
‘Xander, this is Izzy, she’s busy doing a spot of undercover tidying.’ Luce beamed down at Izzy. ‘I think you two already met.’
Izzy chomped furiously to steady her nerves. Nerves? That would include heart leap frogging out of her chest, too.
‘I think we have.’ Xander was talking in his best, husky, spine shivering drawl, and gazing down at her. He cocked one superior eyebrow at Izzy, from on high. ‘So hello Izzy, or rather, hello, again. Can I smell bubble gum?’
Bubble gum? Cheeky sod. As for her meeting him scrunched up on the floor, talk about setting off at a disadvantage. Again. Izzy gathered her legs together, and she pushed herself to her feet, but even when she pulled herself up to her full five foot three, and took a deep, deep breath, somehow both Luce and Xander still seemed to tower over her.
‘Right. Interested in a bed? Which bed would that be?’ And dammit that Izzy had just given a defiant flounce of her skirt. She really didn’t want to come across as pouty and head tossing and petulant, but something about this guy made her horribly fighty.
Luce butted in. ‘Xander’s shopping with a stack of interior magazine pictures on his phone showing exactly what he’s wanting, and the bed in your room at home is just what he’s looking for. And technically it is for sale, isn’t it Izzy, even if you’re using it right now? It’s the least we can do, given the amount of things Xander needs to buy.’
Luce gave Izzy a fierce “don’t you dare refuse, think of the sales” glare, then turned to Xander with one of her more melting smiles. ‘We always like to go that extra yard for our customers.’
Izzy’s heart sank. She wasn’t sure about extra yards, this felt like an extra mile at least, and definitely a mile too far.
But Luce was on a roll here. ‘Fine, that’s organised then, I’ll cover for you here Izzy, whist you whizz Xander round to yours, so he can check it out.’
Izzy gave a groan. ‘Fine. Looks like we’re going then.’
Not what she wanted, not what she’d planned. But the faster she did it, the sooner it would be over, and, as Luce knew, Izzy could do with turning the bed into cash. She only had it at home because it had been on display for ages and hadn’t sold.
As for Xander, the name sounded pretentious enough for the guy. Xander. Still unsmiling. Still unavailable. Still drop dead…
Whatever.
At least that got the introductions out of the way.
17 (#ulink_74165034-fd4b-53a7-aca0-07e3b9a34944)
Monday Afternoon, 9th June
XANDER & IZZY
In his car
The only way is up
‘Take a right, then a left, then it’s as far up the hill as you can go.’
Xander watched Izzy out of the corner of his eye, waving her hands, as she rattled off the directions. Izzy was a name that kind of suited her. Small, dizzy, unpredictable, prone to explosions…And here she was filling yet another of his cars with the smell of sticky candy, except this time she was jammed up against him, in his dad’s ancient Aston Martin, as they made their way up an impossibly steep road, towards high altitude Matlock. Come to think of it, today the bubblegum was overlaid with a very different scent that was somehow making him want to inhale incredibly deeply. Something sweeter than sugar, more like burning roses.
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Jane Linfoot
A witty, warm-hearted romp through the lives and loves of three friends – with a cool retro vibe, and a sense of fun that will never go out of fashion. – Debbie Johnson, author of the best-selling ‘Cold Feet At Christmas’ & ‘Pippa’s Cornish Dream’Meet The Vintage Cinema Club….Izzy is a wow at making unwanted things pretty, but with three brothers and her shabby chic furniture business to run she doesn’t have time to date. Could a fabulous French proposal change her mind?Single mum Luce’s vintage bridal dresses are exquisite, but there’s no way she’s ever going to wear one or walk down the aisle for that matter. She’s a strictly no romance, one night kind of woman – or so she thinks…Dida seems to have it all – a chocolate and banana cake recipe to die for, lovely kids (most of the time!) and a great lifestyle. But what good is a fabulous home, when your marriage has more cracks than a pavlova and your husband is having it off with half of Lithuania?Three retro fabulous friends, in love with all things vintage, run their dream business from the faded grandeur of a rescued cinema. When that dream comes under threat, they’ll do whatever it takes to save it.Fans of Lucy Diamond, Michele Gorman and Milly Johnson are going to love this heartfelt, funny story.
The Vintage Cinema Club
JANE LINFOOT
A division of HarperCollinsPublishers
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
Copyright (#uf98bf655-74e6-5a61-b155-60113b52c740)
HarperImpulse an imprint of
HarperCollinsPublishers
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First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2015
Copyright © Jane Linfoot 2015
Cover images © Shutterstock.com
Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2015
Cover design by Jane Harwood
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A catalogue record for this book is
available from the British Library
This novel is entirely a work of fiction.
The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are
the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is
entirely coincidental.
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Ebook Edition © May 2015 ISBN: 9780008119355
Version: 2016-10-17
Praise for Jane Linfoot (#uf98bf655-74e6-5a61-b155-60113b52c740)
'For those that like Sophie Kinsella style books, this is a cute story about a guy determined to prove he won’t fall for a woman…'
Cosmochicklitan on How to Win a Guy in 10 Dates
'A hot as hell, sexy and enticing story.'
After the Final Chapters on How to Win a Guy in 10 Dates
'Flirty, sexy and impossible to put down.'
Becca's Books on High Heels & Bicycle Wheels
'A delightful romance.'
The Book Lover's Best Friend on High Heels & Bicycle Wheels
'Funny, fast-paced and emotionally fulfilling, this book has firmly placed her onto my must read shelf.'
I am, Indeed on The Right Side of Mr Wrong
'I freaking LOVED this book!'
Crystal Blogs Books on The Right Side of Mr Wrong
This one’s for Sophie…
Contents
Cover (#ud5acaafd-3f50-52f2-92ad-9aefad5b20f0)
Title Page (#u93e6fead-244f-5386-a797-20fbec50c313)
Copyright (#u420d6dfe-9ab7-52cd-a5a6-900fb871fcf6)
Praise for Jane Linfoot (#ua1dc6229-d377-5032-993a-674b1f2ae119)
Dedication (#u800d981f-9fdd-538a-9aaf-c983c88347b2)
Chapter 1 (#u093ec0a1-9fd4-5600-a518-b228b471a0df)
Chapter 2 (#uae595b4c-7aac-50d1-9392-85fb8efd20d4)
Chapter 3 (#uc60eaef4-f016-5e66-b052-03a46604bdc3)
Chapter 4 (#u1caccf4b-9d2b-5f2e-85a4-5fdbfa105aad)
Chapter 5 (#ue1516ccd-0d92-5f2c-9fb8-a2813e900eae)
Chapter 6 (#ua209564a-8079-5e82-a908-4de7591ece4e)
Chapter 7 (#u32655103-6d5e-55d6-8e0d-a110ca5cd7e6)
Chapter 8 (#u38a749df-5e1c-5316-ae50-7a469c90cee2)
Chapter 9 (#u62fffef0-9dbb-5319-bee4-254231a6fba2)
Chapter 10 (#u685425cc-f696-573f-8389-7c69d55c318e)
Chapter 11 (#u29805019-e322-56ac-b23e-dadc808cbf99)
Chapter 12 (#u655b20fe-8f3e-540d-91dc-29652705ae6b)
Chapter 13 (#u9630458a-8a87-5cad-8b29-b146f28e3447)
Chapter 14 (#u61343952-7c1f-5c0f-a6dc-090ba921550e)
Chapter 15 (#ud44fd4a8-c80a-5ada-b482-4008dfbb5a8e)
Chapter 16 (#u14058a45-dca5-5a83-93a7-dac8553ff78c)
Chapter 17 (#u3fd9f217-dedb-5f2e-848e-fb268088adcc)
Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 19 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 20 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 21 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 22 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 23 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 24 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 25 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 26 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 27 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 28 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 29 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 30 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 31 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 32 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 33 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 34 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 35 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 36 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 37 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 38 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 39 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 40 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 41 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 42 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 43 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 44 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 45 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 59 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 47 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 48 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 49 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 50 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 51 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 52 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 53 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 54 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 55 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 56 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 57 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 58 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 59 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 60 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 61 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 62 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 63 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 64 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 65 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 66 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 67 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 68 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 69 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 70 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 71 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 72 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 73 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 74 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 75 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 76 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 77 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 78 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 79 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 80 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 81 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 82 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 83 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 84 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 85 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 86 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 87 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 88 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 89 (#litres_trial_promo)
Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo)
Also by Jane Linfoot … (#litres_trial_promo)
Jane Linfoot (#litres_trial_promo)
About HarperImpulse (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
1 (#uf98bf655-74e6-5a61-b155-60113b52c740)
Tuesday Afternoon, 3rd June
IZZY, LUCE & DIDA
Vintage at the Cinema, Matlock
Birthdays and Bubbles
‘So a few words, to celebrate our achievements, before we get on to the cake.’ Dida gave a toss of her head as she cleared her throat. Then she stamped her foot to get the attention of the people gathered in the shop, although to be fair, most of them already had their eyes fixed on this powerhouse in red, standing up there, on her makeshift soap box. Waving her bubbly in the air, she grinned down at Izzy and Luce.
Izzy glanced up at the banner high above Dida’s head, fluttering in the breeze from the open door. Happy Third Birthday to Vintage at the Cinema, and that retro turquoise font they’d gone for looked fab.
Dida might well have had a champagne flute grafted to her hand at birth. Whatever the occasion, she managed to involve Moet & Chandon. It was the same with her ever present high heels. Izzy grimaced at the wooden box Dida had grabbed as her temporary stage. Good thing it was already distressed, as Dida’s Manolo Blahniks were stabbing a hundred tiny indentations in the top as she teetered on her five inch stilettos.
‘So Vintage at the Cinema is three today, and it’s been an amazing journey. Three years since my other half accidentally acquired the cinema building…’ Dida paused for the fleeting grimace that passed over her face every time she mentioned awful Aidie, the husband from hell. She certainly had her hands full being married to that guy, even if they’d all benefitted from this particular impulse buy of his. Getting hold of a building he had no interest in, in some very dodgy deal, was Aidie all over. Dida snatching and commandeering the abandoned cinema building had been a gift for all of them.
She took a slurp of champers, and carried on. ‘Three years ago, Luce, Izzy and I decided to set up a pop up shop in the empty cinema, selling the vintage things we all love so much.’
Luce gave Izzy a nudge, and slipped her a sideways smile. Izzy swallowed down the lump that always came in her throat when she thought how proud she was of her best friend Luce for nailing being a single mum, and launching her vintage dress business at the same time, all thanks to the lucky break of Vintage at the Cinema. Before that they’d both come back from uni, armed with their art degrees, Luce with the additional bundle of baby Ruby, and slipped straight back into their default setting jobs at the coffee shop, where they’d worked before they left. Before the cinema, the furthest Luce and Izzy had got with their creative careers, were occasional stalls at craft fairs. But somehow with Dida, the three of them together had found the momentum to do amazing things. A pop up shop had been much less scary than committing to a lease, and given a risk free opportunity, they’d finally dared to do the things they’d been dreaming of for years.
‘And the rest is history.’ Dida paused for dramatic effect, neatly fast forwarding over all the slog and toil that had gone in along the way. ‘But we couldn’t have pulled this off on our own. Our success is also down to all of our lovely friends and fellow sellers, who joined in with us to make this the fabulous emporium it is today, and of course all our wonderful customers.’ Dida waved her glass towards the crowd in an expansive arc, before knocking back another gulp.
Dida had come a long way too, even if the income made less of an impact on her domestic finances than those of Luce and Izzy. It wasn’t that she’d had ever grumbled previously about being a stay at home mum, managing a home which might have been super-sized on steroids, and a husband as capricious as a stormy day in spring. But Vintage at the Cinema had given her something else to focus on by taking her away from the hell that was her home life. These days Dida glowed with a new found confidence and zest for life she’d never had three years ago.
Looking around the shop now, Izzy knew she’d personally excelled herself with the preparations for this birthday bash. Flowery bunting mingled with the twinkly chandeliers, soaring across the lofty space, above the gorgeous creams and greys of painted cupboards and dressing tables and dressers below. Artful piles of trunks and suitcases nestled against cascades of vintage fabric, and every shelf was decked out with an array of beautifully displayed objects, like a series of arty still life paintings. There wasn’t a corner of the shop that didn’t look as if it had come from the pages of a glossy up market country homes magazine.
Izzy and Luce had first met Dida at art college, when they were eighteen, and she was a thirty something, desperate to find some sanity after having her first baby. The friendship was cemented when Dida and Luce rocked up at the same ante-natal class, having Lolly and Ruby, who were sitting together on the counter now, fingers entwined, swinging their legs. Ruby caught Izzy’s eye as she gazed around, and her little wave made Izzy’s tummy turn over.
Ruby was so like Luce, all pale slender beauty, in her flowery shorts, snuggled in next to the vision of frills in pink fluo net that was Lolly, Dida’s daughter. Whereas Dida got the champagne flute, Lolly had exited the birth canal complete with diamanté tiara. Izzy knew without asking the battle that would have gone on at Alport Towers, Dida’s home, this morning, over Lolly’s insistence on day glow pink and orange glitter wellies.
Her friend was in full flow now. ‘We were the first vintage shop, and as others followed, Matlock has become the retro shopping destination in Derbyshire.’
Izzy and Luce exchanged indulgent smiles. Dida was extending the short and punchy she’d agreed on for her speech, but they had pulled off something spectacular here, and just for once Izzy was enjoying a few minutes of basking in the glory. After the way her dad had treated her mum when he left, all Izzy had wanted was a means to make her way in life, without having to rely on a partnership with a guy who might up and leave at any moment. What seemed at the beginning like a happy accident of a retro shop, had gone a long way to giving her that independence, and she had her wonderful friends Luce and Dida to thank for that.
‘So thanks to Byron from Corks, for the wonderful cocktails we love so much, Gigi at Amandine’s Patisserie for keeping us supplied with delicious tarts especially the blue berry ones, to Evan at Majestic Wine, please don’t count the Moet bottles…’
Izzy gave a wry grin, and noted that Aidie’s name didn’t appear anywhere on Dida’s ever growing list.
Dida bashed on. ‘…and huge hugs to my mum and dad, I am so, so, so grateful…’
Talk about out of control at the Oscars. Izzy knew Dida’s mum was a total nightmare. Dida was doing a Gwynnie here. It was time to cut to the cake.
Izzy put on a five hundred watt beam, and chimed in. ‘So, shall we raise our glasses, and do confectionary?’ She gave Dida’s hip a large nudge, and nodded in the direction of the glorious tower of cupcakes, decorated with roses and lace, in sludgy blues and pinks and creams.
Luce had Izzy’s back. ‘Great idea.’ She added with her own wide grin.
‘Okay, so to sum up…’ Dida took a deep breath, her voice wavering now. ‘Vintage at the Cinema represents three women – Izzy, Luce and I – and we have worked our butts off to create something truly unique, that surpasses all our hopes and dreams.’ Dida wrapped her arms around Luce and Izzy, and pulled them against her.
Tears welled up in Izzy’s eyes at that last bit, and despite her best attempts to control it, her bottom lip began to wobble, as all the love she felt for Luce and Dida burst up in her chest. She was only saved from full blown howling by an overpowering blast of Dida’s Diorissimo, and the pain in her shoulder, as Dida squeezed her tight enough for the linen of Dida’s jacket to graze her skin.
‘So let’s raise our glasses, to the very awesome Vintage at the…’
Dida held her glass high, but before she could say the final word, a loud mechanical sound reverberated through the shop.
A shadow flickered across Dida’s beatific smile. ‘What the hell is going on out there…? Can someone please tell whoever that is, this is not the time for hammer drills.’
Izzy, peering past the crowd, could make out a ladder propped up on the pavement beyond the shop doorway.
As the crew moved towards the door and peered out, Luce got there first. ‘What are those two huge for sale signs propped against the window for?’ Her brow creased into a worried frown.
Dida staggered down from her trunk, and elbowed her way out onto the pavement. Then she grabbed an umbrella from a flower pot, rapped hard on the ladder with the handle, and shouted to the man above. ‘Excuse me, what exactly do you think you’re doing?’
‘98 Derwent Street, Commercial Freehold For Sale.’ The man said, glowering down from ten feet up and sounding casually confident.
Dida’s jaw dropped, but she squared her shoulders, ignored the collective gasp behind her, and shouted up. ‘I’m sorry, there must be some mistake.’
Izzy’s heart plummeted. She knew Dida’s husband, Aidie, was ruthless, but surely he wouldn’t do this to them. Although on second thoughts, this stunt had Aidie written all over it. From his snarky comments whenever he was around, which happily wasn’t that often, he clearly resented Dida’s growing independence. His wife’s success was a direct threat to a control freak husband like Aidie, and selling the building was a fast forward way to wrestle back his power, simultaneously wiping the floor with all of them. And if he was hell bent on bursting Dida’s bubble, in the most spectacular and public way possible, his timing was impeccable.
‘Definitely no mistake.’ The workman up the ladder sounded very sure of himself. ‘Don’t blame me, I’m only doing my job.’ His shrug and weary sigh suggested this happened a lot, then his tone became conciliatory. ‘Best ring the agents love, they’ll clear it up for you.’
Izzy, feet welded to the pavement, by a mixture of shock, and panic watched Dida bristle. She hated being called ‘love’.
‘Eldon and Trellis. Right. I’ll do that now.’ Dida’s growl was ferocious. ‘I hope you realise you’re wasting your time up there, you’ll be back in half an hour to take it down.’
Fighting talk, and good on Dida for not taking it lying down, but Izzy, whose stomach was languishing somewhere at pavement level, wasn’t so sure.
Dida bustled back through the shop waving her mobile. ‘So sorry about this, carry on with the cupcakes. One minute, I’ll sort this out.’
Nice try, but nothing flattened bubbly faster than bad news. Realistically, this party was over.
Izzy, Luce and Dida threaded their way past the customers, as they discarded their plastic champagne flutes on the counter next to the untouched cupcake tower, and discretely began to disperse. Izzy’s heart was racing, and she wasn’t sure if her shaking knees were due to anger or pure fear. Dida might have pulled off an upbeat exit to the kitchen, but Izzy had caught the wild whites of her eyes as she passed. The gash of her red lipped grimace reminded Izzy of the face in Munch’s The Scream, and it was enough for Izzy to know that Vintage at the Cinema was in big trouble here. And that had to be awful news for all of them.
2 (#uf98bf655-74e6-5a61-b155-60113b52c740)
Wednesday Evening, 4th June
IZZY
A building site in Bakewell
The downside of upcycling
‘Hey, you! Get out of my skip.’
Izzy froze, rammed her shoulder against the rusty metal container side, and crouched lower, cringing as the male voice resonated above her head and echoed across the building site.
Damn it. She kicked herself for coming back for one last look, when she should have got away. In some ways this afternoon’s bombshell news that the cinema building was up for sale made it more important than ever for her to get her hands on stock. They weren’t going to give up, they were going to fight to survive, and tonight’s skip raid was a symbol of that determination. Ever since she, Dida and Luce had launched Vintage at the Cinema, they’d dreamed of a time when business would be booming, and it was ironic that now it was actually happening, it looked as if it might be snatched away.
Something about tonight’s desperation spun Izzy back to the time when she’d first discovered the joys of skip scavenging, when her mum walked out on her dad. With four kids and an empty flat, skips had provided Izzy with most of her bedroom furniture. Those fledgling finds had kick started Izzy’s love of rescuing what other people threw away. It turned out she had a flair for making old, unwanted things beautiful. At least one good thing had come out of her parents’ break up, and the talents she’d discovered back then had exploded with the opportunity of Vintage at the Cinema.
A stripped out cinema building was a big place to fill, especially when the furniture you put in there was flying out as fast as it went in. But ending up on a building site, in a skip, with some guy yelling at you, wasn’t the best of places to spend a Wednesday evening.
‘Oi! I said move it!’ He was still there then.
Izzy shuddered. Luce, always teased her about her compulsion for searching through skips, but it was true that Izzy found it very hard, if not impossible to pass a skip without diving into it. In her experience, there was often treasure to be found, but right now, with an angry man bearing down on her, she was wishing she hadn’t let that last glance into the second, almost empty skip, entice her. She closed her hand around the small carved plaster cherub she’d found lurking at the bottom. Dusk was no time to get caught in the act, even if she had okayed it with the builders earlier.
‘Think you can come round breaking my windows do you, just because the house is empty?’ Enter one apoplectic guy, who’d totally got the wrong end of the stick. He didn’t sound too close, but he only had to walk across, and peer over the skip edge, and she’d be done for. ‘Did you hear me? I know you’re there.’
Fierce and well spoken – they were the worst sort. Izzy grimaced, braced herself for trouble, and began to unfold her legs. Time to face whatever was coming her way. It was a daily hazard of skulking round skips – sometimes it was inevitable, you pissed people off. And Izzy couldn’t bear to see old pieces with the potential to be pretty being tossed away. It broke her heart to think of lovely old things being smashed up by ignorant people who didn’t know any better. As she saw it, she was on a rescue mission here, and no one in their right mind would object to that, once they saw reason. Although from the way Mr Shouty was limbering up, she wasn’t sure reason was going to have much to do with this.
Slowly, she unfolded, to get a peep at what she was dealing with here, and as her nose drew level with the skip edge, she got a full frontal view of the man she was annoying. Talk about chiselled cheekbones. Add in eyes the colour of darkness, a body that would have made most women she knew ache to peel off his well-cut clothes, and for a fraction of a nano second she fell resoundingly, heart-stoppingly, scorchingly in love. She’d always wondered what her friends meant when they talked about thunderbolts, and now she knew. Before she could say “oh my sweet Jesus”, her lips had parted, and she was letting out a long, wavering sigh.
Smitten or what?
‘You little vandal.’ The guy’s scowl darkened as he whipped his growl into overdrive. ‘I won’t tolerate trespassing scumbags, get off my site, and I mean now.’
Phew. That went some way to blasting away the cupid dust.
Izzy straightened, poked her head and then her shoulders above the edge of the skip, and watched with satisfaction as the guy’s jaw dropped. That would be surprise. And then his gaze honed in on her cleavage. That would be…
Oh shit. Nothing like eye-glue stuck on your boobs to give a girl yet another reality check. And her reality was the one where love and men were top of her Things-To-Avoid list. Yay! to Awful Alistair, who had messed with her heart for three years before stomping on it with the “it’s not you it’s me” thing, throwing in the added rider of “but you are coming over quite possessive” when what it turned out he really meant was he’d been shagging someone else for months. Enough said about that one.
Meanwhile, there was no point wasting her time explaining to this perfect specimen in his impeccably cut suit that she had okayed all this with the builders here earlier in the day. She shuddered to think what his reaction would be, if he knew her van was round the corner, full of things she’d dragged out of his other skip, only minutes before. Driving a van plastered with signs saying “Vintage at the Cinema, Everything Retro” might be great for publicity on a day to day basis, but it was hardly going to help her make an anonymous getaway.
The knot in her stomach tightened. She liked to think of herself as cool in the face of provocation, not that Luce would agree with that, but his unwarranted verbal attack had sent her almost as apoplectic as him.
Behind him, parked next to the house, she glimpsed the over-blown tank of a car he’d just arrived in. Nothing like a gas guzzler to add fuel to her fire. So, not only was he rude and aggressive, he was also that arrogant type who thought he could rule the road, as well as the world, by swanning round in one of those “the rest of humanity can fuck off” vehicles. Izzy always saved her most savage contempt for that kind of guy.
She might be in his skip, behind his hedge, on his building site, but he had it coming to him.
‘If you weren’t such a wasteful and ignorant prat, people like me wouldn’t have to go round rescuing the perfectly good stuff you’d discarded, would we?’ Catching another glimpse of the half renovated house in the background, with piles of discarded floorboards in front of it, gave her a second wind. ‘People like you, who rip the guts out of everything, with complete insensitivity, deserve a lot worse than thieving vandals.’
As she paused for breath, teeth clenched, she noticed he was scrutinising her, and that the thunder on his face had moved on like a passing storm. Wonders never ceased, but she suspected it was her chest popping into view that was responsible. Sad to say, she found her D cups often smoothed the way, although she always preferred to make her progress on a gender neutral footing, on the basis of her own merits. It was a depressing fact of life that some men were remarkably a) shallow and b) susceptible, and Mr Shouty was obviously one of them.
‘So, it’s a female dumpster-diver – and dressed for a party too.’ His tone had morphed from angry to mocking, as he strode across and peered in at her.
Izzy glanced down at her frock. Okay, maybe her flowery fifties tea dress was a bit close fitting, and it might be incongruous, but was there really the need for the attitude? She was only picking up a few bits and bobs – well a van full actually, but that was beside the point. It should have been a piece of cake, in a skirt and heels, without this unwelcome spectator.
‘So what? Are you telling me there’s a dress code now?’ She swished her skirt, and an unintentionally vigorous jerk of her head dislodged her hair comb, and next thing her unruly curls were cascading across her face. Damn. Now she was essentially fighting with one eye.
‘Marilyn Munroe curves, and a red head? Who’d have thought?’ He was almost laughing now.
One raised eyebrow? Curves? She needed to close this down.
‘Whoa, can we cut the sexual harassment?’
Her protest seemed to work, because he baulked momentarily, blinked, and when he looked up again the lust had reverted to bad temper.
‘You’re on my land, you’re invalidating my insurance cover.’ His glare sent her insides onto fast-spin. ‘Just get out before I throw you out.’
Izzy took that as a dismissal. Great, time to go.
She put her hands on the skip edge and pushed, but nothing happened. She tried again, scrabbled with her feet, and winced as the lemon leather of her pointy shoes scraped down the skip side. Authentic fifties footwear hadn’t been the best choice.
She’d got into the skip by climbing on a pile of pallets, then dropping over the side, with no thought to getting out. Now the sides of the skip had her trapped, like a hedgehog in a cattle grid. Clenching her teeth, and forcing her shoulders down, she let out an exasperated sigh.
The guy’s hands were on his hips now, resting on his high end leather belt.
‘Get on with it then.’
Could he not see she was trying to? His attitude was definitely not attractive, she noted. Except he was. He was horribly attractive in fact. Everything about him, from his stubble shadowed jawline to his muscular thighs tensing against the grey wool of those über expensive suit trousers, screamed SEXY, with the caps lock on. She gave herself a mental kick. What the hell was she thinking? After Awful Alastair, she was steering clear of men. Especially men with choppy brown hair, and definitely arrogant gits like this one. Her resolve was strengthened now she was well on her way to the financial independence she’d always craved. She bit her lip, and blew again.
‘Well, what are you waiting for?’
His gravelly voiced query sent goosebumps scurrying up her arms, hotly pursued by a large dose of self-disgust. She was in the shit here on every level, and it was time to admit defeat.
‘Actually, I can’t get out.’
She lowered her eyes, tried to swallow the shame-faced words, desperate not to acknowledge the gleeful sneer chasing across that disgustingly beautiful face of his.
‘Not so stroppy now, then.’ He gave a low grunt that might have been a laugh. ‘What do you suggest? Shall I come to help you, or will I get accused of sexual harassment?’ His tone was lazy, and he didn’t move, but the flash of humour in his eyes had Izzy’s heart skipping a beat.
‘Just sling me a pallet, stop gloating, and shut up. Please.’ She watched him stroll forward, grasp a pallet, and swing it high into the air with brutal ease. A hollow clang rang out as the wood thumped down on the skip base, and sent reverberations through the soles of her feet.
‘Thank you.’ She pulled herself up to her full five foot four inches. Then grasping the pallet, she heaved it into position against the skip side, and checked out its stability with one foot.
‘Careful. If you’ve invalidated my public liability cover, I don’t want any accidents.’
God, this guy was a stuffed-shirt. She let out another impatient snort. ‘If you don’t stop going on about insurance, I might have to squash you on my way down.’ And it was bad news that he made her even more insolent than usual, but at least she hadn’t sworn at him yet. She already owed Luce, and her Customer Service Initiative swear box a bomb as it was.
Izzy clambered up the pallet, nudged her way onto the skip edge, and it was just too bad that her skirt was riding up somewhere around her bottom as the guy looked up. She really hadn’t planned to give him an eyeful of underwear.
He staggered backwards, clearing his throat and looking away quickly. ‘Alright up there?’
She dreaded to think what kind of acreage of her knickers she was showing, but frankly she no longer cared. Two kicks sent her pumps flying through the air, then as she splayed her legs, ready to jump, she heard a rip. Crap. The last thing she needed here was to leave her skirt behind her.
‘Hang on…’ The guy sprung towards her with a strangled squawk.
‘Okay, keep your hair on.’ Izzy gasped. Two strides later his hands closed around her waist. The breath left her body as he spun her through a glorious crazy arc, before setting her lightly and neatly on the ground beside him. For a moment she wobbled against the soft fabric of his jacket, getting a blast of aftershave that was way too delicious for someone so bad tempered. And then he stepped away, and she was the one left with wide eyes, and a sagging jaw.
3 (#uf98bf655-74e6-5a61-b155-60113b52c740)
Wednesday Evening, 4th June
DIDA
In the kitchen at Alport Towers
One husband, thinly spread
NEW MESSAGE TO: THE CREW @ VINTAGE AT THE CINEMA…LUCE, IZZY, OLLIE, LYDIA, DAMON, HENNI, DECLAN, SUZIE, ARTHUR, LEIGHTON, MAGDA, THOM, ALLIE
Dida checked the names on the email, crossed her legs, and gave a heartfelt sigh. Even if Aidie had slammed the cinema building on the market, it was doubly important to carry on as normal. However determined Aidie was to put a hatchet through her proverbial baby, not to mention her success, she was ten times as determined not to let him succeed. Though she hadn’t yet managed to track Aidie down to actually speak to him in person, or at the end of a phone, she was certain that her husband’s motivation for selling the building was as much about trying to limit her new found success, as it was about making a profit now the property market was improving. Although Vintage at the Cinema had started out as a tentative experiment, so much creative energy and talent had gone into making it what it was now, there was no way was she giving it up without a fight. Even thinking about it made her feel like her head was about to implode with rage at Aidie for doing what he’d done, and rage at herself for being so powerless to stop him. Whereas she should have been floating around on a champers-induced cloud, basking after a fabulously successful celebration, she was instead grinding her teeth in frustration, and biting on the bitter taste of humiliation.
Tonight she’d already bustled her youngest child, Lolly, off to bed in a blur, and now she was ready to sweat the bigger stuff. The disembodied roar of a football crowd meant that Eric was fully engaged with FIFA14 in the breakfast room.
Dida scowled round her apple green kitchen. The vile green paint was another reminder of Aidie’s tyranny. That Aidie flatly refused to let her get the fifty seven kitchen units repainted in a more appropriate colour sent her round the bend on a daily basis and it was so typical of him to make this into a battleground. Now, her perpetual fuming about the argument she referred to as Granny Smith-gate only aided her incandescent rage about what had happened today at the cinema.
It was alright for Aidie, he was hardly here long enough to get tired of anything, even something as extreme as vommy green paint. He flew in, then he flew out again. Right now he was in Lithuania, working on “something big” to do with pipes, and as usual she had zero idea what. In fact some weekends he was home so little, they had barely enough time for an argument. Unfortunately for Dida there was always enough time for sex, and that would be sex not once, but twice a day. She gave a rueful eye roll at the thought of his whale-like bulk grunting on top of her, and thanked her lucky stars it was only Wednesday and so she didn’t have that to look forward to. Although given what he’d pulled today, she’d be withdrawing that privilege until further notice. As far as the kitchen repaint went, if there was any excuse to wield his power over her, Aidie grabbed it with both his chubby hands. It was time she gave him a taste of his own medicine in the bedroom.
Her husband hadn’t always been bloated. The twenty something guy she first hooked up with at the office Christmas party back in ’94 had been relatively slender, albeit in a chunky kind of way. She’d first noticed him because he was the only one in the office with his own house, and she had an idea his sense of humour had been better in those days too. But years of expense account dining had pushed his BMI through the red zone, and straight on out the other side. His success had turned into one big power trip and now he pretty much claimed to be in charge of the world as far as the pipelines industry was concerned. He got his rocks off all week, ordering people around at work, and at weekends he brought his testosterone excess back home, and slammed them all into submission here too. And today he’d even managed to exert his power remotely, in the most awful of ways.
Aidie and his control issues. Dida gave a grimace. She was well used to them. It was an ironic twist that if Vintage at the Cinema hadn’t dropped into her lap to take her mind off the most difficult thing in life, i.e. her husband, she wasn’t sure she’d even still be here, despite the gorgeous home she’d thrown herself into creating. Ice cream was a crutch she leaned on in her struggle to stay cheerful. Usually, at ten o’ clock, in a mere seventy six minutes from now, she’d be having a two scoop helping, and tonight she should be dipping into dark chocolate and raspberry, and pralines and cream. But this evening she was so wound up, she had no appetite at all, not even for ice cream.
‘Mum, I just went up a league on FIFA, have you got any cake?’ Eric, play station controller in hand, wandered into the kitchen, his floppy fringe only partially masking his glazed expression, and walked towards a large pile of plastic containers stacked on the work surface.
‘Nope, hands off those, they’re Vintage at the Cinema ones, and I’m delivering them first thing.’ How much of a bad mother did it make her that she had cake for work and not for home? ‘How about ice cream. Toffee chip okay?’ She slid off her stool, grabbed a dish, trundled to the fridge and dolloped out some soft scoop, pushing it towards Eric, who gave a grunt.
‘It would be nice if you could say thank you properly.’ She knew she had to insist on the manners thing, although she’d be lucky to get anything as complex as two syllables out of Eric in his current PlayStation induced trance.
‘Thanks.’ He mumbled and waggled his spoon at her.
‘Bed by ten, alright?’ She was talking to Eric’s back as he sidled away, sighing as she saw how he even shuffled across the marble floor in the same way as his dad.
One of the many problems with Aidie was, as her Granny used to say, the all fur coat and no knickers thing. He boasted long and hard about his six figure salary, but when it came to housekeeping she simply couldn’t get him to part with his money. Vintage at the Cinema kept her sane, by giving her something other than the warfare with Aidie to focus on, but, more importantly, it gave her access to cash. For the first time since she gave up work and had the kids, so long as she fudged the figures she showed to Aidie, she had some kind of financial autonomy.
The morning after Aidie came home from Corks Bar saying he’d got his hands on the old cinema building, she’d got straight on the phone to Luce and Izzy, and, as she’d said in her speech, before she’d been so rudely interrupted, the rest was history. And as Vintage at the Cinema emerged, so had the new independent, happier, Dida. There was no way now she could go back to being who she was before. Vintage at the Cinema had made her into a new person.
Dida looked at the names on the email again. Everyone already involved with the cinema was there on this week’s email, although should she really still be including Ollie? Ollie, who’d waltzed off to the other side of the world five months ago at a moment’s notice, leaving his sister Izzy to fill his shop space as well as hers, and do a double share of the shifts? Dida was very fond of Ollie. He’d been hauled on board at the start to help with painting, and proved so useful he never left. He also made the most fabulous one off metalwork pieces, and had brilliant contacts on the industrial side. Dida tapped a thumbnail on her teeth as she deliberated. No doubt Izzy would have emailed Ollie to tell him the awful news from today. Not that she was in denial, but somehow Dida couldn’t actually bear to type the awful physical words in the weekly rota email, because that made the whole nightmare seem too real. Losing the business just wasn’t an option she could contemplate.
Even though she was pretty much in charge of the business admin, and it gave her a fab excuse to organise to the nth degree, she liked to think of this as a cooperative venture. Everyone pitched in, they played to their strengths and helped each other. True, they paid her rent, but mostly this was all about everyone benefiting, and having lots of fun along the way. And Ollie was fun, and he was dependable, when he was around, and she had an idea that it wasn’t just his sister who was feeling his absence. Luce was missing him a lot more than she was letting on. So she’d leave him on the list for now, in the hope that if he read the email, in some far flung internet cafe, he’d remember to miss them, and remember to come back soon.
She flipped the screen to take one last look at the rota, then hammered out the email.
The rota for week beginning June 9th is attached. FYI we have a guy with very deep pockets who’ll buy ANYTHING by Susie Cooper.
Come back soon Ollie, we’re missing your industrial pieces.
The week’s cake of the week is cocoa and banana :)
Dida xx
PS. Vintage at the Cinema is ready for the fight - we WILL survive!
That would do. She hoped the last line was enough of an acknowledgement of today’s disastrous events. She liked to send the email out at nine exactly, not that she was obsessive, but if you were consistent, everyone knew where they were. The sky might be falling in on her own personal world, but she could still stick to a timetable.
Ten minutes to spare before nine then.
Just enough time to make the daily updates to her Aidie Special spreadsheet. She opened his email account, and tapped in his password, grimacing at the double bluff. Aidie’s email account was the nerve centre of his life. He knew she knew his password, and he also knew she scrutinised his emails, which was his way of proving to her that he had nothing to hide. Quite how the negotiations for the sale of the cinema had slipped by her, she had no idea, but from now on she’d be doubly vigilant.
Dida never failed to be amazed at Aidie’s meticulous management of his email account, given that dotting the “i”s and crossing the “t”s wasn’t Aidie’s natural way. His approach to life was usually way more sloppy, which was probably why he’d failed to spot the fatal flaw in his plan. It was a constant source of amusement to Dida that Aidie deleted all the emails he didn’t want her to see, but just the same as at home, he never bothered to empty the trash.
Now for today’s deleted mail. She clicked on the dustbin icon and leaned closer to the screen as she flipped through the list, and read intently. Wow. This was going some even for Aidie. A breakfast meeting with someone called Bambi, an eleven o clock with Viktorya, then dinner with Dominika, Elvira and Albina.
Two minutes, and Dida had copied and pasted the names into her spreadsheet of Aidie’s misdemeanours, and added times and locations.
Had this been anyone else’s husband, she might have been impressed by the stamina of the guy. Some weeks he appeared to be keeping the sex industry of Lithuania in business single-handedly. When he managed to get any work done, she had no idea. Given today’s developments, she may well be using the ammunition she’d been collecting sooner than she thought. The way she felt about Aidie now, after he tried to crush her dreams, she couldn’t imagine being able to look at the man, let alone live with him.
Now nothing mattered, except what Aidie was trying to wrestle from her and her friends. It was too late to do anything more this evening. First thing tomorrow she was seeing Luce and Izzy. They’d have their emergency meeting. And together, they’d get their proverbial boxing gloves on.
4 (#uf98bf655-74e6-5a61-b155-60113b52c740)
Wednesday Evening, 4th June
LUCE
At her flat
Lace, sweat and tears
‘Thanks for being so patient, I’m almost done.’ Luce paused as she fingered the satin hem of the dress she was pinning, smiled up at Steffie, the soon-to-be bride, and took a minute to sit up, wriggling the ache out of her shoulders. ‘These full skirts take an age to get around, but they’re worth it.’
Steffie shifted slightly. ‘No Ruby this evening?’
‘It’s my lucky night. I think the cupcake sugar rush from this afternoon’s party knocked her out.’
Steffie laughed. ‘It isn’t the same without Ruby entertaining us whilst you pin.’
If Ruby hadn’t fallen asleep by the time Luce’s evening fitting appointments arrived, her bedroom was so close to the living room she invariably heard the chatting, and crept through in her pyjamas. The flat was such a good deal, and so close to work and school, the compromise on layout was one Luce was happy to live with, for the time being anyway. All her other vintage clothes and textiles were at the cinema, but she kept the wedding dresses at home because the fabrics were fragile, and so easily marked. Right now her bedroom was so full of lace and tulle, some nights it was hard to find the bed.
Luce did a mental double take and she gulped so hard she almost swallowed a pin, as she remembered in a sudden rush, that work might not be at the old cinema for much longer. She tried not to think how scared that made her. Vintage at the Cinema had brought a lot of things to her and Ruby’s life. She was so lucky to have found a way of working that gave her satisfaction, an income, and which let her be here for Ruby too. The thought that it might be whipped away from her made her spine go rigid. And even though she knew that Izzy and Dida would go to hell and back for her and Ruby, for some reason the sheer, unadulterated fear of losing the livelihood she’d worked so hard to establish, made her feel very alone.
Luce tried to push that thought away with a smile, but the most she managed was a grimace. ‘No, once Ruby comes through, it’s impossible to get her back to bed again. At least I won’t have a sleep deprived grump to deal with tomorrow.’
‘She’s such a cutie though.’ Steffie looked wistful. ‘Hard to stand up to I guess.’
Too true. There were times when Luce wished that the random guy who’d accidentally donated his genes to her child, via a broken condom the last night of her second year at uni, had been slightly less good looking, and way less good at sweet talking. Soulful brown eyes and a penchant for fast come backs proved hard to handle in an offspring, and neither of those things came from Luce.
It wasn’t that Ruby was naughty, because she wasn’t especially, but Luce often found there just wasn’t enough of her to go around. She couldn’t work and constantly keep her child entertained.
However high her ideals on bringing up children had been before she had one, now she was in the thick of it she often felt she failed on every level. And it had been much worse since Izzy’s brother, Ollie, left to go travelling. It was only since he’d been away that she’d realised how much she’d grown to depend on him. Lying awake in the early hours, she kicked herself for how much she’d taken him for granted. And she kicked herself too for letting everything get so out of hand between them, and it being completely her fault that he’d left. In the first three years of Ruby’s life she’d been determined to go it alone. She still was. But the friendship with Ollie had kind of crept up on her as they’d worked together. And tonight, when she was feeling scared and very alone, she knew it was wrong, and she knew it was weak, and she knew it was against everything she’d ever intended, but she could really have done with leaning on Ollie. Except he wasn’t here.
Luce grabbed a few more pins, rammed them between her lips, and bent down to secure the last yard of silky hem.
‘You look beautiful sweetheart.’
Steffie’s mum, perched on the arm of Luce’s sofa, finally broke their silence. Since she’d been working with bridal wear, and more importantly, brides, Luce had noticed that taking on the role of Mother of the Bride seemed to transform reasonable women into a) control freaks, and b) emotional wrecks.
‘Hankie?’ Luce caught the tremor in Steffie’s mum’s voice and offered her the flowery, fabric covered tissue box.
‘Thank you.’ Mrs Beeston plucked out a tissue, gave a loud sniff, and dabbed at the corner of her eye.
In her sleepless times, not that she enjoyed the luxury of many of those, given she usually fell into bed exhausted, Luce was already rehearsing her own “give this wedding lark a miss” speech to Ruby, to circumnavigate that particular minefield, and save herself from what had to be the last piece of hell in a mother’s line of duty.
But she couldn’t help herself but say, ‘you do look amazing, Steffie. The antique lace is so pretty over the champagne satin.’
Despite the fact that Luce just couldn’t see the point in getting over emotional about weddings, by the time they’d all been to hell and back together over the wedding dress, Luce invariably loved her brides and their mums.
‘We’ve done so much work here. All the changes, and then you’ve dropped three dress sizes or more.’ Luce thanked her lucky stars that not every bride who chose one of her one off vintage dresses was going to put both the dress and herself through the wringer in quite the same way as Steffie and Mrs Beeston had done with this one.
‘I know we’ve changed our minds on the shoes three times now.’ Steffie said as she rolled her eyes. ‘But the first pair of Rachel Simpson ones were so high, and we were sure the second pair were perfect right up until the moment I saw the Charlotte Olympia ones.’
Luce tried not to think that each discarded pair had a price tag in excess of her monthly food spend. And despite the fact that Luce had been on her hands and knees three times realigning this particular roll edged hem, her smile was genuinely warm. ‘Let’s hope it’s third time lucky then.’
What Izzy and Dida couldn’t get their heads round, was that someone as anti-marriage as Luce should end up dressing brides. Luce’s true feelings on matrimony for herself – no fucking way – were a well-guarded professional secret, and they all kept their mouths firmly zipped for the sake of their joint commercial venture. Dida and Izzy were big on loyalty as well as support, although they did rip the piss out of her too at times, especially about her customer service ideas and her sex life. Definitely no link between the two of those things.
Luce managed her sex life meticulously, and it had nothing at all to do with being a mum. When Ruby went to sleep over with her granny some Fridays, Luce went out on the town, and sometimes brought a well-chosen guy back home. Well chosen as in nice, and not wanting any more than the one night, because no way could Luce allow a guy into her life. She’d never had a relationship, and it wasn’t fair to make her mistakes and involve Ruby too. Ruby being used to having Luce to herself was the final decider.
Ollie had been different somehow. He’d come around the back way, almost letting Ruby coax him in, when they’d been thrown together at the cinema. Ollie and Ruby had this perfect understanding, and Luce had known Ollie since Izzy turned up at school in sixth form. But once he dropped firmly on the Ruby side of the fence, that automatically disbarred him from the Friday night area of Luce’s life. It was non-negotiable. There was no crossing that divide.
‘Okay, I’m finished, Steffie,’ Luce put in her last pin, and sat up. ‘Try a gentle swirl, and we’ll see if it’s level.’
Not that she was a religious person, but a tiny part of her was pleading to the god of beaded sashes that this was the last time she was going to be on her hands and knees in front of Steffie’s dress.
Luce half closed one eye, and studied the dress as Steffie slid across the carpet, hands clasping a make-believe bouquet in front of her waist.
Luce turned to Mrs Beeston. ‘What do you think, Betty?’
‘Yes, it’s lovely.’ Mrs Beeston was dabbing her eyes frantically again, as Steffie stopped in front of the full length mirror.
‘Steffie?’ Luce, smiled at Steffie’s reflection, and Steffie gave the kind of definite nod she’d given so many times before, but Luce had to sound optimistic here.
‘Well I reckon that’s a wrap. I’ll get the hand sewing done and you can pop around same time next week if that’s okay.’ Luce reined in her grin, and mentally punched the air, for now at least. ‘Lucky we’ve still got a couple of weeks before your big day. Fingers crossed we won’t need any more changes.’
‘I’m going to miss you once the wedding’s over.’ Luce folded out the screen for Steffie to change behind. ‘Wednesday evenings aren’t going to be the same without you two and your dress.’
No doubt about it, she’d also miss the money too. Another eeek to that, in the light of this afternoon and the ‘For Sale’ sign. Steffie and Betty’s mind changing had kept her and Ruby in luxuries this last six months. Hell, who was Luce kidding about the luxury part? In reality they’d probably kept them solvent. She’d dreamed of working with vintage clothes ever since she did her final degree show, which she’d somehow dragged together against all the odds a couple of months after Ruby was born, but the income was still precarious.
As she waited for Steffie to change Luce heard her phone ping, and looked at her watch. ‘Hmmm, nine o clock on the dot. That’ll be Dida, sending out the work rota.’
And how much longer would that be happening for? That thought alone was enough to make her heart jump against her rib cage, and kick up the beat rate to double speed. She tried to make her eyes less wide, before Steffie and her mum noticed she was sporting the saucer eyed loon look again. In the morning she’d meet up with Izzy and Dida, and together they’d find a way through this. But before then she had a whole night of worrying to get through. And for the first time since forever, she wished she didn’t have to spend the night alone.
5 (#ulink_12e30484-7426-55f8-a240-9cd5befdedf8)
Wednesday Evening, 4th June
XANDER & IZZY
His building site in Bakewell
A vandal would have been so much less trouble
‘At least lads would have legged it by now.’ Xander was muttering under his breath, not that it was helping any.
As he rubbed his hands absently on his biceps, he stared at the wobbling girl he’d just dropped onto the ground. Somehow he couldn’t shift the warmth of her off his skin. Broken glass might well have been preferable to a stroppy woman, who was so small and weedy she couldn’t even climb out of a skip. Given the appalling state of the house, a few more smashed windows would hardly have mattered anyway.
He’d bought what he thought was a house needing slight refurbishment, in an up market area on the outskirts of Bakewell, and thanks to the combined efforts of builders and vandals, he was now the proud owner of what passed at best for a shit heap. Even if Bakewell was on the Telegraph’s Top Ten Places To Live In The UK list, he was failing to see the attraction himself. Served him right for buying a place for the wrong motives, and shutting up your sister was no kind of good reason. Christina might be kicking his ass big time, but one land registry transaction was never going to transform his life from dysfunctional to socially acceptable. Although he hated to disappoint her, some leaps were too big to make.
He’d given up on relationships, stable friends, and places to live so long ago he’d forgotten what normal was. Glossy women throwing themselves at you came with the territory, when you were in film production and finance, but he had his avoidance tactics honed. One glance at the wasteland of a building site was enough to show anyone that even as a seasoned developer he was currently lacking the necessary motivation to push this large family house renovation to completion on his own behalf, let alone move into it. Now it was actually happening, it was going to be just another place to turn over, the same as all the rest.
‘Thanks for that.’ The words interrupted his thoughts. Her voice was smaller now, momentarily less objectionable.
Presumably she was referring to him putting her feet back on the ground. She was flapping her hands over her skirt, and the buttons on the front of her dress looked set to bust with every gasp. Worse still, he couldn’t take his eyes off her.
Today just got better and better. Not.
‘Okay, the show’s over.’ She said, attempting to straighten herself out. She then jutted her chin at him. ‘I’ll just get my shoes and I’ll be off.’
So that was good news. Right now his priority was to get her as far away from here as he could, and fast.
Shoes.
If he grabbed her shoes she could go. To his untrained eye, the pointy yellow heeled shoes he picked up looked completely inappropriate for scrabbling around on a building site, but what did he know.
‘There you go.’ He picked them up and tossed them in her direction, then turned away quickly.
‘Thanks.’
From the corner of his eye he saw her make a lunge to retrieve them. ‘Ouch.’
Xander heard her sharp cry, and pivoted in time to see her jack-knife to the ground.
‘Okay, what now?’ This time he made no attempt to hide his exasperation.
She crouched, then slipped back to sitting and grasped one bare foot, and a mile of thigh slid into view as her skirt bunched-up.
Christ. Not what he needed.
‘Damn.’ Her fingers were dark as she pulled them away from her foot.
He leaned in for a better look. ‘Is that blood?’
Ignoring both him, and the scarlet smears all over the lemon leather, she rammed her shoes on, got up, and began to hobble past him.
‘Wait.’ Somehow he’d already stepped into her path, and was barring her way. ‘Let me take a look?’
As she screwed up her face and hesitated for a minute he suspected she was about to argue. Then she thought better of it, and stuck out her foot.
He’d take that as an okay then. Crouching, he grasped her ankle, and her weight wavered against his arm. ‘You might want to grab my shoulder if you don’t want to fall over.’ Given her scowl, he’d let her decide for herself.
‘Right. Now bend your knee so I can see the bottom of your foot.’ Brushing away the blood with his thumb, he closed his eyes to the view straight up her skirt and focused on the wound. ‘It looks quite deep.’
‘I’m fine, it’s nothing.’ She was rifling through her skirt pocket now, sending a shower of sweet wrappers past his cheek. ‘You don’t have a hanky do you?’
‘Sorry.’ He gave a helpless shrug.
‘I thought men in suits always carried them.’ She let out a snort of disgust, and yanked her ankle away. ‘In that case I’ll go.’
He was on his knees, her dress so far in his face he was breathing in the scent of fabric conditioner, and more. No matter how much he wanted her gone, no matter how fast his heart was pumping, he couldn’t let her go when she was hurt.
‘No.’ He was already on his feet. ‘There’s a first aid kit in the car, I’ll get you a plaster.’
She hesitated, then began to shake her head.
‘How about I’m not taking no for an answer.’ Part of his brain was telling him he should never have touched her, and another part was telling him he had to touch. ‘I’ll carry you so you don’t get more dirt in the wound.’
‘I don’t think…’
There were times when you had to overrule an argument, even if it made you look like a caveman. He sprang forward, and this time he grasped her under her arms and knees.
‘Hold on tight.’ A curiously strong, sweet scent drifted up from her hair. No way was he going to enjoy the feel of her body, hot and heavy, bumping against him with each stride. Judging by her squirms and squawks of protest, she’d decided the same.
He supported her easily with one arm, as he undid the tailgate, and slid her onto the carpeted floor of the Range Rover. ‘Can I smell bubble gum?’
‘Oh, it’s probably my tutti-frutti kiddy de-tangler, I use it when I’ve got paint in my hair, and I don’t have time to wash it.’
‘Right.’ That information dump left him none the wiser. ‘Lean up against the back seat if you like, pretend you’re in Holby City…’
He grabbed the green plastic first aid box and flipped it open. He rested her dusty calf on his hand and set about examining the base of her foot before tearing open an antiseptic wipe.
‘Sorry, this may sting.’ He felt her flinch with the first touch, then he began to clean away the blood, determined not to look above her ankle.
‘You don’t have to do this.’
Xander carried on wiping. ‘I’m responsible. You trod on my broken glass after all.’
‘But you’re a Range Rover driver, and by definition, Range Rover drivers don’t know the meaning of responsibility.’
He gave her ankle a tug. ‘And you’re more stupid than I thought, making comments like that when I’ve got your foot in my hand.’
She gave a snort and sank back down.
‘I don’t think you need A & E. There was a lot of blood, but I think an Elastoplast will do the job. Maybe a dinosaur plaster to go with the tutti-frutti?’ If he talked seamlessly there would be no space for her belligerent comments.
When she didn’t reply, he dared to look directly at her, taking in the flecks of freckles across her nose. Her cheeks were paler than he’d remembered, she almost looked…
Shit. He slapped the Band-Aid into place. ‘Are you feeling okay? If you’re going to pass out you need to lie flat.’ From back here she almost looked green. ‘Lie down, breathe deeply, you’ll be fine again in a minute.’
Her face was an unearthly white now. He needed to sound reassuring not exasperated, because exasperation would only prolong things.
He gently pushed her back flat, and began to fan her with a map he’d grabbed from the back seat, trying to ignore how small and helpless she looked. He winced as he caught sight of a slice of a bright pink bra between buttons, and rammed his spare hand firmly in his pocket. He flapped the map harder.
‘Don’t worry, just lie still, and you’ll be fine again soon. There’s some water here for you to sip when you feel better.’
Jeez, he spent his life avoiding women who were vertical, the last thing he needed was a horizontal one, in the back of his car. She gave a low groan. With any luck, she’d be insulting him again at any moment. He waited, and the silence stretched to what felt like forever. Perhaps conversation would drag her back to consciousness.
‘So did you bring anything out of the skip in the end then?’
‘I left it…’
A mumble, but at least she was conversing. That was a good sign.
‘You’re telling me you didn’t get whatever you went in for?’ He shook his head. All this for nothing. How stupid was that? ‘What was it?’ He leant in towards her to see if she was moving. The scent of tutti-frutti engulfed him again, but there was another, indefinable, delicious overtone, that set his heart on edge. Warm woman. How long was it since he’d smelled that?
‘I was rescuing a cherub.’ She was almost coherent again.
‘Save a whale, adopt a tiger, rescue a cherub…Would you like some water?’
Xander held his breath as she lifted her head, pushed back her hair, and stuck out a hand to grasp the bottle he was holding towards her.
‘Please…’
She lifted the bottle to her lips, and the way the column of her neck moved as she swallowed sent his stomach into spasm. As he waited, he counted broken window panes in the garage, and shut out the knots in his gut. She was sitting up now.
‘Stay there.’ He wasn’t sure that she had any choice about that. ‘I won’t be long.’
One impulsive thought, and he was heading off towards the skip. At least it was an excuse to put distance between himself and the girl, and good thinking on that. What he didn’t understand was the sense that on some deep and hidden level he wanted to please her.
He vaulted over the skip side, found the elusive cherub in the dirt, and twenty seconds later he was putting it into her hand.
‘Thanks for that.’ She examined the cherub, rubbing the dust off it. ‘But why throw it away in the first place?’ One coherent reply he could have done without, and, grateful might have worked better than an insolent pout.
‘I only hope you think it’s worth a cut foot.’ He wasn’t up for a wastefulness lecture.
She shrugged, and her mouth curved into an involuntary smile as she turned the cherub over in her hand. ‘He’s beautiful. I love cherubs. Are you sure you don’t want him?’
As her face lit up, Xander’s pulse raced, and he gave himself a hard mental kick for that. ‘No, rubbish really isn’t my thing. How come cherubs are always male?’
He watched her smile stretch further at this, and when she turned to look up at him, he caught the smoky blue of her eyes, and something about her raw vulnerability shot him through.
Shifting, she tossed him a grin. ‘Not sure, just a fact of angel life.’ She began to scramble out of the back of the car.
Result. Or maybe not.
Because now she was pointing at his thigh and wailing. ‘Oh no, I’ve got blood on your trousers…’
‘It’s nothing.’ He looked down at the splodge next to his fly, not sure he could stand the scrutiny.
‘I’m really sorry.’ Her eyes had locked onto his cock. ‘Can I pay for dry cleaning?’
‘Really, not a problem.’ Except there would be if she didn’t stop staring.
She raised her eyes at last and looked at him. ‘I’d better be going then. Thanks…for the stuff…and for looking after my foot.’
Was she hesitating? Fleetingly Xander wondered where she was going next, what she was about to do, who she was going to be with. Whatever, it definitely had nothing to do with him, and he really didn’t want to know.
‘Wait. Do you need a lift anywhere?’ He heard himself make this polite query, and was appalled by his sudden reluctance to see her leave. Any excuse to prolong the contact?
‘Thanks, but I’ve got my own transport round the corner.’ As she limped away she shot a grin over her shoulder. ‘In any case I’d rather have my finger nails pulled out than travel in a Range Rover.’
Xander watched her uneven progress across the site. Just as she was about to reach the gateway, he raised his hand, and shouted after her. ‘Just don’t let this happen again, okay.’
If a voice inside his head was insisting that he wouldn’t mind one bit if it happened again, he really wasn’t going to listen. Automatically he stooped to pick up the rubbish she’d scattered across the dirt when she’d gone through her pockets earlier. Tidying up was futile, but maybe someone needed to start. There was one tattered card in amongst the sweet papers. Vintage at the Cinema. That faded retro font might have come straight from one of his sister Christina’s colour boards. The address rang a bell, probably from a property alert. Due to his spending power, he was first in the agents’ email firing line when new properties came up. The card was in his pocket before he realised. To pass on to Christina, obviously.
When he looked up again, the girl had reached the tall stone gate post. She turned to give him a last defiant smirk, and then a second later she’d disappeared into the dusk.
6 (#ulink_e1b93e16-31a3-5b97-8ed3-81dd4bb3726b)
Thursday Morning, 5th June
DIDA
On the school run
Lunch bags and swear boxes
‘It’s really important to go as fast as you can, please Lolly.’
There were many times when Dida regretted her decision never to use the word “hurry” in the presence of her children, and this morning was one of them. She just had that idea that if she did include it in her vocabulary she’d over use it to the point where no one would take any notice anyway, and somehow she wanted her kids to have the kind of idyllic life where they didn’t ever feel rushed or pressured. This early in the morning her high ideals were still in place for the day, whereas by six o clock in the evening it was a whole different ball game. She’d barely slept the night before, kept awake by the double adrenalin rush of anger and anxiety about the cinema. Then at six am, just as she was dropping off, a text had come through from Aidie about the cinema sale, that had her wide awake with rage. The derogatory way he talked about Vintage at the Cinema as her “playing at shops” made her want to stamp on his head all over again. The only vaguely positive news was that it didn’t sound as if he actually had a buyer in the pipeline, which at least gave them a bit of breathing space. But however shite she was feeling, she must try not to pass her fatigue and irritability on to the kids. She was failing.
‘Who the hell thought it was a good idea, or even possible, to set off on a school trip at eight in the morning anyway. It’s bloody inhuman.’ Damn. Her swear box account for today was already long open and showing a large and unhealthy deficit. ‘Lunch boxes are your responsibility. If you forget them, I won’t be bringing them. Right, jump into the car, and make it snappy.’ Waving her keys in the air as she ran, she clicked the button, and heard the clunk as the car unlocked.
Eric was onto her as he arrived. ‘That’s your fifteenth swear word this morning.’
Dida bristled. ‘You’re counting well for someone who was barely awake enough to eat their Weetabix. Remind me what you’re doing on this trip?’
Eric gave a shrug as he clambered into the front seat, and pulled out an earphone. ‘How should I know, you were the one who was supposed to read the letter.’
Eye roll and head shake to that one. Dida hurled her bag and the lunch boxes onto the seat, then flung open the back door, and shouldered Lolly onto her booster.
Lolly’s squawk of protest left Dida’s ears ringing. ‘Hey mind my wings…’
‘Isn’t that tiara a bit ornate for school?’ Dida grimaced at the Barbie pink crystal clusters as she clicked Lolly’s seatbelt into place and made a dash for the driver’s seat.
Her daughter’s withering stare flagged up the stupidity of the question.
‘Hills and caves.’ Eric sent her a grin as she pushed the key into the ignition.
‘What…?’ Sometimes this boy was so random.
‘Hills and caves, that’s what we’re going to see.’ He fished a crumpled bit of paper out of his bag. ‘The impact of tourism on the physical landscape around Castleton. Remember?’
‘Yes, of course.’ Not entirely.
Dida swung the car around on the gravel drive, then, as it slid between the gateposts, she braked, flipped down her sun visor mirror, and whipped a lippy out of the door pocket. Regardless of how late they were, her first and last rule of the morning was never to leave home without lippy. While Marilyn Munroe said “Give a girl the right shoes and she will conquer the world”, Dida put her faith in lipstick. In her experience you couldn’t underestimate the power of a perfectly applied pout. Not so much of the perfect this morning, but it would have to do. This morning she needed every bit of help she could get. Pursing her mouth onto the red slick of Mac Ruby Woo, she flicked the sun visor back up, then glanced into the rear view mirror, for her second affirmation of the day – a flash of the front facade of Alport Towers. That glimpse of tall sash windows, the mellow coursed stone, and the gently carved parapet, never failed to fill her chest with warmth. This house gave her both a direction and an identity, and this one fleeting snapshot, caught in the mirror each time she left home, reminded her why she was carrying on, and somehow rebalanced her. Today more than most she needed that view, to remind her why she was still here, when Aidie was such a bastard.
She drew in a long breath, and then she nosed the car out through the monumental gateposts, and out onto the main street of Alport. She’d scoop up Luce at school, and head off to Izzy’s to discuss the sale of the cinema. And together, they’d work out a fight strategy.
One lamp post later, Lolly was onto the next thing. ‘Mum, can I have a falabella?’
Dida accelerated through the village, momentarily blocking the thought of the local speed vigilantes, twitching their lace curtains. ‘What the hell’s a falabella?’
‘Sixteen swear words.’ Eric’s triumphant cry morphed to a whine. ‘If she’s having a falabella, I’m definitely having Black Ops…and a new pair of Vans.’
‘No one’s having a bloody falabella, okay?’ Whatever it was, Dida wasn’t about to buy one. Full stop.
‘Seventeen…and it’s not even half past seven. You may be heading for a swear record here.’
Dida took a deep breath, counted to ten, and reached to push on the stereo. She wasn’t used to being under fire from Eric. She viewed the weekdays as ceasefire time. Hopefully Radio One might shut them up. Calvin Harris, she could cope with. As for lyrics about falling in love and lying cheats…
Talking of Aidie, there was something niggling her which she needed to get onto as soon as she had a minute. So many of the names of the women Aidie saw were full of V’s, and they all sounded vaguely similar. Logged on her spread sheet like some Soviet birth register, they were bound to become a blur. She’d have checked it last night if she hadn’t been so preoccupied, but thinking about it this morning, she had a feeling she might have seen one of the names before. Not that there was anything for her to worry about, it was completely feasible for two women in Lithuania to have the same name. But one area where Aidie was completely reliable, was that he always dated a different woman every time – that was his trademark thing – and she derived some strange kind of security from knowing that he wasn’t deviating from the norm.
Dida zoomed through the lights on amber, slowing down as she turned along Derwent Street. Snatching a sideways glance, and checking out the shop windows of Vintage at the Cinema gave her a thrill every time, but this morning the monster For Sale sign hanging high on the wall above the door turned her heart to ice.
‘What the hell…?’ Three shops further along the road she jumped on the brakes, and the car behind screeched to a halt inches from her back windscreen. The spray tan shop had changed overnight. Yesterday it was a plain shop front albeit one that was adorned with tacky ads for fast bronzing. Now there was brown paper on the windows, but, way, way worse, was the sign that said Heart your retro home? Watch this space!.
‘You need to learn more swear words Mum, Miss Raymond in English says repeating yourself is a sign your brain is stagnating.’
‘Thanks Eric, I’ll bear that in mind.’ Ball ache bastard fucking assholes to Miss Raymond. And ditto to whoever was taking over the tanning shop with what looked like more competition, right under their noses. That was all they needed, as if they didn’t have enough problems already.
Lolly piped up from the back. ‘A falabella would stop my brain smating.’
‘Definitely not proven, Lolly.’ Dida banged the car into first gear, and with a squeal of tyres that left the passing postman on the pavement open mouthed, they roared off in the direction of High Hills School.
Somewhere along the line, preferably later rather than sooner, Dida was going to have to find out for herself what a sodding falabella was.
7 (#ulink_7fd40c7a-458b-5f08-bcda-5e3143b8a210)
Thursday Morning, 5th June
LUCE, DIDA & IZZY
At Izzy’s house
It sounds like a plan
‘Brace yourself for fighting talk, I hope Izzy’s got the coffee on.’ Luce took a deep breath, as Dida swung the car into Albert Street, and pulled up next to an ornate lamp post. Luce and Dida got out of the car, turned in at the smart grey gate, and picked their way along the neat herringbone brick path. The lofty Victorian semi’s, with their tight plots, and steep patches of garden were popular for divorcees, offering lots of space at half the price of the more desirable family areas. Izzy’s mum had landed here years ago, along with her four kids, and this was where they’d stuck.
Knocking on the door, they watched Izzy’s shadow approach through the frosted glass. The number eight, cut out on the fanlight etching, impressed Luce whenever she came here, with its clean modern lines, but then Izzy’s whole place was like that. It was so obvious that Izzy’s absent mum was a whizz at interior design. What’s more, Luce never failed to be amazed that Izzy managed to have so many of the rooms full of junk in the course of her renovations, without appearing to make a mess of anything except herself.
‘How’s you? Half past eight, and already painting I see.’ Luce, bobbing towards Izzy’s ear, got a blast of candy-sweet scent from her hair. Air kissing might be frowned on, but for today it was the only way to avoid the paint smears on Izzy’s cheeks.
‘Pretty pink geraniums.’ Dida said, strangely quiet this morning, stroked the petals in the planter, as if she was on remote control.
Izzy stood by the open door, ushering them in with the wave of a paintbrush. No doubt she was using work to take her mind of the bigger problems.
‘I got the plants from the market in the park yesterday.’ Izzy nudged her visitors further into the hall. ‘That bright fuscia colour reminded me of the prom dress you made me Luce. That giant peony print was so awesome wasn’t it?’
Izzy had arrived in sixth form, traumatised by being forced away from her prissy private school. It had taken a month of working with Luce at the local coffee shop before she’d thawed out enough to dare to speak, but shortly after they were best-friends-forever.
Izzy raised an eyebrow at Luce. ‘I got up early to paint. I’ll tell you about last night’s haul later.’ As Izzy led them down the stairs to the basement kitchen, the scent of warm baking met them head on. ‘Don’t worry, the kettle’s on, caffeine’s on its way.’
‘Something smells delish.’ Luce was regularly in a state of open mouthed awe at Izzy’s drive, and her capacity to obsess over both work and home. Whereas Luce had one small girl and a tiny flat to look after, since Izzy’s mum had headed off on her extended four year holiday, Izzy had been in full charge of this big house and her three brothers. And it wasn’t just the brothers Izzy ran around after. She invariably ran around after everyone else too, including Luce and Ruby.
Today, most of Izzy’s rampant strawberry blonde curls were caught up in a high ponytail that left her dimples on full show. Standing at the work top, in faded T-shirt, thumbs looped through the straps of her gigantic dungarees, she looked particularly childlike and vulnerable, which just showed you shouldn’t be taken in by appearances. Izzy’s inner Rottweiler was something she channelled on a regular basis.
‘New cups on the dresser too I see.’ Dida made more distracted comments, as she raked her hands through her hair. ‘What’s the khaki coloured stuff on the table?’
Izzy picked up a square plate. ‘They’re Susie Cooper, like you asked for on your email, unearthed from the back of Ollie’s garage. I think they came from that house clearance he did with you Luce, just before he left.’
‘Possibly.’ Luce gave a shrug, and took in the familiar calm shades of the long spacious kitchen, which all looked as if it might have happened entirely by accident, except Luce and Dida both knew better. Luce tried to ignore how it felt a little bit sadder and so much emptier now Ollie wasn’t here, with his blustery banter, and boyish grin.
‘Wow, lovely detail on this.’ Dida ran her hand over the carving on the half pained sideboard which stood on a dust sheet at one end of the long kitchen, then sank onto one of the cream painted chairs.
Three guys to run around after, and Izzy still managed to keep the place immaculate. At least there had been three before Ollie headed off so suddenly. If only Luce had handled things differently, and hadn’t stuffed up so spectacularly, he’d be here to help them now. It wasn’t that Luce ever felt the need for a guy. But Ollie not being here made her realise that if he had been, she’d have been very grateful for his reassurance. Something about his broad shoulders and laid back attitude had made him a very comfortable person to share her troubles with.
‘Thanks for that, I bloody need it.’ Dida took the steaming mug Izzy handed her.
‘Anyone fancy a cronut? They’re what happens when a croissant meets a donut.’ Izzy didn’t wait for a reply, but slammed two down in front of each of them. ‘The holes in the middle are calorie free, and I’m hoping they’ll help us with our brain work.’ She licked a flake off her finger.
Luce broke off a piece of pastry to nibble. ‘These taste amazing.’
‘So…’ Dida swallowed as Izzy sat down, and her chest heaved under her topaz cashmere cardi.
Luce braced herself as Dida began to speak.
‘First I need to say sorry, this fiasco is my fault for so many reasons.’ Dida puffed her cheeks out. ‘If I hadn’t made a fuss about the birthday celebrations, Aidie would never have noticed how well we were doing. And I should never have let the peppercorn rent go on long term, I should have negotiated a proper lease with Aidie a lot earlier. So I’m truly sorry for all those things.’
Izzy’s nostrils flared. ‘This is like bloody déjà vu, It’s taking me right back to when my dad left – it’s all about one guy with money, who is calling the shots, and having the control, and the power to take everything away. Only this time instead of my dad screwing the family over, it’s Aidie ripping Vintage at the Cinema away from us.’ The volume rose as she spat out the words. ‘I hated it then, and I hate it now, but this time I’m older, and I’m damned if I’m going down without a fight.’
Luce took in the thunderous look on Izzy’s face. The fiery anger, that so often got Izzy into trouble, could be just what they needed.
Izzy was in full rant mode. ‘I can’t believe I’ve let it happen again. If anyone should have learned, it’s me. All this time I’ve been congratulating myself, and thinking I was standing on my own two feet, when all the time our happiness was in the hands of someone like Aidie, who only cared about the bottom line and who is now about to take it all away.’
Luce chewed her lip. ‘Good points, but we need to move forwards. So what are we going to do?’
Dida gave a grimace. ‘The good news is, I reckon we might have a month or two before Aidie finds a buyer, and after that the conveyance will take time. It’s possible that anyone who buys might give us a lease, or, if we put together a really attractive offer, Aidie might even be tempted to give us one himself instead of selling. But we need to get our act together, and we’ll need to sort out a business loan.’
‘Right.’ Izzy and Luce both nodded.
Dida opened her iPad. ‘So, we need to pull out all the stops, maximise the income from the business, and get our hands on as much cash as we can.’ She leaned back in her chair. ‘Any ideas?’
Izzy sat up, and folded her arms through her dungaree straps. ‘We need to do everything we can to get more customers in. I’m thinking stand up signs out in the street, pushing the Facebook page, improving the website…and we could also do free coffee.’
‘Great. Free coffee is a brilliant idea. It’ll pull people in, and they’ll buy cake to go with it too.’ Dida’s lips, pursing into a determined red line, gave Luce the idea this was only the start.
‘I’ll need to do more analysis of our figures, for a loan application.’ Dida narrowed her eyes. ‘It would be great to know the seasonal breakdown of turnover for different types of stock too. That way if we survive long-term, we can make sure we’re providing what the customer is searching for. That would work for sales, as well as happy shoppers. How’s your customer service thing going Luce?’
Luce looked up. ‘Well, what about broadening out and offering extras, like deliveries? There’s other stuff we could do too.’
When they’d first moved into the cinema building, they were only the second antique shop on the road, but as more shops selling old stuff opened up, filling the cluster of un-let units on the street, the customers had arrived too.
Luce went on. ‘These days Derwent Street on a Saturday afternoon is swarming with thirty somethings with their designer push chairs, out trawling all the shops. We’re a retro destination, but we need to make sure the hordes come to us.’
Dida took a swig of coffee. ‘What was Ollie’s name for them?’
Luce remembered, with a twist in her stomach, how often Ollie had made her laugh about this.
To her relief Izzy chimed in. ‘He called them DRRABs. Dressed up, Rabidly Running After Bargains, or something like that.’ Izzy gave a grimace. ‘Geeks in tweeds and designer specs, scouring the shops for the perfect piece to complement their retro styled lives. Not that I’m knocking them, their tweedy pounds are phenomenal for business.’
Dida tapped her pen on the table. ‘The point is, the more we offer people, in terms of service, and variety of what we sell, the more likely they are to spend with us rather than the other shops.’ She frowned as she considered. ‘That’s the other news, this morning I spotted another potential vintage store opening in the tanning place.’ She added a huge eye roll. ‘I’ll send an email to the rest of our crew and see if anyone knows any more.’
Luce hesitated, then decided to take the plunge. ‘Talking about quality stock, are you going on a buying trip to France this summer Izzy?’
There was a long silence. Luce knew this was something Izzy usually did with Ollie.
Her friend pulled a face. ‘I hadn’t thought of going on my own…’ She hesitated. ‘But I’ll see what I can do. In the meantime I promise to keep my motor mouth under control with the customers, although the swear box takings might drop.’ She sent Luce a wry grin.
Luce drew in a breath. Pushing the business was going to mean them all pushing themselves out of their comfort zones. It was going to be a challenge, but wasn’t challenge supposed to be good for you?
‘One more thing…’ Dida turned to Luce. ‘I know your clothes and textiles do really well, but it would be brilliant if you moved the bridal side out of your flat, and into the cinema. Wouldn’t the projection room work brilliantly as a Vintage Bridal Studio?’
Luce opened and closed her mouth without any sound coming out. Her bridal sideline had been growing, but she wasn’t sure she was ready for such a big step.
Izzy cut in. ‘That’s a fabulous idea. It would be great for the business, and for you too Luce.’
‘I’m not sure.’ Luce was hesitating, although she didn’t know why. It was a great opportunity, and another step back towards being a real person, and not just a mum. ‘I have some “vintage look” wedding dress designs that are almost ready too, but…’ There were times when she kicked herself for not daring to be more ambitious and confident. So much for moving out of their comfort zones.
‘I know your bedroom is bursting with wedding dresses, you’ve definitely got enough.’ Izzy grinned at her. ‘There’s only one way to beat Aidie, and that’s by being bloody marvellous, and that’s what your vintage bridal line will be Luce. Seize the day, spread your wings, you know you can do it.’
Luce blinked. Maybe she could do it, for the team.
Dida, typing furiously on her iPad, came to the end of what she was writing, and her lips curved into a smile. ‘So you could say we’ve got a plan then.’
‘Too right.’ Izzy sounded jubilant. ‘All we need now is a name.’
Dida’s head jerked up. ‘For the three of us here, fighting to save what we love?’
‘Exactly.’ Luce smiled. ‘We’ve been a team for years, but a title would make us stronger somehow.’
Izzy pushed one paint splattered thumb against her chin. ‘At half past five this morning, when I was stirring my Farrow and Ball Cinder Rose, it hit me that three of us really are a club.’
Luce grinned. Izzy and her paint colours. But it was a fab idea.
Dida’s lips curved into her first smile of the morning. ‘It’s obvious. We’re The Vintage Cinema Club aren’t we?’
‘That’s it.’ Izzy thumped her fist on the table so hard the Susie Cooper tea set rattled.
Luce chimed in. ‘And we’re not going anywhere.’
Dida’s mug was already in the air. ‘Let’s drink to that. Here’s to us, here’s to The Vintage Cinema Club, and here’s to a battle we’re going to win…’
There was a clunk as their mugs clashed, and they all shouted.
‘To The Vintage Cinema Club!’ ‘To saving the cinema!’
Luce only hoped they could.
8 (#ulink_f481165b-4210-56e8-b8a5-57f3c92b7af3)
Subject: RED ALERT
As if we don’t have enough problems, there’s another home shop opening in the spray tan place. If anyone hears/knows/discovers any info please shout IMMEDIATELY. Forewarned is forearmed. As for “the other problem”, Izzy Luce and I, a.k.a. The Vintage Cinema Club are working on “a plan”.
Dida xx
9 (#ulink_b96752ba-7131-5949-88fd-ade7ad8a9250)
Thursday Morning, 5th June
IZZY & LUCE
Vintage at the Cinema.
Flapjacks and post mortems
‘That’s the outside displays set up, and the geraniums sorted. Oh, and there’s no change in the shop along the road.’ Izzy wandered back into the old cinema, watering can in hand, wincing slightly as she caught her bad foot on the step, and looked around to see what job to tackle next. ‘But as I was saying before, it’s just such a waste.’
Izzy knew she was repeating herself, but as Luce seemed miles away, sorting through a huge pile of buttons, the repeating part probably didn’t matter too much today. They were still in shock about the cinema, but throwing themselves into work seemed like helping the cause. Izzy had blurted out last night’s skip story to Luce when they’d first opened up, but a customer searching for the perfect vintage summer dress came in before Izzy got past the main headlines. Then two elderly ladies had come for coffee whilst they deliberated over which of two art deco lamps to buy. In the end they’d bought both, more power to Dida’s chocolate and banana cake, and high five to the free coffee idea.
Izzy moved over to dust a dresser full of plates, and tried another tack. ‘Are we going out tomorrow tonight then?’
Luce looked up at last. ‘Ruby’s going to Dida’s, so I’d say that’s a yes.’ She gave a slow smile. ‘So long as I can summon up the energy.’
Now Izzy examined Luce more carefully, she was definitely lacking something in the sparkle department, and it was more than just worry about the cinema. Luce had been flat even before the birthday party.
‘That’s not like you.’ Izzy flicked her duster. ‘Whatever happened to Lucy paint-the-town-red Morgan?’
Luce being reluctant to go out had Izzy’s alarm bells clanging. This was the girl who’d been dancing on a table as she went into labour, but she was taking pale to a whole new level this morning. Izzy admired the way Luce embraced single motherhood, yet still managed to treat herself to some no strings fun on her fortnightly Friday nights out. Izzy steadfastly refused to follow her friend’s lead, as her own disillusion with men, which had begun with her dad, was pushed off the scale by Awful Alastair. And whereas Izzy was short and curvy, edging towards dumpy on a bad day, Luce rocked the whole blonde and delicate thing, despite being five eight and rising. She had the kind of totally uncalculated appeal which had men falling over each other to try to do things for her, and that didn’t stop at buying her drinks and taking her to bed. They would literally fight to open doors, carry her shopping, put petrol in her car, and if they put sugar in her tea, they invariably stirred it for her too. Frankly Izzy had never known anything like it. Anyone else with Luce’s looks and fan hoards would have been totally insufferable, but Luce’s saving grace was her older, even more attractive sister, who had gone on to have a super duper career as a model, and who had given Luce the impression as they were growing up, that Luce wasn’t that pretty. As far as Luce was concerned she was just another ordinary girl, who barely noticed the trail of gawping guys she left in her wake.
Luce gave a shrug. ‘Too much sewing, and working Saturday morning is what happened…’
Izzy shook her head. ‘Jeez, that’s what the rota is for. We should never need to come to work after a big night out.’
‘True, and ideally I don’t work weekends, but I’ve got two brides booked in for this Saturday, so my mum’s having Ruby. Great for business, but…’ Luce gave a long sigh.
Izzy jumped in, to ensure Luce didn’t wriggle out of what they’d planned earlier. ‘I’ll help you move your dresses over tomorrow, then you can take those appointments here in the cinema. The projection room will be perfect for you, and we can move some mirrors and a sofa up there too.’
The projection room refurb had been Ollie’s last job before he went AWOL, which, to Izzy, although technically not quite correct, was a much more appropriate way to describe a guy of thirty two shoving off with no notice on a so called gap year. To Izzy’s mind, gap year implied a lot more planning and forethought, not to mention youth. Despite the fact it had given her the opportunity to expand her own business, on a personal level, the break neck speed of Ollie’s departure had left Izzy feeling distinctly huffy.
Rearranging the plates, she gave them a final flick. ‘I’m guessing coffee and some of my special flapjack might help?’ She made a point of never leaving home without a large supply, given that Dida’s cakes were supposedly for customers not staff. Oats and sticky golden syrup, gave the perfect combination of slow release and rocket fuel energy burst. People might laugh at her, but times like this proved how right she was.
Luce gave her friend her first proper grin since they’d arrived. ‘Did I ever tell you I love you, babe.’
Izzy gave a laugh and dived off into the kitchen.
* * * *
‘So what’s this about waste again?’
Izzy peered around the chandelier she was twiddling with. She wasn’t big on post mortems, possibly because she never did anything out-there enough to warrant one, but right now she really did need a debriefing with Luce.
‘It’s a complete waste for an awful guy like him to get looks like that.’ Izzy mentally crossed her fingers, hoping for five minutes without interruption from customers, while she got her thoughts straight about the guy with the skip.
‘If we’re talking about the guy on the building site I may need more flapjack.’ Luce said as she sank her teeth into another piece. ‘So, just tell me again, how come you knew about these hidden skips in the first place?’
‘I spotted some builders coming out of the Butty Box in Bakewell, so I followed them.’ Izzy clocked Luce’s eyes rolling skywards.
‘Have you been hanging round sandwich shops again?’ Luce was tutting and giving her a hard stare.
Izzy was well known for stalking anything in overalls and work boots in her mission to find skips. Saving old furniture gave her a warm feeling inside. She knew it wasn’t logical to most people, but for Izzy it was a throwback to the time her family collapsed. Back then every item Izzy had rescued represented a step towards domestic stability, and rescuing other people’s cast offs, and using them to make the family home pretty had been a way in which she grappled back control in a situation where she had very little. Even last night, when the threat of losing everything they’d worked for was hanging over her, she’d found it immensely soothing to dive into a skip. And that was where her fledgling obsession for all things vintage had begun.
Izzy heard her own voice rise in protest. ‘I just happened to notice a builder on the street so I followed him, and hey-presto, there were two skips on his site. It’s a cut-throat world out there, I make no apologies for my methods, especially now.’
‘You get worse.’ Luce shook her head, and wiped a flapjack crumb off her chin. ‘So later, when you go back for your stuff, that’s when you get stuck in the skip, and meet the fit guy…’
Izzy chimed in. ‘…the rude one whose looks are wasted on him. You got it.’
Luce’s cogs were obviously turning very slowly today.
‘So let’s get this straight.’ Luce licked her finger. ‘This spectacular man finds you stuck in his skip, on his building site. He drags you out, looks after you when you cut your foot, then offers you a lift home. So remind me, how does this make him a bad guy, because from where I’m standing he sounds like a great guy who fully deserves to be drop dead gorgeous?’
Izzy pursed her lips, and let out a long breath through her nose. ‘You’d need to have been there to understand. We just didn’t get on, simple as. And incidentally, he wasn’t a normal drop dead G, he was kind of totally exceptional.’ Izzy wasn’t going to elaborate, especially about on the stomach on fast spin thing.
Luce considered for a moment.
‘Izzy, you weren’t by any chance being difficult, were you?’
‘Me?! Difficult!’
Izzy knew Luce despaired of her tendency to tell it like it was. Cue Luce’s special customer service initiative, which everyone knew was directed straight at Izzy, full stop. As far as Izzy was concerned, if a customer was out of line, someone needed to tell them, and to hell with all that the customer always being right shit.
‘I might have been…slightly stroppy…perhaps.’ Izzy decided to come clean. ‘But in my defence, he was driving a hideous tank thing…and you know how that winds me up?’
It was all down to one bloody deserting dad, driving off in a blingy four by four, not only leaving the family destitute, but whipping all the assets off to where the divorce courts couldn’t touch them. Who wouldn’t hate four by fours?
‘Does this mean you might be about to get back in the saddle again, Iz?’
Luce had heard enough ranting about Izzy’s dad, especially in those sixth form years, when every day brought some new parental horror story, so it was only to be expected that Luce would head onto Luce’s favourite soapbox topic – fixing Izzy up with a guy. Somehow, according to Luce, the answer to every problem Izzy had was man-shaped.
‘Definitely not.’ Years of practice, and Izzy had the excuses ready to roll out. ‘After home and work, I have no time for dating. You know this already’
Since her ex, Alastair, Izzy had made her life so full that dates were out of the question, and that was how she liked it. It wasn’t because he’d smashed her heart into teensy pieces either. Actually, he hadn’t. It was just that in the end, like the guys who drifted through her life before him, he’d been ultimately disappointing in every respect. Given today’s reminder that she never wanted to have a guy controlling her life, staying well away from them was doubly important. With her brother Ollie away, and the extra urgency to maximise income, she had to be entirely work focused. Now more than ever.
‘I’m constantly pointing out hot guys, who you resolutely ignore.’ Luce’s tone of complaint lightened. ‘It’s the first time you’ve mentioned a man since forever. You can’t blame me for encouraging you.’
‘Thanks, but no thanks.’ Izzy tried to breeze past it. ‘Well-spoken really isn’t my type, and he’d never measure up anyway.’ Both those things were true enough, especially the last one. It was damned difficult when any guy you locked mouths with ended up being a disappointment, compared to what had gone before. That it was once, only, a long, long, long time ago, didn’t make it less valid a comparison.
‘Well spoken? You can’t dismiss a whole section of the population like that Izzy, and you definitely can’t let one snog in a cupboard, in the dark, when you were sixteen ruin you for all other guys.’
Izzy stared wistfully, and ended up looking at the bunting loops draped around the walls. ‘The thing is, no one’s ever come close to that snog in a cupboard.’ Alastair hadn’t got within a mile.
Luce’s face was stern. ‘And no guy ever will if you don’t get out there and try a few.’
Then her face cracked into one of her grins. ‘I sense a chink in your man repelling armour. Just be sure from now on I’ll make it my business to bring any hot guy around to your immediate attention – not that I don’t already.’ Luce’s grin widened. ‘So did you find anything good in the skips then?’
Hopefully that was Luce’s man hunt lecture over for today. ‘It was a brilliant haul. I was up at five working on it. There are some lovely frames, and lots of cupboards and little bits which don’t need much doing to them at all before they can go on sale. It’s a real boost, especially now.’
It wasn’t only the panic over Aidie’s threat – since Izzy had taken over Ollie’s section as well as her own, she was under pressure. If your brother went off, it was a no brainer that you’d cover for him, but lately she’d felt like she’d been running to stand still.
‘If it’s quiet today, I can cover here for you this afternoon, so you can get to work at home on all your new finds.’ Luce raised her eyebrows. ‘Your new stuff will keep things looking fresh here. You’ll be doing it for The Vintage Cinema Club.’
Izzy considered. Luce was right, so long as she didn’t mind.
‘Thanks, I’ll do that.’ Izzy looked up to see Thom and Declan, two other twenty-something Vintage Crew members, wandering in from the street. ‘Here comes the muscle. I’m guessing they’ll be here to help you out too if there’s anything you need.’
Meanwhile Izzy had to make sure that mind reading Luce didn’t twig exactly how much the awful guy from the building site was distracting her. ‘If that’s all out here, I’ll go and sort out the kitchen.’
Izzy had no idea what was going on with the skip man. Even now could still feel shivers on her skin, where he’d touched her foot. If Luce had the slightest inkling there was still a trace of his smell on Izzy’s jacket, and worse, that Izzy kept breathing it in, Izzy would never hear the end of it.
10 (#ulink_c4cb46ef-1eb6-541e-89f6-305956a3c7c4)
RE: RED ALERT!!!
To Dida and the cinema crew,
Quick tan central has been taken over by someone local called Joe Kerr, according to my mate who works in traffic at the council. Watch this space. Will send more info as I get it, the spies are out,
Ollie, sent from Goa, India
11 (#ulink_3cc1565d-bde1-5521-a9e9-b86a630f7b73)
Friday Afternoon, 6th June
IZZY
At home
Nirvana
Back home, Izzy dived into her painting dungarees, and pushed her jacket firmly out of reach to stop herself from breathing in the scent of that insufferable man. Under her pillow, in her bedroom, two floors up from the sunny terrace outside the kitchen where she was going to be painting, seemed like the best place. That way she definitely wouldn’t be tempted to bury her face in it – two days on and the scent of the hot guy was still vaguely there, and she still wasn’t even sure what it was. Paco Rabane? Soap? And a hefty smudge of testosterone, no doubt.
Izzy had spent the morning helping Luce transfer her wedding dresses across to the cinema. Given Luce’s reticence, she had decided that direct action was the only way forward to ensure the Bridal Studio idea became a reality. A few well-chosen accessories transformed the projection room, and another part of their Vintage Cinema Club Plan was in place. Luce’s pale anxiety had been replaced with flushed excitement by the time Izzy left her.
As far as Izzy was concerned, the fastest way to reach Nirvana, apart from burying your head in fabrics that smelled of someone delectable, was to paint. The moment she had the brush in her hand, the real world around the edges melted out of focus, and all she concentrated on was her brush strokes. It soothed her, it calmed her, it took her to another level. Better still, the giant endorphin boost of satisfaction for whatever transformation she’d just pulled off, made her feel like she was flying. Talk about afterglow. And better still she got paid for the end result. Who wouldn’t have been obsessed with it?
Three years ago, when Vintage at the Cinema began, Izzy majored in white and cream and pale grey, but the huge public demand for all things white was turning. Fifties brights were very popular now, and rich aubergines were also going down a storm. As for sludgy pink chairs, they were flying out so fast, she could barely keep up with demand.
Izzy had hauled lots of bits and pieces from her storage shed lower down the garden, onto the terrace, which she had swathed in dust sheets. Sitting in a splash of sunlight, by the open kitchen French windows, she began to paint. Today, despite the air being filled with the scent of early-summer lilac, her mind refused to wander any further than yesterday’s grubby building site, and guess who…? It was as if her brain had the whole action replay on repeat. It was like when her younger twin brothers played on their FIFA game on X box, and the snippets of commentary kept coming round again and again. Except each time she heard her own voice in her memory, she cringed, and kicked herself, wishing she’d said something different. Talk about torture.
By four o’clock she was exhausted and bemused, but at least she had a satisfying array of transformed tables, cupboards, chairs and frames, drying in the sun. Just looking at them made her insides go all warm with a glow of well-being. Every time she made something perfect again, it reinforced that she was in control of her life. She was just about to head inside to wash her brushes when her phone rang.
She grabbed her handset. ‘Luce, shouldn’t you be picking up Ruby?’
‘No, I’m at work, Ruby and Lolly are at Dida’s.’ Luce gave a husky laugh. ‘And I’m ringing to tell you about a hot guy, at six o’clock.’
Automatically Izzy scanned the horizon, as she did whenever Luce tipped her off about talent in the vicinity. ‘Thanks for the heads up, but I’m definitely too far away to appreciate him from here.’
‘I’m not talking six o clock positions.’ Luce sounded as if she couldn’t believe Izzy hadn’t understood. ‘Six o’ clock is the time for the delivery I’ve organised for you to do. Remember the new initiative? And this delivery is to the yummiest guy ever, who’s just walked out of here. I’m setting you up, okay?’
Or how about not okay. Izzy was kicking herself now, but she’d brought this on herself, when she should have known better. The merest mention of a man this morning, and Luce had launched into a full blown “grab a man for Izzy” offensive.
‘Why didn’t you grab him first?’ Izzy queried. It was a fact of life that the male shoppers honed in on Luce, and she was exceptionally up for fun times, so long as it wasn’t any more than that. What’s more, sometimes flirting sold furniture, simple as.
‘I’ve got someone else in mind for now…’ Luce didn’t elaborate. ‘And to be honest this particular guy didn’t seem that interested in me.’
Not interested? Izzy couldn’t see that being true. As for whoever Luce was thinking about, Izzy didn’t always keep track of the string of guys who Luce saw. Sometimes she hooked up with Josh, who was a dead ringer for Henry Cavill, guaranteed any girl a great time in bed, but shied away from anything more permanent since his mum died. Or Cal, who was similarly gifted, and up for no ties, whilst working past a break up. The others came and went. End of.
A while back it had maybe seemed like Luce was going a bit more crazy than usual on her Friday nights off. But now Izzy came to think of it, lately she’d barely been aware of Luce’s liaisons at all. Luce passing over the guy with the delivery was maybe a sign of a bigger trend Izzy had been a) blind and b) stupid, not to notice.
Luce carried on. ‘There’s only a couple of bedside cupboards to deliver to him, and that small rocking horse of yours.’
‘No…’ Izzy let out a groan. ‘I know I have to sell things, but I love that horse, it’ll be a real wrench to let it go.’ She knew she shouldn’t complain. Sales were sales, and getting attached or sentimental in this business was not an option, especially now.
‘A rocking horse is definitely a better bet that a falabella pony.’ Luce complained. ‘Honestly these falabellas are all we hear about at the moment, Ruby and Lolly are crazy about them. Daisy Benson from school’s got one, unfortunately for Dida and me. They’re the size of a dog, but they’re actually a horse, in perfect miniature detail - they even smell of horse apparently.’
‘Sorry, but I’m with Ruby and Lolly on this one, they sound adorable.’ Izzy gave a smile.
‘Exactly, that’s the whole trouble.’ Luce let out a wail. ‘Daisy’s pony is just big enough to pull a little cart with a can of lager in. Ruby isn’t so bad, because she knows there’s no chance of getting one in the flat, but Lolly’s making Dida’s life a misery, pleading for one.’
‘What a pain.’ Izzy had so much admiration for the way Luce handled having a child.
‘Anyway, at least some lucky child is getting your rocking horse.’ Luce switched back to business. ‘I got the impression that yummy guy is looking to buy a lot, which is another reason I offered him one of our new Vintage Cinema Club special deliveries. He left written directions by the till, but remember, you need to be nice to him.’ Luce paused, supposedly to emphasise that last point. ‘You can thank me for the date you get, later.’
Date? As if. ‘As of yesterday morning I’m on my best behaviour, but I should point out I was only ever rude when it was warranted.’ Izzy had to stand up for herself on this, and she was having to ignore that Luce wasn’t agreeing with her here. ‘Fine, I’ll be round soon to pick up the things. And try not to devour any more male customers in the meantime.’
Izzy could imagine Luce’s eye roll here.
‘This one’s worth the drive, I promise.’ Luce wasn’t giving up. ‘Stop resisting, go and enjoy the view. If I miss you, I’ll see you later in the bar, okay?’
12 (#ulink_6b0ebb05-f62d-51b6-83f8-51d88c3bb0da)
Friday Evening, 6th June
IZZY
Ashbourne
Special delivery, fully loaded
Batting along country lanes towards Ashbourne, Izzy was driving a vehicle that was a dead ringer for a dustbin and which was both noisy and bumpy. She suspected an actual dustbin may have been slightly more comfortable than Ollie’s battered old Citroen Tube van, affectionately known as Chou-fleur, but at least it had started without a problem. Ollie had spent months on a total rebuild of Chou, working outside in the back lane, with his welding gear. Izzy was very grateful to her brother for leaving her Chou, but at times Izzy found the mechanical idiosyncrasies hard to work with. What with flagging batteries and dying starter motors, leaving home at all was a game of chance. Perhaps the clunky engine had sprung into life without complaint because Chou-fleur appreciated an outing on this sunny evening, and the bursting hawthorn blossom on the hedges, much the same as Izzy did.
She yanked on the wheel, and attempted to coax Chou-fleur round a sharp bend. Steering wasn’t that easy in the van, but then braking wasn’t her strong point either. But the up side was that with Vintage at the Cinema, Everything Retro written in large letters across both the grey sides, Chou-fleur was very distinctive, not to say eye catching, and free mobile advertising was a fab way to spread the word. And if you were entirely without transport, as Izzy had been since her last car died a few months back, you were damned appreciative of anything with an engine and some wheels.
Izzy pulled the scrap of paper with directions on, out of her pocket. She was looking for a large pink house, at the end of Carrington, which was the chocolate-box village north of Ashbourne, which she was driving through now. So much for Luce’s promise of jaw-dropping talent here. She didn’t want to pre-judge, but surely there was a teensy chance that a man who lived in the only pink house in the place, wasn’t going to be interested.
Izzy’s eyes widened, and she let out a low whistle, as the pink house came into view. After a slight disagreement with Chou-fleur about the exact course they were going to take as they left the main street, Izzy swung the van through between high gateposts. She made herself ignore the profile of a large four-wheel drive vehicle which passed through her sight-line as she wrestled the van around the sweeping drive, and thought instead about the satisfying scrunch of the tyres on the gravel, as she pulled to a halt in front of an exquisitely pretty Georgian house.
For a minute, Izzy’s stomach tightened. Something about the proportions of the facade were so like the house she used to live in, a lifetime ago. She stamped on that thought. No point revisiting the past. Strange how today had raked up a lot of the old pain. She always tried not to think of how things used to be. It was way better to live in the here and now. Their family may have had an amazing home when they were small, but the anguish that the family went through when they left it all behind was something Izzy preferred to blot out entirely.
But her mum had made it okay. In the end. Her beautiful, amazing, lovely, talented mum, had picked up all the pieces, and, with the strength and determination of a superhuman, she had glued them back together again. Their new life was very different from the life they’d left, but, all credit to their mum, it was definitely not worse, and in some ways it was a whole lot truer, and maybe better than what had gone before. Izzy had learned so much, hanging on in there with her mum, as they started again from zero.
And a lot of what she’d learned was that you didn’t have to have a house like this pink one, or that other one she’d once lived in, to be happy. Being happy was about many things, and what her mum had taught her was that the last thing on earth being happy was about, was splashing money around. Her mum had made everything alright, and her mum had made everything good again, and now they were all okay. Different yes, but definitely okay.
Once she’d moved on from that thought, she took in the understated grandeur of the house in front of her. Something about the pink stucco made her smile. Without giving herself any time to think about what she was going to find inside, she thumped her shoulder into the van door, which was the only way to guarantee that it opened, and jumped to the ground. Damn. A stab of pain, shooting through the sole of her foot, reminded her she should have been more careful getting down.
The house door was already open a crack, so it looked as if someone was expecting her. She took a deep breath, and imagined the huge potential sales that Luce had been banging on about. Right. Definitely no swearing, regardless of the four by four she’d spotted parked outside. A big house like this would take a lot of filling, which could mean a shed load of sales. Izzy tweaked the corners of her mouth into what she hoped was an acceptably agreeable smile. She tucked in the bit of vest that had accidentally hitched up to reveal her midriff, smoothed down her oversized dungarees, and adjusted the belt that clinched them in at her waist. If she’d realised she was coming anywhere this upmarket, she might have changed into something less paint spattered. As it was, she hadn’t wanted to be seen to be making too much of an effort. Much as she appreciated Luce’s efforts on her behalf here, going phwoar over hot guys when she and Luce were bored at work was a whole different ball game from being set up. Izzy really wasn’t interested in joining in that game, no matter how much Luce had her best interests at heart. If her friend was trying to set her up against her will, she sure as hell wasn’t going to cooperate by trying to look pretty, hence the ‘take me as I am’ dungarees. As she walked, a little unevenly, towards the beautiful six panelled front door, with the worn stone surround, her heart did a teensy flutter, not for who she might meet inside, but simply because the doorway was so perfect. She took a moment to admire the deep midnight blue of the paint, the original detailing, and the white china door knob. But the door was already swinging open.
‘I’ve brought a delivery…’ Eyes lowered meekly, she heard her own voice, sounding sweet enough to be someone else entirely, and gave the imaginary Luce, who was lurking, barely three feet behind her, a mental thumbs up.
Beyond the doorstep Izzy caught a glimpse of luxurious polished boards. Then bare feet, tanned and male appeared, sticking out below frayed jeans. She assumed this must be HIM. Had she been at all interested in Luce’s hunk, she would have called that initial view promising.
‘A delivery from Vintage at the Cinema…’
She pressed on with her announcement, as she slowly lifted her gaze, and prepared herself to take in the full glory of what Luce had enthused about, confident that it would leave her completely unmoved.
Her eyes skimmed up impeccably-muscled denim clad thighs. So far so good, Luce, but still not interested. Past a perfect six pack beneath a tattered Superdry t-shirt, beyond a jaw with just a brush of stubble, to a chiselled cheekbone with a tiny scar. Then the words died in her throat, and her smile crashed to the floor, as she met a horribly familiar, dark brown gaze, coming through a flop of straggly brown hair.
‘Bloody he…’
Izzy zipped her lips, in a dual effort, to keep her mouth under control, and stop her wildly jolting heart from escaping, and landing somewhere, far along the hallway.
The guy from the skip. The guy who had been hammering round her head all afternoon. And now he had teleported, changed his city suit for something way more casual, and re-appeared, behind the front door of the pink house. And he was looking disgusting. Better than anything Luce could have expressed. Completely disgusting. Completely disgustingly, amazingly awesome. Drop. Dead. Gorgeous.
‘Did you know you’ve got paint on your face?’
He was laid back, cool, laconic even, and giving nothing away through that steady, narrow eyed gaze of his. And shit, shit, shit to the way his impossibly low dusky voice sent shivers scattering down her neck. Her hand had risen in slow motion, and now she was rubbing her cheek, trying desperately to locate the offending paint, but without a mirror there was no chance. And somehow this caveman didn’t look at all surprised that the girl who’d been rooting through his skip had rocked up at his very own front door.
‘And you’ve got paint on your vest…’
Another useless observation from him, and definitely no need to look that pleased with himself about it. Great. Whatever… She resisted the urge to say the words out loud. Uncomfortable under his scrutiny, she shuffled her shoulders, fiddled with her vest strap, and shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her dungarees.
If he was trying to pull off a snarky smile, he’d just failed. Epically.
‘So…Vintage at the Cinema?’ He sounded vaguely bad tempered. ‘Does this mean I’ve just bought back what you took from me yesterday?’
From somewhere she found the fire to reply to his taunt.
‘Well you’d only have yourself to blame if you had bought everything back – given that you threw it out in the first place.’ Shit, she was jutting her chin out, and that meant she was careering towards out-of-line, at a hundred miles an hour. Future business. Right. Keeping that thought firmly in her head, she sweetened her tone. ‘But, I’m equally happy to assure you, nothing here was pre-owned by you.’ She was cringing at the saccharine here, but the fact it was starting to sound like she was taking the piss, made it easier to carry on. ‘And incidentally, I also apologise profusely for any paint in the wrong places, but this is an out of hours delivery, and some of us have actually been working elsewhere before coming here.’
Izzy was wincing at the grammar of the thing, but she hoped this speech would lick the requisite number of boots. Given the teensy size of the items, and the fact that this glowering man had his Range Rover languishing in the drive, she was questioning why she’d had to make this delivery at all. She suppressed her exasperation, and reverted to detached, ultra-professional mode.
‘Okay.’ Time to bring on the no nonsense approach. ‘I’ll bring the items from the van, and you can tell me where you’d like me to put them.’ If he couldn’t have been bothered to stick these few things in the back of his car when he was at the cinema earlier, he was hardly likely to want to carry them in for himself, was he.
She marched across to the van, flung the back doors open, grasped a cupboard, and arrived back at the house. The door was open, but the guy had disappeared, so she dumped the cupboard on the doorstep, and returned to the van for the second one. She was on her way to the house with the rocking horse by the time he re-appeared.
‘Just went to get some shoes…’
‘Sure.’ Damn she shouldn’t have said that, even though that might have been the hint of a shamefaced grimace on his face. ‘Too late now, this is everything.’
Shit, his feet looked sexy in those flip flops he’d put on. She gave a shudder. Feet, sexy? He grabbed a cupboard, and headed off inside. ‘Come in, follow me.’ He’d already set off down the hall.
She stepped, tentatively, into a light echoing space, kicking off her converse as she hit the floorboards. Lugging the rocking horse past an elegant staircase, she wrinkled her nose at the sharp smell of paint and newness. If the house had looked impressive from the outside, now she was inside, she could see it was to die for. Not that she would have personally. But she knew high quality when it smacked her in the face. Even though she’d only seen the hall, she could already tell from the impeccable finish, from the plasterwork to the perfect wide oak floorboards to the brushed stainless electrical switches, that this was a stylish, luxurious, money no object renovation.
Izzy knew from working with her mum, that for a finish like this, you were talking serious dosh. As for the man of the house, if his jeans were slipping down over his bum as he made his way into the next hallway, she, for one, was not going to notice.
‘It’s all newly done.’ He offered an unexpected burst of conversation over his shoulder as he went. ‘All that’s left to do now is the furnishing.’
Stating the obvious here, obviously.
Izzy always found it strange plunging into the heart of people’s homes as she carried furniture in. One lucky family, moving into this place, although she suspected that houses like this had a lot less to do with luck, and more to do with hard work on someone’s part.
The guy thumped down his cupboard on the hallway floor, opposite a doorway.
‘Dobbin’s going to live here.’ He pushed open a wide panelled door, and stepped back, and gestured for Izzy to walk through first with the rocking horse.
She hesitated slightly, trying to take a line through the doorway, to ensure she made it into the room, without knocking into either the paintwork or the customer. Her heart lurched as she arrived in the huge space, and saw toys scattered across the floor.
‘A playroom…’ Of course, why wouldn’t it be a playroom? Her mouth went dry, and her gut dropped. Why the hell did she feel as if she’d been thumped hard in the stomach?
‘Are there children?’ It came out as a croak, but she had to say something to fill the space until she started breathing again.
She kicked herself for being ridiculous. Of course he’d have children. Why wouldn’t he? Hunky, virile, thirty-something men like him did. He was hardly going to live in this big family house on his own was he? She’d had no expectations at all in his direction, so why the hell should it matter to her if he had children or not.
‘Two, actually.’
His gravelly confirmation echoed around the room, stamping on the hopes she hadn’t even know she’d had. Not just one child then, but two. That was doubly resounding. She took a deep breath, and asked herself why she even cared that he was spoken for. Of course he’d have lovely children, and a beautiful wife. A life and a family to go with the perfect surroundings.
She needed to remind herself. She was making a delivery to a resoundingly unfriendly, arrogant customer, who was too idle to take his own purchases home, who she happened to have encountered the day before. Who was completely and utterly unavailable. It was nothing more, or less, than that.
‘I hope Dobbin will be very happy here with them.’ She lowered the rocking horse to the floor, gave the horse a pat on his dappled grey velvet rump, tugged his woolly mane for the last time, and turned to leave.
Izzy had to get the hell out of here and fast, before she made any more of a fool of herself. She arrived at the door, expecting the guy to have already melted away down the hall, but instead she came to an abrupt halt, faced with the faded grey of his t-shirt.
‘Excuse me.’ She looked up at him, close enough to see the stubble on his jaw, the creases on his lips. He smelled just the same as yesterday. She shuddered, then reminded herself to get a grip.
He hesitated, staring straight at her, with those eyes full of darkness, his head inclined, for what seemed like an age, as the blood rushed through her ears, and her heart clattered against her chest wall.
Then he cleared his throat loudly.
‘S-sorry. I was miles away’ He shook his head, stepped back, and turned to walk down the hall.
Izzy followed him, her hands scrunched into tight fists, her nails digging into her palms, her breath coming in shallow bursts. She had the strangest feeling that he had been about to kiss her back there. It was only half a feeling, the kind that makes you feel totally wrong, and stupid all at the same time. Perhaps she’d completely misread the moment, which she had every reason to have done, given how out of practice she was. The immediate thrill that had pulsed through her was replaced by a seeping revulsion. What a sleaze. A great looking guy who thought he could, literally, have it all. Well that went some way to compensating for the fact that he was taken. Not that she was in the slightest bit interested, because she wasn’t. Who would want a guy who behaved like that?
‘Thanks anyway.’ She hurtled towards the open front door, overtaking him half way down the hall. Remembering Luce’s firm instructions, she yanked herself to a halt at the door, and as she shoved her feet into her shoes, she forced out a sickly smile. ‘You know where we are if you need anything else.’
Vaguely aware of his slightly bemused expression as he squinted after her, rubbing his chin, she stumbled over the cabinet on the doorstep, and fled for the sanctuary of the van.
13 (#ulink_676d3771-2253-5031-abc3-ba0836306b93)
Text from Luce to Izzy:
And…?? Was the hot guy hot enough for u Izzy? Did you nail a date? Need deets!!!! :D xx
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Text from Izzy to Luce:
Already spoken for xx
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Text from Luce to Izzy:
OMG!!! Really???? :( xx
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Text from Izzy to Luce:
Married with two kids. Also loaded. You KNOW I’d never do loaded xx
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Text from Luce to Izzy:
Eeeek, sorry :/ XX
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Text from Izzy to Luce:
Give you deets l8r ok? xx
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Text from Luce to Izzy:
Might give Corks a miss 2nite…need to do Steffie’s dress :/ x
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Text from Izzy to Luce:
Me too. STACK of painting height of house. Catch u 2moz then, hugs xx
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Text from Luce to Izzy:
((((HUGS)))) for you 2 Izzyboots :) xx
14 (#ulink_5d8db017-1745-565e-8d9d-d44adbf78183)
7th June, Saturday Afternoon
LUCE
The Bridal Suite
Coup de Kerr
‘So, do you have anything special in mind?’
Luce put down the mugs on the table next to the chaise lounge, and waited for Jules the bride, who was tentatively flipping through the wedding dresses hanging on the rails. So far, so good, with her very first Bridal Studio appointment. Even though she’d done it lots of times before at her flat, something about being in her own studio made her heart beat really fast. It was scary, yet at the same time, exhilarating.
It was so strange how life worked out. If it hadn’t been for The Vintage Cinema Club needing her to do this, she’d never have taken the plunge. As it was, Izzy had kind of fast forwarded it, so Luce hadn’t had time to put out the mental anchors, and resist. She hadn’t even had the time to feel how far out of her comfort zone she was going, and like so many things, once you were there, it wasn’t half as uncomfortable as you thought. In fact now it was done, and she was into her first appointment, she was feeling incredibly happy about it. Whatever happened with Aidie and the cinema, she’d always be able to say she’d had her own Bridal Studio. Luce mentally mouthed OMG, then punched the air with an imaginary fist.
Luce looked back at Jules. She was small, with a neat figure underneath her oversized shirt, and most of the dresses Luce had in stock would be an option for her. And not your everyday bride either, given she’d said no to the chilled cava in champagne flutes, which had been Dida’s contribution to Luce’s new venture, and opted for tea instead.
‘You know I’m really not a wedding-y kind of person.’ Jules sank down on the grey velvet chair. ‘I hated it the first time around, and at forty it’s even worse. I really don’t want anything white and pouffy, but the guy I’m marrying loves vintage, so here I am. I really hope you can sort me out.’ Jules gave a hopeless shrug, and a sigh.
Oh dear. Somehow Luce was used to more enthusiasm in her brides. ‘Is there anything on the rail that catches your eye at all? You’re not having a “coup de coeur” moment?’
A lot of brides said they knew instantly, the moment they saw “the dress”. Often it was a love at first sight thing, but Luce definitely wasn’t sensing any love here.
‘To be honest, I can see all those dresses would be beautiful for someone, but for me they’re all a bit lacy, or satiny, or beady…’ Jules trailed off, and pulled a face.
At least she was being honest. Was this her first anti-wedding bride? If so Luce was completely sympathetic.
‘Lace and tulle and beads tend to go with the territory, even for the vintage dresses.’ Luce gave her a smile that came right from her heart. ‘But don’t worry, we can easily do something different. What kind of wedding are you having?’
Jules took a sip of tea and gave a desperate grimace. ‘It sounds awful, but I’d really rather not be doing it at all. I’d much rather just wake up one day and find I’m married, but it’s really important to Joe, so here I am.’
‘Oh dear.’ Luce had never had anyone this reluctant before.
Seeing someone else mortified at the idea of a wedding was almost like looking in a mirror. Somehow it spun her straight back to Ollie, and the way she’d reacted to him, when he’d started suggesting they should take things further. At the time, the idea of Ollie crossing the great metaphorical divide, from being friends, to landing in her bed, had sent her right up in the air. Looking back, she wondered if she hadn’t over reacted. There was something about today’s bride and her reluctance that reminded Luce of herself. She’d always kept Ollie firmly on the friends side of the divide, not because he wasn’t hot, but because she valued his friendship too much to lose it. Breaking her own very rigid rules would not only make things complicated, but there was too much at stake to risk it.
It wasn’t as if Ollie had done anything as extreme as proposing marriage, and it hadn’t come totally from out of the blue, but it all went horribly pear shaped all the same. What began with hints that he was thinking about her differently, had blown up into a full on explosion one Friday night, as she was leaving Cork’s Bar with a guy she didn’t really give a fig about. The next thing he was saying was he couldn’t bear to watch her with other guys any more, and if she didn’t want to go out with him, and only him, he was going to have to leave. For Luce, being pushed into a corner only made her more determined not to bend. If Luce had been like Jules, and not over reacted, but instead tried to overcome her fears and work something out with someone she cared a lot about, the outcome might have been very different. Because in the end she’d lost Ollie anyway. And although she’d been desperate to prove to herself she didn’t give a damn, and now she was just left kicking herself. Very hard.
Jules went on quickly. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I am happy about getting married really, I just hate being the centre of attention, and it’s all a bit last minute, I haven’t even got an engagement ring yet. Joe’s brother and his wife live in the states, so the ceremony’s in Las Vegas. I’m hoping it won’t be too brash. It’s all tied in with the business Joe and his brother are doing together.’
‘I’m sure a Vegas wedding can be tasteful.’ Luce tapped her thumb nail on her teeth, sounding a lot more certain of that that she was, and desperately burying thoughts of Ollie back where they belonged. If she was in Jules’ place what would she want to wear? ‘Lots of brides are going for short dresses now, how would you feel about that? Maybe something with an American swing, like the dresses in Grease?’
Jules’ face lit up. ‘It was seeing those lovely fifties dresses on the rail downstairs that made me finally book in to see you. I’ve noticed them every time we’ve passed on the way to our new shop. Joe’s taken the lease on the quick tan place just along the road, do you know the one I mean?’
Luce felt her spine stiffen, and her mouth dropped open. Joe who liked vintage? Wasn’t it Joe on Ollie’s email? That unexpected email from Ollie that had made her almost drop her phone, and sent her heart leaping right to the other side of the room. Joe, opening a “We heart home” store.
‘Err…’ Luce tried to act casual. ‘You mean the place near the Italian, with brown paper on the window?’
The future Mrs “Heart your retro home -– watch this space” was the first customer in her new bridal room? What were the chances of that? All Luce could think was OMG.
‘That’s the one. Joe’s been negotiating for months, but he finally got the keys this week. It’s a brilliant area for antique shops isn’t it, it’s getting quite a name for itself.’
Funny how they’d noticed that too. Not.
‘Yes. It certainly is…Great.’ Luce faltered. So what now? Should she pump Jules for all she was worth, or was it more professional to just get on with the dress. ‘Sounds like we’ll be neighbours.’ Luce cringed, and threw out a grin. What a corny thing to say. She hurried on. ‘You know, if it was me getting married in Vegas, I’d go for a dress like the ones downstairs. I could make you one up in whatever fabric you like, maybe in white or cream. We could always add in a really special belt.’
She’d blurted it out, to fill the space and move the job on, and only then remembered she should never be imposing her own views on her brides. She always tried to let them take the lead. It wasn’t even as if what Luce was saying were true, because if Luce was actually in Jules’ shoes, well, frankly, you wouldn’t see her heels for dust. Talk about runaway brides. If it were Luce, she would be legging it faster than the speed of light.
‘Wow, that’s a fab idea.’ Jules, suddenly brighter, sat up straight. ‘I love those off the shoulder necklines. One of those would be lovely, and white cotton would be great. We were in the states recently checking out the vintage American things we’re going to be importing for the shop here.’
Vintage American. Two words that made Luce’s heart plummet. A uniquely different shop was a lot worse than more of the same.
Luce blurted out the first thing that came into her head. ‘Wow, GI Joe is having his own Home Store?’
‘The whole thing is pretty exciting.’ Jules gave a grimace. ‘Joe’s brother is going to get the stock, and ship it over. You can pick masses of stuff up over there for next to nothing.’
Worse and worse. Luce shuddered at the information dump. ‘Wow, it all sounds so amazing. I’ll just grab the fabric samples, then you can try some dresses on to check out the sizes. The nipped in waist will really suit you.’
‘Thanks.’ Jules stood up, and smoothed down her shirt. ‘All we need now is a name for the shop. He was thinking of The Diner, but I’m not sure that’s right. Come to think of it GI Joe’s would be a fabulous name. Would you mind if we used it?’
Oh no. Luce wished she didn’t have to say. She was already kicking herself for having said it at all. Shit, shit, shit.
‘You can call it whatever you like, really you can.’ Right this second Luce wished she had Izzy’s ballsy attitude, instead of being wet and weedy, and so damned polite.
‘I can’t believe that by the end of August I’ll be Mrs Kerr. I’m so pleased I came in here. I’m about to find the perfect dress, and I’ve maybe found a name for the shop too…’ Jules looked suddenly doubtful. ‘Of course, that’s if you don’t mind me using what you said.’
Effing hell. How many mental effs could Luce get away with, before she was owing the swear box?
Luce gritted her teeth, and made her voice so light, it was almost a shriek. ‘Mind? Of course I don’t mind.’ It wasn’t poor Jules’ fault, and at least she’d been decent enough to have a qualms about it. Luce composed herself and smiled at her. ‘It must be your lucky day.’
As for Luce, she’d got a sale underway, dropped the clanger of the decade over the rival shop name, and found out a whole bunch of stuff she’d maybe rather not have known. She just wasn’t sure how this was going to go down with the rest of the crew.
15 (#ulink_ba450878-4106-5352-b6b5-5b6a492d0a0a)
Monday Morning, 9th June
IZZY & LUCE
Vintage at the Cinema
What’s in a name – expletives, implosions, and introductions
SUBJECT: TANNING SHOP
To Dida and the crew,
Just heard on the bush telegraph that the Retro American shop is going to be called GI Joe’s - obvious for someone called Joe Kerr, but a damned good name, unfortunately for us. Was hoping they were going to call it American Tan - geddit??
Ollie Sent from Bangkok, Thailand
‘Oh crap bloody asshole shit.’ As Luce let out a stream of expletives, her phone smashed down onto the polished teak counter top, bounced off, traced a perfect arc through the air, and landed in a basket of jugs.
Izzy had been propping up the last of the Free Coffee and Bridal Studio signs she’d hurriedly painted yesterday evening, when the email had arrived on her phone, but she had managed to get to the end without going postal. She stared at Luce until her eyes wouldn’t go any wider, then blinked, and stared again. What was going on? Luce swearing? And not once, but a whole colourful string.
Oh crap bloody asshole shit – what the hell?
‘Are you okay sweetie?’ Izzy swooped in and put her hand on Luce’s wrist. By rights, her first move should be to pass Luce the swear box, given the way Luce jumped on Izzy if she swore in front of the customers, but something told her she needed to cut Luce some slack here.
‘No I’m bloody not alright as it happens. Look at that bloody email.’ Luce’s pale cheeks were uncharacteristically pink.
Izzy flinched. She didn’t think she’d heard two bloody’s in one of Luce’s sentences, ever, not even when she’d been in labour, having Ruby. ‘Yes, I was looking at the email, isn’t it mostly what we know already…?’
Luce hammered her hand on her forehead. ‘You don’t understand, I was the one who handed them the bloody GI Joe name on a plate. I didn’t say before, I was hoping they wouldn’t use it. They were going to call it The Diner, which is completely lame, and would have ended up with everyone being cross they weren’t being served burgers.’
Izzy raised her eyebrows, then knitted them into a frown. ‘Whatever, at least we’ve got a couple of weeks before they open, that should give time to raise our game. As Ollie says, GI Joe’s is a damned good name.’
‘That’s the other thing…’ Luce was taking through gritted teeth here. ‘What the hell is bloody Ollie doing in bloody Thailand? I thought he was in Goa.’
‘And this matters because…?’ As far as Izzy was concerned, all that mattered was that Ollie was away, which meant he wasn’t here. He sent her emails now and again, mentioning where he was, but one foreign destination sounded very much like another. That was the thing with far flung places, they only became significant when you were actually there yourself.
Luce’s eyes were flashing, and she was tossing her head. ‘Everyone knows Thailand’s the sex tourist capital of the world. What’s the tagline…“Land of Smiles”? Those smiles are for one reason only.’
Luce looked ready to implode.
‘I thought Thailand had jungles and pandas?’ Izzy was puzzled. It was hardly like Luce to pass judgement, especially on someone who definitely wasn’t on her Friday night list. Ollie and Luce hung around with the rest of the crew. They were friends, that was all. Izzy had once seen Ollie flare up on a night out and tell Luce she was worth more than some guy she was about to leave with, but apart from that, as far as Izzy knew, that was it. Izzy knew Ollie had always had a soft spot for Luce, ever since they made friends at school, but Ollie was punching above his weight as far as Luce was concerned.
When Izzy first brought Luce back home, back in the day, which must be twelve years ago now, Ollie had followed Luce around the house like a doe eyed puppy. Even if Luce had laughed a lot at Ollie’s jokes, Ollie didn’t have the rock star looks to make him a serious contender. That was the one time Izzy had to get fierce with Ollie, and insist that his sister’s best friends were totally off limits.
That was when Izzy was sixteen and prickly, and mortified at having to leave her upmarket school, and go into the sixth form at the local comprehensive. Izzy got a job at the coffee shop, to help with the dire family finances, and Luce, who worked there too had seen beyond Izzy’s growling, and befriended her. It helped that they were both doing art. A shared, if unhealthy, obsession with Busted and Robbie Williams cemented the deal. Luce, whose calm exterior was a front that hid a riotous sense of humour, considered Izzy, with her rarefied girls’ school background, to be underprivileged, and took it upon herself to fast forward Izzy’s real world education.
Since they’d all worked together at the cinema, Izzy was aware that Ollie sent Ruby into fits of giggles on a regular basis, and sometimes helped Luce out with babysitting, but as far as she knew, that was the extent of it.
‘Apart from anything else, think of the STD’s.’ Luce’s voice was verging on a wail.
If Izzy needed anything to prove Luce was off kilter today, this was it.
‘Yuk, this is my brother we’re talking about, please can we not go there.’ Izzy cringed. ‘Ollie’s old enough, he’s miles away. And it’s nothing to do with us anyway…Is it?’
Izzy watched, as Luce’s mouth froze in the open position, as Izzy posed that last question. It was almost as if someone had put Luce on pause, as if she’d suddenly been reminded it wasn’t anything to do with her. Which it wasn’t.
‘Errrr…’ Luce appeared to be struggling to pull herself together here. ‘No…You’re totally right…I wouldn’t have even mentioned it if I wasn’t kicking myself over that GI Joe thing.’
Right, Okay. Why might Luce be suddenly interested in Ollie’s sex life? It didn’t make sense at all. Even if Luce hadn’t been out of his league, the kind of one night stands Luce dealt in weren’t Ollie’s style at all.
Izzy had a sudden thought. ‘Have you emailed Ollie at all since he left?’
Luce pulled the corners of her mouth down, and shook her head. ‘No.’
Exactly as Izzy imagined. So there was no reason at all for Luce to be getting her thong in a twist over this then.
Izzy’s phone beeped, and she looked away from Luce as she opened the text. It was Dida. No surprise there.
GI Joe’s? Let’s have a Vintage Cinema Club Progress Meeting
Izzy banged off a return text,
Good idea - tomorrow before we open? xx
When Izzy looked up again, Luce was already half way down the cinema, and disappearing behind a large wardrobe.
16 (#ulink_4beedef9-bac5-506a-90f3-ea6589a9e7f6)
Monday Afternoon, 9th June
IZZY & LUCE
Vintage at the Cinema
Hand signals and hidden messages
Pssst. Stop messing about with cushions and get over here quick. Talent in the grey section x
Izzy hooked the ribbon garland she was hanging on the stepladders, took out her phone, and read the text message from Luce.
Luce could arguably have walked across the shop and said the words to her, in the time it took to send the text, but Luce had been playing hide and seek all morning, and still was this afternoon. Wherever Izzy had been – and actually she’d been everywhere, desperately assessing ways she could make things better – Luce had made sure she was somewhere else. Izzy wasn’t quite sure why Luce was avoiding her. It was obviously something sparked by Ollie’s email, but although she wracked her brains, Izzy couldn’t imagine what it could be, other than that Luce was feeling mega guilty about the tanning shop name.
As for Luce’s messages about talent, after Friday’s delivery fiasco, Izzy wasn’t sure she wanted anything more to do with Luce’s particular brand of talent spotting. The wave of crashing anticlimax that had engulfed Izzy since Friday evening made no sense at all. A guy she had no interest in was flagged up as unavailable, end of story. Right now, there was no space for romance in her schedule, regardless of whichever hot guy popped his head over the parapet. The radical re-styling of the stock she was working on in response to the Vintage Cinema Club crisis was a welcome distraction, that kept her mind off a certain man she shouldn’t be thinking about at all.
‘What do you want?’ Izzy squinted across the store to where Luce had now bobbed up behind the counter. She was handing a receipt to a customer who was propping up a gigantic mirror, by the main desk.
Luce gave a nod in the direction of a monumental grey armoire, and held up five fingers. Izzy got the message. Hot guy, five star rating.
But then Luce flashed her fingers again. And again.
In hand signal terms Izzy read this as a cross between a red alert and a mayday signal. She craned her neck to see, but despite being half way up a ladder, she failed to get a view past the massive butler’s pantry piece. Luce’s hands were both flapping now, so Izzy untangled herself from the ribbons, climbed down, and went across.
‘He’s here.’ Luce was hissing excitedly. ‘Over there by the chiffonnière, looking at the daybeds and the chests of drawers. It’s the guy you delivered to.’
Izzy felt her heart fray, and her stomach lurched, and landed somewhere down by her knees ‘Forget the hot. I told you, he’s taken.’
She fished in her pocket, pulled out some gum, unwrapped it, and chomped on it hard. One unavailable guy elsewhere, she could cope with. Having him dangled under her nose, yet again, seemed downright unfair.
Luce brushed away Izzy’s protest. ‘Whatever, he’s doing just what he did on Friday. Taking pictures on his phone, then talking to someone. Look out, he’s turning this way.’
Izzy chewed, narrowing her eyes to get a better view, then as the broad shoulders turned towards her, and she snapped her head away.
Luce breathed in Izzy’s ear. ‘Wow, from the look of pure lust he’s just given you, I’d say you’re in big trouble, of the best sort. I know a come on when I see one, and that’s the hottest one I’ve seen from twenty yards in ages.’
Izzy plunged down behind the counter.
‘Hide if you like, but I’m going to see what’s going on.’
Luce might look waif-like, but once she decided something, there was little point in arguing.
Izzy, crouched on the floor, grabbed a strawberry Hubba Bubba from her pocket. Whenever the going got tough, it always helped if she chewed. She began to rearrange the boxes on the shelves under the counter. Now she came to look, there was enough chaos to keep her down here for most of the afternoon. That sounded like half a hot man avoidance plan, but with Luce racing around the store in trouble shooter mode, there was no knowing what might happen. Izzy might be better to make a run for it. Through the slice of space between the counter side, and Luce’s rail of dresses, Izzy had a view straight through the shop doorway, to where Chou-fleur was parked, out on the road. She was just contemplating a dash for safety, when Luce’s yell echoed across the shop.
‘Izzy!’
Shit. What now? Izzy wasn’t sure how Luce balling across the shop fitted in with the improved customer service initiative. Izzy didn’t move. Sometimes if you stayed completely still, whatever you didn’t want to face would go away.
‘Izzy…’ Luce was definitely persistent. It just goes to show that the quiet ones were always the ones you needed to watch out for.
Hunched down, in the shadows under the counter, it reminded Izzy of how she used to hide under her bed and freeze when she was younger, and hope the shouting would stop when her parents were having their worst slanging matches, in the last few weeks when their mum had decided she wanted out, and family life had imploded.
‘Izzy…Where are you?’ Luce’s voice was nearer now. Definitely not giving up then.
Izzy looked up to see Luce’s face peering at her over the edge of the counter.
‘There you are.’ Luce shook her head, and gave Izzy a scolding scowl. ‘Can you come over here right now please, because Xander’s interested in buying your bed.’
So it was Xander now. Xander somehow sounded a suitably arrogant enough name for him. As for Luce, she certainly didn’t hang about, getting to know people.
To Izzy’s horror, a second later there was a blur of choppy brown hair, and then the face of a horribly familiar guy was staring down at her too.
Skip guy? Pink house guy? Hot guy? Or how about none of the above, because this was the original Mr Smoulder, and he appeared to be getting a view right up her dress, yet again.
Izzy grabbed at the folds of her skirt, scrabbling to pull it down. Somehow her footless tights offered very little cover at all the way she was sitting.
‘Xander, this is Izzy, she’s busy doing a spot of undercover tidying.’ Luce beamed down at Izzy. ‘I think you two already met.’
Izzy chomped furiously to steady her nerves. Nerves? That would include heart leap frogging out of her chest, too.
‘I think we have.’ Xander was talking in his best, husky, spine shivering drawl, and gazing down at her. He cocked one superior eyebrow at Izzy, from on high. ‘So hello Izzy, or rather, hello, again. Can I smell bubble gum?’
Bubble gum? Cheeky sod. As for her meeting him scrunched up on the floor, talk about setting off at a disadvantage. Again. Izzy gathered her legs together, and she pushed herself to her feet, but even when she pulled herself up to her full five foot three, and took a deep, deep breath, somehow both Luce and Xander still seemed to tower over her.
‘Right. Interested in a bed? Which bed would that be?’ And dammit that Izzy had just given a defiant flounce of her skirt. She really didn’t want to come across as pouty and head tossing and petulant, but something about this guy made her horribly fighty.
Luce butted in. ‘Xander’s shopping with a stack of interior magazine pictures on his phone showing exactly what he’s wanting, and the bed in your room at home is just what he’s looking for. And technically it is for sale, isn’t it Izzy, even if you’re using it right now? It’s the least we can do, given the amount of things Xander needs to buy.’
Luce gave Izzy a fierce “don’t you dare refuse, think of the sales” glare, then turned to Xander with one of her more melting smiles. ‘We always like to go that extra yard for our customers.’
Izzy’s heart sank. She wasn’t sure about extra yards, this felt like an extra mile at least, and definitely a mile too far.
But Luce was on a roll here. ‘Fine, that’s organised then, I’ll cover for you here Izzy, whist you whizz Xander round to yours, so he can check it out.’
Izzy gave a groan. ‘Fine. Looks like we’re going then.’
Not what she wanted, not what she’d planned. But the faster she did it, the sooner it would be over, and, as Luce knew, Izzy could do with turning the bed into cash. She only had it at home because it had been on display for ages and hadn’t sold.
As for Xander, the name sounded pretentious enough for the guy. Xander. Still unsmiling. Still unavailable. Still drop dead…
Whatever.
At least that got the introductions out of the way.
17 (#ulink_74165034-fd4b-53a7-aca0-07e3b9a34944)
Monday Afternoon, 9th June
XANDER & IZZY
In his car
The only way is up
‘Take a right, then a left, then it’s as far up the hill as you can go.’
Xander watched Izzy out of the corner of his eye, waving her hands, as she rattled off the directions. Izzy was a name that kind of suited her. Small, dizzy, unpredictable, prone to explosions…And here she was filling yet another of his cars with the smell of sticky candy, except this time she was jammed up against him, in his dad’s ancient Aston Martin, as they made their way up an impossibly steep road, towards high altitude Matlock. Come to think of it, today the bubblegum was overlaid with a very different scent that was somehow making him want to inhale incredibly deeply. Something sweeter than sugar, more like burning roses.
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