had said to her mother, in passing, that Charlie had come into the shop but not told her the exact nature of their conversation, as she was still a little embarrassed by it all. ‘I doubt he’ll have remembered me anyway,’ she laughed, putting the photograph back into the envelope. ‘After all, it wasn’t until I saw this photo that I realised we’d met before. And he’s probably met loads of women, er, people since then. It’s not even worth bringing it up. I’ll just look like an idiot.’
‘If you say so,’ Vivian raised an eyebrow. ‘But you never know… he might have thought of you all these years as Lovely Holly, just as you thought about him.’
Holly really did laugh, then. ‘Mum, there’s no way I’m ever owning up to that, especially now. And if you breathe a word of this to Dad or Rachel, I’ll burn the whole bloody suitcase!’
Vivian laughed too, well aware of her daughter’s legendary impulsiveness, and in no doubt that she was serious. ‘Fair enough. But perhaps it’s worth keeping that photo somewhere safe. After all, if he ever gets into the Cabinet, you could flog your story to the Daily Mail.’
‘Nothing happened, Mum,’ Holly said. ‘We held hands and he kissed me goodnight. Hardly grounds for an actual kiss-and-tell story, is it?’
‘Oh, the media can make a story out of anything these days,’ Vivian replied. ‘And you never know, it might pay the lease on your shop for a month or two.’
‘I own the place, remember?’ Holly replied. ‘Bricks, mortar, concept and execution, thanks to Grandfather. I don’t think I’ll ever need to sell that story.’
‘Still worth keeping hold of it,’ Vivian said. ‘But I must get back to Dad, anyway. He’s having one of his days.’
‘Is everything all right, Mum?’ Holly was aware that her mother had to deal with her father’s occasional bouts of anxiety and had done a lot to support them both over the years.
‘Oh, you know how he is,’ Vivian replied. ‘He’ll be out the other side by tomorrow morning. It’s just the anniversary of your grandfather’s death that set him off last night. He’ll be back on an even keel soon. He’s worrying about Harry’s latest check-up too, no matter how much Rachel tries to reassure him.’
‘Let me know if there’s anything I can do,’ Holly said.
Like many men of his age, Edward Renton internalised most things, resulting in darkish spells, but these were improving with every passing year now that his father, Holly’s grandfather, had passed away. Holly knew there were some things she’d never know about her father’s relationship with his own dad, had resigned herself to that years ago, but it didn’t make her mother’s life any easier.
Rachel was prone to the odd bout of anxiety herself, and Holly kept the encroaching demons at bay with a rigorous routine of yoga and meditation; she knew her mother did her best to keep her father afloat, too.
‘I will.’ Vivian hugged her daughter and then headed back out of the back door. ‘See you soon.’
As her mother left, Holly closed the lid on the suitcase and dragged it into her bedroom. There would be plenty of time later to go through its contents and see what else she’d stashed from her university days.
Placing the photograph of Charlie firmly to the back of her mind, she flipped on the kettle and made a cup of coffee to take back down to the shop to Rachel. She’d get the photo of her friends out later, scan it and upload it to Facebook. Not for the first time, she was thankful that smartphones didn’t exist when she was at university; there were plenty of memories, especially those concerning the sangria, that were best consigned to memory rather than the internet. And as for that sweet remembrance of the tall, awkward boy in London… that was definitely better consigned to the past.
8
After their initial encounter in the shop, Holly’s path didn’t cross with Charlie’s for a few weeks. She’d heard through the grapevine that, like a lot of Members of Parliament, he was spending Monday to Thursday in Westminster every week, with Friday as his constituency day, although she’d spent enough time learning about politics in her teens to know that this was often a moveable feast. She wasn’t surprised he hadn’t sought her out on his constituency days, really – she realised he must be absolutely up to his neck in work, establishing himself and setting out his stall as the new MP. All the same, now she’d remembered their one brief evening of history all those years ago, she was curious to encounter him again. Would she be able to talk to him and not mention their previous meeting? He probably wouldn’t even remember her if she did bring it up.
On a sunny Friday afternoon, after a successful day’s sales and a meditation class, Holly was just about to flip the sign on the shop’s door when she was jolted to see Charlie ambling up the High Street. Taking a moment to observe him from the vantage point behind a display of altar candles in her shop window, she noticed that he was rubbing his neck, slipping a hand underneath the collar of his white shirt, which he’d unbuttoned a notch when he’d loosened his tie. His waistcoat was also unbuttoned. Holly smiled to herself. Since Gareth Southgate had worn waistcoats all through the last World Cup tournament, they were having a bit of a resurgence. Obviously Charlie thought he should tap into this. She did have to admit, he wore them rather well. Presumably straight off the train, his laptop bag was slung across his body and his hair was dishevelled. With a start, Holly realised her eyes had followed him all the way down the street, and any minute now he’d pass her shop, then turn off the High Street and into Wells Close, where he lived. The location of his house had become common knowledge since he’d moved in, so she didn’t feel like too much of a stalker by mentally plotting his route home.
As if she had no control over them, Holly found her feet stepping out of the front door of the shop and her eyes inspecting the terracotta pots of rosemary and thyme that adorned the doorway, testing the soil for dryness and rubbing the spiny leaves of the rosemary between her fingers, that suddenly itched for something to do. As if it was the most natural thing in the world, when she sensed Charlie was close enough to talk to, she raised her eyes from the plants and smiled.
‘Hi,’ Charlie said, pausing as he reached Holly, who straightened up and turned around just at the right moment. ‘How are you?’
‘Not bad, thanks,’ Holly replied, carefully and neutrally, as if this was just any other exchange with any other passing local.
Charlie’s eyes were friendly, and he was smiling, which was definitely a good sign. He obviously didn’t hold grudges.
‘Have you had a good week?’ he said, glancing towards the open shop door as if checking out if there were any other customers still browsing and buying.
‘Oh, same old, same old,’ Holly smiled, flattered that he’d stopped and not just said hello and moved on. ‘I’ve sold a lot of Himalayan salt crystals this week – I think it’s the spring-cleaning vibe that everyone gets this time of year – people are determined to do a bit of polishing of their auras as well as their houses!’
‘And an aura is…?’ Charlie tried, and failed, not to look amused.
‘The light that surrounds you,’ Holly replied. ‘Skilled readers can work out a lot from the colour of your aura – your thoughts, your emotions and your preoccupations.’
‘Really?’ Charlie tried, and once more failed, to affect a more serious
