ply, so thin they’re like lace. Some china too – milk jugs in the shape of cardboard milk cartons, butter dishes which look like margarine tubs, sugar bowls resembling a crinkled open packet of sugar, espresso mugs like crumpled paper cups – but all in white glossy stoneware.’
‘Quirky,’ said Rick.
‘That’s my shop! Oh, and some Dogs in Clogs and Mice in Hice.’
Rick laughed.
‘How was the show for you?’
‘It was great,’ he said, ‘a really good day. If tomorrow is the same, it’ll be fantastic.’
Politely, she asked him about his business, when he formed it, what gave him the idea, how hard it had been to set up and keep going in these challenging times. He responded with ease and threw in extra details as if they were bonus discounts. His age (twenty-nine), his background (Hampshire, older sister married with kids, parents still in his childhood home), his current situation (owner of small modern house in Milton Keynes, drives an Audi, plays five-a-side), his work (serviced offices he can walk to as well as travelling to clients a couple of days a week). And then he mentioned an ex, just in passing, just so the information was out there (four years together, split in the new year, bit of a mad woman so good riddance).
‘And you?’
‘Me?’
She told him about the shop, her mum, the Tree Houses, and then she told him about Tim, surprising herself how easy it was to mirror Rick, to mention her ex casually.
‘How is it sharing the business?’
‘Not ideal.’
‘I’ll bet,’ said Rick. ‘I admire you.’
Vita shrugged. ‘We’ll see.’
He raised his glass to her. ‘Shall we get out of here? Or do you want to butter up traders?’ She looked around the hall and thought, If we leave here, where might it lead? Simply up to Muswell Hill? Or beyond?
‘What do you think?’ he asked. ‘I feel quite hungry,’ he added.
Did she feel hungry?
‘What do you think?’ He said it in an American accent this time.
How much thinking should she do about whether it was a good idea? She glanced at Rick who smiled easily at her. Friendly, easygoing, nice-looking bloke.
‘Let’s go and have a quick drink somewhere else,’ he said. ‘What do you think?’ His regular voice now.
‘I think –’ said Vita. And then she decided not to think, just to act. ‘That would be great.’
They circumnavigated the Palace, pointing out landmark buildings hazy in the distance. When he located them, he tucked his head close to hers, his outstretched arm against her, guiding her gaze. It sent a tremor through her body which mixed with the adrenalin and dried her mouth and in all, it was a fantastic sensation. They crossed a rather dingy car park and walked along a path by the children’s playground, strolling up Dukes Avenue making small talk about the Edwardian splendour of the area. When they crossed roads, he put a hand on her shoulder, at her elbow, in the small of her back, and she felt herself all but float along the pavement.
‘Look at these,’ she said, pointing out the paintings on chewing gum, and she liked it that he simply marvelled at them, with no need for clever quips. She liked him. She liked the feeling of liking him. She felt light and smiley and too full of excitement to think about her friends, both of whom were desperate for updates, haranguing her phone which was deliberately on silent. She felt bolder than she had done in months, and this had a momentum of its own. She had no need of her support network. Pretty soon, she was nudging Rick teasingly when he said something intentionally daft or corny.
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