The morning rush was exactly that. Lots of shouting and running about interspersed with blasts of steam, the gurgle of the coffee machine and all of it steeped in the smell of hot milk and coffee. Regan found it quite exhilarating. I’m dying for a coffee, she thought, and then a picture of Charlie popped into her head and she swallowed hard. Maybe she wasn’t quite that bad.
‘Large cappuccino to go,’ called Regan, placing the cup on the collection counter.
‘Decaf?’ asked a slim man with a gruff voice.
‘Nope, fully leaded,’ said Regan, with a smile.
‘I asked for decaffeinated,’ he said, checking his watch.
Regan frowned but Penny was already there. ‘No problem, sir. Sorry about that. It’ll just be a minute.’ Penny guided Regan back to the coffee machine. ‘See. Like I said. It’s his mistake – he didn’t ask for decaf. Do him another and then run this one out to Kevin.’
Regan grinned. This was brilliant. She had some milk that she’d already heated and now it was cooling down it had to be thrown away, but instead she tipped it into a cup for Elvis. Once the customer was happy with his large decaf cappuccino Regan spied her chance and nipped outside. She scanned the street in both directions and her eyes alighted on the market stalls all setting up for the day. She could barely quell her excitement. That could be her. If she could just get her shit together and come up with a good idea, that really could be her. She watched them, transfixed for a moment whilst her mind wandered off to picture herself running her own stall.
A loud bark heralded Elvis’s arrival and pulled her out of her daydream. She was sure the dog could smell milk from a mile away. Today it was a very wet Elvis; he merrily showed Regan how wet by doing a full body shake in front of her and showering her in the process. ‘Oi!’ she said, through spluttered laughter. Kevin wasn’t far behind and he was shaking his head in a similar fashion to Elvis. ‘You guys been for a swim?’ she quipped.
‘Beach showers.’
‘What, those ice-cold ones?’ She knew the ones on the beach. She’d seen tourists dancing about underneath them in the summer months. She’d even stuck a toe under one once, but the chill had soon had her retreating. She admired his ingenuity and was once again thankful for Jarvis continuing to pay the joint gym membership so that she could have a regular hot shower. She handed Kevin his coffee.
His eyes widened at the large cup. ‘Thank you. Carpe diem.’
‘I will,’ she said, and she was pretty sure of it.
‘Regan!’ came a shout behind her. A fire engine was pulling up to the kerb and Charlie was leaning past the driver. ‘Wait up.’
He jumped down from the cab and ran over whilst his fellow firefighters hurled some banter after him. She’d not seen him in uniform before and it was all she could do to stop her brain from slowing down the images and putting a musical soundtrack over the top as he jogged towards her. He looked very tasty indeed. ‘Ignore them,’ he said, giving her a light kiss. ‘Here.’ He handed her some printed pages of A4. ‘I did a bit of research on market stalls last night and I printed this off. It might be helpful. Oh, and I’ve got a lead on some paint for your dad’s place.’
‘Great.’ She kissed him because she was grateful and he was her hot new boyfriend.
‘Gotta go.’ He gave her another kiss, which triggered more catcalls, before jogging back to the engine. Regan waved them off and then scurried back inside, her cheeks as warm as the glow in her heart.
When it was finally time for her break she took her free toasted panini and large latte out to the small room at the back and studied the printouts that Charlie had done for her. It was from the Brighton Open Market website and contained pretty much all the information she needed about setting up a market stall. She hurriedly read through it all, surprised by her own enthusiasm. There was a lot to take in, but most exciting was the list of stalls they would like to see on the market. She read it carefully whilst she munched on her panini. It read:
Brighton Open Market is open to a wide range of products and services. We are very happy to advise but in general pretty much anything you make or bake, that is unique or quirky, that appeals to collectors, or is glittery and shiny, that makes people look or feel fabulous, is vegan or vegetarian, is green or healthy, that tastes incredible, or feels lovely, anything artistic, designed, or creative! If people want it, we want to help you sell it!
Regan took out a pen and underlined a few key words – quirky, shiny, vegan – and then put rings around ‘tastes incredible’ and ‘people want it’. She sipped her coffee and stared at what she’d highlighted. She felt the key to her market stall was there. She just needed an idea to miraculously pop into her head. She stared and stared at it, but no ideas came. This was far harder than she’d thought it would be.
Regan returned to the counter and took the highlighted piece of paper with her, having stowed the other printed sheets in her bag. Perhaps inspiration would strike whilst she was working. Penny looked over her shoulder. ‘Who’s a quirky, shiny, vegan who tastes incredible? I could do with one of those.’
‘It’s what the market is looking for from a market stall. I need to work out something that ticks those boxes and I’m off the starting blocks.’ Right now, she was so far from the starting blocks it was more like she was still in the changing rooms trying to work out how to put on her pants.
‘So you’re going to bake stuff?’ asked Penny in between the next couple of customers.
‘Maybe,’ said Regan. ‘It all seems to point at something home-made.’
‘Can you bake?’
‘Er, no. But that’s just a slight – major – flaw in the plan.’ It wasn’t something Regan had overlooked so much as stuck a hat on and pretended wasn’t there. Penny’s eyebrows were doing a dance without music, but she didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to.
After work, Regan headed to the library and baulked at the number of messages from Cleo. She opened the first email:
Hi Regan, Sorry it’s another email from the sleep-deprived brain of yours truly. I’ve been thinking about you and your brain tumour guy. Please be careful. Some people are very good at putting on a show when they are completely different underneath – and I should know. I don’t want you to get hurt.
I’ve had a rubbish day. I knew something was up as soon as I got in the car with Oscar this morning. My bad situation with the art critic has got worse. Walkers have cancelled. They’re a large, well-established gallery in London who had previously stocked my bigger pieces and sold them to investors. And worse still, Oscar dropped the bombshell that in his words ‘Something interesting has come up …’, which I’m guessing is a new client, and he’s flying home tomorrow and leaving me to finish the tour without him. I thought I was going to pass out in the car when he said it.
I don’t think I can do it.
C x
Regan fired off a quick reply:
Hi Cleo, You’re not a quitter. You can do this. You’re stronger than you know. If nothing else, do it for me. See Japan, treat it as a holiday – it’s free!
In the nicest possible way – please don’t come home!
Love you