‘But you just said…’
‘Look, everybody has their own thing they worry about.’ Hoping that was an end to the matter, I made the left turn into the passageway leading to our shop, breathless with the climb and trying to keep up with Elliot’s strides.
He followed me in silence for a moment before saying, ‘True.’
I’d climbed the shop steps and got my key in the door by then. ‘I’ll bake cakes every morning, and you sell them, all right?’
‘Right. Can I at least spendsometime in the bookshop? We can swap every now and then?’
I sigh. ‘Yes, we can swap.’
‘But if anyone comes in asking for me…’ He stopped himself mid-sentence.
‘Yes?’
‘Uh, it’s OK. Forget it.’
‘Are you expecting someone to come in looking for you?’
‘No.’
‘But…’
‘Forget I said anything. Nobody’s gonna come.’
There was a growl in his throat that stopped me pushing for more and I dropped the whole subject. And that’s how we established our ground rules, such as they are.
It’s taking me a long time to get to sleep tonight, even though my feet ache from standing all day, and my mind’s tired, and my belly’s full. I can hear Aldous snoring downstairs, even through the locked bedroom door. Somehow, I daren’t move in my bed.
It takes me a while to realise I’m replaying something that happened earlier, when we’d walked inside the shop, flicking the lights on as we went.
Elliot had lumbered on ahead of me into the little kitchen and poured two glasses of water. I was locking up and checking Aldous was in for the night, but my eyes wanted to wander back to the view through the kitchen door where Elliot had his head thrown back and was downing his glass of water.
He slammed the glass onto the sink. Everything he does is so noisy and brutish, like he can’t help it. I was thinking how hard it’s going to be living with someone who turns a simple task like drinking water into a clattering orchestra – nothing like the quiet holiday I’d planned – when I heard him unzip his hoodie and I watched him slip it off over his arms. He slung it onto a chair and set about refilling his water glass, and by then I was open-mouthed and staring, properly staring (not the polite kind, not the kind you wouldn’t mind being caught doing) at his broad shoulders and the expanse of skin revealed by the white vest tee. All evening I’d thought it was a t-shirt.
There were tattoos all over the backs of his arms disappearing under the fabric and onto his shoulder blades. I glimpsed something orange and red, and something black and swirling. I couldn’t make out the design, but I could see his muscles working as he drank another glass.
By the time he’d turned and called for me, asking where I wanted him to put my water glass, I’d hotfooted it upstairs, grabbed my Snoopy PJs and was having a very stern word with myself about boundaries and respect and how it’s not nice to gape at someone’s body when they don’t even know you’re doing it.
Now I’m under my covers, thinking how it’s really too hot tonight for thick jammies and I can’t shake the image of ink under Elliot’s skin, intriguing inscriptions against taut muscle and bone, and I have to throw the window open and let in the cool of the night.
‘I amnotJude the Obscure,’ I tell the stars, huffily. ‘I’mnotgoing to be distracted from my plan. Two weeks, just me, alone, rebuilding, being a useful member of the Clove Lore community, preparing for the next bit of my life – the good bit. Elliot will be gone in a fortnight, back to his ancestral home or wherever, and I’ll be in Marygreen. The new me. Refreshed and ready for anything. No.I will not be distracted.’
I hear the heavy sound of Elliot turning on his mattress and his duvet rustling and then nothing after that, just the sounds of my breathing and the sea lapping at the pebbles down in the harbour. I focus on those sounds and I don’t let myself get distracted.
Chapter Thirteen
No sooner were the scones cooling on the racks (three batches – I can freeze some if they don’t get sold), than it was time to turn the sign.
I wonder what Monday morning’s like in Clove Lore. The weekend certainly felt busy and eventful, but it’s still peak holiday time for English schools and I’m guessing the dry and sunny weather forecast will bring people out in their droves today. I wish I had some proper summer clothes to wear, but my old staples will have to do.
I open all the windows in the shop, apart from Aldous’s little porthole – he probably shouldn’t sleep in a draught, plus, he could fall out into the wild and weedy back yard below.
The shop is beautiful this morning. Shafts of dazzling sunlight illuminate the sparkling dust in the air as I run an ancient vacuum around. Elliot, all in black, bursts through the door at ten to nine, wet from his run, and he’s got coffees in his hands again.
‘Morning, I’ll grab a shower and then I’ll be with you. Oh, and I got this for Aldous.’ He’s left a can of organic dog food on the desk and bounded up the stairs before I can reply, and in his wake comes our first customer of the day.
‘Have you got that one with theum, whatsit called?’ The gaunt man snaps his fingers, trying to summon the words. ‘Um, you know, the mill?’ He’s young compared to our usual customer base, mid-thirties-ish, and has a lovely soft accent. Russian? No, Polish, I reckon.
