‘Let’s not jump to conclusions. I’m sure if we give them space, they’ll sort this out.’
Zofia pulls down the corners of her mouth. ‘Let’s hope so.’ Then she sighs and smiles again. ‘Call by whenever you want, Betsy Beths. I’m in all afternoon.’
By the time I look up again, Miles has followed her out too. And I’m left wondering how a simple card rack expanded to a full-blown shop– and more to the point, how the hell I’m going to handle it!
27
The Net Loft, St Aidan
Lemon sorbets and promises for the future
Wednesday
It’s funny how my mind plays tricks on me. As I stand in the Net Loft clutching my postcard package to my chest, the studio space around me has expanded. What seemed so manageable in my head when I was making those reckless comments to Miles and Zofia on Monday is now a huge, gaping, empty void. And the tables and shelves that Zofia’s husband, Aleksy, dropped off yesterday only make it worse.
On a wet windy morning when the quayside is deserted the whole idea of selling anything at all feels impossible.
‘What the hell was I thinking?’ As I spill the postcards over the table nearest to me, every scrap of optimism I had has left the building. I pull my cardi around my freezing midriff and feel as empowered as a butterfly in a wind tunnel. Then I start to spread the cards out, the door opens and Miles pushes his way in.
He props a dripping umbrella against the wall and grins. ‘It’s torrential enough to drown out there! How’s St Aidan’s newest entrepreneur?’
Honestly? I could do without the interruption, especially from him, especially now.
‘Shouldn’t you be somewhere else?’
He looks hopeful. ‘I thought maybe I could help– moving furniture, running out for coffee, filling your postcard rack?’
‘That’s very kind, but there’s been a development.’ I may as well stop pretending. ‘I can’t do this after all.’
His voice rises. ‘Can’t do what?’
I pull a face. ‘I can’t do any of it. I’m scared, I’m a million miles out of my comfort zone. I just need to lock up, get the hell out of here, and go back to doing what I was doing before.’
I can’t blame all this on what happened with Mason, but I don’t ever remember having so many doubts before that night. It’s as if ever since then the stuffing has gone out of me. I can give a fair imitation of being okay day to day, but when anything more challenging comes along I crumple. It’s not that I strutted around being super sure of myself before, but I wasn’t a pushover and I wasn’t a quitter, and I certainly wasn't the wet and weedy washout I feel like now.
Miles narrows his eyes. ‘What happened to Betsy Eliza, the sparky creative dynamo salesperson who knows her under-thirties inside out?’
I shrug. ‘That was easy. It was for you not me.’
He blows out a breath of frustration. ‘You are hugely talented and very capable, it’s time you used that for yourself rather than everyone else.’ His stern face softens as he looks down at me. ‘Would a hug help?’
I leap three feet, then recover myself. ‘Thanks all the same, but I’m better without.’
He drags in a breath. ‘In that case, let’s look at those life-affirming cards of yours.’ He shuffles through some then picks one up. ‘I am, I can, I will.’
I carry on reading them.‘Climb every mountain. Be brave.’
His eyes narrow. ‘It might be a good time to take your own advice?’
I give a rueful smile. ‘Those were me psyching myself up after I arrived.’
Miles is still watching me. ‘It’s not that long ago, and it seems to me you’ve come a long way since then.’
I’d rather he hadn’t been appraising me, but whatever. ‘When I look at the cards spread out it’s a bit like reading my diary. I must have been feeling dreamy the day I wroteWhere the spindrift meets the stars…’
Miles lets out a splutter. ‘Nice bum! If this is a record of your time here, what’sthatabout?’
I choke into my fist. ‘No one you know.’
