Page 5 of Snowflakes Over Micklewick Bay

‘Yeah, that’s the one.’ Despite her inner pep talk of mere moments ago, Hannah couldn’t stop her heart from sinking; her reluctance to let people in was too deeply ingrained to have such a rapid change of mindset. She deliberately avoided correcting Florrie and explaining that her business was called The Bougie Burger Company, hoping that her interest would wane before she thought to ask. Though she didn’t really know what difference it would make. And Hannah had to agree, the van was cute and its shape and stainless-steel bodywork lent it a retro 1950s-diner vibe. She’d fallen in love with it the moment she’d set eyes on it parked up on the garage forecourt, gleaming in the sunshine, an eye-watering price tag plastered across its split windscreen. She’d thought the amount had put it way out of her budget, but she hadn’t factored in her aunt’s slick bargaining skills nor her ability to charm the birds from the trees. Before she knew it, the price had come tumbling down – something to do with promising the sales executive a lifetime’s supply of burgers! – and Hannah was signing the paperwork. She was the proud owner of Bougie Bertha, which she considered a suitable name.

‘Didn’t realise it was yours, though. Really stands out as being special and always has a load of people queueing at the hatch. Ed and a couple of his mates actually treated themselves to your burgers a few months ago when they were over that way,’ Florrie said, chatting away happily. ‘They really raved about them; said they were the best they’ve ever tasted, something about the relish making them extra special. We’ve been meaning to pay it a visit ever since.’

‘That’s good to hear, and the relish is made using my Auntie Colleen’s secret recipe; been in the family for decades.’ Despite her initial reluctance to give too much away, it was always good to hear positive feedback about her burgers, and the detail about the relish was a piece of information Hannah didn’t mind sharing. She’d always been proud of her Auntie Coll’s contribution to the success of her business – her aunt even made the relish herself in huge batches. It had made her feel they were part of a team, even more so that her aunt had helped out at the van, serving customers in her inimitable, chatty way. Though she was in her seventies, Colleen had said working in the burger van had given her a new lease of life; she’d been in her element.

‘And I make the burgers to my own recipe. We buy in the pre-cut potatoes for the French fries, though we give them a sprinkle of our own herby salt mix.’

‘Oh, wow! That’s dedication – making your own burgers must take hours.’ Florrie sounded suitably impressed, and she wasn’t wrong, the preparation took up a huge chunk of time.

The burgers were painstakingly made by hand using premium ingredients and fresh herbs. Hannah had decided early on that she’d never skimp on quality, which included the flavoursome cheese she used for topping, the fluffy bread buns that encased the burgers and the other ingredients for the accompaniments such as coleslaw and sliced tomatoes. But Florrie’s fiancé was right, it was the relish that was the magic ingredient – their secret sauce – enhancing the flavour of the burgers and elevating them from being bog standard to utterly mouth-watering. Which was why customers kept coming back for more. Well, that and Auntie Colleen’s banter, or so Hannah had always surmised.

‘It’s labour intensive, but I love it,’ she said. Or, at least, I used to.

Florrie beamed over at her. ‘Ed’ll be chuffed to bits when I tell him all that. And we’ll make sure to pay your van a visit so I can sample one of them – just as soon as the risk of wintry weather passes, that is. I’ll mention it to the lasses next time I see them, too. I’m sure they’d love to pop over – they all love their grub,’ Florrie said with a giggle.

Hannah gave a smile that struggled to reach her eyes. She wasn’t sure how she felt about coming face to face with people she half knew from Micklewick Bay. Would visits from Florrie and her friends encourage others to call? Others who wouldn’t take kindly to her business doing well, who would do what they could to ruin it. She ran that thought round her mind for a moment, disquiet prickling up her spine. Of course, the occasional vaguely familiar face had appeared at the hatch before, but they had been few and far between. At the time, Hannah had adopted her well-honed poker face that betrayed not even the tiniest flicker of recognition. She’d been polite but cool, all the while resisting being drawn into conversation, deflecting questions and puffing out a huge sigh of relief when they’d gone. The fact that she’d had her aunt by her side, offering morale support, had somehow made a difference, but it still hadn’t stopped her feeling that her emotions had been put through the wringer for hours afterwards. It was the reason she’d tried to keep herself in the background of the burger van, working on preparing burgers while her aunt had taken orders at the hatch.

The reminder made Hannah realise she did know how she felt about having to see people from Micklewick Bay: uneasy. Very uneasy.

Anxiety started churning in her stomach and her heart rate upped its speed as the default Hannah who kept people at arm’s length kicked in. It flashed through her mind that she’d have to move to a different location to sell her burgers – there was the spot on the other main road that led to the moors. It was a bit of a drive from her home, but still manageable. Though, there was a chance it still could be too close for comfort. Maybe she should up-sticks and move somewhere completely new. She gnawed on her bottom lip, so many thoughts flying around and jostling for attention, her discomfort blooming. Florrie chatted away beside her, oblivious to the fact Hannah was only half listening as they drove along Endeavour Road.

‘That’s Nate’s upcycling shop where we sourced the vintage staircase for the bookshop.’ Florrie pointed to a small shopfront where an old pine dresser filled the window. ‘He’s Lark Harker’s boyfriend and a really decent lad – d’you remember Lark? She’s taken over the running of Lark’s Vintage Bazaar in the square. It’s on the opposite side of the road to the bookshop and just up from Cuthbert, Asquith & Co.’

‘Yes, I remember – it was a lovely shop, always full of exciting things. I had some gorgeous stuff from it when I used to live here.’ Hannah had favoured a vintage style when she was a teenager, but in recent years it had been replaced with clothes in drab colours. Her aunt had observed she’d used them to make herself invisible, so she wouldn’t stand out.

‘Lark was in my friendship group at school along with Jasmine Ingilby and Stella Hutton. They still live here and we’re still besties. Our group’s been joined by a lass called Maggie now, but I think she moved here after you’d left.’

‘Aye, I remember you being good pals with Lark, Jasmine and Stella, but I don’t recall a Maggie.’

‘Thought so. Anyroad, Nate’s got the magic touch with old bits of furniture you’d reckon would only be fit for the skip; gives them a new lease of life in his workshop at the back. We’ve picked up loads of bits for the bookshop from him. Actually, come to think of it, he’s originally from Beckinthwaite.’ She turned to Hannah. ‘You might even know each other. His surname’s Wilkinson. Mind, it’s been years since he lived there himself, but I think his dad still lives over that way.’

Hannah’s stomach clenched, the colour draining from her face. This was exactly the sort of thing she dreaded. Though she was aware of a few people whose surname was Wilkinson who lived in the main village, she shook her head. ‘Um… don’t think so,’ she fibbed. ‘We… I live some distance from the village, so don’t always get to know everyone.’ Oh blimey, this is getting worse. Why did I think it would be a good idea to come here? She willed with all her might for Florrie to drop the subject of Nate and his family.

‘Fair enough. I s’pose just cos villages are small, it doesn’t necessarily mean you know everyone, especially if they’re commuters or them that buy holiday cottages to rent out.’

‘True,’ said Hannah. ‘There’s quite a few of those, and people tend to come and go; after experiencing a moorland winter, they soon decide village life isn’t for them.’

‘It’s the same here with people moving in and you not getting to know them – not cos of the winters, though.’ Florrie nodded in agreement. ‘I mean, Ed and I don’t even know all the people who live in the houses opposite our terrace, never mind the ones round the corner. There’s a couple we haven’t seen a glimpse of yet and they’ve lived there for nearly a year – or so we’re told! We’re beginning to think they must be vampires who sleep all day and come alive at night.’ She chuckled at that and Hannah found herself giving in to a small smile.

Despite Florrie’s easy acceptance of her explanation, it didn’t stop Hannah from deciding that she’d ‘forget’ to text and let her know she’d got back home okay. There was no need to build on this… whatever it was – you could hardly call it a friendship. It was more like a fleeting acquaintance. Nothing more. And it wasn’t as if she actually mattered to Florrie, or that it would ruin her day if she didn’t hear from her ever again. The other woman would probably forget about her as soon as she stepped into the bookshop and continued with her day, serving customers or reordering books. She, no doubt, had a busy life and bumping into Hannah would merely be something inconsequential.

Hannah’s desire to remain anonymous and continue quietly with her life, with no one asking questions or judging her, had returned with a vengeance. And, much as she felt a twinge of guilt – especially since the adult version of Florrie genuinely seemed as kind and friendly as the Florrie from school – she’d had a lifetime’s worth of being judged and vilified; she never wanted to go there again. Being back in Micklewick Bay for half a day and the feelings it had stirred up had been enough of an unpalatable reminder.

And just like that, her walls went up.

Soon, they turned into Victoria Square, passing the train station, lights from the businesses that lined the street reaching out and casting their glow over the carpet of hailstones that covered the ground. Spotting a parking space that was conveniently close to The Happy Hartes Bookshop, Hannah slowly manoeuvred the car into it. As they came to a halt, a wave of relief flooded through her that the awkward conversation was about to come to an end and she could leave Micklewick Bay and return home to Fern Cottage before the conversation took a more personal turn and she felt obliged to tell Florrie more about herself.

‘Thanks so much for the lift; Gerty and me’d be soaked through if you hadn’t rescued us.’ Florrie undid her seatbelt and reached for her backpack in the footwell.

‘No problem at all,’ Hannah said, her voice coming out more clipped than she’d intended. She hoped she didn’t sound unfriendly, but she was inwardly urging Florrie to leave the car as quickly as possible for fear she’d suggest meeting up or mention calling at the burger van again.

‘Ooh, there’s that campervan. I’ve noticed it driving round here quite a bit recently, which is odd as we don’t see many around town at this time of year,’ Florrie said, peering through the windscreen between the swishes of the wipers.

The word ‘campervan’ was enough to yank Hannah unceremoniously out of her thoughts. She followed Florrie’s gaze to see a familiar sea blue VW campervan driving by on the opposite side of the road. It was the very one she’d only recently had a near miss with. And not just that, but she’d seen it enough times to know it was Lachie’s, the ‘P’, the ‘E’ and the ‘N’ in the registration plate being a dead giveaway – she’d been too gripped by shock to notice earlier.

Florrie craned her neck to get a better look. ‘It’s definitely the same one I’ve seen before cos the stickers on the rear are quite distinctive; there’s a Scottish theme to them, not that you can see them too clearly at the minute, mind.’

‘Oh, right.’ Hannah knew only too well the Scottish-themed stickers to which Florrie referred, but she was right, the relentless hailstones were making it difficult to get a decent look at them.