Never Can Say Goodbye (4 page)

‘Thanks.’ Frankie pushed her way through the cramped rails and leaned listlessly against the wooden counter. ‘Thanks a bunch.’

And that was the problem, Frankie thought. It wasn’t Rita’s shop any more. The lively, laughing place that Rita had made such
a pleasure to work in for the last three years had disappeared with its owner.

Rita had gone. There had been gloriously coloured photos of the Mykonos beach wedding – with Rita glamorous in a vivid sarong
and Ray in matching Hawaiian shirt and Bermuda shorts, both looking ecstatic – and the pretty taverna, emailed.

The shop was hers. All hers.

Outside, the sign-writers had emblazoned FRANCESCA’S FABULOUS FROCKS in huge curlicued gold letters across a facia of deep
purple. She’d spent the last weeks meeting with Rita’s solicitors, accountants and business advisors and signing umpteen pieces
of paper. The shop was really, truly, hers.

And she didn’t have a clue what to do next.

Without Rita she was rudderless. Without Rita’s cheerful friendship, she felt both lonely and alone.

‘There you go.’ Lilly pushed a steaming mug into Frankie’s hands. ‘This’ll warm you up. It’s pretty darn cold in here. Don’t
you have any heaters?’

‘Thanks, and there’s central heating that works from a boiler in the kitchen. We turned it off when Rita left. I’ll have to
get it going again, especially if I want to open up next Saturday.’

‘Mmm.’ Lilly, snuggled in a vivid orange wrap-around
sweater, leaned against the counter beside her. ‘It’s pretty depressing at the moment … and I’ve just thought of something.’

Frankie sighed. ‘Oh dear, have you? Is it gossip about a celeb I’ve never heard of having an affair with someone else I’ve
never heard of? Or someone on Twitter? Or … ’

Lilly, her spiky blonde hair falling into her heavily kohled eyes, looked hurt. ‘I do have other thoughts sometimes, you know.’

Frankie laughed. ‘I know. Sometimes you think about men, and clothes, and men, and make-up and shoes, and men and more shoes.’

‘Well, if you don’t want to hear my idea … ’

‘Sorry, yes, of course I do.’

‘It’s got to do with trade descriptions.’

Frankie gazed at Lilly in surprise. What on earth did Lilly, whose entire life outside her job as a receptionist at Beauty’s
Blessings in Hazy Hassocks, revolved around men and clothes and shoes and glossy magazines and clubbing and reality telly
shows, know about the trade descriptions act?

‘Go on … ’

‘Well –’ Lilly blinked inch-long blue eyelashes ‘– the sign outside says “Francesca’s Fabulous Frocks”.’

‘Yes, and?’

Lilly looked round the crammed jumble of rails. ‘Well, it’s not, is it? Frocks, I mean. It’s just, well, any old tat. If it
says frocks then it should be just frocks.’

Frankie, excitedly slopping coffee, hugged her. ‘Lill! You’re a genius!’

‘I know,’ Lilly sighed. ‘It’s such a shame no one else ever realises it. Er, why?’

‘Because that’s what it’s going to be. What it says on the tin.’

‘What tin?’

‘Oh, just a figure of speech. No, seriously, you’re brilliant. That’s what it’ll be. Just a frock shop. A lovely, gorgeous,
retro frock shop.’

Frankie sat in silence for a moment, just visualising it. A frock shop. A fabulous frock shop …
Her
fabulous frock shop … Just like it said on the sign …

She grinned. ‘We’ll sort out all the dresses, and clear out everything else and see if Biff and Hedley Pippin want it for
their charity shop first before we offload it elsewhere, then we’ll work on sorting out the frocks and—’

‘You could sort of colour code them,’ Lilly said. ‘Or something like that, couldn’t you?’

‘Yes, I could.’ Quickly Frankie drained her coffee and slammed the mug and the keys on the counter. ‘In fact, what I could
do is make this a proper vintage shop. We can sort them into decades – we’ve got stuff dating from the nineteen fifties and
maybe even before that in here somewhere – then into sizes, then into colours, or something along those lines. Oh, Lilly,
you’re amazingly clever.’

‘Bless.’ Lilly beamed. ‘I know.’

An hour later, with the heating working beautifully, half the rails denuded, and towering mountains of other people’s clothes
dwarfing them, Frankie and Lilly gazed at one another.

‘We need a skip or a big lorry or something.’ Frankie pushed her silky black hair behind her ears. ‘And a lot of other people.
We’ll never get rid of all this ourselves.’

‘Yes, we do and, no, we won’t, but looking on the bright side you’ve got millions of gorgeous dresses hidden away, haven’t
you?’

Frankie nodded enthusiastically. They’d uncovered some real gems amongst the dross.

‘And the shop itself,’ Lilly said, ‘isn’t too manky at all, really. I thought the walls would be dirty and dreary – but they’re
OK. Cream’s nice as a background.’

‘Rita had it decorated last year. With difficulty.’ Frankie chuckled at the memory. ‘Poor old Brian from the kebab van came
in on Sundays and moved stock from one side to the other until it was all done. So, at least that’s one thing I don’t need
to worry about. Although I’ll need some other sort of decoration now if we’re just going to be frocks, won’t I? Posters and
pictures and maybe things that relate to each of the decades.’

‘Mmm. Sounds great. But –’ Lilly hauled herself up onto the counter to survey the devastation ‘– what I don’t understand is
– well, loads of things really.’

Frankie smiled. ‘Like the meaning of the universe? Nah, that always baffles me, too.’

‘Like,’ Lilly continued, ‘how did Rita make this place work? How did she ever make any money?’

‘Rita was pretty astute and she’d been running this for all her working life and been successful. Well, she must have been
– she made and saved enough money over the years to be able to leave this – and her bungalow – and whiz off to Mykonos and
buy a taverna.’

‘Yeah, I suppose,’ Lilly said doubtfully. ‘She must have been very clever with her money, though.’

‘She said she had savings and investments.’

‘Really? How clever. I wish I did. My salary is always spent before it’s earned. But, I mean, if she never sold anything,
just rented it out, then took in more stuff, surely there must have
come a time – like now – when there just wasn’t room for any more things?’

‘Quite often,’ Frankie agreed, pulling herself up onto the counter too. ‘We used to have clear-outs sometimes. Stuff that
never moved. We used to donate it to the charity shops, but Rita never turned anything wearable away.’

‘Obviously. So, once she’d paid someone for it, you just hired it out over and over again?’

Frankie nodded.

‘And –’ Lilly frowned ‘– then you’d have to have it cleaned every time – which costs – before you rented it out again – so,
why didn’t she just sell it?’

‘Because Rita didn’t like to part with anything. And she thought renting, hiring, whatever, offered a good service to people
who couldn’t afford, or didn’t want to, buy.’

‘Right.’ Lilly flicked through the pile of duplicate accounting books on the countertop. ‘And you did all the transactions
in here, did you?’

‘Yes. Rita didn’t trust computers. Not for the business. Even the till is manual. It’s all very nineteen fifties.’ Frankie
shook her head. ‘Which is nice and cosy and all that, and OK for what Rita was doing, but not for me and the twenty-first
century. I intend to change all that.’

Lilly nodded. ‘Mmm, Jennifer Blessing would have a fit. She’s ace at business, is Jennifer. She sent me on all those IT courses
when she updated her systems at the salon and … ’

Frankie wasn’t listening. Jennifer Blessing’s high-tech beauty salon was a million miles away from Rita’s Rent-a-Frock. Except,
of course, it wasn’t Rita’s any more, was it? And she’d already decided to buy a computer from the capital allowance that
the accountant had told her was in the business account for
exactly that sort of purchase. And she’d ordered a whole mountain of Francesca’s Fabulous Frocks carrier bags in gold and
purple. She was getting there – slowly.

She suddenly frowned at the still-chattering Lilly. ‘Sorry, but what did you say earlier?’

‘About the courses Jennifer Blessing sent me on?’ Lilly wrinkled her forehead. ‘Oh, just that there weren’t many men on them,
but I did meet that really cute boy, Daniel, the one with the piercings, and—’

‘No, what did you say before that.’

‘I don’t know.’ Lilly looked anxious. ‘I can’t remember that far back.’

‘Selling. You said something about selling.’

‘Oh, yes.’ Lilly beamed happily. ‘So I did.’

‘Exactly!’ Frankie clapped her hands in delight. ‘Because that’s what I’m going to do. Sell not rent. It’s not Rita’s shop
any more, so there’ll be no more
buying
other people’s old clothes. I’ll just take donations of frocks. And no more renting or hiring, just selling. Paying for them
isn’t good business, selling them is very good for business. Simples!’

Lilly, looking slightly confused, frowned. ‘Well, yes. You should be making money, not spending it. Jennifer says—’

‘Jennifer Blessing makes Lord Sugar look like an enthusiastic amateur,’ Frankie said, laughing. ‘But of course she’s right.
And so am I. When this reopens as Francesca’s Fabulous Frocks that’s what I’m going to do. I’ll take in the unwanted frocks
and sell them. Which means –’ she picked up the duplicate books ‘– that these can go straight into the archives. As soon as
I get the computer later this week, I’ll have to get a sort of stock-and-sale system up and running, and pricing and everything
else.’

The new system may well alienate some of Rita’s regular clients – people like the funeral-going Biddy – she’d have to work
round that somehow and try not to lose customers, but otherwise it all made perfect sense.

Lilly slid from the counter. ‘I can help you with setting up some of the computer stuff if you like. I do it for Jennifer.’

‘Can you? Do you?’ Frankie watched as Lilly swayed seductively between the heaps of clothes towards the blacked-out windows.
‘Honestly, Lilly, you’re full of surprises.’

‘Because I’m an airhead?’ Lilly looked over her shoulder. ‘Yeah, well, Jennifer is dead scary let me tell you. I had to learn
that data input stuff over and over again until I got it right.’

‘Yes, sorry. I didn’t mean to—’

‘Yeah, you did,’ Lilly said happily. ‘I don’t mind. I know I’m not as stupid as everyone thinks I am. Well, not really.’

Frankie laughed, then frowned. ‘And they’re terrible, too.’

‘What are?’

‘These lovely big double windows. All that space all piled with rubbish. Rita never had much of an eye for window dressing.
She just piled stuff in there. She said everyone knew what the shop did so there was no need to make a meal of the windows.
I’m going to clear it out and do a proper window display and change it regularly.’

‘Yeah, right. In the spare time you’ve got between sorting out this lot and getting the place up and running.’ Lilly pulled
a face then peered out of the door at the rain-swept market square.

‘Yes, but,’ Frankie sighed, ‘I’m missing so many tricks here. It’s nearly Christmas – I need a Christmas window display.’

‘Yeah.’ Lilly nodded. ‘At Beauty’s Blessings Jennifer has had
a Christmas window display in place since October. So you’ll need to get a shift on. You’ve only got a month.’

‘I know.’ Frankie nodded. ‘Don’t remind me. Christmas is obviously an optimum trading time. Everyone wanting to buy things,
and that’s what I’ve got to give them. Things to buy. I’m going to have to sort out all the party frocks and stick them in
the window, drape a lot of twinkly, sparkly stuff round them, find some holly and baubles and—’

‘Ohmigod!’ Lilly suddenly shrieked. ‘No way!’

‘What?’ Frankie looked at Lilly in alarm. ‘What’s the matter?’

‘Out there!’ Lilly turned wide-eyed. ‘Come and have a look! Out there! Quick!’

Frankie frowned. She couldn’t imagine anything remotely exciting happening in Kingston Dapple’s marketplace. Nothing ever
had or did.

Kingston Dapple’s cobbled market square was really three-sided, with the fourth side opening on to the sleepy High Street.
Traffic meandered up and down there, as did the village shoppers, and any deliveries to the rear of the marketplace’s prewar
shops were made from a narrow horseshoe-shaped service road looping off the High Street. The buildings were Victorian, tall
and close-packed, the roads hundreds of years old and almost single lane. The twenty-first century had had very little impact.
In fact, Frankie reckoned, nothing much had changed in Kingston Dapple for at least a hundred years.

Apart from Rita’s, no,
her
shop, there was the Greasy Spoon caff, a small stationer’s-cum-newsagent’s, a shoe shop selling sensible sandals and cosy
slippers, a toy shop, a gift-type shop selling postcards and collectibles of the rather ugly plaster variety, a greengrocer’s
and a butcher’s.

And, of course, the Toad in the Hole pub.

The Toad had, for centuries, been the Kingston Arms Hotel, coaching inn and hostelry, until becoming very rundown in the 1970s.
It had mouldered for quite some time before being bought by an up-and-coming brewery chain. As it was a listed building, outside
the ancient architecture remained the same as it had ever been, but now alienated most of the village’s beer ’n’ a bag of
crisps pub-goers by incon -gruously housing a very minimalist glass, chrome and spotlit gastro bar. The Toad currently provided
Kingston Dapple’s only nightlife.

Unless, Frankie thought vaguely, you counted the various weekend shindigs in the village hall. Which very few rational people
ever did.

So, the only other additions to the market square were the space where Brian parked his kebab van every evening, after doing
his rounds of the villages, from ‘ten ’til midnight depending on the weather and the number of munchy-headed revellers staggering
from the Toad’, and Ray Valentine’s closed-down flower stall.

There was nothing out there, especially on a wet and windy freezing cold November day, Frankie thought, likely to warrant
Lilly’s reaction. Then again, she thought as she negotiated the heaps of second-hand clothes to reach the door, Lilly was
always a little bit OTT.