Page 34 of Kate and Clara's Curious Cornish Craft Shop
The next morning, I awake early and I lie in my bed still ruminating over what had happened in Jack’s flat last night.
I’m annoyed, exasperated and saddened all at the same time, but the sound of the waves outside my bedroom window helps soothe my thoughts, and I begin trying to piece together the events in a calmer, more considered way.
Why had Jack suddenly flipped like that? If he was going to stress out, surely it should have been when we saw the moving images from the pictures, not when I couldn’t silence his shop alarm?
I go over each moment in my mind in case I’d said or done something that might have upset him.
There was nothing. Everything had been going fine until the damn alarm had gone off and Jack had had to come down the stairs and sort it out.
I think about him descending the stairs, his strong arms lifting himself from step to step – it puts me in mind of an Olympic gymnast expertly swinging themself around on one of those things we used to have to vault over in P.E. at school. What were they called? Ah, yes – a pommel horse.
Jack had carried himself with as much grace and muscle power as any of those athletes did. It had quite taken me aback, but why had he got the hump with me shortly after?
I sigh. I simply don’t understand.
I decide the best thing, once it’s time to get up, is to carry on as usual. Even though I’m dying to know what might happen if we match our second two pictures together there is no way I’m going to go back there after the way he behaved last night. I’ll just have to wait and wonder.
Over the next few days everything goes back to normal. The amount of customers coming through the door of my shop as always starts to rise as we approach the end of the week and holiday-makers arrive for long weekends and for Friday bookings.
I don’t see or hear from Jack at all. Although I deliberately avoid passing by his shop, I wonder why he hasn’t popped by mine – if only to apologise for his strange outburst.
I’ve just finished serving a lady who is buying some new crochet needles when a large expensive-looking bunch of flowers appears through the door, hiding a familiar face behind it.
‘Delivery for a Kate that owns the craft shop!’ Poppy calls, peeking around the large bouquet.
‘What?’ I ask, staring at the flowers. ‘You must be mistaken, Poppy.’
‘Nope, no mistake. Says it on the card right here.’ She lays them on the desk in front of me and points to a small white envelope on the front that simply readsKate.
‘But who would be sending me flowers? It’s not my birthday.’
‘Why don’t you open it and see?’
I pull the small white envelope from the bouquet of flowers and tear it open. In typed black ink, it says:
So sorry I’ve not been in touch.
Speak very soon, I hope.
J x
‘Who sent these?’ I ask Poppy.
Poppy shrugs. ‘It was an internet order, I think. I’d have to ask Amber – she makes up all the bouquets.’
‘Right.’
‘How many people do you know whose name begins with J that might send you flowers though?’ she points out. ‘There can’t be that many.’
I think about this. Could it be Jack apologising for the other night? It didn’t seem his style, but then how well did I actually know him? Every encounter we had seemed to end awkwardly.
‘No, there’s not,’ I reply, deliberately trying to dodge answering her question. ‘It’s a mystery.’
‘Ooh, someone’s popular!’ Sebastian cries, appearing at the top of the stairs. ‘Who’s sending you flowers, Kate – a secret admirer perhaps?’
‘I hardly think so,’ I reply hurriedly, tucking the card in my jeans pocket.
‘It’s from someone with the initial J,’ Poppy blurts out before I can stop her. ‘But Kate doesn’t know who?’
