style="font-size:15px;"> Ella raised an eyebrow, sensing victory. “It’s your call.”
And yeah, he was the real deal. “I’ll try and find him, ask him.” He’d say no. What was it he’d said? Don’t let having it all fuck you up? Something told her that Jake didn’t want it all, he never had. He’d always shunned the rich kids at school, kept his distance and kept his pride. And she had a horrible feeling that even flashing her posh frocks and posy job made him angry. He thought she was a rich, spoiled brat who just used people. He hadn’t had to say it, it was in his eyes, in that slightly judgemental tone he’d tried not to let creep into his voice. He’d taken her out on his bike because she’d asked, and because he’d wanted her as much as she wanted him. But he didn’t want anything else to do with her.
Which could make this tricky. But she wanted to know why. Which made it even trickier. What did she care? He was a thug with a chip on his shoulder. Except he wasn’t a thug. Bugger.
She tried not to grin, look like she didn’t care either way. “If he says no, then it’s your turn to think of someone, Ella.”
“If he says no, then you’re losing your touch, wild child.”
“Thanks.”
“Welcome. So where do we start?”
“We?” Georgie raised an eyebrow.
“We.” Ella folded her arms. “What does he do?”
“Do?”
“Can we cut the monosyllabic responses George, I know you’re smarter than that. What does he do, you know, for a job?”
“How the hell am I supposed to know?”
“So what did you two talk about then?”
“Talk?” She raised the eyebrows as high as they could go and looked at her friend as though she’d sprouted an extra head. “This wasn’t supposed to be the start of a beautiful relationship, Ella.”
“Sorry, I forgot for a moment there who I was talking to.”
Georgie stared at the ceiling. One thing she’d liked about this place when she was growing up was that everyone knew everybody else. And their business. Which she hated now, but… “I know somebody who is good at talking. Mrs Bea. Come on, we’re going for a walk.”
“Walk?”
Georgie grinned at the way Ella was staring at her feet. Beautifully encased in her new, totally impractical, designer shoes. “Now who can’t string a sentence together?” She still wasn’t entirely convinced this was a good idea, but the damned man seemed to have taken residence in her head, and the only way to evict him was to see him in broad daylight when she was sober. Then he wouldn’t be the bad boy super stud she’d imagined. He’d be normal, boring and not in the slightest bit interesting at all. He probably had a weak chin, and spots. And a bad haircut. And he was probably so rough at the edges he wouldn’t even do for the shoot. “Let’s go hunt us down a biker boy.”
***
The sweet shop wasn’t quite how she remembered it. The bell still pinged when you opened the door, but that was about it. Obviously, just selling plain old sweets didn’t cut the mustard these days, you needed to sell them labelled as sugared candy or ‘Olde Worlde’ and replace the pocket money prices with wage packet ones.
And cuddly Mrs Bea had been replaced by a sullen girl with long, straight, blonde hair and a scowl. If she’d been in earlier she’d have known, but somehow since returning to the town sweets hadn’t been high on her priority list. Men kept the pounds off the hips, well at least the type she’d been after did, sugar put them on. So she’d concentrated on the boys.
“Wow, look at these George, I’ve not seen candy necklaces since I was a kid.” Ella was dangling a string of sweets from one finger, a wide grin on her face. “Hey, and sherbet dips, and have you seen this they’ve got gobstoppers.”
“Now I know what the expression like a kid in a candy shop really means.” Georgie rolled her eyes in what she hoped was a theatrical, and not a sarcastic, fashion. But Ella didn’t care, she was too busy skipping from one new delight to the next. Literally.
“Well my, if it isn’t little Georgina Hampton. And haven’t you grown up?”
Georgie spun round at the sound of the familiar kind but firm tone of Mrs Bea. Her hair was shorter, slightly more curled and the grey that had been creeping in last time they’d met had taken over. But the round face was instantly recognisable, the twinkling eyes surrounded now by a few more wrinkles. And the broad grin was the one she remembered. If Father Christmas had been a woman, he’d have been Mrs Bea.
Beatrice Stone and her sweet shop had been a childhood treat that no amount of hard knocks could make her forget.
“I’d heard you were back in town, dear.”
See, she’d been right. That was just typical of this place, everyone over the age of thirty probably knew where she was working, how long she was staying (even though she didn’t herself) and who she’d been talking to. And what she’d been doing on a motorbike last night. She felt the colour rise to a glow in her cheeks and felt like some naïve kid who’d been caught out kissing behind the bike sheds. Not that she’d ever actually done that when she was at school.
Mrs Bea chuckled and the temperature went up another notch, if that was possible. She was not, was definitely not, going to let coming back here send her back to her teens. She was stronger than that, she’d changed. She was who she wanted to be.
“So, you’re back at the old place then?”
“No, in the apartment.” She picked up a lollipop, turned it slowly in her fingers. “I didn’t want to stay in the house, it’s too big.” Not that it was hers to stay in any more. Bea would know, but Bea probably just wanted to know more. She glanced up and the older woman was watching her closely. “And they—” she wasn’t going to say the witches name again, “--had rented it out anyway.” She shrugged. Carol had been thrilled, almost orgasmic in her ecstasy, if that was possible for a woman her age and mass, when she’d told them she was going back home for the summer. And Alfie had looked totally relieved. He’d passed a half-hearted ‘are you sure that’s what you want’ then hadn’t waited for a response. Oh yeah, they couldn’t wait to get rid of her and the only fly in the ointment has been the fact that they’d put the house, her home, out on long term rent. But then he’d remembered it had an annexe, and he’d moved heaven and earth to get it cleaned up, decorated and aired for her. Amazing how fast people could move when they really wanted to get rid of somebody. Not that they knew why she was really going back. She’d wondered who the germ of an idea that had been growing in her head would frighten more, if she ever mentioned it, her or Alfie. He’d probably clam up, head her off if he knew. Like he always did when she mentioned anything to do with the past.
“And how are your father and Carol?”
“Fine.” She put the lollipop back, and ignored the question on Bea’s face. She wasn’t going to talk about them. It had been a long overdue parting of the ways, and she would have moved earlier if she’d had the money to do it. But she’d flunked school, so he made her stay on until she had at least some qualifications to her name. And, after that, the first year of her art course had been great, but then Carol had kicked up such a fuss that
