Page 29 of The Christmas Fayre on Holly Field

‘You will, I’m sure of it,’ Owen replied, encouragingly.

Harriet wasn’t so certain, but she’d keep looking, as they had only been around half of the field so far. She was surprised how many stalls there were, selling a diverse range of things such as furniture, plants, toys and household items. She also hadn’t expected it to be so busy. Boot sales were clearly big business and attracted a lot of people, and she was beginning to wish she’d paid it a visit before now.

To be fair, though, Saturday mornings was when she usually caught up on her chores, so she rarely left the house before lunch, and if she did, she didn’t come down this end of the village, as all the shops she needed were in the high street or on the green.

Today had been a real eye-opener, and she had Owen to thank for that.

Harriet glanced at him, about to tell him that very thing, and caught her breath as their eyes met. For a second, he held her gaze and she was transfixed by the intensity she saw there, then she hastily looked away, wondering at the sudden thud of her pulse in her ears and the way her tummy flipped.

It took her a moment to realise what had caused it, and when she did, she inhaled sharply. Pen had been right – she did fancy Owen. More than she had fancied anyone in a very long time.

‘What about this stall?’ he asked, breaking into her thoughts.

‘Eh?’

‘This stall?’ Owen repeated.

Harriet, unable to meet his eye because she was worried what he might see in hers, looked at where he was pointing.

‘Oh, right.’ She made an effort to focus. ‘Good spot! Do you mind if I take a look?’

‘Not at all. I’m just here to keep you company. If you still want me to?’

She most certainly did. ‘Only if you haven’t got anything better to do,’ she replied, trying to sound offhand.

‘I haven’t got anything planned.’

‘Mam, can we go now?’ Bobby asked. ‘I’m bored.’

‘Not yet. I haven’t finished.’

‘Aw…’ He slumped, dejected, and Harriet wished she hadn’t had to bring him with her. He never had liked shopping.

She was about to launch herself at the rail of colourful clothes, when a thought occurred to her that stopped her in her tracks.

What if she did find something she thought Sara might like? Bobby would probably blab that she’d bought it from the boot sale. As per Pen’s suggestion, Harriet had been planning on buying Sara an outfit without telling her daughter where it had come from, but she couldn’t do that without asking Bobby not to say anything, and that wasn’t fair on him.

As she dithered, itching to get her hands on that rail of clothes because she had already spotted something she thought Sara might like, Owen came to her rescue.

‘Bobby, what if you and I take Etta for a walk while your mum finishes up here?’ he suggested. ‘If that’s OK with you, Harriet? We won’t go far, just up the lane to the farm and back.’

‘If you’re sure…? I don’t want to be any bother.’

‘It’s no bother at all, and I expect Etta could do with a run around,’ he said.

‘That’s very kind of you. Bobby, be good for Owen.’

‘I’m always good,’ Bobby declared.

‘That’s debatable, cariad,’ Harriet said with a laugh, and when she tousled his hair, he cried, ‘Gerroff.’

‘We won’t be long,’ Owen told her. ‘Shall we rendezvous back at my van? Although, you might want to have my phone number, just in case?’

Harriet could have kicked herself for not thinking of that. With phone numbers swapped, she checked her mobile to ensure there weren’t any messages from Kelly, then she turned her attention to the important task of trying to find something for Sara to wear to Darlene’s birthday party.

The stall Owen had pointed out was manned by a woman in her late thirties or early forties, who was dressed up to the nines. Her hair was glossy and bounced on her thin shoulders, she had a full face of makeup, and was wearing an incredibly soft-looking cashmere sweater and pinstriped cord trousers. She was also driving a posh car, Harriet noticed with satisfaction. Although she was a total novice when it came to boot sales, Harriet had swiftly learned that checking out the person doing the selling might give her an indication of the quality and the condition of the goods on sale. And she had high hopes for this one.

What had drawn her eye was a rail of dresses, trousers and tops, all hung on wooden hangers and neatly spaced – not crammed on in a tangle.

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