When Alison went into the grocer’s, she purchased a packet of biscuits while surreptitiously taking note of the egg prices. She then hurried back, desperate to make time to pop into the ironmonger’s.
There was no sign of the old man at the counter but Paul was there in an instant, his overall sleeves rolled up to his elbows. She couldn’t help noticing the dark hairs on his arms and hoped she wasn’t staring. ‘Hello again,’ he said. ‘I was just doing a spot of lifting round the back. The boss isn’t up to it but it’s no trouble for me.’
‘No, I suppose not,’ said Alison. She could imagine he was strong, and stopped her train of thought before it could go any further.
‘But you haven’t come in here to hear about that, have you?’ He gave her his cheeky grin. ‘What can I do for you?’ He raised his eyebrows and she had to giggle.
‘I just want a nice big nail to hang my coat on.’
‘You don’t want a nail. You want a hook. Come this way and I’ll see what I can find,’ Paul said, leading her into the gloomy interior of the shop. He stopped at a row of dusty drawers and, opening one, he pulled out a brass hook. ‘Here’s a nice one. Perfect to hang a coat on.’
Before she knew how it had happened, Alison found herself pressed against the shelves behind her. Paul was so close that she could smell his skin and hear his breathing as he asked, ‘Would you like to buy it?’
‘I … think … so …’ She couldn’t meet his eyes, afraid he’d see her turmoil.
There was a clatter from the front of the shop. ‘Mr Lanning! Where are you, please?’
Paul gave a short laugh. ‘He always does this. Just when things were getting interesting. Come on.’ More loudly he called, ‘I’m with a customer. We’re just going to the till.’
She had no choice but to follow him as he quickly moved towards the counter, twisting to avoid the various boxes of seemingly random items stacked in odd places along the shop floor. She couldn’t think straight. What had just happened? Was it all in her head?
Blindly she handed over the money and again felt that deliberate touch of his fingers against the skin of her palm as he gave her the change. ‘I’ll see you out, miss,’ he said. The old man nodded in approval and began to make his stooped way away from the counter once more.
Paul grandly opened the door for her. ‘Do you bring sandwiches in for lunch?’ he asked casually.
‘No,’ she said, ‘I usually eat with Fr … Mr Chapman. We’ve got chicken casserole today.’
‘Pity,’ he said.
But when she turned to ask him what he meant, he’d already shut the door.
For the second time that day she stood under the awning not understanding what was going on. She was annoyed that she was at a disadvantage, having had so little experience with men. Then she gave herself a shake. Whatever was going on, she decided she’d enjoy it for all it was worth.
Jill Parrot sat at her kitchen table, several sheets of paper in front of her. There was nothing she liked better than a project to organise. They had about six and a half months to plan the wedding and she couldn’t wait to get started. With Cora, Hazel and Neville working full time and beyond, she was the best person to step in.
She made several headings: Guests, Venue, Catering. Then she divided the remaining space into six columns, one for each month. How long would it take to decide on a venue and how much notice did they need? She wrote a target date in pencil. When it had been confirmed she would write over it in pen. Maybe she should colour-code it according to who was going to do what. Should she assume that it would be at the local church and then they could use the hall? She’d better check. Neither she nor her husband Lennie had any special ties to the parish, and her children would only go to church if it was Christmas, Easter or a special event. Cora was born and bred here, though, and might have strong views.
Jill didn’t mind as long as the young couple had a good day and a proper celebration to start their life together. She smiled as she remembered her own wedding day – how happy she’d been. Neville had come along a year later and Kathy not long after that. Neville was a hard worker, she’d give him that, and such a good-looking lad. Kathy was the brains of the family; she’d got herself a job in an office and was planning to work for the civil service. Jill hoped her daughter wouldn’t put everything into her career and delay having a family of her own. It wasn’t that she objected to women working – she just didn’t want the girl to miss out. Office jobs were all very well but she couldn’t see how that would match the satisfaction of keeping a house, even a small one, and raising children.
Sighing, she thought of her youngest. Richie at fourteen was rock-and-roll mad. He drove them all crazy by playing his records at top volume, which meant they could be heard in every room and probably through the neighbouring walls too. There would be trouble with that one day. And the music was terrible, not what she thought of as music at all. She could only hope he’d grow out of it soon.
Well, she wasn’t going to let that spoil her plans. Gathering her pieces of paper together she decided the next thing would be to go through her lists with Hazel, Neville and Cora. Then she would really get to work. This was going to be an unforgettable day.
‘Kenny, you are going to lose your money, mate.’ Paul grinned wolfishly at his friend as they stood at the bar early that evening waiting to be served. They didn’t usually come to the pub on a Monday but Paul had had enough of the filthy flat. After a weekend of heavy losses his father was in a worse state than ever and was liable to fly into a violent rage at the least thing. Paul intended to put off going home for several hours by which time the old bugger would be asleep or in a drunken stupor – he didn’t care which.
‘You sound pretty sure of yourself.’ Kenny was convinced Paul was all mouth and no trousers when it came down to it. He’d been friends with him since they were at school and had never known him to have a proper girlfriend. It wasn’t for lack of trying but there was something about Paul when you got to know him that seemed to put the girls off. Maybe it was down to his mum dying when she had. He didn’t seem to know what to do with a girl beyond flirting – which, Kenny had to admit, he was quite good at. ‘So how is the ugly bird, then?’
‘She’s like putty in my hands,’ Paul said, signalling to the barman for two pints. ‘I don’t even have to try. She’s after me all the time. If I could only get rid of my boss for a bit I could have her against the storeroom door.’ He paused at the thought. That would be perfect – it would be dark enough not to have to look at her face and then every time he was sent to the storeroom he could remember what he’d done. He almost spilt the drinks at the idea.
‘You filthy sod.’ Kenny raised his glass. ‘To you getting the sack. Because you will. You said yourself that your boss never lets you alone for a minute, and a minute wouldn’t be long enough even for you, mate.’
‘Shut up,’ said Paul easily. ‘I’ll think of something. She ain’t worth losing a job over. I’m not prepared to go short of cash for her. But I won’t have to. She’ll follow me wherever I ask her. So maybe the storeroom will have to wait.’
‘And who said romance was dead,’ Kenny sniggered. He didn’t want Paul to lose his job – that would put the kibosh on their nights down the pub, which were more important than any stupid girl. ‘I’ll want a full report, mind. You seen what’s under her coat yet?’
‘Mind your own business.’ Paul had been certain he could have got beneath her horrible mac earlier in the day if his boss hadn’t called him. She’d been trembling in front of him. What a pushover.
‘That’s a no, then,’ said Kenny triumphantly. ‘Never mind, spring is round the corner. Be able to get a good look then, won’t you? All those lovely girls taking