She was saying, ‘I’d better get back to work. Poor Dulcie is run off her feet, and she’s got more important things to do than cover for me. Stop by the shop later? I’ll treat you to some snowflake biscuits to take home.’
‘We will,’ Beatrice’s mother said. ‘But don’t work too hard and make sure you take a proper break.’
Mark closed his eyes and counted to ten. Beatrice worked atthe farm?
Oh, hell. All he hoped was that he could escape with his dignity intact.
‘How did the rest of your day go?’ Deborah asked when Beatrice walked into her mum’s house later that evening to collect the children. ‘They’ve had their tea,’ she added.
Beatrice gave her a grateful hug, then stuck her head around the living room door and told the kids to collect their things, before she answered. ‘I’ve been rushed off my feet. The time has flown by.’
She’d loved every minute of it, thoroughly enjoying the interaction with the customers, and she’d had so much fun bringing their attention to things they hadn’t considered buying, such as a Christmas Eve Box or a gingerbread milkshake. She felt part of the team already, and she really wanted Dulcie to do well.
‘Thank you for bringing the girls to see the Grinch,’ she added.
Once again, her thoughts turned to the man in the green costume. She had been thinking about him on and off for the rest of the afternoon and hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that he reminded her of someone. His voice had been achingly familiar, but it couldn’t have been…
‘It was a pleasure. We loved it, and you know your father – he’s a big kid himself, so he was in his element.’
‘I really do appreciate you looking after them.’
‘I know, sweetheart. I’m just pleased you’re doing something for yourself at last.’
Beatrice gave her an arch look. ‘I’m doing this for the extra money,’ she replied.
‘That, too,’ her mum agreed. ‘But I can see how much you’re enjoying it. You’ve got some of your sparkle back.’
‘Just some?’ Beatrice joked weakly. She was well aware that she’d lost her sparkle. It had disappeared around the time she’d discovered that Eric had been having an affair. Then he’d disappeared too, leaving her to bring up the children on her own. Mind you, even before he’d left, Eric hadn’t been much of a husband or father. At least he was anex-husband now, so that was something to be grateful for.
Her mum said, ‘You’ve not had a full sparkle for years.’
‘A full sparkle? Have you been on the gin?’
‘Not yet. I’m serious, Bea, you haven’t.’
‘These past few years have been hard.’
‘You lost it before you and Eric split up.’
Beatrice shrugged. ‘Two small children can rub the sparkle off anyone,’ she replied. However, she knew what her mother meant. Beatrice’s sparkle had begun to dim after she’d had her heart broken at the tender age of twenty-one.
It had taken her a long time to learn to love again – and look how that had turned out. Beatrice would happily do without any sparkle if it meant not being hurt again.
But it was nice that her mum thought she’d regained some, even if it was merely a glimmer and not a full-on shine.
Anyway, what was all this talk about sparkles? She needed to take the kids home and sort them out, not prattle on about sparkles.
They were taking their time, so she went into the hall and shouted for them to hurry up, and when she strolled back to the kitchen, her mum was mashing a teabag against the side of a mug with a spoon.
‘I’ve got some gossip,’ Deborah announced. ‘You remember that boy you used to go out with, Mark Stafford? Apparently, he’s back. Staying at The Black Horse for a couple of weeks, so Monica says. I saw her this morning when I nipped out to fetch your dad’s paper and a pint of milk. She was going into the butchers for a packet of their nice sausages, the ones with caramelised onions in them.’
Beatrice couldn’t care less about the damned sausages, not when her heart was pounding and her legs felt weak at the mention of Mark’s name. ‘Why?’ she managed. Monica ran the pub with her husband Dave, so it must be true.
Her mum looked bewildered for a moment. ‘I expect there’s sausage and mash on the menu today.’
‘Mum, I don’t care about the sausages. Why is Mark Stafford in Picklewick?’
‘Work, Monica said. He’s some kind of artist. She and Dave seem to think it’s something to do with books, but she also said Dave might have got that wrong.’
