‘By taking the other stalls’ unwanted fruit and vegetables and turning them into jams and chutneys. So if they’re organic then I am too.’
‘I see.’ Bernice consulted the form again. ‘And what are your “quirky, original and tantalising flavours”?’ she read from the form.
Regan had hoped Bernice wasn’t going to ask that, because it all depended on what the grocery stall was chucking away. As Charlie had pooh-poohed her cauliflower and rhubarb suggestion, she had to think quick. Her mind whizzed to what she’d seen by the bins this week. ‘Pineapple and …’Don’t say parsnip, ‘… coconut.’
‘Like a pina colada jam?’ Bernice looked impressed.
‘Yes!’ Regan almost shouted it at her. ‘Yes, exactly. Pina colada jam.’ She grinned at Bernice, who appeared mildly terrified. Regan had no idea if there was such a thing, but if it got her a market stall then she’d damn well invent one.
Bernice stood up and shook hands with Regan. ‘Thank you. I look forward to receiving your sample and after that I’ll be in touch.’ Bernice’s nose twitched. ‘Can you smell fish?’
‘The business plan is a bit fishy, I’m afraid,’ said Regan.
Regan was as hyper as a gerbil on Red Bull when she got back to the Hug In A Mug. ‘Did it go well?’ asked Penny, in between serving a customer and frothing milk.
‘I think so, but there’s one minor flaw in the plan,’ said Regan, taking over the frothing. ‘I need to make jam samples in the next couple of days.’
Penny gave the customer her change and joined Regan at the coffee machine. ‘Why’s that a problem? You’re all set, aren’t you?’ Penny had managed to get Regan jam jars a few days ago from a wholesaler and had been keeping track of her progress.
‘I haven’t asked the person whose kitchen I want to use if I can use it yet.’
‘You need to sort that. There’s no cooker here, before you ask.’
‘I know. And I need to speak to the grocery stallholder on the market about using his throwaway stuff. And … I’ve never made jam before.’ She said the last bit really fast and scrunched her face up as if waiting for impact.
‘Regan!’ Penny’s eyes pinged cartoon wide. ‘You’ve based a whole business proposition on something you’ve no idea about?’
‘I got a bit carried away with the other stuff. But it can’t be that hard,’ said Regan, ferrying the drink to the waiting customer and returning to Penny.
Penny was shaking her head. ‘Don’t you need a special pan and a thermometer thingy?’
‘Do you?’
Penny nodded. ‘Look, it’s quiet. Why don’t you go to the library and do some proper research? I’ll hold the fort here.’
‘I can’t really afford the time—’
‘I’ll put it through as a full shift.’
‘You’re the best,’ said Regan, whipping off her apron.
‘Yeah, but don’t go telling everyone or you’ll ruin my reputation,’ Penny quipped, with a smile.
Regan hurried outside and just stopped herself from stepping into the road as a small silver car careered past at an outrageous speed. The hoody-wearing passenger gave her the bird and tore past. She only caught a glimpse, but she was pretty sure it was one of the youths who had attacked Kevin. By the time she’d ordered her thoughts the car was gone, along with the chance to clock the number plate.
She looked about for Kevin, but she’d not seen him about much since the incident. There were quite a few pigeons around The Level today, so they were likely the reason he was keeping away from this part of town. She crossed the road, seeing the grocery stallholder heading for the bins already, and spied her chance.
‘Hiya,’ she called, and he turned and gave her a friendly smile. Good start.
After formal introductions, Regan was thrilled to hear that whilst Jag was trying hard to cut down on his waste, he was finding predicting buyer habits quite tricky at the moment and was blaming Brexit. They had a lengthy discussion, which ended with Jag agreeing to offer her all his ‘going over’ produce first in exchange for a regular supply of jam and chutney. She had expected to have to pay something for it, but Jag insisted that he wanted to ‘pay it forward’ and help someone else starting out in the market trade. She had thanked him profusely and merrily taken two trays of plums and onions. Jag had also thrown in a couple of pineapples and coconuts after she’d done a big sell on the pina colada jam idea. This was going to be a breeze.
She’d asked Jag if he’d seen Kevin or Elvis but he hadn’t. Regan decided to keep an eye out for them on the way to the library. She walked via Pelham Square, which was one of Kevin’s other regular haunts – a tranquil garden square away from the hustle and bustle with a few nice flower borders, some benches and some very impressive trees. She passed a group of students taking photos in and out of the traditional red phone boxes just outside the neat black railings. She balanced her trays on the postbox and scanned the square. No sign of Kevin or Elvis.
Regan read the sign at the entrance and realised that dogs were not allowed in Pelham Square, so it was no longer likely Kevin would be here now that he and Elvis were inseparable. She was running out of places he might be, and it was starting to worry her. She realised she had no idea how to track him down. Worse still: if anything had happened to him, how would she ever find out?
Chapter Seventeen
Regan spent a couple of hours in the library worrying about jam making, trawling the internet, scribbling down equipment and facilities she needed, things she’d overlooked and random questions that were bothering her. She sat back in the chair and stared at the very long list. This was more than a minor flaw in her plans. It was a great, gaping, cavernous disaster.
