‘I am so sorry about last Friday,’ gushed Tara, bursting into the shop shortly after nine on Monday morning, which was early for her – very early. She was juggling a fancy shop-bought coffee gateaux, two take-away coffees and a large bouquet of lilies, the last of which she thrust at Charley. ‘I’m sure I told you about Monnie’s appointment.’ She pulled a face. ‘Hope it wasn’t too much of a problem.’
You didn’t and it was. It briefly crossed Charley’s mind to be honest and tell her Tara it had been a major inconvenience but, remembering her conversation with Nisha, she limited herself to saying, ‘No, it was fine. Pam came in.’
‘Oh, good old Pam!’ said Tara, dumping the cake and the coffees on the counter. Barely pausing for breath, and handing Charley her coffee, Tara went on, ‘You know what you should do – set up a shared calendar, then I can log all the days I can’t get here in advance, and the dates of the school holidays. Then there won’t be any problems.’
The suggestion jarred because it would mean she’d have to run two calendars and she had more than enough admin to do as it was, without running a double diary system.
But before she could voice her reluctance, Tara said, ‘Actually, better idea, just give me access to the shop’s calendar.’
‘There isn’t one,’ Charley told her. ‘I just use mine.’
‘Well, there should be.’ Tara’s voice held more than a hint of rebuke. Helping herself to Charley’s laptop, she said, ‘I’ll set one up now. I’ll make it a shared one so I can access it too. Pam as well, if she likes.’
Charley accepted defeat. When Tara was on a mission, trying to stop her was like trying to halt a runaway train with a daisy chain. Less than five minutes later, Tara had created a new calendar and input all of Monnie’s key dates.
‘Now you just need to import your appointments, delivery dates, order deadlines et cetera,’ Tara informed her, ‘and from now on things will run more smoothly.’
Charley was left with the distinct impression that the problem with not knowing about Monnie’s dental appointment had been her fault all along. However she didn’t brood on the thought, reminding herself that no matter how brash and tactless her mate was, she always meant well and that, in any event, it was a lot more fun in the shop when Tara was in, and more profitable, too. The morning flew by, with a steady run of customers and Tara was on top form, chatting and joshing with them and somehow ensuring hardly any of them left the shop empty-handed. Charley left her to it, knowing she was best placed behind the till, just taking the money.
‘Have you got any more of these Prosecco and fig scented candles?’ she overheard a woman asking Tara. ‘I wanted six but you’ve only got three.’
Knowing Tara wouldn’t have a clue what spare stock the shop had, Charley called over, ‘I’m really sorry, but that’s all we have.’
‘Oh never mind,’ replied the woman, putting the candles back on the display.
‘Did you need all six the same?’ Tara instantly queried. ‘Only we do have an extensive range of scented candles.’
Charley watched her mate hand the woman the nearest candle to her.
‘This one’s my favourite. Here, have a whiff,’ she said, opening the lid.
Charley would have bet her last tenner Tara had absolutely no idea which candle she’d picked up, but that didn’t seem to stop her charm offensive working, and two minutes later the woman left the shop happily clutching six different scented candles, plus a rhubarb and Prosecco fizzy bath bomb and a china cup and saucer bearing the slogan: No milk in my Prosecco, thank you.
‘Nicely done,’ said Charley, as soon as the shop door had closed behind her.
‘I thank you!’ replied Tara, bowing to an imaginary audience.
‘You were born with gift of the gab, weren’t you?’
‘Yup,’ beamed Tara. ‘And if you’ve got it, flaunt it!’
Moments later she was flaunting it again. This time to a woman who’d come in to ask if the shop did party favours for weddings. Charley had long wanted to expand the gift bag side-line into weddings but hadn’t yet managed to. She’d approached the Orangery, one of Bristol’s most popular wedding venues, but although they’d liked her classy-looking gift bags, much to Charley’s disappointment they already had a supplier. So she was about to reply, ‘No, not yet,’ when Tara piped up.
‘Yes. We do a complete range of wedding favours,’ she informed the customer, and Charley whipped round to face her, barely suppressing a gasp at her easy, barefaced lie. ‘Is it your wedding?’ Tara was asking the woman convivially.
‘Yes.’
‘Ooh congratulations!’ babbled Tara. ‘When’s the big day?’
Bloody hell, Tara! thought Charley. Any minute now she’d be asking to see the ring!
‘Oh it’s not for months yet, but I’m just trying to make sure everything’s lined up. So I wondered what the gift bags included and how much they were?’
Yes, so do I! thought Charley, shooting Tara a quizzical look.
Tara didn’t even flinch. ‘Wedding favours are such an important part of the celebration we think the bride should choose the contents personally,’ she ad-libbed smoothly, ‘so we have various products and prices. What’s your budget?’
You are gobsmackingly shameless. Charley bit her lip and fought to keep a straight face. Although, as ever, she was impressed by Tara’s ballsy, brazen approach. Personally, she was always wary of being too pushy with the customers, in case it put them off. To be frank, when she’d first met Tara she had found her a bit off-putting, too loud and gobby. It had been at a Zumba class not long after she’d first moved to Bristol, and it was through Tara that she’d met Nisha and Angie. Of the three of them, it was Angie who Charley had been more drawn to, and who she felt instinctively more comfortable with. But then, tragically, Tara’s mum had died a few months after Josh and their shared experience of bereavement had thrown her and Tara closer. Losing her mum had changed Tara, softened her and taken the edge off her – well, marginally. Occasionally Tara’s opinionated bluntness put stress fractures in their friendship, but now, watching her friend casually drumming up an order for one hundred and twenty wedding favours at twenty quid a pop, Charley reminded herself how lucky she was to have Tara as a friend – a woman who was as generous with her time as she was with her opinions.
As lunchtime approached, Tara offered to stay on until Pam got there in the afternoon. ‘So you can have a proper lunch break for a change.’
Charley assumed she was still trying to make amends. ‘Thanks but there’s not much point,’ she replied, since there wasn’t anything she’d actually want to do with an hour off. The Cargo area was full of great eateries and quirky little shops, but she’d never been one for retail therapy and didn’t fancy having a sit-down meal on her own, no matter how enticing the food was.
‘Have lunch with Ricky.’
Charley shook her head. ‘He can’t take a lunch break. There’s no one to look after the bike shop.’
‘Well grab a sarnie and take it down to his shop,’ persisted Tara.
When she’d first started going out with Ricky, Charley would have jumped at the chance of spending a lunchtime with him, but now it seemed faintly pointless. It wasn’t as if they were two love-struck teenagers desperate to spend every snatched and stolen moment together. She’d spent all of yesterday with him, and last night, and the night before that. Besides, there was every chance he’d be too busy to even talk to her, so she’d just be hanging around looking self-conscious.
‘He’ll probably have customers,’ she said and then watched as a small frown flitted across her friend’s face.
‘You two are okay, aren’t you? You’ve not had a falling-out or anything?’ she asked Charley bluntly.
‘No, of course not.’
Tara didn’t actually challenge her reply but it seemed to Charley she held her gaze just a shade longer than necessary before saying, ‘Well, why don’t you just grab a sarnie and nip down to the bike shop and see? You never know your luck. He might be free.’
Swallowing an irritable sigh, Charley did as she was told. She got a panini from the deli, on the grounds that she’d need to eat something anyway but, as she’d predicted, the bike shop was busy when she appeared in the doorway. Carlo lumbered over to greet her but Ricky could only glance up from the counter where he was showing a customer a range of bike locks. He frowned briefly with concern and, momentarily excusing himself to the punter, he broke off to say to her, ‘Is everything all right?’
‘Yes, yes. I was just wondering if you might be free for a quick lunch…’ She trailed off feeling stupid, since it was obvious from the throng of customers that he wasn’t.
‘Oh, okay.’ He looked mildly bemused before pulling an apologetic face and saying, ‘Sorry, no.’
She’d intended to go back to the shop but suddenly feeling irked at how Tara had bullied her into making a minor fool of herself, she decided to wander down to the dockside, and find a bench to eat her lunch. The waterfront was always busy at lunchtime, flocked with office staff and shop workers all either stretching their legs or getting some fresh air and enjoying the colourful harbour-side scene. Charley sat herself down and prepared to join them. Glancing around, she noticed a few lone diners, like herself, eating picnic lunches in splendid isolation. Women, mostly, sitting primly with their legs tucked neatly together, eating home-made sandwiches from Tupperware tubs or tin foil parcels perched on their laps. The men, she noticed, mostly sat man-spreading, and tended to have shop-bought plastic-packed sarnies, or pies and pasties which they ate from bakers’ paper bags. None of them looked as if they were particularly enjoying their lunches, or themselves, and she couldn’t shake off the feeling that most of them seemed miserable. Of course they might have been perfectly happy, utterly relishing some much needed peace and quiet, but nevertheless, the image seemed to convey a collective sad loneliness. Realising the scene was dampening her mood, Charley stuffed her panini back into its wrapper and headed back to the shop. At least there she could have a laugh with Tara. Except that as soon as Charley reappeared, Tara reached for her jacket and handbag.
‘I take it The Lovely Ricky was tied up then?’
Charley nodded.
‘Well in that case I might as well go home then, since it’s quiet.’
‘Yes, of course.’
After Tara had gone, Charley leant on the till counter in the empty shop finishing her solitary lunch, and found herself wondering whether Tara’s offer had been more about her wanting Charley and Ricky to spend time together than about giving Charley a break. Had Angie told Tara about her anxieties about Ricky? She doubted it. And Pam wouldn’t have mentioned it, so maybe Tara just had an inkling something was wrong and was fishing. Well, she could fish away. Charley wasn’t ready to share her anxieties with Tara, not quite yet. And anyhow, she knew her friend would only give her the same advice that Pam and Angie had said – only more forcibly.