In fact, Josh was kept busy fixing the hole in the roof of the veranda before coating it in wood preservative. It looked much better afterwards, especially when the benches were coated in the same oak colouring. Once Josh had declared them both safe and dry, he and Amber carried them round to the front porch and placed one underneath each front window.
After Josh had disappeared back inside, Amber stood on the steps and decided that they needed a couple of comfy cushions. Maybe even a rug.
Or a blanket, she realised, making a note to ask Grandma Tilly to knit a couple of autumnal-coloured ones next.
Although with all the rain that was pouring down day after day, maybe life jackets would be a better idea, she thought. And then she realised that they also needed a hat and umbrella stand somewhere. And thought she’d seen one out the back as well.
In fact, the back room was a gold mine of odds and ends that she could reuse. There were a couple of shabby yet perfectly functional hurricane lamps, which just needed a clean before she placed them either side of the front door with fairy lights in them. Then she stole one of Josh’s pumpkins and placed that next to one of the lamps. An old wicker basket was quickly filled with logs that she could easily get to in order to keep the fire going.
Last, she made an autumnal wreath for the front door, made out of the berries and leaves that were down by the river.
Feeling nervous, she showed Josh her work.
‘Looks good,’ said Josh, nodding slowly. ‘Looks really good, in fact.’
Filled with enthusiasm, Amber told him some more of her ideas. ‘I thought I could cut out some black cats on cardboard for Halloween. As well as lighting some pumpkins that have been carved, of course.’
‘Of course,’ he repeated, smiling at her excitement.
‘Then, in December, we could have a Christmas tree at both ends of the porch,’ she carried on. ‘As well as one inside.’
‘Only if you come back and decorate them,’ he said, laughing.
She was bemused. ‘Where am I going?’ she asked.
‘To New Zealand,’ he told her. ‘Remember?’
That brought Amber up short. She had completely forgotten that she wasn’t there for very long.
‘Oh. Well, I’m sure even you can decorate a Christmas tree!’ she said, fixing a smile on her face to hide her muddled feelings.
‘You’re kidding,’ said Josh, with a grimace. ‘Have you seen my artistic skills?’
As he walked away, she realised that deep down it wasn’t just the shop that she would be sad to leave behind.
24
As Amber walked out onto the porch the following morning, the air was chilly and damp once more. The whole village was encased in low cloud and drizzle.
It was almost the end of October and it certainly felt as if autumn had finally arrived.
She shivered and placed the long cushions onto the benches. She had discovered them in a corner of the back room and figured that nobody would mind if she recovered both cushions with her favourite red and white gingham checked material. She stepped back and ran her critical eye over the two benches. They certainly gave a more welcoming feel to the place, along with the newly placed hurricane lamps and various decorations.
Grandma Tilly was hard at work knitting a couple of blankets. Amber had even dug out an old porcelain bowl and placed a small sign next to it so that any passing dog owners could take advantage of a canine water break.
Her gaze drifted inside to where her decorations were almost finished. The shop was transformed from one week earlier now that it was decorated and sorted. She just had one final finishing touch that she had hoped Josh would approve of. But for now, the tractor remained hidden beneath some tarpaulin.
She was just considering some other decorations when Del’s dilapidated coach pulled up in the lane alongside the shop.
She had been expecting it to be empty as it was only just past eleven o’clock in the morning. Upon hearing a clamour inside, however, she watched as a group of people clambered down the steps, all carrying bags and boxes.
‘Morning!’ said a pretty blonde-haired woman. ‘We’re the Cranbridge Times! We’re moving in next door!’
Amber smiled. ‘Oh, we heard you were coming. Hi. I’m Amber.’
‘I’m Molly,’ said the woman, reaching out to wave with one hand whilst clutching on to a box which appeared to be filled with files with the other. ‘Gosh! What a lovely setting! Hopefully we won’t be too noisy for you.’
She was in her early twenties with a sweet, friendly nature.
‘Rubbish,’ said a man appearing next to her, who was holding two laptops and a keyboard under his arms. ‘We’ll bring a bit of life to the place.’ He glanced over to The Black Swan. ‘Glad to see there’s a pub within staggering distance.’
Molly rolled her eyes. ‘The idea was that we’ll get more work done here in the peaceful countryside, not drink more alcohol.’
‘A man can’t live on coffee alone,’ he drawled, before nodding at Amber. ‘Tom Addison, editor and chief of this rabble.’
He was in his late thirties and had an attractive but careworn face with large bags under his eyes.
‘I’m Amber,’ she replied. ‘And Josh, the owner, is inside somewhere.’
‘What a pretty-looking place,’ said Molly, peering around the veranda. ‘Have you just moved in as well?’
Amber shook her head. ‘No, but we’re in the middle of renovating the place.’
‘Excellent,’ said Tom, also looking past her and into the shop. ‘I hope you’ve got a coffee machine in there. Our kettle broke. You could make a fortune from us lot.’
‘It’s yet to be unpacked,’ Amber told him, thinking quickly. ‘I think it’s out the back somewhere.’
‘Then I should make that today’s priority if I were you,’ said Tom, glancing up as Del helped another man carry a desk down the steps of the coach. ‘We’re going to need caffeine and lots of it. Right, let’s get inside. Who’s got the front door keys?’
‘You have,’ called out Molly.
‘Have I?’ said Tom, walking to the next-door shop and patting the pockets of his jeans. Finally and with a wiggle of the keys and a heavy nudge to the front door with his shoulder, Tom headed inside.
‘Where are the bloody lights?’ she heard him shout out.
Molly gave Amber a smile. ‘He can be a bit sarcastic sometimes, but he only ever means it as a joke. He’s really the nicest boss. Ever so kind and such a good writer,’ she whispered.
‘And you’re a journalist too?’ asked Amber.
Molly shook her head. ‘Oh no! I’m not talented enough for that. I’m the receptionist, telephone operator, bit of everything really. Kate is the real journalist. She’s always out and about though. Then there’s a couple of part-time staff as well. I’m sure I’ll be in often enough for the coffee run, in any case.’
‘Talking of which, I’d better see where it is,’ said Amber. ‘See you soon.’
‘Absolutely. We’ll be desperate for lunch at some point.’ Molly headed out into the rain. ‘Ugh. Will it ever stop raining?’