in the arm than to shield herself from his amused disbelief.
Ben’s chest rose and fell, his lips straightened out. ‘It’s not that I don’t think you can, I just didn’t expect you to say that. I mean a business is a lot of work. You can’t just flit in and out. You have to think ahead. You have to be serious. And, well, just how serious is a unicorn gift shop?’
‘It’s very serious. You wouldn’t know. You’ve spent your working life with your head in textbooks and papers and whatnot. Your lack of online presence alone tells me you’ve no idea about the explosion of unicorn everything. People love them. Not just kids either. Teens. People in their twenties. Thirties. Everyone. There are webpages dedicated to them. My social media feeds are dotted with random snaps of them. They’re huge. Which means my unicorn gift shop is going to draw crowds from all around, you’ll see.’ Poppy gave a definitive nod. Ben’s reaction only added fuel to her plans. He thought she was the same old flighty, fun Poppy? Well, he was going to find out otherwise. ‘Anyway, you never told me what business you were planning to open?’ Poppy gazed out at the window, her heart picking up pace as she took in the streets whizzing past. As familiar to her as the back of her hand, these were streets she’d roamed day and night, her mother giving her more freedom than any child should ever have. Freedom, when what she’d really wanted was love. To feel loved. To feel wanted. The only person who’d made her feel that way sat opposite her. But that was a long time ago. Things had changed. She had changed.
‘A gourmet tea shop.’ Ben expertly parallel parked outside a row of houses around the corner from the shops. ‘High-end teas sourced from around the globe. Delicious cakes. Slices. Biscuits.’
‘And who’ll be making these cakes and slices? You?’ Poppy released her seatbelt and got out of the car. She lifted her arms in a long stretch, breathed in the sun-warmed air, and allowed herself a small smile as she took in the terraced homes, many fronted by perfectly clipped hedges perched atop matching brick fences. So different to the wooden one-storeyed Sixties-style bungalows and Eighties-built style-free square boxes that had lined the street she’d flatted in last.
The slam of the car door brought her attention back to Ben, who was expertly knotting his tie.
‘Yes, me.’ He scooped up a suit jacket and shrugged it on, then buttoned it up. ‘I’ll be doing the baking.’
‘Really?’ Poppy released the stretch, then leaned against the car. ‘I know you were the king of Home Economics at school but baking at school is one thing – baking for business is another.’
‘And you’d know this how?’ Ben locked his car and started up the street.
‘Am I coming with you?’ Poppy trailed after him. ‘I thought I was to stay with the car.’
‘You can come for the walk if you want. I’d have thought you’d be tired of being stuck inside. Or you can stay here. Do what you want. I don’t care.’
He could say he didn’t care, but the squaring of his shoulders and the frostiness in his voice told her otherwise. Stupid, Poppy. She’d just pooh-poohed his business idea. Pooh-poohed him. It was one thing to listen to her horrid inner critic that always tried to make her second-guess her abilities, her worth, but she had no right to project that inner critic onto Ben. Not when she knew how determined and disciplined Ben could be. He could have taken night classes. Watched online tutorials. Done any number of things to learn how to bake for the masses, and she wouldn’t know. Their steady stream of communication when she’d first left had turned into a trickle over the years as Ben had become busier. His emails shorter. To the point. And, eventually, she’d got the point, Ben didn’t have time for her. Yet she’d still emailed on occasion, whenever she moved, just so someone at home knew where she was in case anything went wrong.
Poppy jogged a few steps to catch up with Ben. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m an idiot. I should know better. Whenever you put your mind to something you make it work. More than that, you succeed. You always have. I bet you could enter a baking competition on the telly and win. Easily.’
‘I bet I could too. And it’s not like I stopped baking once I left school. It’s been my stress relief for as long as I can remember. It also made me very popular at work when I brought in the previous night’s goods.’ Ben turned onto a bustling side street, dotted with shops that hadn’t been there when she left. A generic chain-store coffee shop, a designer clothing store, a store selling cutesy baby gear. She spotted the charity store where she’d got most of her wardrobe from as a youngster. Got? More like stolen. Hunching in the doorway in the middle of the night, rifling through bags left at the door, praying she wouldn’t be caught, not wanting to admit to anyone that her mother was too busy with her art and friends and gregarious lifestyle to be bothered to think her daughter might need clothes. To be bothered to think, or care, about her daughter at all.
Give big anonymous donation to store. Poppy added the thought to the top of her mental ‘to-do’ list.
Next to the charity store stood an empty shop, a ‘for lease’ sign hanging in its window. Was the sign a sign? Was that the shop she could set up her business in? Lightness infused her heart, dispersing the dread she hadn’t realised had been sitting dark and heavy. She’d take note of the number and call the shop’s owner once she was settled in her new place.
Ben crossed the street then stopped in front of the shop. Her shop. No, surely not. He wasn’t stealing her shop from underneath her, was he? Not that he knew it was her shop, but it had to be. She felt it deep down. The same way she’d known deep down that it was time to come home.
‘How do I look?’ He straightened his shoulders, ran his hand over his perfect-as-always hair and flashed her a winning smile.
‘Perfect. Is the shop around the corner? On the main road?’
‘No. It’s this one, right here.’ He angled his head towards the space. ‘It suits my budget, and the street’s busy, and close enough to the main street that people won’t be put off making a small detour to visit.’
‘You’ve thought it all out.’ Of course he had. That’s what Ben did. His life had been mapped out since he was young. He didn’t do anything without careful thought. The opposite of herself. She’d figured she’d come home, find a flat, nab herself a space, place an order for a bunch of cute unicorn product and watch the customers and money roll in. She’d not even thought about budgets, other than to have enough money in the bank to start the business.
The squeak of the front door snapped her out of her darkening mood. ‘Mr Evans? You’re on time. Excellent. I like that. You didn’t mention anything about bringing someone? No matter though. There’s not much to see, just the main space, the kitchen behind, and there’s a small office. But it’s always good to have a second opinion. Come in. Come in. Lovely to meet you, dear, I’m Monty Gilbert. Call me Monty.’
‘Actually, she was going to stay out—’ Ben went to correct the bespectacled gentleman who’d greeted him, but stopped as he was hustled inside.
Poppy gave him a ‘what can you do’ shrug, trailed inside and then stepped to the right, giving Ben some space to chat to the landlord and giving herself a moment to view the shop that would have been hers if Ben hadn’t seen it first.
It was beautiful. Perfect. Polished wooden floors gleamed under subtle downlights. One end of the shop was lined in redbrick, the other plastered and painted a barely-there cream. She could imagine white-painted shelves pushed up against it, filled with unicorn stationery – holographic pens, unicorn stickers, writing sets. Mugs from bombastic
