Page 13 of Secrets at the Little Music Shop

A perfect nail tapped. ‘Next week. You never know you might make some contacts there. I am inviting all sorts of people, even the kind that might buy your things. Chavs with money, you know.’

Even though I knew this had been a futile errand I still felt slightly sick. ‘Who’s the celebrity you’ve got to do the honours then?’ I asked, reading the gothic typescript.

Saskia looked uncharacteristically shifty. ‘I’ve a few names up my sleeve,’ she said, turning to reposition her centrepiece in a way to make it look less like something swept in on a breeze. ‘Contacts, darling. That’s what it’s all about. Take some invitations. Bring all your friends.’ She smirked. I was hardly known for my huge social circle. ‘There will be nibbles but if I were you I’d eat first.’

Mairi and I exchanged a look. She had my pity, at least I could walk away. ‘Thank you,’ I said trying to be graceful in defeat. ‘I shall look forward to it.’

‘Hmmm. Now, Mairi, I wonder if you’d mind getting up onto the balcony with a duster . . .’

I left them to it. Shoved the almost frictionless glossy invites into my back pocket and decided to go round to Ben’s shop. He’d got some money for me and the way things were going he was my last, best hope. I had my website but that was never going to make me my fortune. I usually sold my smaller pieces that way; they were cheaper to post, easier to pack and a little bit more wearable than the big statement items I placed in shops . . . the shop.

Which surprised me by having two of my buckles in the window. One was attached to an enormous black leather belt draped over a dayglo-green guitar. It looked surprisingly sexy and also a little bit like an offensive weapon. The other buckle was attached to Ben, who was stacking amps to one side to make room for a cardboard cut-out figure I didn’t recognise.

I waved at him. After a second he waved back. Apart from the buckle, today he was wearing a black T shirt and a grungy pair of black jeans with a ripped pocket and his hair was tied back into a ponytail. He was stubbled and his eyes looked fantastic in the middle of all that dark hair, although they had bags under them you could have lost a granny in.

‘Thought I’d pop in. You know, see how things were.’ I stood in the doorway slightly awkwardly, wishing he’d invite me inside. With the way he was carrying on working and avoiding my eye, I was beginning to feel a bit stalkerish.

‘Things? Oh, they’re great. Just great,’ he repeated, wrestling the amps, settling one on top of the other and showing off a great set of biceps while he was at it. He had skinny arms but with guitar-player’s musculature. I found myself staring for a moment, then wincing and hating myself, although not really sure why.

‘Right. Only you asked me to come over.’

Ben stopped. ‘Did I?’ A grimy hand wiped his forehead, smearing it with grey. ‘Are you sure?’

Now I did feel unwanted. Not that I wanted him to want me, of course, but . . . well, he seemed to have forgotten that he’d asked me over and that annoyed me. ‘You really know how to make a girl feel needed, don’t you?’ I waltzed into the shop in my best affronted fashion. ‘You must be a real success in the dating world.’

‘I don’t date.’ His words were flat, emotionless. ‘All right?’

‘You do surprise me.’ I’d meant it to be sarcastic, but it came out a little softer, a little more rounded. Ben looked at me blankly.

‘So why did I ask you over?’

‘You e-mailed me last night. To pick up the money from the first buckle?’

‘Okay, I did. But I didn’t mean — I didn’t think you’d come straight away.’ He came out of the window display and squinted around behind me. ‘Where’s the baby?’

‘He’s my friend’s son, not my conjoined twin. Does this mean you don’t have the money for me?’ I was relying on it to give Rosie something towards this month’s bills.

‘Are you always this confrontational?’ Ben moved towards the back of the shop but watched me over his shoulder. ‘I bet you’re a real success in the dating world.’

Touché. ‘Ha ha. All right, I’ll engage in a little social chit-chat if you want, but since I’m here for the money I thought I’d save us both some time by coming to the point.’

Ben rubbed the back of his hand over his forehead again. His ponytail was coming untied, wisps of hair curled onto his cheeks and made him look like a scruffy teenager. But one with very old eyes. ‘Yes. Yes, you’re right of course. I just thought maybe—’ He stopped and went to the till. It was the old-fashioned kind with the push-keys and the little front drawer that pings out. ‘We said a hundred and fifty, yes?’ The till rang up a ‘no sale’ and opened. ‘I’ll give you two hundred. The other fifty is on account until I sell one of the other buckles.’

‘You’ve got two hundred quid in there?’ I craned my neck over the counter. ‘Wow, you must have some turnover.’

‘Guitars are expensive.’ Ben pulled four fifties from a compartment which contained many more.

I slipped the money into a pocket and was turning for the door when I remembered my promise to Rosie. I turned back. ‘Would you like to come to dinner one night?’

‘What?’

‘Dinner. At my place. Look, it’s complicated, but my friend — that’s the one with the baby — she doesn’t get out much at the moment and I’m a bit worried about her, but she wants to have more visitors and meet more people and she suggested . . .’ I saw his expression and stopped talking. He looked scared. Not just creeped out as I would have been by an almost total stranger inviting me round to their place, but downright scared.

‘I don’t really do—’

‘Believe me this isn’t a date. I’m right with you on the not dating thing. This is . . . look, forget it. I’ll tell Rosie I asked, but you’re — I dunno, spending the next ten years being criminally skinny or something.’

‘Do you really think I’m skinny?’

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