Time to take a chance, p.8
Time to Take a Chance, page 8
‘Oh…’ she exclaimed out loud, as she stepped through the door.
The walls inside glowed a soft gold, and as she looked around, her eyes took in the words stencilled intricately on them – ‘the earth has music for those who listen’.
This shop could have been put together with Lizzie alone in mind. It wasn’t just the colours, the designs, the mix of vintage and new, it was the ambience, the decor, the hint of something in the air – like cinnamon or bergamot, guessed Lizzie, only more exotic.
Floral prints hung alongside bold Pucci-esque tunics and maxi skirts that looked as though they came from the sixties. Denim in every shade imaginable… Her eyes alighted on a rail of Bohemian style dresses and faded flared jeans – clothes she’d loved in the days before Jamie and the suits. It had been years since she’d even looked at such things.
Long having forgotten how the right clothes can make you feel, Lizzie perused everything with delight, touching with delight the soft, sheer fabrics, running her fingers through silken scarves, pulling things out and holding them against her – completely losing track of time, until ages later the salesgirls were starting to look concerned. Eventually, one of them came over.
‘We wondered if you’d maybe like some help!’ she said in a gentle sing-song voice. She wore a glittery name badge with ‘Nola’ painted on it, and was clearly dressed in clothes from the shop. Her long hair was streaked with green, which matched the striking eyes that looked anxiously into Lizzie’s. ‘Only Julia and I, we were getting a little worried about you. Weren’t we, Julia?’ she called over, her eyes not leaving Lizzie.
‘Oh! I’m so sorry,’ Lizzie blushed to the tips of her ears, then looked at her watch. ‘That can’t be the time! Have I really been here that long? Only these are the loveliest clothes I’ve seen in years. It’s all just so… just lovely…’ she added lamely. ‘Sorry, I better go…’
Nola and Julia looked at Lizzie quizzically.
‘You’ve been in here about two hours…’ said Julia, just as gently, ‘hasn’t she Nola? And really, it doesn’t matter at all! We were just a bit worried about you! Are you sure you’re okay? We were just about to have some herbal tea – would you like some?’
This time Lizzie flushed beetroot. And then realised she’d had nothing to drink all day, and that herbal tea was really quite appealing.
‘Thank you! And well, maybe you could help me…’ she started hesitantly. ‘I can’t seem to decide. I used to love wearing clothes like this, only it was ages ago! I’ve been living in suits for years…’
The girls looked at each other, then led Lizzie over to a sofa she hadn’t seen until now.
‘Why don’t you sit here? Your feet must be aching horribly,’ they said sympathetically, which they had been for ages. Then, having brought her some chamomile tea, their favourite, they told Lizzie, because it was very relaxing, they quizzed her.
‘Tell us a bit about you,’ probed Nola. ‘It helps us to find the right clothes… but only if you want to, of course…’
‘Well, I used to work for a magazine. Now I’m a gardener. And I’ve just moved to an old cottage. From London…’ She hesitated, not quite wanting to delve into the whole Jamie business.
‘What do you do when you’re not at work?’ asked Julia.
‘Oh, more gardening! My own, which is old and very neglected, unless my friend Antonia comes over with a bottle of wine. I’ve only known her since I moved here. My other friends are in London.’ My other friend, she silently corrected herself. ‘Oh, and I’m decorating my cottage…’
The girls looked at her thoughtfully, then at each other before springing efficiently into action.
There was no doubt they knew their clothes. Restored by the tea, Lizzie watched in awe as somehow every item the girls suggested was absolutely right. Uncannily so, and just half an hour later, she walked out ecstatically clutching half a dozen carrier bags of the loveliest things she’d ever owned. As she thanked them, they’d made her promise to call in again soon. Not to spend any money, they assured her. Not at all, but just come in and say hello. Sparkie’s was already up there with Joe’s in Lizzie’s book, another oasis of calm, and she couldn’t imagine ever shopping anywhere else.
‘Now that you’ve found us, Lizzie, you must come back! For lunch, or just herbal tea! You know where we are if you need us.’
Assuring them she would, Lizzie completely missed the looks that they exchanged as they closed the door behind her.
‘She looked so lost…’
‘She’s run away, hasn’t she?’
‘What from, I wonder…’
‘Or who…’
‘But we helped her, didn’t we? Maybe more than she knows…’
‘And she’ll be back, I’m sure of it.’
‘Now that she knows we’re here…’
And then later on, just when Lizzie was happily engrossed in organising her accent colours and rusty lanterns, Bert, the estate manager, turned up, carrying a large box which he handed to her.
‘Present for you, miss.’
‘Oh!’ Lizzie stood back as the top opened on its own and a furious, spitting head emerged followed by a long, tabby-coloured body that barged its way out and would have fled if Bert hadn’t slammed the door in the nick of time.
‘You’ll be needing a good mouser. He was going spare, like… thought he might be useful, young Darren… He’s about five now. Nice chap really. Take no notice of all that racket. Had him since a kitten – think he’s one of Mrs Einstein’s. Don’t think he’s ever bin in a box before…’ Bert chuckled to himself, adding, ‘Won’t be any trouble…’ which of course Lizzie believed implicitly.
He settled in right away, soon bringing her a present in the form of three dismembered mice and a large decapitated rabbit, before falling asleep sprawled on her new bed.
As well as creating what Darius and Angel described as ‘simply heaven, darling’ as they minced about the newly laid lawn and admired how far she’d got with the planting, Lizzie found she’d made two unlikely new friends. Soon she was being summoned out of the blue to dinner, breakfast on Sundays, and impromptu cocktails whenever the mood took them.
Darius, whose real name was actually Derek, Lizzie discovered when she met his mother, was the most incredible cook and took it upon himself to share his talents with her. The boys were nothing if not hospitable.
‘Lizzie sweetie, long island iced teas at six, petal.’ Or ‘Darling, Bellinis after work. Darius is having an Italian phase,’ which was her absolute favourite evening of all as they sat outside until the moon shone high in the sky. But it was Angel, who was actually called Adrian, who winkled out of her the story behind her career move. He ground and gnashed his teeth and shed almost as many tears as she did as she told him all about losing her mother, and about how she’d only just escaped marrying Jamie. Then they’d both fussed around her, stroking her hair and mopping her tears before fetching yet another round of Bellinis.
‘Darling, men can be such bitches, don’t I just know it,’ Angel exclaimed in his most diva-like fashion yet.
Lizzie’s size fives barely had time to touch the ground in this whirl of activity that had become her life. Not sure whether this was entirely a good thing, she nevertheless embraced every opportunity that came her way. Her grief was still there, but more manageable now and somehow, with all her new friends around her, it felt different.
Thanks to Katie, her new website was finished and Tilly had pinned an advertisement in her hairdresser’s. As she’d said most eloquently, ‘Not all the old farts round here have computers.’
The trip to Cornwall was still on Lizzie’s mind, but with a cat, a house and a fledgling business, she’d postponed it. Already her mobile was ringing and dribs and drabs of work were coming in. It was almost scary, the speed with which it was happening, as though she’d set something in motion that had taken on a life of its own.
After Darius and Angel’s garden, she had a few commissions from clients nearby – a lawn needing manicuring here and there, or a corner of neglected garden that needed a facelift. Lizzie had found her element. And getting dressed for work was effortless too in just old jeans and whatever top came to hand. Tying her long hair in a ponytail or loose plait, she’d splodge on some make-up and be ready in no time. Jamie would have absolutely hated it!
Lizzie had yet to meet Antonia’s bête noir, but she didn’t have to wait long. In her oldest jeans with her paintbrush primed, ready to start on her stairs, there was a sharp knock at the door, then another, and Lizzie opened the door to a much older woman. Of a similar height to herself but dressed in tweeds, she had an unmistakeably schoolmistressy air about her. Tilting up her head, she’d frowned down her nose at Lizzie, inspecting her from head to toe. She’d then held out a dry hand, which she’d withdrawn at the sight of Lizzie’s paint-spattered one.
‘Elspeth Hepplewhite. I thought that, as chairperson of the local WI, I should come and introduce myself.’
The penny dropped. Lizzie stared.
Mrs Hepplewhite peered at Lizzie more closely. ‘You were the one who was staying at that terrible pub.’ She tutted disapprovingly.
‘My car broke down,’ said Lizzie apologetically. ‘I’m Lizzie. Er, would you like to come in?’
‘I know,’ said Mrs Hepplewhite without a hint of a smile. ‘And that won’t be necessary. I’ve simply come to inform you about the WI. We meet on Tuesday afternoons. At two o’clock. Punctually. No doubt you will be joining us.’
Lizzie opened her mouth and closed it, dumbfounded. ‘Mrs er…’
‘Hepplewhite,’ snapped the old trout.
‘I’d, er, love to,’ she started.
The thinly plucked eyebrows disappeared into her hair.
‘But I-I’m not sure,’ Lizzie faltered.
Mrs Hepplewhite drew herself up and bristled indignantly. ‘Oh?’
Lizzie loathed confrontation at the best of times, but, taking a deep breath, she forced the words out.
‘Thank you, and I appreciate you inviting me, but I work most days. I can’t really commit myself. But thank you, very much,’ she emphasised politely, ‘for coming to ask me.’
Darren appeared, rubbing his lithe body against Mrs Hepplewhite’s legs and almost knocking her over. Then he sat on the path in front of her, fixed her with unblinking green eyes and frantically started scratching.
‘Hmmph,’ the woman snorted, then looked with horror at her legs. ‘Well, I assume you’ll come to our Christmas fair at the very least. We rely on the locals to support it, you know.’ She bent down and scratched her left leg. ‘It’s not one of Mrs Einstein’s is it?’
The look on her face was one of horror when Lizzie nodded, and she marched briskly down the path, pausing now and then to reach down and scratch, without so much as a backward glance.
At which point Darren stopped scratching, winking at Lizzie, before sauntering in through the back door.
‘Should have warned you,’ said Antonia suddenly that evening. ‘You’re bound to get a visit from the village bat. No one escapes. Elspeth’s a total pain in the arse – no redeeming features whatsoever I’m afraid. Puts the fear of God into everyone, well, does her best to… Think I told you about her – she’s the one that scoops up Cassie when I’m late.’
‘Actually, she’s already been. I managed to wriggle out of joining the WI, but I think Darren gave her his fleas…’
‘Gosh, well done.’ Antonia looked impressed. ‘I swear membership will quadruple the day that woman resigns,’ she declared. ‘We ought to set up a rival group. Instead of boring old lunches and knitting, we’ll get pissed and talk about our sex lives and horses or something. It would be heaps more fun… Loads of the old girls round her would join us, you know they’re all ravers on the quiet…’
And this was shortly followed by the Lizzie party that the boys had absolutely insisted on.
‘Darling, you can be the Queen this time, I’m going to be Elizabeth Taylor,’ announced Darius theatrically. ‘You, flower, must come as yourself,’ he told Lizzie. ‘In your gardening clothes, with soil in your hair and mud on your jeans, like you usually have.’ He paused for breath as he looked at her dotingly.
Lizzie ran her fingers through her hair – soil?
‘And everyone else has to dress up too!’ finished Angel triumphantly. ‘Now, sweetie, the deal is that you invite half the guests and we’ll invite the rest. It’s your party after all.’
Lizzie’s protests fell on deaf ears.
‘Sorry, honey, it’s the rules…’
Lizzie gave up. ‘But what about the men?’
‘Oh, flower, they have to dress as Lizzies too of course! Such fun! Oh we just love parties,’ Angel told her. ‘Be a pet. Indulge us.’
But being the new girl, Lizzie hardly knew who to invite. Antonia, Katie, of course, Tilly, oh and Tim… well, four wasn’t bad seeing as she’d only just moved in. And just maybe Nola and Julia from Sparkie’s, so one lunchtime, she decided to pay them a visit.
‘Oh, Lizzie, we’d love to!’ Nola clapped her hands together, then peered closely at her face. ‘You look more peaceful,’ she added. ‘It’s good. Won’t you stay for lunch? We were just about to close…’
They’d led Lizzie through a door at the back of the shop into a small room flooded by sunlight. French doors opened on to a little balcony which overlooked the Rumble, where a wisp of smoke was coming from a recently extinguished candle. There was the oddest array of objects out there, Lizzie couldn’t help but notice, like rocks and what looked like a bit of antler. Her attention swapped to the room, where the table was already set for three with prettily painted plates and another candle burning in the centre.
‘Oh…’ Lizzie looked at it. ‘But I really don’t want to intrude…’
Nola took her hand and led her to one of the chairs. ‘It’s for you, silly! We were expecting you. Didn’t you say you’d be coming back?’
A baffled Lizzie didn’t know what to say, so she just sat there as they talked away and produced home-made soup and crusty bread.
‘Now you must tell us – are you happy in your cottage?’
‘I love it! It’s quite amazing really… when you think I found Littleton completely by accident,’ she told them.
Nola gave her a sideways look.
‘And then I was stuck without a car,’ she went on, ‘so Katie came to stay. We went out for lunch and bumped into Darius and Angel, you know, the boys who are having the Lizzie party, and that’s when they offered me my first commission.’ She stopped. ‘Then I stumbled across my cottage and someone sold me my jeep.’
It was freaky. What’s more, both the girls were looking quite unsurprised by what she was telling them.
‘Everything’s obviously as it should be,’ Julia gently pointed out. ‘You said yourself, it all seems to have worked out perfectly! But have you wondered, Lizzie… whether it’s more than just coincidence…’
‘Um – no,’ she replied uncertainly. And she hadn’t even got on to the fair-haired stranger.
Lizzie drove back home so deep in thought she completely missed the turning to Littleton. And it was only after she’d turned round she realised she hadn’t seen the rusty sign in the hedge that had led her there, that day she’d fled from London. Even more curiously, when she reversed back to check, it was nowhere to be seen.
‘They sound barking,’ was Antonia’s comment when she told her about the Lizzie party. ‘Golly, well I could go as old Queenie – got a posh frock or two and a tiara hidden away somewhere. You better scrub up a bit, Lizzie, you are the guest of honour after all…’
Katie emerged down Lizzie’s stairs looking every bit like Elizabeth Hurley, except for her boobs, which were on the small side, so they stuffed the dress with chicken fillets and stuck her in with tit tape.
Tilly, bless her, was in a quandary. ‘I was going to go as Hilary Duff in Lizzie Mcguire, in a blonde wig I borrowed from the salon,’ she said sounding perturbed, standing with her pink head on one side as she spoke. ‘But it makes me look more like Lady Penelope in Thunderbirds, so then, I thought, well, you’re the guest of honour, someone ought to go dressed as you… What do you think?’
‘Um, be my guest’ said Lizzie doubtfully. ‘If you want some patched jeans and a second-hand T-shirt from the Oxfam shop, help yourself.’
‘Mmmm.’ Tilly thought some more. ‘Cool. I think I will. Can I borrow your Hunters?’
Actually the boys were right, and it was a hoot, with half the guests thinking Tilly was Lizzie, which all added to the madness.
The barn had been decorated most tastefully with candles and flowers on every available surface, and Darius had the most divine cocktails lined up. He’d put on a trial run for Lizzie the previous weekend, inventing the innocuously named Frizzy Lizzie in her honour which was completely lethal, and had given her the worst hangover of her life. They’d decorated the modern scrap metal sculpture that Darius had bought with gardening tools and fairy lights, and the garden was lit with flaming torches which created flickering shadows as the sun sank over the hills, so that it all came to life with just the perfect amount of flamboyance. With the thumping music and the most curious ensemble dressed as various Elizabeths, the evening went with a bang.
‘I do so love parties,’ said Angel wistfully, clasping his hands in front of him as he looked around at the crowd. ‘Isn’t it wonderful to see everyone enjoying themselves? Everyone came you know… Well, nearly everyone…’ he frowned. ‘Tom Woodleigh’s not here yet, darling, you’d love him, he’s rather gorgeous… Oh, sweetie.’ He clutched Lizzie’s arm as Tilly drifted in from outside. ‘She’s off her head already.’
Floating serenely in from the garden, Tilly was followed by an unmistakeable waft of smoke, which along with the vacuous expression on her face, completely gave her away.
‘Hi-i.’ She drifted in towards the party. ‘Oh, hi, Angelical…’
