Friday early evening in Spill the Beans coffee shop was bustling: tired city workers hunched over lattes and macchiatos as if their lives depended upon them. The beaten-up sofas and armchairs were all occupied when Anna arrived, but she spotted a red-faced Tish Gornick waving from a table by the counter.
‘It’s bat-crazy in here,’ she said, when Anna sat down. ‘I had to fight three people for this table. I’ll bruise tomorrow, you’ll see.’
‘You got a great one,’ Anna said, amused by the drama her friend could inject into the most mundane of events. ‘Those bruises are well earned.’
Tish nodded, her mind elsewhere. ‘You know, my therapist tells me confrontation is good for my soul. I’m not so sure. Feel my heart – I mean it, Anna, feel my heart . . .’ She grabbed Anna’s hand and held it against her chest, all consideration for personal space dismissed in one movement. ‘You see? I had to sit down for five minutes just to get it to this rate, and it’s still way too fast.’
She relinquished her grip and Anna pulled her hand back, resting it safely on her lap underneath the table.
‘I’m sure you’ll survive,’ Anna smiled. ‘Shall I get coffees for us?’
‘Would you? I’m gonna need a while to compose myself.’
Leaving Tish recovering from her ordeal, Anna joined the back of the long queue that stretched from the counter almost to the door. Normally this wait was frustrating, her feet aching from the long day, and the customers ahead of her maddeningly indecisive about their orders. But this evening Anna didn’t mind.
She thought of the parcel, waiting still unopened in her apartment – a parcel sent especially for her. The thought of it lifted her, as if she was stepping on pockets of air beneath her feet. Was it possible that something as small as an unexpected parcel with her name on it could so dramatically alter how she felt? Maybe it was.
An unkind onlooker might have suggested that the impact of this singular small happening in Anna Browne’s life was a sad indictment on the rest of it. A tiny part of Anna suspected it, too. But for now all that mattered was that somebody had sent her a gift – and it was waiting for her upstairs.
‘What’s with you?’ Tish frowned when Anna returned to their table. ‘I watched you in the line: you were smiling.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with smiling,’ Anna replied, surprised that her friend had even noticed in the midst of her heart palpitations. ‘Maybe I’m happy.’
‘Happy? When you’re as single as I am? Damn, girl, whatever you’re on, I need some. What happened to you today? Have you got a date tonight?’
Anna stirred clouds of pristine milk-froth into her coffee. ‘No, I don’t have a date.’
‘What happened to that guy with the cheap roses?’
‘Which guy?’
Tish folded her arms. ‘Last Thursday. I’d just arrived on your floor to accompany Mrs Smedley to the supermarket and I saw him. He knocked on your door with a bunch of roses he’d clearly picked up at a gas station.’
Anna giggled. ‘Gary? He wasn’t my date. He’s my dentist. And the roses were from Waitrose, actually. They were lovely.’
Tish stared. ‘Since when did dentists start making house-calls with cheap roses? He had his best suit on.’
‘He came straight from a meeting at the bank. I helped him to work out a business plan a while ago; when the bank approved his loan, he brought me flowers.’ What had started as a chance remark by Gary about his expansion plans for the dental surgery had led Anna to offer her help. She had studied Business Management at university and had recently helped her brother Ruari make a plan for his surf school in Perranporth, so the method was fresh in her mind. To her surprise, she had enjoyed the experience – and her dentist had been over the moon. It amused her that Tish had been spying on her. She shook her head. ‘I can’t believe you thought I was going out with Gary.’
‘When I see a man in his best suit with cheap flowers knocking on your door, what else am I going to think?’ Tish sipped her coffee. ‘And you still haven’t answered my question. What’s made you happy?’
‘I had a good day today, that’s all.’
‘In your job?’
‘Yes. Sometimes people surprise you. Today, that happened.’
‘Make the most of it,’ Tish snorted. ‘You don’t get too much of that in this city.’
By the time Anna closed her door she was buzzing with caffeine and anticipation. Tish, who’d had a bad Friday, insisted that she buy a second round of coffee, in order to explain the offences of her day in full. Anna did her best to listen, but the promise of the package upstairs was too strong to ignore.
And now here she was: alone with the parcel at last.
She almost didn’t want to open it, the sight of mail addressed to her more precious than the contents could ever be. It was like the time when, as a child, she once received a Christmas present from the Santa at Trago Mills – the closest thing to a shopping centre that her mother would take her to. The gaudy paper and irresistible rustle it made in her hands was as close to perfection as it was possible to be; the slightly spicy fragrance of the printed design and metallic tang of the elastic string wrapped around it too lovely to rip into. Unlike Ruari, who had torn open his parcel and immediately thrown a tantrum when an inexpensive bag of sweets fell out, Anna had cradled her gift all the way home, hiding it under her bed until Christmas Day. The thought of it waiting beneath her, unopened and sparkly, as she slept each night brought her the sweetest of dreams for a week. Of course, on opening it, the contents were revealed to be identical to those so hated by her brother, but that didn’t matter. Little Anna Browne had been given a gift, just for her.
The parcel sat now in the middle of the small dining table in her living room. Anna drew up a chair and sat, staring at it. All day she had eliminated possible senders and had drawn a blank. There was only one way to discover the identity of the kind gift-giver. Taking a breath, she reached out and slid the parcel towards her.
It was neatly wrapped, the folds at each end of the box forming two identically sized triangles. Anna appreciated the care and concentration required to achieve this. As a sixteen-year-old she had worked on Saturdays in the gift-wrapping department of Purefoy’s, the faded department store in Liskeard, long since demolished. Miss Miller, the pinch-faced spinster who ran gift-wrap like an army barracks, insisted on nothing less than symmetry for the piles of boxes awaiting adornment. More out of fear than anything else, Anna had learned the art of accurate folding, measuring the overhang of each end of wrapping paper before daring to crease it. Symmetry was what mattered, Miss Miller said. People always appreciated a well-wrapped parcel.
Looking at the package in her hands, Anna now knew what Miss Miller meant. Somebody had not only taken the time to think of her and select a gift, but had also ensured it was beautifully wrapped – albeit in brown paper. But if this much care and attention had been lavished on the unremarkable outer garment of the parcel, what did that bode for whatever lay inside?
The moment Anna had waited for all day had arrived. Determined to enjoy every minute of its unveiling, she took a deep breath and began to peel away the sticky tape holding down the perfect parcel corners. The paper shivered away across the table, revealing a pale, duck-egg-blue box embossed in the centre with the words Et voilà! in midnight-blue foil. Anna lifted the lid – and lost her breath.
There, nestled between gossamer sheets of the palest green tissue, was the most wonderful silk scarf Anna had ever laid eyes on. Almost afraid to disturb its exquisite folds, she reached into the box and carefully lifted the garment out. Its sheen caught the light from the pendant lamp above her table and, as she raised the scarf further, a delicious scent filled the air. It was like sugared almonds and royal icing – sweet and inviting. Gently she found the corners and shook out the folds, revealing a beautiful design of tiny yellow roses laid across a background the colour of the sky before the snow: a glowing cream with the smallest hint of pale gold. The scarf moved with a mercurial elegance through her hands, and when Anna lifted it to her neck it felt like the caress of a summer breeze across her skin.
Trembling, she rose and stood by the mirror that hung on the wall between her bathroom and bedroom. How had somebody chosen this perfect gift for her? The colours in the scarf seemed to make her skin glow, each shade a perfect complement for her colouring. In all her life she had never received a gift like this. Her reflection smiled back and she was surprised at how different she appeared. Could a scarf make such a change?
It was beautiful; what was more, she felt beautiful wearing it.
But who had sent this to her? And why?