Helena exhaled and perched on the edge of a very broken-down armchair that had apparently once been leather. ‘Calm down and breathe. How can I possibly be “in”? It’s booked up the year before it’s on and – in case you missed it – costs a grand to enter. Am I sharing your stall?’ Amy had indeed booked her stall at this show the previous year.
‘No! The stalls are tiny. There was a cancellation. I was with some other people and one of them got the call. None of them wanted to take the place so I said yes. For you!’
‘Amy! How can I go? I’m busy enough getting stuff together for Woolly World and I couldn’t take that stuff to Springtime, it’s too rustic. Quite apart from the money.’
‘I’ve paid for your entrance. You’ve got just under three weeks to create some suitable stock and you’ll get your money back – my money – no problem. Helena, this is the perfect opportunity for you to weave in silk.’
Helena wiped her arm with her forehead. Amy knew about her long-held ambition to work with silk, one she had batted away numerous times as being impractical. But at a show like Springtime, where people who would willingly spend well over a hundred pounds on a scarf visited with credit cards and a lust for luxury retail opportunities, silk would be perfect!
‘I haven’t got time—’
‘You’ve got nearly three weeks. You won’t have time to make that much but you could make samples and take orders. Hels, you’ve got all that silk at your mum’s house and that handy little loom—’
‘But I’m known for my blankets!’
‘You can change. And you could take a few of your best blankets just to fill up the stall. But as I said, the stalls are tiny anyway.’
‘It’ll take me three weeks to thread the loom!’
‘But, Helena’ – Amy was talking soothingly now as if her friend were a traumatised horse – ‘you’ve got all those beautiful cones of silk yarn that someone trusted you enough to donate to you. They might get eaten by clothes moths if you don’t use them soon.’
‘Do moths eat silk?’
‘Definitely! Anyway, you have to do it or you’ll never be able to pay me back my grand.’
The conversation continued for a while. When Helena put the phone down she noticed there was a mug of tea on the table. ‘You are such a star!’
Jago nodded, acknowledging his starriness. ‘My reward is that you tell me what that was all about. It sounded really exciting from this end.’
Helena sipped her tea. ‘OK, but it’s a bit of a long story. Aren’t you busy?’
‘I’m having a break.’
‘Well, when I was at art college, before I’d discovered weaving really, there was this amazing woman. She was in her fifties and I think I was missing Mum a bit and she took me under her wing. She gave me her loom. People often give weavers looms! Although I wasn’t one then, I think this woman, Julia Coombs, saw that that was where I was headed. And, with the loom, she gave me a whole load of silk yarn. Beautiful colours. I longed to make something with it but someone told me I had to start with wool.Can’t even remember why, now. So I put all the lovely coloured silk into bin liners and took it home and it went in the attic – although Mum put it in plastic boxes. The loom went up there too.’ She gave a rueful laugh. ‘My brother would say it’s one of the reasons I don’t want Mum to move except I don’t think he’d remember about my stuff in the attic.’
‘So what does Amy want you to do?’
Helena went on to explain about Springtime, how it had been a showcase for great artists and masters of their craft and how utterly impossible it would be for her to get enough work done in time even if woodworm hadn’t got to the loom and moths to the cones of silk thread.
‘I guess Amy could probably find someone else to take the spot, get her bag of sand back,’ said Jago.
‘Her what?’ said Helena, distracted for a moment.
‘Bag o’ sand, grand.’
‘Love it!’
‘But you should go and check out your mum’s attic and see what’s survived.’
Helena sighed, feeling suddenly overwhelmed by the whole thing. Amy had such faith in her; her wonderful mentor, Julia Coombs, had had such faith in her; this was her chance to show them she was up to it.
Helena hadn’t thought to ring her mother before she went up to visit the attic and tell her the newsabout the show, but her car was there so it was slightly surprising to find the back door locked. Helena used her key and let herself into the house.
‘Mum?’ she called but the kitchen had that empty feel that indicated no one was home. Ulysses the cat got up from the chair he was snoozing on and came over to say hello. ‘So where is she, Uly?’ Helena asked. ‘I’d better ring her.’
She dialled. ‘Mum? Where are you? I’m at the house and I want to go into the attic.’
‘Oh, hello, darling!’ said Gilly.
