‘My first day in the job?’
He nods. ‘And the first time I’ve ever seen anyone covered in quite so much mud.’
‘Oh, God, don’t remind me. I had mud in places I didn’t even know I had.’
‘But the job’s working out well?’
I nod. ‘So far, so good.’ I pause. ‘By the way, I was just wondering…who do those clothes actually belong to?’ I mean, it’s just I was hoping whoever it is doesn’t actually mind that some stranger was wearing them?’ I laugh as if to suggest I’m not really bothered about his reply.
‘Oh, she wouldn’t mind at all.’
I look at him, waiting for him to be more specific about ‘she’.
‘My parents came up to stay for the weekend and Linda drove up from London to join us, but she called to see the workshop first and got changed here to go out for dinner.’
‘Ah.’
‘My sister’s got more clothes than Top Shop. I bet she hasn’t even missed those.’ He nods at the bag.
His sister! I try to ignore the wave of relief that courses through me.
‘Got time for a coffee?’ he asks.
I glance at my watch. I have just ten minutes, so not really. But… ‘That would be lovely, thanks.’
‘Milk? Sugar?’
‘Just milk please.’
He disappears. ‘Feel free to explore.’
‘I will.’
I cast my eye around the studio, at the rows of books on the shelves lining one wall, and the machinery and tools of his trade at one end of the workbench. I wander over to look at some samples of his work lying on the bench. There’s a range of promotional material depicting the logo of a well-known accountancy firm, lying alongside several hard-backed books that look like they’re destined to be personal journals, covered with fabric in a gorgeous poppy design. I reach out to stroke the cover, then I pull back my hand, not wanting to sully perfection.
I slip onto a stool, my eye wandering to Matt’s laptop screen. The title of the document he’s reading catches my eye. I’m Watching You. Curious, I skim the first few lines of text. Then I lean forward to read a bit more. And pretty soon, I’m having to scroll down to find out why the narrator of this story is locked in a dark, windowless room…
‘That’s another first,’ says Matt, and I leap away from the screen, embarrassed to have been caught being nosy. But he’s smiling as he places a mug of coffee in front of me. ‘I’ve never let anyone read my scribbles, even though I’ve been trying to write a psychological thriller for the best part of a year.’
‘Oh, God, sorry! I thought it was something on-line. I didn’t mean to read it. It’s just the title caught my eye and I was intrigued, and I started reading and I couldn’t stop.’
‘Hey, don’t apologise.’ He smiles broadly. ‘I’ll take that as encouragement to continue.’
I nod. ‘You should. You really should. It’s good.’
A look passes over his face. Surprise? Relief? Whatever, he seems pleased. Then he shrugs. ‘It gives me a kick, creating a world full of imaginary characters and finding out what makes them tick.’ He grins, settling himself on a stool and turning to face me. ‘They surprise me all the time.’
I laugh. ‘They surprise you? I thought writers made their characters up from scratch.’
‘Ah, well, that’s what I thought. But the further you get into the story, the more these fictitious people start striking out on different paths to the ones you’d planned.’ He shrugs. ‘If you just relax and let them lead the way, you end up with a much better story.’
‘Have you always wanted to write a book?’ I ask, feeling a little self-conscious because of his nearness. His long legs are splayed out, the snug fit of blue denim hinting at the firm muscles beneath. His knee is just inches from mine and I shift slightly on the stool.
He’s nodding. ‘I worked in publishing in London after uni. It was great for a while but I’m a country lad at heart, and after a few years, I started craving space and silence and green fields. Not much of those in the capital. My gran, bless her, left me quite a sizeable inheritance, so I moved to the south coast and opened up the book shop.’ He shrugs. ‘It was going well until the big boys moved in.’
I hazard a guess at a famous chain of bookshops and he nods. ‘But what about you? What brings you to the Brambleberry Manor Café, Molly?’
I swallow. He’s studying me as if he’s genuinely interested, his green eyes burning with an intensity that causes a funny little quiver deep inside. ‘Me?’ I give a nervous laugh. ‘Oh, my life hasn’t been anywhere near as interesting as yours.’ Why do I feel suddenly vulnerable, as if all my secrets are about to be exposed? ‘I’d much rather talk about your book. When will it be finished? Are you going to send it out to some publishers?’
‘No.’ His face seems to close up. ‘It’s purely a hobby.’ He picks up his mug and takes a long swallow of coffee, and I find myself watching the movement of his Adam’s apple with fascination, my eyes dropping to the skin of his broad chest, visible beneath the open-necked shirt. He sets the mug down and I look at his hands. Strong fingers. Clean, clipped nails with half-moons. Then my eye catches the watch at his wrist, and I leap up from the stool.
‘Oh, God, I should have been back at the café ten minutes ago. Sorry, I’ll have to dash!’
I bolt from his studio, wondering how I could possibly have forgotten the time.
I’m never late. If anything, I tend to arrive early, ‘just in case’. But a few minutes in Matt Hardacre’s company has quite clearly turned my brain into candyfloss…
*****
The rest of the day passes pleasantly, although there’s not much to do, and there’s a definite feeling of ‘damp squib’ in the air after Lottie’s pledge. We were all on a high of expectation in the morning, but by mid-afternoon, the only customers who’ve appeared are a family with young children, who were too harassed keeping their toddler from throwing cake everywhere to even notice the kindness board and the lemon drizzle offer. Several older couples went over to look at the board when Hope pointed out the offer, but they just nodded, seeming a bit puzzled by it.
‘I suppose it’s a totally alien concept,’ I say to Bertha, watching a woman putting on her glasses and earnestly reading Lottie’s pledge. ‘Offering a kindness in return for cake.’
Bertha nods. ‘And it’s human nature to be suspicious of new ideas. But once people get that it’s all about kindness, surely it’ll catch on?’
‘You would hope so.’
‘My mother had a saying and I’ve always remembered it. For attractive lips, speak words of kindness. It was her idol, Audrey Hepburn, who said that.’
I nod. ‘Nice. I like it.’
‘Giving someone a little compliment is just as much of a kindness as volunteering at the charity shop.’
‘Maybe customers are just confused because they’re wondering what sort of a kindness they could offer. No-one likes to be first in case they show themselves up.’ I shrug guiltily. ‘I must admit, I haven’t thought of a pledge myself yet. But I will.’