After kicking off her shoes, Effie changed out of her work clothes, which were nothing more glamorous than a pair of dungarees, her favourite rainbow knit cardigan and a floral shirt and into a comfy pair of flannel pyjamas, perfect for lounging around after dinner. Home had always been her sanctuary, somewhere she could safely remove all the layers she donned when she went out into the world. She had always been a quiet homebody, content to curl up on a sunny windowsill with a book. One dip of her toe into reality had been quite enough.
She placed the papers Clive had given her on her desk and jotted down a couple of questions to follow up with. Would this be temporary? A trial run? Or would she be expected to settle there, run the shop forever? A permanent move would be big, but when she looked up the distance between Penzance and Polcarrow, she realised it wasn’t as far as she’d feared. Maybe not commutable, but easy visiting distance.
Once she’d freshened up, Effie made her way downstairs, pushed open the door and stepped into the homely kitchen-diner. The yellow walls were decorated with an eclectic mix of artwork and ceramics her parents had picked up over the past forty years. Effie loved listening to her dad, Brian, recount the stories of where various pots had come from. Morocco, the Greek islands, a flea market in Paris. He’d been a roadie for a minor rock band back in the eighties and Effie had inherited his love of a rambling guitar solo. He’d traded in black leather and wild nights for heading up the local arts centre.
‘Come here, darling,’ he said, spotting her. He pulled her into a hug. ‘Good day at work?’
Effie snuggled into him. ‘Yes,’ she replied rather hesitantly, her tongue pricking with nerves at having to disclose her news. What would her parents think of the prospect of her moving out? She almost blurted it all out, but managed to keep the news to herself, wanting to enjoy dreaming about it just a while longer. She’d already mentally decorated the shop on her walk home, freshening up the white walls.
Rosemary plonked an oozing tray of lasagne in the middle of the table, followed by the salad. ‘Come on, sit down, don’t want it getting cold.’
‘No chance of that happening,’ Brian laughed, poking the bubbling cheese with a spoon, ‘it’s bubbling more than a volcano.’
Rosemary pulled the spoon from his hand and began to dish up, serving Effie first. Brian poured red wine into their glasses. He had grand ambitions to become a wine connoisseur, however, had made no secret that he couldn’t tell a Shiraz from a Cabernet Sauvignon. Still, Effie lifted the glass, swirled the red liquid, took a sniff, followed by a sip.
‘What do you think?’ Brian asked, showing her the bottle. Chianti.
Effie took another sip. ‘It’s like . . . wine.’ She wasn’t doing any better on the taste testing either.
Laugher erupted. ‘I think this is lost on us,’ said Rosemary, taking a sip, ‘tasty though.’
As they ate, they swapped stories about their days. Rosemary, a community nurse, running through how her regular patients were getting on, Brian nodding whilst trying to decipher more of the wine flavours before updating them on the latest youth project he was trying to get funding for. On the edge of her seat, Effie waited to share her news, happy to hold back whilst her parents discussed their days.
‘Anyone want any more?’ Rosemary indicated the lasagne that was left.
Brian sat back, patted his stomach. ‘I’m stuffed.’
‘Effie?’
‘I’m stuffed too.’
Rosemary shrugged and sliced off a tiny sliver. ‘We can have the rest tomorrow. I take it no one has any room for dessert?’
‘Oh, there’s always room for ice cream!’ Effie grinned. They’d finished every meal with ice cream for as long as she could remember. In the summer they usually took a stroll out along the seafront, trying different flavours from the ice cream parlour. Effie liked the ones made with clotted cream, bursting with berries. Ice cream sampling had always been more successful than wine tasting.
Rosemary rolled her eyes and Brian began to clear the table. He returned with three bowls, the scoop and a tub of raspberry ripple – Effie’s childhood favourite.
Once the ice cream had been eaten Effie pushed her bowl away and took a breath.
‘Are you all right love?’ Brian asked. ‘You’ve been very quiet, usually you’re full of bookshop chatter.’
Clenching her fists together, Effie glanced between her parents, a smile spreading across her face. ‘I have some news. Clive is opening a new shop in Polcarrow and he wants me to set it up and run it.’
‘Oh, love, that’s marvellous!’ Rosemary beamed. ‘You’re long overdue a promotion.’
‘Polcarrow! I remember it, tiny place,’ Brian said, ‘the seagull stole your sausage roll right out of your hand. Isn’t it a bit far? I mean, it’s doable, but driving there and back every day. Are you happy with that?’ They all knew Effie was an anxious driver.
‘There’s a flat above the shop. Clive said it comes with the lease and I could live there,’ Effie explained, feeling a bit like she was talking about someone else’s life.
Rosemary sat back down. ‘You’d be moving out?’
Effie nodded with more assurance than she felt.
Rosemary and Brian exchanged glances, swapping a multitude of questions and emotions in a single glance. ‘How do you feel about this?’ Brian asked. ‘Truthfully.’
‘I, erm, I don’t know,’ Effie admitted, which was the truth. ‘Clive sprung it on me. It was a bit of a surprise. But it will be like my own bookshop! You know how I’ve always dreamed of owning my own shop and this is the next best thing. I’ve already got lots of plans for it.’
‘Oh my love, that is so exciting.’ Rosemary bustled around the table and bundled Effie into a hug.
