I say brightly.
‘Hey,’ he replies.
‘You said you would be back,’ I say.
He smiles. ‘I did.’
‘And that you wanted to talk,’ I remind him.
‘I do.’
‘Well, come in, I’ll make us a couple of coffees. I made some fruit mince tarts, topped with meringue. You can try one, tell me if they’re any good.’
‘That would be great,’ he says, loosening up a little.
It surprises me that someone so cool, with so much confidence, could be so awkward after one little peck.
I show him into the kitchen and place a coffee and a tart down in front of him.
‘Wow, you made these? They look amazing,’ he says.
‘I was a chef in a past life,’ I admit.
‘I’m happy to see you’re still dabbling,’ he says, taking a bite. ‘Wow, they’re incredible.’
‘Thanks,’ I reply, with a weak smile.
‘How are things?’ he asks.
‘Not ideal,’ I tell him honestly. ‘I spoke to my landlord today.’
I pause for a second, unsure whether or not someone who is pretty much a stranger is the right person to tell this to. And not only is he someone that I don’t know very well, but he’s also someone I don’t want to scare away by banging on about my problems.
‘Do you want to talk about it?’ he asks.
‘No, it’s fine,’ I reply.
‘You’re taking this better than I thought. It’s a huge relief,’ he says, picking up a second tart.
I stare at him blankly.
‘I was worried about telling you,’ he clarifies.
‘Telling me what?’
‘That I’m buying the shop,’ he says.
I don’t know what I do with my face, but my reaction is all Seb needs to realise that I didn’t know he was buying the shop.
‘Wait, I thought you knew? I thought your landlord had spoken to you?’ he asks, suddenly looking even more worried than when he arrived earlier.
I shake my head.
‘Oh, Ivy, I’m so sorry,’ he says. ‘This wasn’t how I wanted you to find out. I thought Mr Andrews would have said.’
‘He just told me that someone was buying the place, not who or why.’
‘Oh…well, me,’ he replies, cringing at his own delivery. ‘My plan is to knock the place down and build holiday homes.’
‘So do that someplace else,’ I say angrily, the idea of the shop being knocked down suddenly seeming so much worse than someone else simply buying the place.
‘This place is perfect,’ he tells me. ‘It’s the only spot I can find that is big enough, which already has planning permission. There’s huge demand for holiday homes in Marram Bay – you can’t keep up with the increasing number of tourists. And, well, speaking from a strictly business point of view, there’s not much demand for a Christmas shop that’s open 12 months of the year.’
I place my hand on my chest. Ouch.
‘I just mean from a business point of view,’ he says. ‘There are other things you—’
‘Seb, just stop,’ I say. ‘We don’t need to talk about it.’
‘Ivy—’
‘I’ve told Mr Andrews that I’ll be here to help, if you need anything,’ I remind him. ‘For now I think it might be best if you leave.’
‘OK, sure,’ he replies.
Seb opens his mouth, as though he’s about to say something. His words are on the tip of his tongue before he obviously thinks better of saying them. Well, what can he say? He gives me a half-smile before heading for the door, like I asked him to.
I can tell that he feels bad about the way I’ve found out but, again, what good does pity do me?
I am angry and I’m upset, but I’m not going to show it. Instead, I’m going to do everything I can to make sure I can buy this place first. He might have money and charm, but I have roots here. I believe that Mr Andrews will sell to me over Seb if I can make the money first. I just need to figure out how on earth I can do that…
I have come to a shocking and saddening realisation. It has occurred to me, in light of recent circumstances, that I don’t have a life. I suppose I already knew it, at the back of mind – maybe not even the back of my mind, perhaps it was obvious – that I didn’t have much going on other than my work. A love life, a social life, a family… These are all things that have taken a back seat to business. Sure, I have a best friend in my sister, but if I think too hard about it, I feel like that’s maybe just by default. We shared a womb, of course we’re best friends. Taking joint second place on my list of friends are my niece and nephew and then, I suppose, Pete the postman takes the bronze.
That’s sad, isn’t it? I don’t get invited anywhere, apart from my sister’s, and I don’t really do anything but work, read, or watch TV. If I lose the shop I’ll lose my home, my income, my mum’s legacy and my reason to get up of a morning all at once, in an instant, gone before the New Year.
The first thing I need to do is increase the number of customers, and the amount of stock they are buying. That’s why I’ve spent the past two hours making glitter-covered signs letting people know that we’ve got a big, pre-Christmas sale on. I’ve also been going around with a pad of little white stickers too, reducing the price of almost everything.
I’m not crazy, I know that knocking a couple of quid off snow globes isn’t going to save the shop, but if I can improve things just a little, maybe it will help me secure a mortgage. With the way business is at the moment, the banks aren’t exactly going to be fighting over me.
I examine the sparkly ‘sale now on’ sign I made to place in the window before securing it in place. As I do this, I notice a couple of men outside, standing at the end of the front garden.
‘Can I help you?’ I ask them, the similarity between myself and Tubbs from League of Gentlemen making me feel both uneasy and amused.
‘Don’t worry, Ivy, they’re with me,’ I hear a familiar voice say.
That’s when I notice Seb is with them, and that they’re spraying paint all over the ground.
‘What
