This way. Come right through. Tim held open the door to the hall so Carl and Fiona could walk upstairs and inspect the residence. Fiona smiled, winked and gave a secret thumbs up as she waddled past. The real estate agent wore silver-plated earrings, a cheap business suit stretched over her belly fat, and insisted on saying ‘interiority’, ‘superiorfied’ and ‘caricature’ when describing the renovations that had been made to the premises. A thick veil of perfume hung in her wake, though its scent was warped by the body odour lingering underneath. Tim could not accompany them upstairs. He had to tend the shop as Maureen had gone out for the afternoon. The inspection had been planned for more than three weeks, and the two of them had spent the past six nights making sure that everything was ready – cleaning, organising, camouflaging tiny faults. Then at breakfast Maureen had announced she needed the car to run an errand. It was infuriating and completely typical. But she knew it would not take the two of them to sell the business. A copy of their financial records had been emailed to Fiona a fortnight ago, so the only thing left to discuss were the quirks of the local community and the potential for Wood Green to grow in the future. Both of which Tim could handle on his own. Unfortunately it was an abysmal day for an inspection. So wet and cold that most locals would be staying inside if they could manage it. Tim had already received six home-delivery orders, and would not normally have bothered to pack them until Maureen returned with the car, but he wanted to give the impression of a business that was thriving even in inclement weather.
The ache of sentimentality Tim had felt after Fiona rang to inform him she had found a potential buyer was all but gone. He now acknowledged only the hard work necessary to keep the business afloat, and their daily struggle to appease the needs of customers so they did not take their money down to the supermarkets in Hobart. And what was the use of being sentimental when Maureen wasn’t? She had always possessed an impeccable business sense, and if his wife was willing to let the shop go after all the effort they had put in, then he would be as well. Tim fed another piece of wood into the heater. He did not want the place to feel cold. Carl had spoken with a thick South African accent, and not unzipped his jacket when he walked inside, so he might be unaccustomed to such low temperatures and wet weather.
Fiona pushed opened the door and offered her best professional face. We’re just going to have a look at the kitchen and backyard, okay?
Go ahead, said Tim. There’s a couple of umbrellas beside the back door if you want to have a walk around outside.
The bell above the shop door announced Michael’s arrival to purchase a litre of milk and a six-pack of tonic. As he stood at the cash register waiting to pay, Tim crouched below the counter pretending to look for something. He wanted to foster the appearance of a bustling store, and hoped to delay Michael until Fiona and Carl had walked back inside. But the moment they did Tim realised his mistake. Just when the time had arrived to conduct a private and frank discussion about a price for the business, Lucian’s assistant had suddenly developed a deep interest in the dried pasta section.
Would you like a cup of tea or coffee to warm yourselves up? offered Tim.
No thank you, said Fiona. Carl, is there anything else you’d like to ask?
Carl looked up from his phone, wondering why he could not get reception, and glanced around the store. No, no. I have everything I need. Thank you for letting me look around your home.
Tim accepted Carl’s excessively strong hand and was shocked at how cold his fingers felt. You’re welcome. Good to meet you.
I’ll be in touch, said Fiona before she and Carl dashed through the rain to the BMW parked outside.
Tim’s heart sank. If Carl had been serious about purchasing the business he would have asked more questions. Or waited for Michael to leave so he could make an offer. Maybe it was just a reconnaissance trip. To gauge the competition before Carl opened up a general store of his own. And like an idiot Tim had shown him everything they did. He was too trusting. Taking advantage of people was not in his nature, so in turn he never suspected it in anyone else. He might have noticed something was wrong if Michael had not been in the way. Just when they were supposed to have a serious conversation, Lucian’s nursemaid had decided to hang around and eavesdrop. Damn it all to hell, he thought as he watched the car begin to pull away. But then the BMW’s brake lights flashed, the passenger door opened, and Carl ran with his jacket over his head towards Paul’s pub.
You little beauty, said Tim.
What? asked Michael.
Nothing. Nothing at all.