Summer of Love (20 page)

Sian considered. ‘It’s not the sort of thing I’d think of doing usually. I mean, people don’t sell furniture at farmers’ markets, do they?’

‘Well, as I said, it’s more of a craft market really. It’s on when the farmers’ market isn’t. Come on! It would be great publicity for you and loads more fun for me. John will look after the kids.’

‘It does sound fun, I must say. It would be something completely different for me. OK, I’m in.’

Sian drove home, her mind whirring. Would leaflets and photographs be enough? People liked to watch people working. Should she take a piece of furniture with her? There might not be room with all Jody’s cushions. And it might get a little boring for people if she was working on one piece the whole time. What could she do so that they could see the results immediately and have something to take away with them? A plan started to form in her head.

‘Rory, I’ve got it!’ she said as they pulled up outside the house. ‘I’ll do children’s names for people while they wait. There are always loads of names you can never buy anything personalised for.’

Rory sighed. ‘What are you talking about, Mummy?’

‘Oh, nothing really. I’m just thinking aloud.’ She’d have to prepare lots of boards ready, primed and with a bit of decoration – half for girls and half for boys – or maybe more for girls? Some that could go either way, she decided, as she released Rory from his seat. She found herself looking forward to the craft market rather than dreading it. Jody was right, it would be fun, especially now she had a plan. Two new projects in one day: things were definitely looking up. At least on the work front. Richard would be thrilled for her. She would tell him next time he phoned.

The next afternoon, with Rory safely and happily at Jody’s house, Sian set off for the Lewis-Joneses. She found Melissa’s parents’ house eventually but she was late. ‘I am so sorry!’ she said, as Veronica kissed her and ushered her into their huge house made of reconstructed Cotswold stone. Sian had just had time to take in how large it was and to feel impressed before she was whisked inside. And she’d thought Fiona’s house was big!

‘Don’t worry,’ said Veronica. ‘I still get lost all the time if I haven’t been to places before. Now, would you like some coffee? Harold’s got an amazing machine that’ll produce a cappuccino for you in seconds.’

Sian laughed. ‘No thank you, I think I should have a look at the wardrobes straightaway. I’ve wasted enough of your time already.’

They went up some stairs thickly carpeted in a shade of eau-de-Nil Sian knew would stay clean for about five minutes in her house. Maybe the Lewis-Joneses replaced it every few years, just because of unsightly stains. Oh, for that sort of money!

Melissa’s bedroom was perfect. Huge, with windows on each side, it had an en-suite bathroom twice the size of the bathroom of the cottage she was so eager to buy and a wall of wardrobes that could have housed the entire spring collection of one of the smaller fashion houses.

‘This is amazing! I can’t believe you’d want to change it,’ she said, looking at the room with awe.

‘Yes, but it needs an update. I’m a little bored with it. Lissa said you did wonderful work. I’d like the room to be unique.’

‘Isn’t it already? Dual aspect, en suite, fitted wardrobes: an estate agent’s dream property! Anyone’s dream property! Painting it could reduce its value.’

‘But we’re not moving.’ Veronica smiled. ‘Show me your portfolio, I’d love to see what you might make of it.’

Sian smiled back. She hadn’t intended her warnings to work as reverse psychology, but they’d obviously done the trick. ‘Oh, OK.’

‘Let’s go and have a cup of tea if you don’t want frothy coffee. I can’t wait to see inside those books!’

An hour later, Sian drove away happy. She and Veronica had devised a plan that would be pretty and different but not so fantastical as to put people off. They had toyed with the idea of having a unicorn emerging from a forest of snow-covered birches but had concluded that wild roses winding in and out of the wardrobes would be better than a full-blown
trompe-lœil
, although, now she’d got the idea, Veronica was seriously considering something like that in the dining room. ‘I’ve got rather bored with all that William Morris wallpaper. It’s a bit gloomy.’

Sian had had fun. She liked Veronica even if she was rather forceful. She might have enough work to last her all year!

That evening, with Rory happy in the garden for a bit and no need to feed him, thanks to Jody, and plant-watering done, Sian went into her wood store (previously a potting shed) and found some suitable planks. She’d spotted them when she’d first arrived and thought they looked useful. They were off-cuts from some flooring, but new and therefore splinter free. Her father had donated his table saw to her when she moved and now she cut as many potential door names as she had wood for. It was twenty, and she debated if she should get hold of some more timber or if that would be enough. It was hard to say, but she felt it probably would be.

She had put a coat of primer on most of them when the phone rang. It was Fiona.

‘Would you and Rory be up for a quick drink? I need a rest but Angus is on a mission and I feel obliged to help. If you and Rory came I could stop.’

It would have been so easy to make an excuse – not even an excuse – and say Rory had had a long day. But Sian found herself saying, ‘That would be lovely.’

As she and Rory walked up the road she acknowledged she was looking forward to seeing Gus. It would be safe now, after all. He’d met Rory and although she knew she had to tell him, she didn’t have to do it tonight. And with Fiona there he couldn’t tease and unsettle her quite so much.

They found Fiona’s house in organised chaos. The barn, which had been fairly clear before, thanks partly to Sian’s efforts in starting the operation, was now full of neatly stacked items, which, according to Fiona, were yurts.

Fiona handed Sian a gin and tonic. ‘I felt the need for strong liquor. I’ll tell Angus you’re here. He’s obsessed with clearing out the attic. God knows why. If he wants to turn out my cupboards, there are plenty that need doing.’

Sian laughed as they walked into the house, Rory running ahead, having been told the trains were in the conservatory now.

‘Yes. Melissa’s been helping him most of the day. She’s gone now.’

A pang of jealousy gripped Sian and made her nearly choke on her drink. She caught herself in time. ‘I went round to Veronica’s this afternoon,’ she said. ‘She’s got some fitted wardrobes she wants roses on and is thinking about a full-blown mural for the dining room.’ She took another sip now she felt it was safe. ‘I haven’t actually done one before.’

Fiona shouted up the stairs, telling her son that Sian was here, before answering. ‘But it would be like painting furniture wouldn’t it? Only bigger?’

They reached the conservatory and Sian sat in her favourite place. ‘That’s what I’m relying on.’

‘Hello!’

Gus, covered in dust, appeared in the doorway and then swooped on Sian, in order to give her a kiss.

‘Hello back!’ said Sian, slightly startled by his effusive welcome. ‘What have you been up to?’

‘Well, my stuff all arrived so I’ve been putting that away. And there’s the attic. You would not believe how much junk my mother has stored in there. I think we should have a sale in the garden to get rid of it all.’

‘Some of it I want to keep!’ protested Fiona.

‘Honestly, the space is much more valuable than all that stuff, even if some of it is antique.’

‘Hmm. If you say so, dear.’

‘I do. Now, do you two want another drink before I jump in the shower? I won’t be long.’

Sian quickly dismissed the vision of him in the shower that popped rather disconcertingly into her head at this point.

Fiona said, ‘Why do people always “jump in the shower”? I never would! I’d be far too worried about slipping and falling over.’

After Gus returned, Rory played happily in the corner with some of Gus’s old toys whilst Sian and Fiona discussed her commissions and the merits of village life versus the bright lights of the city, with Gus firm in his opinion that the best life was out in the wild with only your wits to protect you. It gave Sian a pang to think he might want to go travelling again soon.

After an hour Sian took a sleepy Rory home. It was well past his bedtime but she felt a mother’s pride at the way he hadn’t interrupted the grown-up chat or demanded juice every five minutes. He really was a very good little boy.

Once Rory was fast asleep (he’d only needed one story tonight) she finished priming the planks and propped them up to dry against the side of the cottage. She just hoped the weather forecasters were right and they were in for a fine night.

As she got ready for bed, she realised she had enjoyed chatting to Fiona and Angus this evening, just the three of them, at ease with each other, nothing said to cause any alarm, no guarded looks. It was a moment of rare tranquillity before the storm, she thought. Because somehow she knew a storm was inevitable, and that there wasn’t much she could do to protect herself from the battering. For now she was just thankful for the lull that came before.

Chapter Fourteen

On the morning of the craft market Sian delivered Rory to Jody’s house before any reasonable person was awake. Jody came out eating toast and peanut butter, looking showered, relaxed and ready to go. Rory ran under her arm into the kitchen without a backward glance at his mother.

‘Tea?’ said Jody. ‘Or shall we wait till we get there? There’ll be a café.’

‘Let’s get on. Rory’s obviously fine, and I’ve got a bit of setting up to do. Can I follow you? You’ve been there before.’

‘Fine, I’ll just get the keys. It’s a shame we can’t travel together.’

Sian grinned. ‘It’s good we’ve got enough to fill two cars though, or our stall might be a bit empty.’

The craft market was partially covered and the stalls were already set up. Jody drove right to the entrance and found out from a woman in jeans and a very shaggy top which one was theirs. She came to Sian’s window.

‘We can dump stuff here and then go and park. Annie will keep an eye on it if you’ve got anything nickable.’

Sian had accumulated quite a few little painted pieces, footstools, tables and small chests, as well as a larger dressing table – another one donated by Fiona and done in rather a hurry. As the place was already busy with people setting up, intent on making their pitches look interesting and good value, she emptied the car, trusting that everything would still be here when she came back.

‘Wow, that all looks amazing!’ said Jody when she’d filled her half of the stall with cushions, plumply inviting and sumptuous.

‘Your cushions look heavenly. Maybe we should do something together. You find a lovely fabric for the cushions and I could paint the bed head to match.’ Sian adjusted where she was to do her paint-on-demand name signs for doors for the fifteenth time. ‘I just hope I get some customers. It would be so embarrassing if I don’t.’

Jody laughed. ‘Have you ever sold your own stuff before?’

‘I’ve got commissions, but I don’t think that’s quite the same. They’ve asked me round because they probably want to buy my work. I haven’t actually had to say, “Roll up, roll up, come buy.”’ Doubt crept over Sian and it felt like getting into a cold bath.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘I don’t think I can do it. I don’t think I can actually sell my work like this.’

This aspect of doing a craft market hadn’t occurred to Sian. She’d just thought of having things to sell and things to be a bit entertaining, like the name boards. She hadn’t thought she’d have to speak to people and persuade them to buy. ‘I suddenly think I want to go home.’

‘Well, you can’t.’ Jody was firm. ‘Go and get us a hot drink and a bacon butty and you’ll feel better.’

‘You think?’

‘Yup. And if you’re still windy when you’ve refuelled, we’ll swap.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I’ll sell your work and you sell my cushions.’

This idea was appealing. ‘So I tell the passing woman that new cushions are just what she needs to revamp her sitting room and you have the very ones?’

‘Exactly! Now run along and get us a hot drink. Do you want some money?’

Sian was already on her way. ‘No, I’m fine. Ketchup on the butty?’ she called over her shoulder.

Jody was a brilliant salesperson. She caught a passing woman of late-middle age who foolishly paused for a second in the vicinity of the stall.

‘I bet you’ve got a child you have to buy a present for?’

The woman stopped and nodded, cautiously.

‘And I bet they’ve already got everything any little heart could desire – far more toys than is good for anyone?’

Pleased to be given a platform for feelings she usually felt obliged to keep private, the woman took a breath. ‘Well, I’m afraid I do think that! Children don’t need all these expensive toys to make them happy. A few, good quality, sturdy toys should last their childhood.’

‘So is it a grandchild or someone else you’re looking for?’ Jody was shameless. Sian was now hiding behind the pile of cushions.