11 The Teashop on the Corner (44 page)

‘He ain’t,’ said Will. ‘But he has everything Nicole most values in a man: lots of money, lots of people working for him, big house, posh car; and he won’t believe
his luck that he’s landed her so he’ll be chucking presents at her left, right and centre. He’ll think he’s got a proper trophy.’ He laughed. God he’d been such
a fool and it was so obvious now. Seven years ago, he’d been Scotterfield, unable to believe his luck that a woman of Nicole’s calibre couldn’t leave him alone. He’d been
sucked into her circle of people trying to outdo each other, to be the wealthiest, have the biggest house and the most luxurious holidays. He’d taken his eye off the ball, over-gambling his
luck to be ‘king of the set’, and why? He didn’t even like them – they weren’t his sort of people. He’d lost sleep, lost weight, lost everything – for an
illusion of happiness.

‘You want them delivered?’ asked Will, pointing to the bouquet which Carla was holding. ‘I’ll do it for you. Could do with the fresh air.’

‘Erm, great,’ said Carla. ‘I’ll get you the address.’

He might have said he was okay, but Carla thought he looked anything but. She fought her natural urge to give him a comforting squeeze. The last one had ruined everything.

Shaun saw Leni leaving Carla’s flower shop and called to her.

‘I wanted a quick word,’ he said. ‘About the O’Gowan boy.’

He saw her stiffen.

‘Oh yes,’ she said, tightness in her voice.

‘I bumped into his father,’ said Shaun. He supposed a tweak of the facts would do no harm. ‘We had a wee chat. You won’t be getting any trouble from his
family.’

‘Oh thank you,’ she said, and he knew that he’d shocked her. Maybe she had been expecting another lecture from him. ‘That was very kind of you.’

‘Obviously in the short term that takes the pressure off, but maybe you ought to formalise things if you are serious about fostering him.’

‘Yes, yes,’ she replied, her brow furrowed. He’d assumed she would huff and tell him to mind his own business.

‘I’d think carefully about it, of course.’ He saw that defensive look spark up in her eyes again and held up his hands in a gesture of peace. ‘Look, if these social
workers think that you’re acting not in the boy’s best interests, they could take him away and you might never see him again.’

The angry look waned. ‘I know,’ she said with a long drawn-out sigh. ‘How can they let him go so easily, Mr McCarthy? He’s a good boy. A fine boy.’

‘One that you haven’t known two minutes,’ said Shaun, trying to sound sensible rather than biased. ‘I don’t want to . . .’
see you get hurt
‘.
. . see this get any worse for anyone.’

He was trying to not sound as protective as he felt. He didn’t need to be. Ms Merryman could look after herself, he had no doubt. Besides which, he didn’t want to worry about her.
She was nothing to him but a tenant. He needed to keep reminding himself of that until it stuck in his thick skull.

‘I appreciate your concern,’ said Leni. ‘I believe in him.’ She broke the subject off and changed to another. ‘I’ve just come from the florist shop.
It’s lovely in there. Have you seen what Carla’s done to it?’

‘I’m not concerned,’ said Shaun sharply. ‘As long as everyone pays their rent to me, they can decorate their units in unicorns and fairies for all I care.’ And with
that he strode away, fighting off the ever-thickening strands of involvement that were binding him to Leni Merryman.

*

After delivering the bouquet to a woman whose pupils dilated more at the handsome delivery man than at the birthday flowers, Will drove to B&Q and made his way over to the
familiar ladder section. There were no staff around and even if there were, the way he felt at the moment, he would have been brazen enough to set a ladder up and do what he was about to do in
front of them.

He couldn’t remember ever before being so self-searching as he had been since yesterday, when he and Carla had kissed in her shop. It had knocked him to the core to discover how much the
simple touching of their lips had affected him. It hadn’t so much mixed him up as straightened him out.

He’d been sleeping, eating and smiling again since he moved into Dundealin and he’d credited the peace in his soul to dropping all the stresses of his debts. But he’d only been
partly right, because he realised when he kissed Carla what a huge contribution she had made to the spring in his step. Her kindness, her gentleness, her friendliness, her humour, her acceptance of
him, a skint roofer with a fear of heights, had been a massive reason why his spirit felt as light as a helium-filled balloon. Helping her kit out the shop, sharing fish and chips with her,
enjoying her presence in the house were all simple pleasures that made him feel like a man again. She was a bloody gorgeous girl and he had been acting like a tongue-tied teenager in her presence
since they’d kissed. He’d never once felt like that with Nicole – they’d gone from nought to sixty on the first date.

Will lifted up the ladder and rested it against the wall and began to climb it. And he kept on climbing it until one of the sales staff saw him above the display shelves and ran over before he
fell off and health and safety came down on them like a ton of bricks.

Carla lifted the bottle of champagne which Theresa and Jonty had brought her yesterday out of the fridge. She hadn’t wanted to drink it by herself on the opening day, but
tonight, she thought she just might pop out the cork and sink the whole lot, even though she knew it would make her blasted and very probably sick.

Will had left the shop at four saying that he was going to the gym and she didn’t expect to see him again that evening. Plus he had helped her in the shop for a couple of days, and she
hoped that he didn’t presume she’d want the favour to carry on indefinitely and so was trying to subtly extricate himself. She hadn’t tried to second-guess his feelings before the
kiss: why had things changed so much now?

She was untwisting the wire at the head of the bottle when she heard the outside door open and close again. She thought he would go straight to his flat, but he came into the kitchen instead,
carrying his gym bag over his shoulder.

‘You’re cracking it open, then?’ he said, flicking a finger towards the bottle.

‘Erm, yes. Would you like a glass?’

She asked but she knew he would refuse. He would have something more important to do.

‘Yeah, why not. I’ll get the glasses out.’

Oh, that was a shocker. So was the fact that he set three on the table.

‘I thought I’d get an extra one, for the guest,’ he said.

‘The guest?’ Carla was confused.

‘The massive great fat elephant in the room. It’s going to crush my bleedin’ lungs if someone don’t get rid of it.’

Carla felt her heart jump as if it were a horse just clearing Bechers Brook.

‘Carla,’ Will sat down at the table. ‘Yesterday when . . . we . . .’

‘Oh don’t worry,’ Carla waved her hands over-dramatically. ‘Totally understand. You don’t need to explain. It was a funny day, Julie ordering flowers, emotions
running high . . .’

‘Carla, shut up a minute.’

Carla’s jaw snapped shut.

‘I didn’t expect it.’

‘I didn’t either but . . .’

He reached out and put his finger across her lips. ‘Shush. Let me speak. Please.’

She nodded and he removed his hand. ‘Carla. You’re so . . . so . . . bloody wonderful,’ he said and saw her big brown eyes widen at his words. ‘I’ve been thinking
how happy I am. I thought it was just the fact that I’ve got rid of all the crap that was weighing me down – the bills, the business, the worry – but that isn’t all of it.
Being around you makes me happy. I even climbed a bloody ladder today. Right to the top. The bloke in B&Q nearly had a fit.’

Carla blurted out a laugh. It was a lovely sound, he thought. She even laughed nice.

‘Look.’ Will raked his hand through his fair wavy hair, a nervous gesture. ‘I’m not on the rebound, but I’m still married. Legally. Even if my wife is knocking off
my arch enemy. Not that I give a flying toss about that because Nicole don’t even cross my mind. My head just wants to think about you.’

He heard Carla give a little gasp and he was encouraged by it. That and the fact that she wasn’t screaming and running away from him.

‘I’ll be up and on my feet again soon, I know I will. I’m not the type to stay down for long; but I have to say now, poor as I am, that I am the most content I’ve ever
been. I don’t have anything to offer you, Carla, but I . . . I want to take you out to dinner. Won’t be the Ivy. And I want to kiss you again. And I think, if you want that, it might be
nice to take things slow. Like learning to climb a ladder again.’

‘A rung at a time?’ said Carla, her voice a rush of joy-laden breath.

‘Exactly,’ said Will with a sparkling lop-sided grin. ‘One lovely sure-step of a rung at a time.’

Mr Singh was waiting outside the church when the flower-filled hearse arrived. He was wearing a beautifully cut black suit and a black turban. He looked even smarter than
usual, which was quite an achievement because he was always immaculately dressed.

Molly managed a sad smile by way of greeting. ‘I’m so glad you could come, Pavitar,’ she said as he bent to her and put a soft kiss on her cheek, then offered his arm to her
without saying a word. He was too upset to speak.

‘One of Molly and Harvey’s friends from that little teashop,’ Margaret explained to Bernard. ‘Used to be a surgeon. Marvellous doctor.’ She turned her head to look
at the flowers in the hearse. They were absolutely beautiful. ‘The lass has done a good job, hasn’t she?’

‘Yes, she has,’ said Bernard. He too was choked up. It was all so sad. He wished Molly and Harvey had had more time together. He felt that it was too little compensation that they
parted loving each other again.

Carla had left the shop in Will’s hands. He had insisted she go to the funeral. Leni had also shut up shop and was there looking odd in black, as everyone was so used to seeing her in
bright colours. She looked tiny in her smart coat, a black flower pinned behind her ear.

Mavis Marple had turned up too. She was a professional funeral-attender, after all. She enjoyed the hymns and the occasional drama, and, if she was lucky, the buffet afterwards. She spotted
Carla and rushed over, her arms open ready to hug the younger woman.

‘How lovely to see you,’ she bubbled. ‘Your old house has been sold. Very nice couple moved in. He used to be high up in Yorkshire Water but he’s deaf now. She’s
from Thailand. Between you and me I think he bought her. But they seem happy enough. She’s called Nom, he’s called Norm. Bet that causes a few mix-ups. They’ve got one of those
new cross-breed dogs – a Rotthuahua I think she said. Very funny-looking thing.’

‘Have they?’ replied Carla, politely, though she had no wish to know anything about the bungalow, in fact, it was as if she had never lived there. More and more her old life with
Martin was feeling like a dream because she was no longer the same woman who was married to a man who gave her so little. She was moving on at a rate of knots. She didn’t care what Martin and
Julie had had or done together, she was just glad she had found a new life whilst she was still young enough to enjoy it. She felt as if she had been let out of a dark box and was now getting fully
accustomed to the light.

‘Whose funeral is it then? Do you know?’ Mavis whispered at her usual thousand decibels.

‘It’s a very dear old gentleman called Harvey Hoyland,’ replied Carla.

‘Name doesn’t ring a bell,’ sniffed Mavis. ‘Are they having a buffet after, do you know?’

‘A small private one at his brother-in-law’s house.’

Mavis huffed whilst giving an Elvis sneer. She wouldn’t be able to go to that one then. She hadn’t had any breakfast either so she could have a good feast. That was a
disappointment.

They all filed into the lovely old Maltstone church. Unlike the last funeral Carla had attended, there were no dramatic scenes to spoil the dignity of the occasion.

Harvey had left a letter outlining his desired funeral plans, which were very short and simple. He had chosen his favourite hymn and requested a cremation rather than a burial.

The letter was in the same pocket in the suitcase as an envelope containing his will and the serviette signed by Placido Domingo. There were also photographs of him at Base Camp Everest, posing
with Judi Dench, Sean Connery, Sir Ranulph Fiennes and, as identified by a stunned Bernard, the Sultan of Brunei.

After hearing the story of the impromptu opera, Margaret suggested they play the song, ‘Time to Say Goodbye’, but Molly refused. She didn’t want to think of Harvey’s
funeral when she heard that song; the memories she would recall were of the night in the restaurant, the diners applauding, his voice and presence filling the room. The song was beribboned in happy
full-of-life memories in her head, not sad ones.

So the small select congregation sang ‘To Be a Pilgrim’, and Bernard read a poem by Henry Scott-Holland which he had heard once at another funeral and thought the words would be a
perfect fit for Harvey – and Molly.