‘But I need this. I… I don’t have anywhere else to go.’
Elliot just nods and gives an abrupt shrug as though he’s saying ‘me too’ again.
‘I just want to be on my own,’ I say, and it comes out a bit desperate. ‘Besides, there’s still the problem of the bed situation. So you can’t stay here, even if you wanted to.’
‘Even though I’ve paid my money too, and made the journey, and I’m here now, and I want to stay?’ he says, and there’s something so reasonable and dry in his voice that I find myself getting annoyed. He already thinks he’s won.
‘Look, I’ve got stuff to do, I can’t stand here talking. I have to get the sacks of flour from my van down at the harbour, and there’s scones to bake, and…’
‘You bake?’ he says.
I nod. ‘A little.’
‘That’s good. I could help out with that. I mean, I’ve never baked before but I can learn.’
I tip my head. ‘You said you came in an Uber. Can you just call them back and, I don’t know, get going?’ I think of the money in my bank account and wince at the thought of parting with it, but needs must. ‘I’ll give you your half of the booking fees back. There must be a cash machine somewhere round here.’
‘There’s one at the visitors’ centre.’
‘OK, great! Well then—’
‘Jude,’ he cuts me off and comes closer. When he sees me take a step backwards he freezes. ‘Look, Jude, I really want to stay.’
I huff out a breath and my shoulders stiffen.
‘I can help out around here. See?’ He walks over to a bookshelf and plucks a dusty novel from the top shelf. ‘I’m good at reaching things, right?’ He half smiles as he says this and I have to hide the fact I found the way his mouth moved completely delightful.
‘There’s a step ladder right there,’ I say, stolid and unmoving.
‘OK, I can lug the stuff from your van. It’s a long way up the slope from the harbour. You said there were flour sacks? Those can’t be light. I can go fetch them for you.’
‘There’s a sled by the shop door for transporting stuff like that.’ I’m not giving in. This guy has to go, and not just because I might want a little solitude after busy days in my shop, but because I don’t know him from Adam. He’s turned up here with the sleek black hair falling over his cheekbones and a scar over his eyebrow, and he’s saying he’s got nowhere else to be, and he’ssupposedlya vet teacher but what kind of teacher has muscles like that and walks around looking deadly in baggy pants and a sweat top like he’s fresh from boot camp? No.I’ve readAll Creatures Great and Small. No vet was ever muscle-bound and hot like that – if you like that sort of thing, which I don’t.
‘I can serve? I’m good with people,’ he shrugs, lowering himself into a chair in the middle of the shop.
‘Are you? You scared the life out of me last night.’
‘I’m sorry about that. Listen, I can work the till, and help with the stock taking and money side of things? I was always good at that kind of stuff.’
I pause. I sip my coffee. ‘That doesn’t fix the bed problem.’ I’m so stubborn. Daniel always tells me that.
He leans forward, elbows on his knees and hangs his head slightly, and I’m surprised to find myself suddenly panicked he might actually leave. What the hell is that all about? The thought of someone taking responsibility for the money – or more specifically the cashing up – must have been properly appealing for a moment.
I’m asking myself if I’ve lost my mind when he says, ‘I can lug a mattress down into the shop at night. There’d be plenty of room for me to sleep if I move a table or two. Aldous can keep me company. What do you say, little guy?’ We both glance at the sleeping dog’s hunched shoulders and curved back; he doesn’t move a whisker. ‘See,he’sthrilled. And I’ll keep out of your way, Jude. You wouldn’t know I was here.’ That half smile again, just a curve at his lips but I feel myself caving in.Argh!
‘Who’s your favourite author?’ I say.
‘Huh?’
‘What do you like to read?’Not Catcher in the Rye, not Catcher in the Rye, not Catcher in the Rye.
‘Well… I like, uh… let’s see. Paulo Coelho?Umm, what else? Ursula K. Le Guin is amazing.Uh, you really put me on the spot here. Last thing I read wasWuthering Heights. That was pretty awesome. Bleak but awesome.’
Half an hour later and Elliot’s on his way back up the hill with a spring in his step, my van keys in his pocket, and a sack of flour over one shoulder and the sugar, eggs and marge together in a bag bumping off his thigh. He puts them down on the shop counter as if they’re as light as air.
I’ve filled the cash tray inside the till using the float and counted it twice and written the total on a notepad so I can be extra sure things stay straight, and I nod in his direction.
‘You OK? Something wrong with the money?’ he says.
