A December to Remember (86)
Star was nodding like one of those bobble-head dashboard dolls, her mouth an O shape of delight.
“You could work in the curios shop with me, Maggie. It’s a family business, after all,” she gushed excitedly, hugging herself as though to stop herself from exploding. Simone couldn’t help but grin at the effect her words were having on her sisters.
“I can’t quite take it in.” Maggie laughed. “Sixty-six grand. Shit! That’s more money than I’ve ever had in my life!”
“That’s a modest estimate, in my fine art counterpart’s opinion,” Duncan put in. “That would be the reserve price; I’d expect it to go for a lot more.”
“I think I might throw up.” Maggie was dabbing her forehead with her apron.
Star was doing a strange kind of floaty dance of joy about the kitchen, which looked all the more incongruous for the apron that read Dirty Bitch! and the welding goggles. She paused to kiss Duncan, who had taken to stirring the three pots of onions to make sure they didn’t burn, since the North sisters had all but abandoned their workstations.
“Well?” asked Simone. “What do you think, Maggie? It won’t save your home, but it means you can stay in the village. Verity wouldn’t have to change schools, and you could help out at the shop until you find your feet, or forever if you’d like? You have to admit it’s a genius idea, if I do say so myself.”
“I agree with your genius,” said Maggie slowly. “I think it could work. It would be lovely to have you all here. I mean, you are a giant high-maintenance pain in the arse, and Star is a space cadet, but I wouldn’t have you any other way.”
“Who’s a space cadet?” asked Star as she pirouetted about the kitchen.
Simone smiled. At long last, things were starting to look up.
43
“I’m going to tell them both tonight,” Maggie said, a half-empty crate of broccoli in her arms. “Over dinner.”
She and Joe were bringing in the fruit and veg displays from the front of the shop. The weather had turned ominously cold, and a freezing fog hung along the high street. She had filled Joe in on the events in the pub kitchen.
“We could tell them about us too. Make it official. Hit them with all the good news at once.” Joe smiled.
Maggie squirmed. “Maybe not tonight. We don’t want to blow their minds.” She laughed awkwardly. His face fell and she felt horribly guilty. “But soon,” she added brightly, always playing for time.
Joe recovered his good humor quickly. “I’ve got say, I’m relieved,” he said, dropping a crate of parsnips down beside a tray of sprout trees. “I understand your reasons for keeping the eviction from them, but I’ve felt uncomfortable about Patrick; he’s an adult, he ought to be kept in the loop.”
“I know. I was hanging on for a miracle. But what with the money from the painting and not having to sell my dad’s place, it feels like I’ve got the next best thing. Honestly, I feel like a weight’s been lifted. I know I gave it the big ‘I’ll be fine’ speech, but I was scared shitless about what I was going to do.”
“I know. You’re not as good an actor as you think you are.” He was smiling warmly at her.
“And here I was thinking I had you fooled.”
“Don’t give up your day job.” Joe laughed and then realized what he’d said. “Sorry.”
“My day job’s given me up. I know it isn’t glamorous, but I’ve always loved running a greengrocer shop. It’s hard work, but I get to be out and about, I get to meet people and carry on something my mum built up. It feels like I’m losing a part of her with the business.”
“I’m sorry, Mags. You know if I could I’d buy Gilbert out and give you the building.”
“You are so sweet, no wonder I love you.”
His face broke into a smile. “I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of hearing you say that.” He paused for a moment and then said, “There’s something I need to tell you. It’s about Gilbert and Marks . . .”
The door that led from the shop up to the flat flew open and hit the wall so hard there was a definite sound of wood splintering.
“Patrick! What are you doing? You practically took the door off its hinges.” And then she saw his expression. Pure anger.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Patrick’s voice was sharp and accusatory, shaking with rage. She recognized the blue letterhead as he shook the letter back and forth in his clenched fist, and her heart, so light a second ago, sank like a stone. From the corner of her eye, she saw Joe straighten up from lifting a box of clementines and dust his jeans down.
“Why wouldn’t you tell me? I had to find out like this. Cheers, Mum! Happy fucking Christmas.”
“Darling, listen, I . . .”
“I can’t believe you! What were you going to do? Box everything up and hope we wouldn’t notice? Or maybe move out on the sly when I’ve gone back to uni, send me a forwarding address in a text?”
“Don’t be ridiculous . . .”
“Did he know, this whole time?” He jabbed a finger in Joe’s direction. He must have seen the look that passed between them, because he raised his hands in the air in exasperation or resignation, Maggie couldn’t tell which. “Of course! Of course you would confide in him before your own son. I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, Ma, but you put your faith in the wrong person.”