On Monday morning, Charley and Ricky cycled into work together with Carlo lolloping along beside them on a long lead. When they arrived at Cargo, the other shopkeepers were already unlocking doors, turning on lights and opening up for the day. A few early morning punters were making for the coffee shop and the deli.
‘Morning, you two!’ called out the florist, piling fresh flowers into the dozen or so cream-painted enamel buckets lined up in front of her unit.
‘Morning, Del!’ they chorused.
Hand in hand, and now wheeling their bikes, they passed the deli where Rita was putting out the sandwich board advertising her daily specials.
‘Doing your favourite today, Ricardo!’ she said. ‘Buffalo mozzarella and pesto panini with baby plum tomatoes. Shall I hold one for you?’
Ricky turned to Charley. ‘Will you want one?’ She shook her head. ‘Just the one please, Rita,’ he called out and she waved in acknowledgement.
A few other people greeted them cheerily by name. The camaraderie of the place always buoyed Charley’s spirits which, if she were honest with herself, were already flagging today. It was the start of half term, meaning Tara wouldn’t be in and she’d be on her own every morning. It wasn’t so much a daunting prospect as a dull one, because even when the footfall and the takings were down, when Tara was around at least they had fun.
She and Ricky reached her shop where, still holding hands, they stood for a lingering kiss, which would have been even more lingering had it not been abruptly interrupted by Milo from the ice-cream parlour bellowing jokily at them, ‘Oi, you two. Get a room!’
They broke off and Ricky good-naturedly made a rude sign at Milo who laughed and reciprocated. Bending close to Charley, Ricky whispered, ‘Don’t blame the man. He’s just jealous!’ before kissing her ear. ‘Have a good day,’ he said finally before heading off to the bike shop, Carlo at his heel.
‘You too,’ she replied.
She’d decided not to tell Pam that Tara would be off all week, guessing that the older woman would insist on coming in to work the mornings as well and, as Charley frequently reminded herself, her mother-in-law was already doing too much for her. It was an admirable decision, but she was soon regretting it. Perhaps optimistically, she’d earmarked the morning to compile a hundred and fifty gift bags for delivery that evening to a dozen or so venues across the city, but a steady stream of customers drifted through the shop all morning, putting paid to that plan. Worse, by late morning she was desperate for a pee and a coffee, in that order. Fortunately she was rescued by the unexpected arrival of Nisha, bearing a couple of take-away cups.
‘Nishe, you absolute star!’ beamed Charley and then, pausing only to garble, ‘Please-can-you-hold-the-fort-so-I-can-nip-to-the-loo-before-there’s-an-embarrassing-incident-we-will-never-forget,’ she shot out.
When she got back, Nisha was happily recommending a juniper and Prosecco reed diffuser to a very earnest-looking young man.
‘If it’s a gift, I’d go with this one,’ she was advising. ‘It’s a subtle fragrance, looks stylish, and since it’s in a white bottle, it’ll go in any room.’
Charley was amused by Nisha’s spiel, but the young chap left happily enough, having purchased the diffuser.
‘You didn’t offer to gift wrap it for him, then!’
‘Not without charging for the wrapping paper,’ was Nisha’s dry response.
Switching places, Charley slid behind the counter and took a grateful slurp of coffee. ‘Hmmm, thanks for this. To what do I owe the unexpected pleasure of a visit from you in the middle of the working day?’
‘I’ve just had a meeting with that PR company.’
‘And?’ prompted Charley, instantly agog.
‘Oh. My. God. Their client list! Stellar or what? A-listers and beyond. It’s hugely flattering to be asked to join them. I’m really tempted. I mean, I love being my own boss, you know I do, but ten years on and I’m still flat out 24/7. I know I could cut back some of my clients, but I hate turning down business.’
Charley empathised with that problem only too easily. Some days, especially mid-week, the shop saw precious few customers and she often wondered if it had been worth opening up at all, but she didn’t dare risk cutting back the opening hours, or closing for half a day, knowing she’d lose customers.
Nisha took a delicate sip of her coffee. ‘Obviously, we only discussed the headlines of a potential deal. Nothing concrete… possible job title, initial salary and commission, likely perks and so forth.’ She swirled her coffee round pensively, and Charley didn’t rush her. ‘But it’s a huge step – giving up my own business.’
‘So how did you leave it?’
‘They’re going to work up the deal, put it all down in a contract, and send it through.’
‘Well you know what they say,’ said Charley. ‘The devil’s in the detail.’
‘Too true.’
‘When would you have to decide?’
Nisha shrugged. ‘They said I can take as long as I like.’
‘Well that must show how much they want you.’
‘Maybe.’
The opening of the shop door prevented any further conversation.
‘Morning!’ said Charley brightly to a couple of young women as they walked in.
Slipping the lid back onto her coffee Nisha said, ‘I’ll keep you posted,’ and left Charley to it.
Without Tara, Charley couldn’t even nip out to get any lunch, so when Pam arrived for the afternoon, Charley asked her to hold the fort while she popped out to the deli.
‘No Tara?’ asked Pam astutely, immediately stepping in for Charley behind the till.
Dammit, thought Charley. ‘Half term,’ she explained.
‘Why didn’t you say? I could have come in.’
‘There’s no need, I just forgot to get any lunch.’
‘If you’d called me I would have made you something.’
‘I know you would.’ Charley smiled, heading out of the door. ‘That’s why I didn’t!’
The afternoon was even busier than the morning, at least in terms of footfall. Although while some had come in to buy, irritatingly, quite a few had all too obviously come to window-shop for things they were almost certainly going to buy online. One even had the audacity to whip out her phone and take a shot of a cotton pinny that had taken her fancy. It read: If you can’t stand the heat, open the fizz! Then she stuffed it back on the shelf, not even bothering to re-fold it. Charley caught Pam’s eye behind the customer’s back.
‘The cheek of it!’ complained Pam once the woman had left.
‘I know! But what can I do? I can’t make them buy something!’ Then, seeking a distraction from her irritation, she said, ‘How was your weekend? Didn’t you go to a dinner party? Zee’s, was it?’
‘No, Toni’s, and it was… lovely,’ Pam replied. But Charley had detected the slight beat before the word ‘lovely’ and the over-bright brittleness in her mother-in-law’s tone.
It didn’t surprise her. She could sympathise only too easily. After Josh had died Charley had drifted away from the friends they’d hung around with as a couple. They’d been Josh’s friends anyhow, and she’d felt like she was tagging along to a club she no longer belonged to, and it had been painful to see the other couples sharing their loving looks and kisses, their in-jokes and playful banter.
‘It’s awkward going out with couples when you’re on your own,’ she said.
‘Yes, isn’t it? You feel like…’ Pam was evidently at a loss as to how to express her thoughts.
‘Like a fifth wheel,’ Charley provided flatly.
Pam cocked her head appreciatively. ‘Precisely! I’ve not heard that before. Is that a common phrase?’
Charley nodded and then Pam surprised her by saying. ‘Well, that’s reassuring.’
‘Why?’
‘Because if there’s an idiom for something then it must mean a lot of people are in that same situation. So it makes me feel less… singled out. Single, yes. Singled out, no!’
‘Well, that’s one way of looking at it.’ Trust you to put a positive spin on things. ‘You know, now I come to think of it, when I go out with my mates these days, it’s just us girls. Will and Baz never come.’
‘Really? Why ever not?’
‘Someone’s got to babysit!’
‘Ha! How very well trained.’ Then, sounding distinctly wistful, Pam went on, ‘As a rule my friends don’t go out without their husbands in the evenings. We might meet up for a coffee now and again, of course, and very occasionally go for a pub lunch.’
Charley shrugged. ‘Maybe it’s a generation thing? Or just habit?’
‘Are you implying we’re all old and stuck in our ways?’ exclaimed Pam, pretending to take offence.
‘No!’ protested Charley, ‘but if you think about it, you’ve all been couples for—’
Pam raised a warning eyebrow. ‘Don’t even finish that sentence!’
‘For some time,’ said Charley tactfully. ‘But why not have a women-only night now and then?’
The rest of the afternoon was rewardingly busy, but it meant that by closing time Charley still hadn’t had time to assemble the gift bags she had to deliver that evening.
‘How many have you got to do?’ asked Pam as she was leaving.
‘A hundred and fifty.’
Pam hovered in the doorway. ‘I feel guilty leaving you that lot to do.’
‘Don’t! You do more than enough as it is. Go. GO!’ ordered Charley, ushering her mother-in-law out of the door, then locking it behind her to stop any more customers drifting in since, apparently, the average shopper was incapable of reading the word ‘Closed’.
She was clearing the large display table to make space to work when a light tapping on the window got her attention. It was Ricky, so she went over to open the door.
‘Are you nearly done?’
‘I wish!’
Eyeing the piles of empty gift bags on the table he said, ‘D’you want a hand?’
She waved away his offer airily. ‘No, it’s fine. It won’t take me long.’
He raised an eyebrow, as if asking her who she was trying to kid, but confined himself to saying mildly, ‘Maybe not, but it’ll take even less time if we do it together.’
‘True,’ she conceded gratefully.
They worked quickly and easily together but it was gone half seven by the time all the bags were all filled and collated, which meant it would be well after nine by the time Charley had finished the deliveries. She was trying not to think about it.
‘I assume these have to go out tonight,’ said Ricky.
‘Yes, but I have to go and pick up the car first.’ The prospect of cycling up the hill and then pitching out again to deliver the bags depressed her and she felt herself physically slump.
Ricky must have noticed because, taking pity on her, he said, ‘My place is nearer. I’ll cycle home, pick up my car and deliver the bags, you go home.’
‘I can’t ask you to do that!’
‘You haven’t asked me. I’ve offered.’
Charley shook her head. ‘No… honestly. I ought to deliver them myself. They’re my customers.’
‘Okay, then, but I’ll still get my car and drive you. It’ll be quicker and save you cycling all the way back to yours.’
Charley caved and, sliding her arms round his neck, she kissed him.
‘You are a lovely man,’ she informed him, finally breaking away.
‘And you are a very beautiful woman.’
It was just after nine when they made the last delivery so Charley proposed picking up pizzas and taking them back to hers.
‘You’re working too hard,’ Ricky told her sternly as they ate, slumped on the sofa. ‘I’m worried about you. Seriously,’ he added as Charley looked up at him, frowning mildly in denial. ‘You shouldn’t be spending all your evenings doing deliveries.’
‘Well there isn’t any other time.’
‘Maybe you should stop the gift bag side of the business? Or make it collection-only?’
Charley shook her head. ‘I’d lose customers, and although it doesn’t make a huge amount of money, it all helps.’
They continued eating in silence for a moment and then Charley yawned and slung her pizza slice back in the box. ‘I’m done. I’m too tired to eat any more.’
Gathering up his half-eaten pizza, Ricky got up to leave. ‘You need an early night.’
But Charley reached out to take his hand. ‘Stay?’ she asked, and when he hesitated she stood up, took the pizza box out of his hand and led him through to the bedroom. He started undressing her, slowly, teasingly and she pulled him down onto the bed, where the photo of Josh grinned down foolishly at them from the bedside table. Dammit! Ricky’s visit had been impromptu, so she hadn’t put the photo away beforehand.
She tried to ignore it, and to focus her attention on Ricky but it was impossible with Josh watching their every move. His trademark grin seemed to have developed a distinct leer. She couldn’t even begin to imagine how awkward Ricky must be finding it, having your girlfriend’s former husband staring at you from the bedside table, observing your technique and judging your performance. Talk about cramping your style.
‘One second,’ she whispered and, slipping free from his embrace, she leant over, grabbed the picture and laid it face down. Later, when she put it back upright, she would be wracked with remorse for treating Josh in that way.