The days that followed were only sunny on the outside. Regan saw Charlie a couple of times, but with the new regime things were stilted. She didn’t want to complain though – she’d still rather see him like this than not at all. She put a brave face on and tried to appear nonchalant about the whole thing, but her disguise was paper thin. She was missing Cleo more than ever and had come close to calling her from the café when Penny popped out, but the calls would have cost a fortune and she didn’t want to get Penny into trouble when she’d been so kind.
The routine of the café and evenings spent mapping out her new business venture gave Regan’s messy life some much-needed focus and structure. Charlie had helped Regan revise her business plan, complete her application and fill in a number of other forms that the council needed. All she had to do now was get through her meeting with the market manager and she was almost home and dry.
She seized any overtime Penny had to offer and squirrelled away every penny by living on almost-out-of-date food from the café and drinking free coffee and tap water. She was low on essentials and had resorted to using theface cream samples she had accumulated but never got around to using. But none of it mattered, because she was following her dream. Even if it was a dream she hadn’t even known she’d been harbouring until she’d made her lottery list. Plus, it was a good distraction to stop her mind dwelling on Charlie and what might have been.
The day of her meeting with the market manager dawned. Regan had done her usual trip to the gym and spent extra time styling her hair so she looked more business-y. Penny had brought her iron in, so Regan’s clothes looked smart and not like Elvis had been playing tug-of-war with them. She had sent her off with a hug and a breath mint.
Regan waited patiently by the tiny office in the corner of the market building. It wasn’t like her to be early and it was a little discombobulating.Don’t call her Boadicea, she repeated in her head. She checked her watch again. The market manager was now fifteen minutes late. This wasn’t a good start. Regan shuffled her papers, which included her hastily produced projected accounts. They were complete fantasy but better than a blank piece of paper. She was having a quick peek at the list of things she wanted to ask when a booming voice startled her.
‘Mind your backs!’ bellowed a man who would make Beanstalk look undernourished.
Regan jumped, bumped into the corner of the office wall and promptly chucked her neat pile of papers into the air. She watched some get trampled underfoot while the others landed on top of the booming man’s trolley full of fresh fish. He halted abruptly and they both watched the ink bleed on her business plan as the wet fish seeped through.
He shook his head. ‘Hope that’s not important,’ he said, snatching it up and handing it back, in a wet, and now, crumpled state.
Regan gagged at the fishy smell and made a mental note to ask that her stall wasn’t near his. ‘Thanks,’ she said, holding the business plan at arm’s length by the very tips of her fingers.
‘Oh my,’ said the market manager, arriving as Regan hurriedly gathered up the other sheets.
Don’t call her Boadicea, thought Regan. ‘Hello … Bernice,’ said Regan, pronouncing her name slowly from her crouched position. ‘I’m here about a stall.’
Bernice checked her watch. ‘Then you’re late.’
Regan stood up, hugging the papers to her chest, remembering too late that the business plan was liberally soaked in eau de fish.Doh!She followed Bernice inside and took a seat.
After initial introductions and the customary interest in her unusual name, they got down to business. Bernice read through Regan’s application in silence whilst Regan listened to the thrum of her heartbeat in her ears. She’d never been so nervous. Usually she didn’t get worried at things like interviews, but that was because she’d never cared about something as much as she cared about getting the market stall. All the other jobs she’d gone for were because she’d needed a job, any job. This time it was all very different.
Bernice eventually looked up. ‘Your trading name is Sticky Situations?’ There was the faintest hint of a smile on the edge of her lips.
‘It’s not firmed up yet. I liked Jam Packed but there’s a company in Surrey called that already.’
‘I see. And do you have any samples with you?’
‘Ahh, no. Sorry, do you need samples?’ Regan had read and reread the forms – there had been no mention of samples.
‘It’s not essential, but we like to see what is being sold so that we can check product quality, presentation and value for money.’Then maybe put that on the sodding form, thought Regan.
‘Right. When do you need a sample by?’ It sounded like a conversation with her doctor and it was putting her off her thread.
‘Next couple of days?’
Regan tried not to appear as startled as she felt. She’d not actually got to the bit where she made anything yet. There hadn’t seemed to be much point if she couldn’t get a stall.
‘If that’s okay?’ asked Bernice, with a hint of suspicion about her.
Regan tried to look nonchalant. ‘Sure. Of course. Why not? Not a problem at all.’Shiiiit – I’ve got to make jam samples in the next couple of days.‘Here’s a picture of the labels I’ll be using.’ She handed over the printout she’d spent a couple of hours designing at the library. Bernice barely glanced at it. She tried to look at the second page of the application, but it stuck to the first.
‘Ah. Sorry,’ said Regan. ‘Marmalade.’ She pointed at a splodge on the top edge. ‘It was research.’ Bernice pulled the pages apart with a harsh rip and carried on reading.
‘There’s a question mark in the box for organic. Do you not know if your jams and chutneys are from organic produce?’ Regan could tell Bernice’s suspicions were deepening.
Regan launched in to her rehearsed sales pitch. ‘Mymain USP – that’s unique selling point – is that I am recycling fruit and vegetables that would otherwise have been thrown away.’
‘Recycling fruit?’
‘Yes. I am working with the other stallholders to reduce waste, keep the market tidy and provide a quality product for consumers.’ Regan took a breath.
‘How exactly?’
