Page 14 of Kate and Clara's Curious Cornish Craft Shop
‘Did you put your foot in it then?’ Sebastian asks. ‘About his disability?’
‘A bit … but it’s fine. I do wonder how he’s going to manage to run a shop in a wheelchair though. It’s hard enough when you’re able-bodied.’
‘People do all sorts now,’ Anita says, sounding a lot more open-minded than I just had. ‘Having a disability isn’t a barrier to doing anything these days … not like when I was young. If you were in a wheelchair back then that was it – you were simply stuck in it until someone pushed you and moved you elsewhere.’
A customer comes into the shop putting paid to our conversation.
‘Good morning! Can I help you?’ I ask, as the lady looks around her.
‘I’m looking for a particular colour of embroidery silk,’ she says, smiling at me.
‘Come this way,’ I say, holding my hand out towards the stairs. ‘Our silks are right down here.’
The rest of the day is a fairly typical one with a steady flow of customers. Then when Anita goes home after lunch it’s just me and Sebastian looking after them, and later eventually only me as Sebastian leaves early for a dental appointment.
I spend the last quiet hour in the shop giving the old sewing machine a good clean – first with some soap and water, and then with a polishing cloth. When I’ve finished I stand back to admire my handiwork.
‘You don’t scrub up too badly,’ I say to the machine, giving the ornate gold writing that twists and curls over the shiny black paintwork a final buff. ‘Considering how old you are, you’ve survived extremely well. Someone must have looked after you.’
I try to get the machine to work by first inserting an appropriate needle from the various ones we stock downstairs, and then I use some oil to lubricate its parts in the hope they might begin to move again, but my efforts are to no avail – it seems to be completely seized up.
‘Frozen in time, that’s what you are,’ I tell it kindly. ‘Never mind, at least you stilllookpretty. We may not be able to give you much stitching to do any more, but I do hope you enjoy living in our shop.’
I cash up for the night, leaving the machine on the counter next to me, and then before I switch off the lights and lock up I glance at it one more time.
What a shame I couldn’t get you to work, I think.It seems wrong to leave you sitting there unused.However, I knew I had what felt like miles of stitching to do on my own much more modern sewing machine tonight, and before that I also had to make dinner for Molly and me. Regretfully, I head upstairs.
The next morning, after I’ve washed, dressed and then taken Barney for a quick walk, I breakfast with Molly and see her off to school. Afterwards, I carry the till drawer complete with float downstairs and place it in the empty till. Then I switch on the shop lights and unlock the front door to begin another day’s trading.
Harbour Street is always so much quieter at this time of day. There are already a few early birds wandering around, but at the moment I can actually see the cobbles on the ground outside and not just a steady stream of flip flops, walking boots and trainers, as is so often the case in the height of the summer.
I take a couple of deep breaths of sea air and then I turn back inside.
‘Looks like it’s going to be a warm one,’ I say to Barney as he settles himself down in the special basket we keep in the shop for him. ‘Let’s hope it’s a busy one too.’
I’m about to head back over to the counter with the intention of doing some stock ordering before it gets busy, when I stop dead in my tracks and stare at the old sewing machine still sitting where I left it last night.
What is that underneath its presser foot? It looks like some sort of fabric …
I hurry over to the desk to examine what’s on the bed of the machine, and I’m astonished to see a swatch of pale-blue felt fabric with an intricate embroidered design stitched all over it.
‘How on earth did you get there?’ I ask, carefully lifting up the foot of the machine so I can see the design better.
I pull out the fabric gently, cutting the threads that are still attached to a reel on top of the machine and a bobbin underneath.
The piece of felt I now hold in my hand is quite amazing as the detail and work is simply exquisite. The stitching on the fabric has formed a picture, which looks very much like it could be a harbour filled with fishing boats. In fact, as I trace my finger over the embroidery silk, it could even be St Felix’s I’m looking at. There seems to be part of a lighthouse, a harbour wall and the sea, depicted as large turquoise waves splashing up against the side of it.
When I’d left the shop last night, the workings of this machine wouldn’t budge an inch, let alone stitch something as amazing as this. Where has it come from? And more to the point who has stitched it?
‘Morning!’ Sebastian calls as he enters the shop later. ‘Gorgeous day out. Far too nice to be cooped up in here. Maybe we should shut up and have a staff day on the beach instead?’ He looks hopefully at me, but I shake my head. Sebastian tried this at least twice a week when the weather was good.
‘Worth a shot! Coffee?’ he enquires.
‘Yeah …’ I reply vaguely.
‘Irish for you?’ he asks.
‘Yeah …’
