Out Late with Friends and Regrets (17 page)

Decision made. She felt better.

“Fiona, can I have a word?”

Damn, the bloody girl had gone and found another job, and was about to give notice.
 
If only Fin had sorted herself out sooner.
 
Now it was too late.

“Of course, Margaret.
 
Nice week-end?”

“Just quiet, me and Pete.
 
Really nice, thanks.”

“OK, then, what’s the problem?”

“Well, first of all... I’m, we’re, having a baby.”

“Oh, Margaret! That’s absolutely
wonderful!
”

Fin put her arms around her in a great big impulsive hug, hoping the young woman hadn’t seen her eyes.
 
The couple had, she knew, practically given up on a family, so this was a matter of real joy for them.
 
As she drew back, Margaret’s beatific smile filled her with shame for her flash reaction, the selfish thought that this would finally put the kibosh on her own hopes for the shop.
 
Then her automatic damage limitation function kicked in, telling her that if Margaret had got another job there would be only a week to find a substitute; a pregnant Margaret might stay on another few months, and things would work out.
 
She reminded herself what a tower of strength Margaret had been when Paul was in hospital, and how willing she had always been to swap her days, and to work well beyond the call of duty when asked.
 
If anyone deserved her heart’s desire, it was Margaret.

“I’m so happy for you both,” said Fin, meaning it.
 
“Be sure and give Pete my warmest congratulations, too, won’t you.
 
When’s it due?”

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, Fiona.
 
The baby’s due early January, and because of the two miscarriages, Pete’s really keen for me to give up work as soon as possible.”

Ah, well.
 
There was no arguing with that.

“But I don’t want to let you down, so-”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake, Margaret, the baby has to come first-”

“No, look, could you see Derek?”

“Derek?”

“Derek, my brother, you know, he got made redundant by Man Hatton…”

“Of course, I remember you telling me.”
 
Just about.
 
Hatton’s had been a traditional men’s outfitters, one of the oldest businesses in Cantlesham, which John Hatton junior had attempted to bring up to date as Man Hatton.
 
This venture had come to grief when not just one but two menswear chains had opened branches in Cantlesham.
 
One had subsequently closed down again, but not before taking Man Hatton to the brink, so now it was run by father and son, all staff having had to go.

“He’s very bright, he’s done a business course, and he’s brilliant at I.T. -”
 
Margaret was talking fast, selling her brother.

The very words ‘bright young man’ immediately suggested to Fin ‘bright enough to rip you off’, although the business course and I.T. skills sounded useful.

“- and he’s got great ideas…”

Wrong tactic, Margaret.
 
Fin’s shop, Fin the one with great ideas.
 
She saw potential for conflict with an ambitious young man who would inevitably see her as old-fashioned.
 
Which she wasn’t.
 
But it was in the nature of young men to try and take over running the show, thinking they knew best.
 
Not in her business, they didn’t.

“He’s working at Morrison’s at the moment, but having to start at the bottom in the stockroom is really getting him down.”

Arrogant, too.
 
She was right.
 
It wasn’t going to happen.
 
However, she owed it to Margaret at least to go through the motions.

“Well, OK, I’ll see him, though please remember, Margaret, I can’t promise anything…”

“Yes, of course, how about Wednesday at two?”

Fin had to smile.
 
They had it all worked out.
 
However, the sooner the interview was over the better, and she had better place an ad for an assistant in the local free paper today.

“Yes, fine.”

Between customers she scribbled interview questions on a jotter, plus a few phrases she might use to inform him, pleasantly and tactfully, that he hadn’t got the job.

“’Bye, Fin! See you Monday week, then!”

She could not believe it.
 
Had she really invited this twenty-three-year-old to call her Fin?
And
hired him, what’s more? The jotter with the carefully drawn-up questions on it remained under the counter, unconsulted.

Derek, or Dek, as he liked to be called, had confounded her expectations.
 
Far from being brash and full of himself, he was quiet and polite, but not awkward.
 
At the door at one minute to two, he was dressed appropriately ‘smart casual’, and had conducted himself well in the interview, such as it was.
 
More of a conversation, in fact, with questions arising organically.
 
She told him about the various aspects of the business, and he had told her of his life so far, producing a well-presented CV for her inspection.
 
He had a steady girl-friend, but didn’t want to think about marriage until he had a long-term job that he really liked.

She was frank about prospects: the job would never pay handsomely, though there might be a little room for a better rate if business was seen to improve.
 
Dek, unlike his sister, wanted to work full time, and it would be quite a squeeze for the shop to afford him.
 
He leafed through her portfolio of T-shirt designs, and laughed at some of the more tasteless examples.

“I’ve always been interested in casual fashion,” he said, looking genuinely keen, “and I was hoping that I could get a job where I can look at retailing it as my future, and maybe, after a bit, have a little bit of input, possibly. I have to say, I’ve always liked the merchandise and displays in your windows, Fin.”

Fin smiled, taking this last with a pinch of salt, as he went on to say that he felt, with hard work and commitment, and his ‘fresh eye’ – he meant youth, of course – he might even help Fin to improve the takings, in time.

Knowing the right things to say was easy, she reflected.
 
But he had enthusiasm and a real warmth, and would clearly make the customers happy.
 
She hoped she hadn’t allowed herself to be influenced by the fact that his smile and twinkling eyes reminded her of her own brother Rory in New South Wales, the substitute father her son had chosen.

Well, for better or worse she had committed herself, for a six-week trial period, anyway, subject to references.
 
It could work out well.
 
On the other hand, Dek could prove to be confident beyond his abilities, or planning to siphon off small but regular amounts of money as soon as he had gained her trust, or capable of making reckless and unauthorised decisions in her absence. Such things had never occurred to her when she had given Margaret the job.
 
But now Fin felt vulnerable.
 
It might indeed be a small, tin-pot enterprise, but she had worked her socks off to make it a success and build a good reputation.
 
All this could go down the drain with a less hands-on approach, and the involvement of a boy who was either too inexperienced, or too clever by half.

Somehow, even the potential downslide of her business was less of a fear than that of ending up looking gullible and foolish.

Of course she shouldn’t have been in Harford on a Saturday, but Fin felt in need of an evening off.
 
The tyranny of appointments to view was beginning to get her down, and she had to remind herself that she was lucky that people were interested in seeing the house. As it was, she wanted it to be over, longed to launch into new things, new people, the new life.

The Study did not have the obvious look of a winner of the Harford Herald’s fine dining award twice in a row; it wore its reputation lightly.
 
Tucked down a cobbled street so small it was almost an alley, one could have mistaken it for a private house except for a modestly-lettered sign.

Fin peered through the window.
 
Daft, really; Ellie wouldn’t be there till half past seven, if that.
 
It was clear, though, that the place was already busy.
 
No matter, she would have a drink at the bar until Ellie arrived.
 
Walking through new doors had recently become a habit, she reflected, as she went in.

“Hi,” said a dreadlocked young man in a bow tie, intercepting her skilfully, “you booked?” Student, she thought. All the bars and restaurants in town would be using them, she supposed.
 
Ellie must have booked, surely.

“Not personally, but could you check to see whether there’s a reservation in the name of van Zandt?
 
Please.”

“No worries… “ he ran a finger down a list. “…Yep. Seven thirty. Bar’s through there.”

She sat on a stool at the far end of the bar, where she had a good view of the door, and ordered a glass of house red.
 
The girl serving had flawless olive skin, and her pale blue shirt, sleeves casually rolled, set it off wonderfully. Her dark eyelashes were long and her hair short, giving her an air of wholesome androgyny.

Wow, Fin thought. How great it must be to look like that. Not a trace of make-up. Beautiful, just beautiful.
 
No wonder she had such an air of effortless confidence. The girl moved from behind the bar to wipe the tables, revealing short, chunky legs, and Fin was appalled at her own twitch of relief to note that the young girl had imperfections.
 
She smiled at her warmly as she returned to the bar, by way of apology.

She sipped slowly, eking out the drink over the half hour until Ellie arrived, checking her reflection in the Ladies once to ensure that the wine hadn’t given her embarrassing purple fangs.
 
The clientele was interesting to watch come and go, although not as flamboyant as that at Jetsam’s.
 
It surprised her to spot Ellie’s mad yellow hair in the doorway at half past on the dot; she had assumed she would be late.

It was also clear her host had dressed for dinner: she wore a smart black trouser suit and red patent moccasins.
 

“Hi, Fin!” she roared, approaching with open arms, attracting not a few looks from drinkers and diners.

“Ellie! Good to see you!”

“Been here long? Hope you’ve got an appetite on you, or this evening will be an entire waste – best diner in town, at least until the chef buggers off, as they all do eventually!”

“No, not long; yes, I certainly have; is it, oh good; and do they really?”

Ellie laughed and gave Fin a playful push.

“Come on, let’s get sat down. Not often I wear proper shoes, and the old piggies are squealing already.”

Fin smiled to see how Dreads was flirting openly with Ellie, as he led them to their table. Ellie thanked him with a little pout and a narrowing of the eyes, and he went away grinning, to summon the drinks waiter.

“You are
terrible!
” said Fin.

“Ah, spread a little happiness…”

Their table, in one corner, had both seats facing out into the restaurant, to Fin’s relief. She would have felt distinctly uncomfortable facing the wall, even with Ellie opposite her.

“So how’s it going?” asked Ellie, “You brought your toothbrush, I assume?”