Page 9 of An Enchanted Moment on Ever After Street
The trees are an artist’s palette of autumn colours, and the paths are covered in yellow and brown leaves, and I love every crunchy step I take at this time of year. Mrs Potts is on herleash and harness, leading the way along the paths through the woods from the little row of bungalows where I live. On the other side of Ever After Street, there’s the Full Moon Forest, a pretty winding trail full of fairy doors and solar lights, and there was talk of doing the same with this part of the woods too, but we’re closer to the river here, and there are crevices and sharp drops where the water cuts through the trees at the bottom of an embankment. It’s unsafe if you don’t know where you’re going, whereas an overenthusiastic earthworm is the most trouble anyone is likely to run into in the more civilised part of the forest.
As the lane behind our row of shops comes into view, there’s a flash of colour on the gatepost. Rick must’ve left his invitation in person too, although he never usually comes round the back – he prefers his romantic gestures to be performed in full view, so everyone on Ever After Street who once witnessed him being thrown from the bookshop, naked from the waist down, with his boxers hitting him in the face shortly afterwards, swiftly followed by my engagement ring, will know how sorry he is and what a wonderful boyfriend he’ll be if I’d only give him another chance.
I tighten my grip on Mrs Potts’ lead in case it’s lilies again, but as we get closer, I realise it’s definitely not from Rick.
On the gatepost is a red mini rose in a ceramic pot, a pair of thick gardening gloves, a pair of shears, and a tube of after-sting cream. There’s a card attached to a stick that’s poking out of the soil in the plant pot.
A little thornless rose to help you acclimatise to nature by bringing the outside in. Put it in the shop, water it when it looks dry, try not to kill it.
He’s written on the other side too.
The shears are sharp but probably less daunting than a chainsaw to start with. Wear gloves. Don’t cuddle any more stinging nettles.
Darcy has got gorgeous handwriting. Is that a weird thing to notice?
And even in writing, he makes me laugh. I run my fingers over the petals of one of the nearly open red rose buds. It’s so pretty – small, but perfectly formed – and I’m so touched that my eyes have welled up.
After last night, I thought he would’ve gone inside and not given me a second thought, but to have gone to all this trouble… It’s so thoughtful. Even the tube of sting relief cream. Or he expects me to fall into stinging nettles many more times, which is also possible. The gloves are a thick fabric with rubber-covered palms, and the shears are lightweight, and when I take the sheath off them, their razor-sharp blades glint in the morning sunlight.
‘Thank you!’ I call out. I’ve got no idea if he’s even there, but I’m kind of glad it gives me an excuse to seek him out again later to thank him.
I can’t get Darcy out of my head all day. The shop is dishearteningly quiet, which gives me even more time to imagine what he might look like. He sounded young-ish, maybe in his thirties, around my age, but how much can you really tell from a voice alone? He could be twenty and he could equally be sixty, and I wouldn’t know.
There are a few customers here and there. A lady who comes in and does the classic, ‘My friend told me about a book. I can’tremember the title, but it was something to do with hedgehogs.’ When I suggest theHedgehog Hollowseries by Jessica Redland, she thanks me and leaves without even asking if I have any copies in stock. A family who take over the children’s section and admire theBeauty and the Beastmural on the back wall. There’s book-page wallpaper, and a life-size painting of the Beast carrying a wobbling stack of books while Belle walks in front of him, reading. The family take selfies with the mural, do a bit of browsing, but don’t buy anything.
I change the window display around Mrs Potts – like U.N.Known’sOnce Upon Another Time, she’s the one thing that stays a constant in my window, no matter the season. I stare out at the empty street while I’m doing it. The garden might feel conquerable now, but it doesn’t seem like anything will help with getting more customers into the shop, or getting them to buy something once they’re here.
It’s just after lunch that Witt comes in. He’s the owner of the castle in the hills at the end of Ever After Street. After it was abandoned for decades, he moved back a few months ago, fell in love with Sadie who owns The Cinderella Shop across the street, and now they’ve had structural safety work done on the castle and are planning to use it as an event space. He approaches the counter with a stack of flyers in his hand. ‘As you know, Sadie and I are starting to think about hiring the castle out for events. The correct insurances have come through, and we wanted to offer everybody on Ever After Street the chance to hire it free of charge. We’re aiming to put together a portfolio of events we’ve held, along with photos and testimonials for the website, so we thought we’d start by waiving the fee for anyone local, and it would be beneficial for all of us.’
He hands me one of the flyers, which shows a picture of the castle from the outside, and a few smaller photos of the glamorous rooms inside, and there’s a short blurb underneath,along with a website to visit and a number to ring with booking enquiries.
Live your own fairy tale at the Ever After Street castle. Weddings, receptions, ballrooms, conference rooms, and intricate castle gardens, suitable for all kinds of event hosting, in gorgeous Wye Valley surroundings. Welcome to a real-life Disney castle for your world of imagination.
It’s a nice gesture, but he’s obviously handing the flyers out to every shop on the street and didn’t want me to feel left out. ‘What would a bookshop want with event hosting?’
Witt’s got a stammer and it often takes him a while to find the right words to say, which is fine with me because it usually takes me a while too. ‘I don’t know. That’s where you’d come in. We’re just trying to hit the ground running when we open for bookings officially.’
At first I want to laugh it off. Why would I ever need to hire a castle? But it reminds me of something Mum and I talked about… two, maybe three, years ago now. Before the diagnosis. Back when things were normal and we were planning for the future of the bookshop. We’d talked about hosting a book festival. An event where booklovers would come together to share their love of books, and there’d be author guests, talks and Q&A sessions, creative writing… We never made any actual plans, but it was easy to bat ideas back and forth when there were two of us. We’d chatted about how much fun it would be, wondered about what kind of money it would cost to hire an event space, and what kind of place we’d need, but the discussion had petered out because, back then, there was nowhere around here that would’ve been a viable option.
A book festival.
I went to a ball in the castle once, and it was a spectacular evening. The rooms are gigantic and full of opulent glamour. The ballroom was so perfect that you could easily imagine Belle and the Beast waltzing around it while a sentient teapot sings the song my shop is named after.
A book festival. The idea repeats itself in my head. It’s a silly idea. Not the book festival itself, but the thought of me running it on my own. It’s way beyond my level of expertise, and… I must’ve been staring into space because Witt has said goodbye and is opening the door to leave. It’s now or never.
I call after him so loudly that I make both him and Mrs Potts jump. I didn’t intend to be so loud, I just had to work myself up to it and apparently working myself up to something increases my volume as well. ‘What’s your availability like?’
‘We’ve got a pretty much open schedule.’ He comes back to the counter and gets his phone out. ‘There’s a Halloween party on October thirty-first, and then nothing until a wedding in December and then the Ever After Street Christmas party.’
‘You’re free mid-November?’
He turns his phone around to show me a calendar. ‘Totally free. It’s all yours if you want it.’
‘I… er… I don’t know. I was just asking. Being brave.’ Because if I’d let him walk away, I’d never have plucked up the courage to ask again.
‘No pressure.’ He pats the counter. ‘Give Sadie a shout if you decide on anything, she’ll sort out the booking. Some of the others have expressed interest, so I’d get in quick. Ali from the 1001 Nights restaurant wants to do a themed dining night, and the shopkeepers from Christmas Ever After are thinking of a holiday market…’
These are people who know what they’re doing. Ali is the owner of a restaurant that’s got a brilliant marketing campaign. He’s always doing promotions and stuff. Christmas Ever Afteris like a little festive world of its own at the end of the opposite side of the road, where Ever After Street parts like two ends of a wishbone. I couldn’t do something like that. I don’t know the first thing about events. I curl up in an armchair and read books, not plan social gatherings for booklovers…
