After the One by Cass Lester (e book reader free .TXT) 📕

‘It’s always you and Monnie. It’s never you and me any more.’ He looked heartbroken.

It would have been easier for Tara if he’d lost his temper. If he’d shouted at her. She was good in a fight, but his quiet dejection defeated her, that and the uncomfortable truth he’d voiced. Since Monnie had been born she had put Monnie first, had deliberately sought to be closer to Monnie than anyone else in the world, including Baz. But that was only natural, wasn’t it? Just a normal mum and daughter thing, like her and Kim.

Then she remembered Charley repeatedly trying to encourage her to take Baz instead of her, and how she’d pointed out that Baz was her partner, her life partner. She realised that she had deliberately excluded him, and in all truthfulness, she didn’t understand why.

‘I don’t know why I told Charley and not you,’ she said at last, with open-hearted honestly. ‘But I promise it’s not because I don’t love you. I do. I do love you.’ And going over to him she put both her arms round his neck. This time he did not resist. He slid his arms round her waist, leant his head on hers, and then frightened her, really frightened her, by starting to cry.

‘Don’t cry. Please don’t cry,’ she whispered. Then she kissed him and led him upstairs.

Chapter Twenty-five

A promise was a promise, and a dying wish was a dying wish, even if nobody actually died. Dutifully, Charley called the estate agent. She wasn’t surprised to hear there weren’t any more shops available in her price range, and she wasn’t particularly surprised to hear him gloating either. Odious man, she thought.

‘The one in Cargo was snapped up,’ he crowed.

‘Will you let me know when the next one comes up?’

‘I can’t promise. They often go before they’re even advertised. People hear about them through the grapevine. Sorry I can’t be more help,’ he finished in a tone that suggested he was, in fact, delighted.

‘Actually,’ said Charley, an idea taking root in her mind, ‘you’ve been a great help. Thank you.’

Ten minutes later she was pedalling down to Cargo, planning to ask that nice bloke in the bike shop if he’d keep his ear to the ground and let her know if any of the units were coming up. As she cycled passed the shop unit she’d turned down she braked, climbed off her bike and looked in the window. Now called Crafty Crafters, the shop was filled with a variety – no, make that a jumble – of arts and crafts products, all jostling for space: polka-dot painted pebble doorstops shared a table with garish clunky wooden necklaces; rainbow-striped candles clashed with pottery pencil pots in neon colours; a whole wall was dedicated to some truly ghastly, amateurish pictures of flowers. She reckoned Angie’s kids could have done better. To be fair, there were some rather nice pieces, too, they were just swamped by the rest. She fell in love with some adorably cute knitted baby cardigans and seriously considered buying one for Angie’s new baby – until she saw the price. All the prices seemed massively optimistic to Charley, and appeared to be based, she suspected, on what the crafters wanted to be paid, rather than what the customers would want to pay. How are they making any money doing this? she wondered. Actually, how are they even covering the rent?

As it turned out, they weren’t.

The bike shop man leant on the counter while Charley stood on the other side of it, scratching the big grey lurcher between the ears.

‘They’re definitely struggling,’ he told her. ‘I was chatting to them the other day. They’re working all hours trying to make a go of it, but there’s too many of them taking a cut. They’ve only been in couple of months or so, but I think they might have already given notice. I’ll introduce you to them, if you like, then you can ask them what the situation is. Well, I could, if I knew your name!’ he finished with a smile.

Charley thought she detected a hint of affectionate teasing in his tone. She smiled sheepishly. ‘Sorry! I should have introduced myself. I’m Charley.’

‘I’m Ricky. He put his hand out for her to shake. She took it readily, but she was suddenly aware of the warmth of his skin, and somehow the ordinary gesture of friendship felt like a heightened moment between them. Withdrawing her hand, she tried not to let it show on her face.

Apparently oblivious, Ricky led her over to the crafter’s unit, leaving a disgruntled Carlo guarding the shop. As they passed the other units Ricky either waved or called out to some of the other owners and the camaraderie of the place was evident. But nevertheless, Charley was struck by how well-liked Ricky seemed to be, which didn’t surprise her – it was hard not to warm to him.

As it turned out, Ricky had been right, the crafters had given notice and were desperate to get out of the four months’ notice period they were still tied into. They suggested Charley contact the management company to see if she could take on the unit earlier.

Excitement and nerves, in equal measure, fluttered in Charley’s stomach as she and Ricky walked back to the bike shop. Carlo thumped his tail in greeting.

‘Why not give them a ring now,’ suggested Ricky. There was nobody in the shop, but Charley hesitated.

Perhaps sensing she was reluctant to make the call in front of him he continued, ‘Why don’t I go and get us both a coffee while you make that call?’

Why not? asked a voice in Charley’s head, and she couldn’t come up with a single reason not to.

When Ricky got back with the coffee and a bag of pastries, she was standing in the doorway waiting for him, grinning like a cat that had got the cream along with a side order of Lobster Thermidor.

‘It’s all sorted!’ she enthused. ‘They’re sending the paperwork