Chapter6
‘Why waste your time using the aubergine emoji when we’ve got the real thing here?’ Darren (Daz) Dillon addressed the Saturday market day crowd, whilst waving the offending vegetable in the air.
‘Leeks as long as Usain Bolt’s … legs.’ Charlie, Daz’s father, intercepted. ‘’Ere, missus, what did you think I meant? Half a kilo for just one Cornish pound, cheaper than Harrods.’
On seeing Conor appearing from the side alley of Kara’s shop, he called out, ‘All right, lad? You must be a Brady, by the looks of you. Same build and everything. We thought you was coming last night.’
‘Er yes. I didn’t quite make the fireworks. So, you know my uncle then?’
‘Everyone knows Big Frank,’ Charlie’s wife Pat put in before twirling closed a brown paper bag full of fragrant local tomatoes and handing it over the display to her customer. ‘Want some garlic? We’ve got bulbs in for a special price today.’ She popped one into the woman’s carrier bag. ‘Right, so that’s two pound ten, just call it two quid. Have a nice day.’
She turned to greet the stranger and was quite taken by the handsome young man in front of her. ‘Well, just look at you – so this is Frank’s nephew. Conor, ain’t it?’
‘That’s right.’ Conor was amused by this family’s East End vibe.
‘Welcome to Happy Hartmouth,’ Pat Dillon said, pronouncing her aitches for once and for his benefit. She threw him a sly wink. ‘And please do excuse my old man, he has the manners of a barbarian.’ With a wiggle of her huge square bottom, she walked back inside to fetch another box of cauliflowers.
‘Are you staying long?’ Charlie asked, filling a scoop with potatoes and weighing them.
‘Er, the plan is for three months at the moment.’
‘You working with your uncle then, lad?’ Charlie tipped the spuds into his customer’s shopping bag and took the bananas she handed him to weigh. They settled up and the next person, a man who ran a local B&B, asked for some of the sprouting broccoli to use for his special soup. The work never stopped, Conor noted, and the queue here moved quickly with three people serving.
‘Haven’t got that far yet either,’ he answered.
With his own shady East End upbringing, Charlie Dillon knew to pry no further. ‘Well, if you need any fresh veg, I’m your man, and me and my Pat, well we often go to the Ferryboat, the pub down the front on a Saturday night, and you’d be welcome to join us any time.’
‘Thanks a million. I appreciate that.’ Conor walked off, then looked up in search of the STAR Crystals & Jewellery sign. At the flower stall beside it he spotted a slight blonde girl handing bunches of carnations expertly wrapped in pretty pink tissue paper to a middle-aged man.
‘Three bunches of carnations for ten pounds, a fiver each. Every colour.’ Skye’s sweet Cornish voice rang out like a silver bell against the rough London accents of the Dillons.
A shivering Star was outside concentrating on unwinding a ten-foot white extension cable. When the cable was long enough, she shut her shop door up on it and plugged in the electric fan heater at her feet.
She was just bending down with her back to the street making sure the lead was not a trip hazard, when a voice with a deep Irish accent said, ‘You don’t shout out to the punters like the others then?’ This woman had really riled him with her nosiness last night. But if they were to be neighbours, and with Frank’s insistence that Star Bligh was not a troublemaker, Conor paced his response accordingly.
On realising who it must be, Star froze to the spot in the hope that the man would just go away. She had finally got through to Kara in a panic last night, gibbering that she thought someone had broken into the florist’s flat and telling her friend that she had called the police, only to learn that it was Big Frank’s nephew who’d come to stay for a few weeks. Star was absolutely mortified.
Conor cleared his throat loudly and, realising that he wasn’t going anywhere, Star reluctantly turned around and found herself looking into the soft brown eyes of someone who could win a place on any catwalk in the world.
‘Or maybe you just prefer to sing like a canary?’ Conor said, now faintly amused and slightly taken aback by the beauty of the nervous-looking blonde in front of him.
Star stared back at the friendly face, took a deep breath and said, ‘Very funny.’ Attempting to regain her composure, she began tidying some earrings on a rack.
‘Conor Brady.’ The man held out his big hand. Star lifted a gloved one and just gave him an awkward wave from across the market stall.
‘Steren Bligh, but most people call me Star.’
‘Everyone except your mammy, you mean?’
Star couldn’t help but smile. ‘True – and my great-auntie.’ Just the presence of this man had caused the speech she had prepared to become lost in translation. She began to gabble nervously. ‘I am so sorry about last night. It’s just Kara didn’t tell me you were coming, and no one is ever near those flat steps as it’s been empty for months and … oh God. I didn’t get you in any trouble, did I?’
Conor looked at the young woman in front of him, so petite, so vulnerable, and suddenly felt as if his heart might actually leap out of his chest and cling to her.
Not realising that she didn’t need to say another single word to him, Star carried on desperately. ‘I just don’t want this to be awkward between us as Kara tells me we are going to be neighbours for a while now. What can I do for you to forgive me? How about a crystal or a necklace for somebody special in your life?’ She gestured at one of her star-shaped display stands.
Conor’s lips were full, his smile lopsided and sexy. Star noticed also that he had just one deep dimple on his right cheek. Damn those butterflies that were doing somersaults in her stomach. Tall, handsome men never usually had this effect on her; normally she was attracted to short men with less attractive but characterful looks. However, she could already feel Conor Brady’s energy, and it made him so much more than just a face full of perfectly formed features.
‘I know exactly what you can do,’ Conor lowered his voice and leaned into her, ‘Star Bligh.’
‘You do?’ Star said, entranced.
‘Yeah. You can take me out for a drink.’
Star felt her pale cheeks go pink. ‘How do you know I’m single?’
‘And how do you know I meant that sort of drink?’ The Irishman grinned.
Star faltered. ‘It’s …’
‘It’s non-negotiable, that’s what it is,’ Conor butted in. ‘Now, how about I meet you in the Ferryboat tomorrow night, shall we say seven o’clock?’
