Page 19 of Kate and Clara's Curious Cornish Craft Shop
‘No reason – I just wondered, that’s all. Does it work, this sewing machine?’
I hesitate now. Technically, no, it didn’t. I’d never seen it work with my own eyes anyway.
‘No, it’s all seized up. Display purposes only.’
‘Oh, shame.’
Again, there’s a short lull in our conversation, and I wonder why Jack is so interested in my sewing machine.
‘Well, this is us,’ I say as we arrive outside my shop. ‘Barney and I live in the flat upstairs with my daughter Molly, who hopefully,’ I add, looking up at the upstairs window, ‘is up and getting dressed for school right now.’
‘How old?’ Jack asks.
‘She’s fifteen, going on fifty sometimes though. Much more sensible than me most of the time!’
Jack smiles. ‘That’s good to know you’re not always so uptight.’
I stare at him.
‘Ah, damn, I’ve put my non-existent foot in it again, haven’t I?’
‘I’m not uptight.’
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean uptight. I meant … strait-laced.’
I glare at him again.
‘Nope, I didn’t mean that either. Er … tense? Anxious? Guarded? Yes, that’s what I mean – you’re quite guarded, aren’t you?’
‘And you’re not, I suppose?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘I mean, when I asked you the other day about why you were opening a shop here you went all silent on me, and earlier you clearly didn’t want to talk about your time in the army.’
Jack thinks about this, then he nods matter-of-factly.
‘Yes, you’re probably right … and, with that, I’ll take my leave. Thanks for introducing me to your dog. See ya, Barney!’ He gives Barney a friendly pat before setting off across the cobbles at speed.
I stand outside the shop, stunned for a moment that he’s departed so abruptly, then I shake my head.What is it with that man?I simply don’t understand him at all.
And why did his behaviour, and how he makes me feel, matter so much anyway?
Eight
The art shop looks busy as I approach on Friday evening, and I can hear a steady stream of chatter filtering through the open door out on to the street. There had been a poster in the window inviting people to the opening all week, and it seems the residents of St Felix have turned out in abundance to support this new local business.
Arty-Fartythe sign above the door says, with a colourful little paint palette and brush illustrated below. I smile – the name is very Jack.
‘Hi,’ I say to a couple of people as I squeeze through the door into the shop. ‘Bit crowded, isn’t it?’
I spy Sebastian standing towards the back of the shop with a glass of bubbly, so I make my way over towards him. Luckily, there’s quite a bit of space in between the shop’s many shelves, which are all filled to the brim with tubes of paint, sketch-pads, watercolour paper, and it would seem anything you could want to paint the perfect picture with, so I manage to get through to him without too much fuss.
‘You made it then?’ he asks, looking me up and down. ‘Take you a while to choose that outfit, did it?’
‘No,’ I lie. ‘First thing I found when I opened my wardrobe.’
‘Oh, really?’ Sebastian says knowingly, taking a sip from his glass.
