cast her mind back, remembering her own early days at uni, the constant seesaw of emotions between breathless anticipation and abject terror as every new boy she met was sized up as a potential date. Freshers’ week had been a cocktail of hormones, vodka and terrible decisions, but there’d been some spectacular kisses too. Something else Libby had missed out on by staying home. ‘So, how was it?’
Libby grinned. ‘Technically, it was very good. Emotionally…’ She heaved a sigh. ‘It was a disaster. A total washout. You know like how the books talk about fireworks and flutterings?’ Beth nodded. ‘Well not a thing. It was hardly more exciting than those practice kisses we used to do on our hands.’
Beth threw back her head and laughed. ‘Oh my God, I’d forgotten about those!’ They’d read somewhere in a teen magazine about a practice technique which involved making a mouth shape with thumb and forefinger. The three of them had slurped and snogged their hands, trying to work out the mechanics. Eliza had gone so far as to suck up a red mark and had to make up a story about banging herself on a desk at school after Annie spotted it. Thinking about Eliza inevitably drew her thoughts back to the original subject. ‘What makes you so sure he wasn’t just a bad kisser?’
‘Because I’ve had some really bad kisses, and some pretty spectacular ones too. He knew his way around a pair of lips, trust me. It just felt empty, and a bit weird. I knew he expected more, and I almost felt like I should go back with him to his room.’ A bleakness settled over her, and Beth worried about where the story was taking them. Libby’s face brightened. ‘Thankfully Dad chose that moment to put the rubbish out. Nothing like the sight of him with his dressing gown flapping around his knees to cool a man’s ardour! I beat a hasty retreat, and hid at home for the next few days until I knew his holiday had ended. After that, I kind of gave up trying.’
Libby pushed herself out of the chair and retrieved their cooling tea from the counter. She held out the floral mug to Beth, tutting when she hesitated. ‘It’s just a cup of tea, not a legally binding contract.’
Acceding to the point, Beth accepted the drink. ‘I’m just not sure…’
Libby slipped back into her seat, crossing her legs so her body was angled towards Beth. ‘What else are you going to do?’
‘Well, there’s this really interesting damp patch on the ceiling of my bedsit. In another few weeks it might reach the corner.’ They laughed again. ‘Truth is, I have no plan, no clue what I want to do and it’s scaring me half to death.’
Her friend reached across, steadying the sudden shaking in Beth’s arm. ‘Baby steps, B. Let’s start with cleaning this place up and then we can go from there. I don’t know about you, but all these dust covers are depressing the hell out of me. Eleanor would hate to see everything coated in dust.’
Beth nodded, dislodging a tear from her cheek which plopped into her cup. Damn, she needed to stop crying at the drop of a hat. Sucking in a deep breath, she dashed the rest of the moisture from her face and sat up straight. ‘Right. You’re right. Let’s get this place spick and span.’ A thought occurred to her. ‘What about the chippy?’
Libby waved it off. ‘Dad’ll be fine to cover lunch.’
Lunch. She’d forgotten. ‘Oh.’
‘What?’
‘Nothing, only Sam made me promise to go next door for lunch. Annie’s doing steak and kidney puddings.’
‘Yuck! You hate kidney almost as much as I do.’ Libby pulled a face.
‘He said he’d get her to make one with mushroom for me.’ And wasn’t that just like Sam, always making sure everyone got what they needed?
‘Oh, is he now?’ Libby said in a sing-song voice, a wide grin on her face.
Beth drained the last of her tea and stood up. ‘Keep stirring like that and you’ll need a wooden spoon.’
Libby stood up to join her. ‘I’ll settle for a duster for now.’ She rummaged under the kitchen sink, giving a crow of triumph as she withdrew a long feather duster. ‘Ooh, I’ve always wanted one of these. Those cobwebs don’t stand a chance.’
Grabbing a packet of cleaning wipes, Beth followed her out onto the shop floor. Together they removed the rest of the dust covers, folding them carefully as opposed to her earlier half-hearted efforts when she’d just dragged them onto the floor. The glass-fronted cabinets and shelves looked exactly as she remembered, down to the placement of the contents. Souvenirs and postcards were by the door to draw in the browsing tourists, curios and gift ideas set further inside.
The cabinet beneath the till was used to showcase new items and currently held a selection of handmade jewellery from a local craftsperson according to a small sign. Beth paused in the act of wiping down the glass to study the delicate silver swirls and loops studded with polished agates in shades of green, taupe and grey. ‘Have you seen these, Libby? They’re gorgeous.’
Her friend stopped chasing cobwebs along the high ceiling to come and peer over her shoulder. ‘Ooh, these are lovely.’ She nudged Beth. ‘Birthday’s coming up, I’ll be dropping some big hints in Dad’s direction.’
Beth sat back on her heels. One of the things she’d always loved about the emporium was the inability to tack a label onto it. The mix of tacky and sophisticated, traditional and cutting-edge designs. ‘Something for everyone,’ Eleanor had liked to say. Using local artists must be something she’d ventured into more recently, and the idea appealed to Beth.
‘I wonder if she’s got a list of contacts, somewhere…’ She was halfway around the desk before the thought had even finished, and a quick rummage through the shelves produced the old-fashioned ledger Eleanor used as an order book and an address book. The temptation to start combing through was strong, but she set them aside for later. Cleaning first, and the rest could wait.
‘God, these bloody things are a nightmare. You’ll need a ladder to get them down.’
Beth glanced over to where Libby was trying, and failing, to dust a selection of inflatables hanging from the ceiling. They must’ve been left over from the previous summer because most of them were three-quarters deflated and looking very sorry for themselves. Libby biffed the snout of a mostly-flat crocodile sending it spinning and dancing on the piece of string tied to his tail. ‘Poor thing, looks like I feel—left on the shelf.’
Beth rounded the counter to hug Libby. ‘We can be spinsters together and spend our evenings crocheting and plucking our chin hairs.’
‘God, can you imagine it? You and me up at Baycrest in a pair of rocking chairs, teeth in a glass as we moan about how things aren’t like they used to be.’ Libby pulled a face. ‘No thanks! I’m going to grow old disgracefully. Mrs Walters up there is my role model. She’s worn out three husbands and is cutting a swathe through the single gents. Got her eye on Pops, but he’s sweet on Mrs Taylor, you know? I tell you, those old folks are having more fun than the rest of us put together. I need a man, B. A nice man with a penchant for women that smell like fried fish and pickling vinegar.’
Beth snorted. For all she made out she stank like the chip shop, Libby used a lime-scented shampoo and always smelled zesty and bright to her. ‘Let’s hope he’s got a friend who likes the smell of dust and plastic then. Leave those things for now, I’ll get them down later. Will you mop the floor, and I’ll get a bucket and see what I can do about these windows?’
‘Hey,
