Page 8 of Secrets at the Little Music Shop

‘Ah, right, now you’re speechless.’

‘I’m not speechless,’ I protested. ‘I’m just trying not to bite you. Do you have any idea of how unpleasant you are?’

He tilted his head to one side. ‘Using what scale?’

‘How the hell do you ever actually sell anything? Do you glare at people and mutter until they feel they have to buy something just to avoid the Evil Eye? Because you’re not exactly Mr Winning Personality in the salesman stakes, you know.’

Ben gave a tiny shake of his head. ‘Could I just have a recap — who was it that was weird, again? Because I’m beginning to feel that I’m being seriously outclassed.’

I bit my tongue, hard. Me being arrested for killing someone (provocation or not) was the sort of thing Saskia would trumpet about until the end of the world. ‘Look,’ I said, ‘I just want to know whether you’re interested in stocking the rest of my jewellery.’

‘Yes.’

‘What?’

‘Oh, I’m sorry, did I slip into Latvian or something? Yes. Y.E.S. I’ll stock your stuff.’

I opened my mouth a couple of times but the thought-gears wouldn’t mesh. ‘Oh.’

‘Drop it in the shop, would you? I’ve got to go out for a bit, be back this afternoon, so if you could lock up and post the keys through the box.’ Self-preservation cut in just in time for me to snatch the keys out of the air before they hit me on the head. ‘Cheers.’ And Ben turned and sauntered out of the alleyway, walking slowly enough for me to notice the quite spectacular tightness of his jeans, as he headed towards the main road.

‘Baaawaaaah,’ said Harry, succinctly.

* * *

22nd April

Weather — who cares? Opened the shop, no business, thought of calling an ad through to the paper but — really? Who needs it.

Okay, yeah, you got me. I kissed her. But only to embarrass you out of doing another ‘you have to come to terms with things’ monologue. And she’s cute, so shoot me, all this celibacy does things to a guy, you know? While I was kissing her — I just wanted a moment, a little fantasy that things were fine. That I was fine. And for that minute, that one sweet minute when she was still and quiet, I could feel her heart, taste her breath, it was like I was real, like I came into existence just for that.

Hell, she was scared though. I could see her pulse going in her neck like she’d got a rabbit kicking under her skin, and I wish I knew what made her freak like that. I mean — Jesus, I’m not exactly Mister Scary, am I? A six-foot-streak-of-piss. But she recovered well, give her that. Slapped my face and called me unpleasant. It was great.

And there’s something about Jemima. Something that seems to look through me, makes me twitchy, to tell you the truth. Truth-telling, something I don’t do too much of now, doc, you probably noticed that, yeah?

I’m guessing that’s what this little exercise is all about. Making me keep a diary, the one place I can be really honest — good thinking. From your perspective. Me? I think honesty was one of those things that died, crawling on the back of comprehension and lucidity. Now I’m hanging in there and things like today make me realise how far I am from having a normal life. Funny, that one kiss from a reluctant stranger can make me see . . .

Chapter Four

I curled up on the sofa and stared into my glass of wine. ‘D’you think I did the right thing?’ I asked Rosie who was leaning over the table, glueing dried leaves onto card fascias. ‘Leaving my stuff, I mean. He could flog the lot for stupid money and run off.’

‘Mmmm. Do you trust him?’ She looked up, her eyes bulgily magnified behind the glasses she wore for close work.

‘Yes. No. He’s a bastard.’ I gulped some more cheap Chardonnay. I was really thinking about that forced kiss and my reaction to it, but I wasn’t about to admit that to Rosie.

‘Sexy?’ Rosie stuck on a pink-tinted oak leaf, concentrating so hard that her glasses started to slip down her face.

‘He’s so skinny, I mean, it’d be like . . . I dunno, shagging a pogo stick or something. And his clothes! You should have seen them, today he’d got these jeans, right—’

‘I should warn you, Jem, I’m taking this as a yes.’

‘Huh.’ I held up the bottle. ‘You sure you don’t want a glass?’

Rosie joggled her bosom at me. ‘Breast feeding.’

‘Yes, but you don’t have to swear off everything you enjoy, do you?’

‘Believe me, when you’ve got a tiny baby there’s not much that you do enjoy. Or can even bear the thought of.’ She jerked her head up towards the ceiling, as though her chin was on string. ‘Oh, he’s awake again.’

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