Читать книгу Five Wakes and a Wedding - Karen Ross - Страница 6

‘Nina! One of the fridges is making a weird noise.’ Gloria’s voice is a welcome distraction from my latest attempt at flower arranging. At least, until I realise what I’ve just heard.

Shit.

I abandon the cornflowers, delphiniums and rust-coloured foliage, dash through to the back room, and hurtle down the stairs that lead to the basement storage area. With every step I take, a measured ‘beep, beeep, beeeep’ – like the sound of hospital machinery hooked up to someone in a coma – grows louder.

‘Something must have tripped the alarm! What did you do to the fridge?’ I ask as Gloria comes into sight.

‘Nothing.’

Gloria is unruffled by my accusatory tone. She’s my housemate.

‘I was looking for the cleaning spray,’ she says. ‘To take the whitewash off the window.’

The fridge’s mournful signal of distress continues.

‘Maybe buying my equipment on eBay wasn’t such a good idea,’ I manage. ‘But at least there’s nothing in it yet.’

As if to prove it, I open the door to the beeping fridge.

The noise stops and is immediately replaced by the sound of a wooden object being hit – repeatedly – by a hammer. ‘That must be Edo!’

Gloria hears the relief in my voice. She manoeuvres herself around the fridge, squeezes my shoulder and says, ‘C’mon. Let’s go see.’

My hand is still on the fridge door. Tentatively, I close it.

Beep

Beeep.

Beeeep.

The damn thing isn’t even cold enough to keep an ice lolly from melting.

Whereas I am shivering with anticipation.

This is going to be an amazing day and I’m not going to let a dodgy fridge spoil a single moment. I shrug, and reopen the door to silence the skull-piercing sound. I’ll deal with it later. For now, I follow Gloria back the way I’ve just come.

Presuming we’re not being burgled and it really is Edo, the rhythmic hammering means he’s been as good as his word. He’s made me a shop sign and it seems he’s fixing it in place. He’s been hugely secretive about the design – ‘Nina, I’m an artist! It’ll be awesome!’ – and I’m finally going to get to see what he’s done.

Except Gloria can’t get out of the door.

She’s inched it open, only to find herself nose to nose with a hulking white Transit van parked extremely illegally and mostly on the pavement.

It’s Edo’s van and I realise he’s standing on the roof of it to put up the sign above the door. A good idea because it’s a lot cheaper than scaffolding. And as it’s before eight o’clock, when the Primrose Hill traffic wardens begin their daily rounds of terror, he’ll get away with it.

Gloria steps back from the door. ‘Best to let Edo get on with it,’ she advises. ‘Anyway, how are you feeling, sweets? Ready for the off?’

Everything’s been such a rush, there’s been no time to arrange those delphiniums let alone smell the roses. But there’s no need to pause for thought.

‘I’m ridiculously excited!’ I declare. ‘It’s like being a five-year-old on Christmas Eve. I’m so impatient for everything to start happening.’

I don’t know why I didn’t do this years ago. I must have thought about it a thousand times, but never dared.

‘What about the fridge?’

‘Let’s not talk about the fridge.’

Gloria begins to clean the display window she helped me whitewash when we started fitting out my shiny new shop. I watch the murky coating that’s kept the outside world from seeing how I’ve transformed the space disappear and think about my own transformation.

I still can’t believe it. Only a couple of months ago, I was snuggled deep inside my own little comfort hole. It wasn’t until change started happening all around me that I even began to realise I’d been snared. Then fate gave me a push – although at the time, it felt more like a mighty kick up the arse – and after that everything fell into place.

Now here I am. Captain of my own ship. In charge of my own destiny. Queen of my own little slice of heaven.

I am a shopkeeper. Owner of a small business.

It’s a tiny business in every sense and, although I have no idea where my first customer will be coming from, I’m determined to be properly prepared. Fortunately, I have more than one fridge.

I do a slow three-hundred-and-sixty-degree turn and survey my miniature kingdom. Everything looks right. Better than right. Perfect. Between us – that’s me, Gloria and especially Edo – we’ve done a great job.

The shop had been empty for ages and we’ve definitely breathed new life into it. Floorboards sanded, filled, and painted white. Walls in a soft shade of blue. Gentle, subtle lighting. A small reception desk to the right of the door to make the shop look friendly and approachable to passers-by. A pair of comfy couches on either side of a fashionable low table. The whole effect is warm and inviting, and today, even before any of the lights are turned on, it seems the place is brighter than I’d imagined.

Ah, that would be because Gloria has finished with the window, and Edo has shifted the van. Which means—

Before I can complete that thought, Edo appears. Dressed in his usual uniform of ripped jeans and tight black T-shirt, his shaggy black hair frames a baby face that makes him look more like a sixth-former than a recent art school graduate. Swinging a hammer from his left hand he throws his surprisingly muscled right arm around my shoulder. Cheeky!

‘Come and look,’ he says. ‘I know I’ll be in trouble if the sign’s not dead straight. And I’m worried you’re not going to like it.’

Him and me both.

Most of the work in Edo’s portfolio is what you might – politely – call ‘out there’. Installations that make Tracy Emin’s ‘Bed’ look more sedate than a watercolour by Degas.

And all I need is a shop sign.

But my doubts disappear the moment I take in Edo’s work. Wow! He’s done me proud.

‘I don’t like it,’ I say in my best Simon Cowell impersonation, complete with theatrical pause. ‘I absolutely love it!’

It feels … it feels official. There for all the world to see. Classic hand-painted lettering. A shop sign that manages to be cool, clean, chic and somehow rather sexy – at least I think so – and announces: ‘HAPPY ENDINGS’.

I’m still admiring the sign when I realise my feet are no longer on the pavement. Edo has scooped me into his arms and we’re crossing the high street, dodging a dustcart and – as I begin to struggle – almost bumping into a Boris bike.

‘Put me down!’ I insist. ‘I’m about to become a pillar of the community.’ Edo laughs and carries me, undaunted, over the threshold of Happy Endings.

Gloria watches with a smirk that says, Didn’t I tell you Edo’s got a giant crush on you? But I figure he’s just grateful I let him continue to live in the shop between the time I signed the lease (he was squatting there, called it one of his own installations) and today, when I open my brand-new business.

‘Put her down and go sort the fridge,’ Gloria orders. ‘The alarm comes on every time you close the door.’

Edo retreats – I think he’s scared of Gloria – and a moment later, the beep-beeep-beeeeping resumes.

Gloria turns to me and says, ‘So what’s next?’

‘I need to get changed before Mum and Dad arrive.’

‘Before you do, I want to say how proud I am of you. The way you’ve pulled everything together so quickly. You’re going to be a huge success, sweets!’

‘I couldn’t have done it without your help—’

I’m interrupted by Edo yelling, ‘Great! I can see what’s wrong. Don’t worry. It’s an easy fix.’

A moment later, Gloria and I flinch at the sharp thwack of a hammer against metal. Then silence. As if Edo has murdered the fridge with a single blow.

For some reason – nerves, most likely, because the destruction of a key piece of equipment really isn’t funny – I laugh. Then say to Gloria, ‘You know what? This is the best day of my life!’

‘Really?’ Gloria looks surprised. She knows I’m not the sentimental type.

‘Well, maybe apart from the day Mum and Dad finally weakened and let me have a kitten … or that time at uni with Lin, when we took an impulse trip to Dieppe and ended up in Brussels. And the day I passed my driving test. Sixth time lucky.’

‘Didn’t know that,’ she says. ‘But it explains a lot!’

Before she can tease me any further, Edo’s back. ‘Loose connection with the fan,’ he says. ‘Fixed. Shall I sort out these flowers?’ He notices my doubtful expression and adds reassuringly, ‘I used to arrange them at college when we did the still-life module.’

‘That would be great.’ We haven’t known Edo very long, but he’s a definite asset, and fast turning into a friend.

I go through to the back room and begin to change out of my paint-stained denims and into my working clothes. I’ve been dithering for days about what to wear. I finally settled on tapered black linen trousers, teamed with a turquoise top and my smartest black jacket. The one with turned-back cuffs lined with turquoise and pink patterned silk. And, of course, my lucky silver earrings. I’d feel naked without them. It’s an outfit that makes me look professional but still me. I give myself a final once-over in the mirror, quickly apply a fresh coat of lip gloss, then rejoin my friends.

Edo has worked magic with the flowers. Gloria has finished with the windows. The fridge is behaving itself.

In less than an hour, Happy Endings will be open for business. And any moment now Mum and Dad will arrive to inspect what they’ve taken to calling ‘The Investment’.

Dad stepped in after the bank took all of three minutes to turn down my application for a start-up loan. ‘You’re to take my pension pot and put it into your business.’ After he left the navy, Dad went into the construction business. Without his help, Happy Endings would never have got off the drawing board. He’s got so much faith in me it’s scary. Then again, as he says, I’ve got a great location on a busy high street, slap bang in the middle of London, how can I fail?

And I know I can do this. It’s what I want more than anything. From now on I’m devoting myself to business. Nothing else matters. Not that there is much else, to be honest. Other than Gloria and Edo, I don’t exactly have a red-hot social life. My choice, I know. Over the past five years, I’ve become a bit of a recluse.

But today, I can’t even begin to describe my sense of purpose. I’m nervous, yet exhilarated.

In short, I’ve never felt more alive.

Which is a bit odd perhaps. Because I see dead people. All the time.

It’s an occupational hazard.