After the One by Cass Lester (novels for students .txt) 📗

‘What?’ prompted Charley gently.

‘She said she missed me.’

Her voice broke and Charley slid onto the arm of the sofa and put her arm round her.

‘I can well imagine she does,’ said Pam.

Charley gave her friend an affectionate squeeze. ‘Sometimes I don’t think you realise how much you mean to people,’ she told her, and Nisha flashed her the kind of smile Charley had never seen on her face before. An endearingly sheepish one.

And then Nisha told them her former mother-in-law had gone on to press home her point by taking out her phone she took and showing Nisha all the recent photos she had of the entire family.

‘And I mean all! Which took a very long time!’ Nisha said with a laugh. ‘Anyhow, she’s going to talk to Jay, or rather, his father is going to talk to him, which, believe me, is a much bigger deal,’ she finished ominously.

Charley looked over to Pam, who was smiling contentedly to herself. You, she thought, and not for the first time, are a very wise woman.

Chapter Twenty-nine

On her knees in the shop, in her old decorating clothes, Charley was painting the shelving unit which good old Baz – good as Tara’s word – had “knocked up over the weekend”. With her earphones in, she was accompanying Adele as she ‘Set Fire to the Rain’ at the top of her voice. When someone suddenly tapped her on the shoulder, she nearly leapt out of her skin. Whipping her earphones out, she turned to find a highly amused Ricky standing there.

She cringed, knowing that singing was absolutely not in her skillset, especially not acapella.

‘I’m just on a coffee run. Want one?’

‘It’s my turn,’ she insisted, getting up.

‘You’re busy.’

‘I could do with a break. Honest. I’ll bring it down to yours. Cappuccino?’

‘Americano, please, if you’re sure…’

Ricky was just finishing with a customer when she pitched up with the coffees. Carlo strolled over hoping for some attention, so she scratched his ears. I could get quite fond of you, she thought. Judging by the contented look on the dog’s face, she thought the feeling might be mutual.

‘Do you have a dog?’ asked Ricky, coming over once he was free.

‘No. I’ve always wanted one, but I used to work full-time. I didn’t think it was fair.’

‘What did you do?’

She hesitated. ‘I worked in a letting agency.’ For some reason she felt reluctant to admit it.

‘What made you give that up and start a shop?’ Ricky asked, peeling the lid off his coffee.

‘Redundancy.’

He frowned sympathetically, ‘Ah. Bad luck.’

Charley thought for a second and then said, ‘No, not really. Well, not necessarily. It’s giving me the chance to do something better, more fun. I might even get a dog!’ She laughed and then, remembering the sense of pleasure she’d felt when the huge lurcher had lolloped alongside her when she’d first ridden her bike, added, ‘Where did you get Carlo?’

‘He was a rescue dog.’

Now why doesn’t that surprise me? She thought it seemed typical of the man to take on an abandoned stray.

Ricky took a slurp of coffee, and then asked, ‘Is there anyone else running the shop with you? It can be a bit lonely being on your own all day. That’s why I got Carlo.’

Tell me about it, thought Charley. Josh’s death had left her with an aching, permanent loneliness, even when she wasn’t alone. She could be at a party, with all her mates, laughing and joking, but there was a specific loneliness – of someone being missing – that never went away.

‘Well, it’ll be just me in the shop, but I’ve got lots of people behind me. My mates are super-supportive, and you’ve already met Pam, my mother-in-law.’

He frowned at her quizzically.

‘When we came down to look at the unit,’ she explained.

‘Oh, that’s your mother-in-law,’ he said evenly. ‘I didn’t realise that.’

‘Sorry, no, of course you didn’t.’ Then, seemingly oblivious to having dropped a small bombshell, Charley gave Carlo one last ear scratch and said, ‘Well, I’d better get on before the paint brush dries out,’ and she put the lid back on her coffee and left.

It didn’t take Charley long to finish painting the dresser, and then she tried to visualise a suitable store layout. ‘I could have an old kitchen table here for the till, some wicker hampers for displays, some bookcases along that other wall…’ she muttered to herself as she paced round the unit, setting out imaginary furniture. She had the nostalgic sensation that she was back in Reception class playing ‘shop’, setting out the little red-and-white painted wooden stall with tiny cardboard cereal boxes and plastic ‘tins’ of tuna and baked beans. She knew it was probably a very childish pleasure, but she absolutely loved it.

‘What exactly are we looking for?’ asked Pam.

‘I’m not really sure… Some old bookcases, a couple of tables, maybe, and a chair. Anything with a bit of character,’ finished Charley vaguely.

As they poked around the second-hand shops, they decided that most of the furniture fell into one of two categories: Vintage and too expensive, or Pre-loved, almost to death, but affordable.

Pam’s first find was an old, double-layer 1950s wooden tea trolley. ‘Any good?’ she asked, ‘It’s a bit battered, but if you paint it white, Angie could snazz it up with a logo or whatever… it could look quite sweet.’

Charley’s eyes lit up. ‘Actually, yes! With a bit of TLC that could be perfect.’

Over the next couple of days Charley’s back garden filled up with an assortment of old tables and bookcases, wooden trays and crates, hampers and baskets, and a trio of wicker chairs.

‘We’re getting there,’ remarked Pam enthusiastically, as she and Charley eyed the collection from the kitchen window, nursing their morning coffees.

Charley pulled a mock grimace. ‘Are we? I was going for shabby chic, but it all looks more like a pile of crappy old tat.’ She turned to Pam anxiously. ‘I don’t want to look like a junk shop. Be honest. Do you think it’ll look okay?’

‘It’ll