‘It’s okay. And thanks, that’d be great.’
Malcolm was kind enough to give her a lift in his battered little van back to her car. His had so many bumps and scrapes it almost made hers look smart. Despite being there six days a week, she figured he wasn’t making a fortune. ‘Malcolm, I’ve got an idea.’
‘Oh dear. Does it involve me buying jam?’
‘No … not exactly.’ He shot a brief but worry-filled look across at his passenger.
‘What do people put jam on?’
‘Erm, toast?’
‘Exactly. So if people came to my stall …’
‘Which they don’t,’ he joked with a smile, which faded. ‘Sorry.’
‘That’s okay. But when theydobuy jam from me, I could point them at your stall and recommend which bread would make the perfect toast to go with the flavour they’ve picked.’ Malcolm was looking sceptical but she continued undeterred. ‘Like … “Ooh, pumpkin and vanilla jam goes really well with a seeded loaf. You should pop along to Malcolm’s stall and if you show him thatjar, he’ll give you ten pence off.”’ She said the last bit very fast.
Malcolm sucked in a breath so hard, she thought the steering wheel might go with it. ‘Ten pence discount! Do you know what my profit margin is?’
‘It was just a thought. We could do it in reverse. They buy a crusty white bloomer and you say “Balsamic strawberry jam goes lovely on that. If you take that loaf over to Sticky Situations she’ll give you ten pence off a jar.”Thatdirection costs you nothing.’
‘Hmm.’ He stared straight ahead. ‘How about I send them to you for a discount and,ifthe ones you send to me become regulars, I’ll think about a discount. Deal?’
‘Sure thing. Thanks, Malcolm – you’re a star.’ She was delighted with the thought that tomorrow he might send some people in her direction, even if it did mean a little loss of profit. Right now she had zero profit anyway.
He pulled over next to her car and put on his hazard lights. ‘It’s a good idea. You’re thinking like a business owner. We’ll start it tomorrow and see if we can’t strong-arm a few folk in your direction.’
She didn’t care how they got there, as long as they bought jam.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Regan let herself in to Charlie’s house and almost collided with him and a full mug of coffee. ‘I’ve had a brilliant idea!’
‘Hello, Reg. Hello, Charlie. How are you?’ he said, shielding his mug.
She waved his pretend conversation away. ‘No time for that. We need to save Elvis, and here’s how we’re going to do it. You are going to adopt him and—’
Charlie was shaking his head. ‘I can’t do that, Reg.’
Regan was affronted. ‘Why not? You like him, don’t you?’
‘Yes. Of course I like him, but … I can’t even commit to a magazine subscription right now, let alone the long-term care of an animal.’
Something squeezed her gut. ‘Okay. I get that, but—’
‘How about Penny?’
‘Her mum’s allergic.’
‘I’m sure he’ll find a good home.’
It was her turn to shake her head. ‘I can’t let him go. I’d keep him if I had my own place. How about you say you’re the owner but really it would be me? He’d just be living temporarily with you.’ She beamed a grin at him. Surely that was a clincher?
He dragged his bottom lip through his teeth. ‘He’s not house-trained.’ They both glanced at Charlie’s neat living room.
‘Nor’s Beanstalk, and you let him stay.’Humour is always worth a go, thought Regan. ‘And he’s hairier than Elvis too.’
‘Beanstalk doesn’t chew the furniture or pee on the carpet … apart from that one time. And he paid for it to be cleaned.’
