‘And now you don’t have to. If you want to help Hel, you can stay later and get a lift back with her.’
When Gilly disconnected her phone a little while later she felt bulldozed. Martin did that to her sometimes. She was sure he meant well – fairly sure anyway – and wished she’d been able to tell him she could make her own arrangements. She went into the kitchen and put the kettle on. PerhapsWilliam would get in touch, offering to pick her up, then she’d cancel Martin.
It was the day of the Springtime Show and it was five o’clock when Helena finally decided to get up. She’d woken every hour since 3 a.m. and thought she may as well avoid the agony of trying to get back to sleep again. Her alarm was due to go off at six, anyway.
Amy was going to meet her at the venue and show her the ropes before she sorted out her own stall. That was OK: once the setting up was done, the hardest part was over.
She made a quick cup of tea, trying not to wake Jago whose bedroom was just next door, and then she surveyed her list. She’d been tempted to pack Jago’s pickup (she was so grateful to him for swapping vehicles for the day) the night before, but then she worried about it raining or the truck being stolen or indeed anything she possibly could worry about. At least now she didn’t need to worry about being late. She spent longer than usual getting herself ready. Moving boxes around was likely to disturb Jago and she preferred to do that at a less unearthly hour.
There were so many boxes. There were boxes of stock (quite a few of those, to her relief), there was her loom, the small one that she didn’t have to assemble if the space really was as small as Amy insisted it would be; there were yarns, a selectionof shuttles, beaters, combs and needles. She was aiming to make her stall look so interesting people would come over even if they had no interest whatsoever in buying a scarf. And although she had intended to only sell her silk scarves (Amy had got her in on this high-end product) she’d also brought all the rugs and throws she’d made for World of Wool which was later in the month. She wouldn’t sell them in this posh venue, she was sure, but they added life and colour to her stall. Then there were the boxes of cheese straws, tiny savoury scones and little vol-au-vents her mother had insisted she brought with her.
‘You never know when you may need a snack,’ Gilly had said, ‘and knowing you quite well, you need one quite often.’
‘I have my sandwiches!’
‘You may need to offer other people a nibble.’ There had been a pause. ‘To serve with the Prosecco someone may bring.’
Helena hugged her mother. ‘Someone is so very kind! The best someone in the world!’
It was a really beautiful May morning. The early sunshine shone through the new green leaves sending dappled light on to the road. As the show was nearly an hour’s drive away, Helena had time to enjoy the countryside that she didn’t often see quite so early. Especially recently when she’d been working so hard.
But as she got nearer, Helena began to get nervous. Would her products look clunky, homespun and rustic next to all the other exhibitors? She was used to exhibiting at shows where the handmade chunky look was not only permitted, it was obligatory.
This was very different. Everything would be sleek, highly finished, shiny, totally professional. Like many creative people Helena suffered badly from ‘fear of being caught out’, as if she was someone who didn’t know what they were doing and just loved doing it, like any old amateur creative.
Also, she wouldn’t know everyone else exhibiting. At one of her usual shows she would meet loads of old friends, fellow weavers, spinners, knitters and producers of wool and yarn. Apart from Amy, she wouldn’t know anyone at Springtime. The other people could be snooty and not deign to talk to a humble worker in wool.
At least the event was really well signposted, she thought with relief as she arrived. She found the exhibitors’ car park, near the back entrance to the building, and waiting for her was Amy.
‘I knew you’d be early,’ she said as Helena got out of the pickup. ‘So I made sure I was earlier. Jago not with you?’
‘No. He had to be somewhere else. He lent me his pickup though.’
‘I can see that,’ said Amy.
Helena felt a bit on the defensive. She thought she ought to defend Jago for being an unsupportive boyfriend when he wasn’t actually her boyfriend and was actually very supportive. ‘Let’s get into the building,’ she said instead.
Helena’s stall was in a long gallery, with floor-length windows all down one side. The other side was panelled wood with a stuccoed ceiling. It was incredibly beautiful and originally designed (said a helpful notice) for women of the house to walk in for exercise when inclement weather made the garden unsuitable. Helena was very pleased with her spot. It was near enough the entrance so people wouldn’t be tired by the time they’d got as far as her and yet not so near the door that people would just plunge on past, assuming the better items were further in.
‘I’m afraid I have to push off to my stall when we’re set up,’ said Amy during one of the trips from the pickup to Helena’s spot. ‘But mine won’t take as long. We’ve got time to make it all look nice.’
Helena smiled. She didn’t say that she was perfectly capable of making it all look nice herself because Amy was very good at it and she was grateful for her help. And Amy had got this gig for her and although Helena was fairly terrified at the moment, she knew she’d settle once she was in. As far as she could tell (no one was fully installed yet)she had a goldsmith on one side and a leather worker on the other. Both of her neighbours had really lovely pieces on display.
‘Would you like me to look after your credit card for you?’ she said to Amy before she left to set up her own stall. ‘How else will you avoid losing control of your spending?’
Amy looked longingly at a bright yellow handbag in butter-soft leather with gold buckles. It was open, revealing a contrasting silk interior. ‘I may have to buy that right now.’
‘Why don’t you wait until the end of the show?’ said Helena. ‘If it’s still there – and not everyone wants a yellow handbag – you could probably get a bargain.’ She felt obliged to help her friend save money.
‘Will you negotiate for me?’ asked Amy.
Helena laughed. ‘Of course!’
‘You’ll be best friends with the maker by then,’ said Amy.
The public were due to arrive in half an hour and everyone was set up and waiting. Helena had tried a few tentative smiles at her fellow artisans but hadn’t got a lot of response. Then she decided to bring out her secret weapon: her mother’s well-filled Tupperware boxes.
‘I know it’s a bit early,’ Helena said to the creator of the yellow handbag, ‘but would you like a snack?’
