On a sunny Friday afternoon, after a successful day’s sales and a meditation class, Holly was just about to flip the sign on the shop’s door when she was jolted to see Charlie ambling up the High Street. Taking a moment to observe him from the vantage point behind a display of altar candles in her shop window, she noticed that he was rubbing his neck, slipping a hand underneath the collar of his white shirt, which he’d unbuttoned a notch when he’d loosened his tie. His waistcoat was also unbuttoned. Holly smiled to herself. Since Gareth Southgate had worn waistcoats all through the last World Cup tournament, they were having a bit of a resurgence. Obviously Charlie thought he should tap into this. She did have to admit, he wore them rather well. Presumably straight off the train, his laptop bag was slung across his body and his hair was dishevelled. With a start, Holly realised her eyes had followed him all the way down the street, and any minute now he’d pass her shop, then turn off the High Street and into Wells Close, where he lived. The location of his house had become common knowledge since he’d moved in, so she didn’t feel like too much of a stalker by mentally plotting his route home.
As if she had no control over them, Holly found her feet stepping out of the front door of the shop and her eyes inspecting the terracotta pots of rosemary and thyme that adorned the doorway, testing the soil for dryness and rubbing the spiny leaves of the rosemary between her fingers, that suddenly itched for something to do. As if it was the most natural thing in the world, when she sensed Charlie was close enough to talk to, she raised her eyes from the plants and smiled.
‘Hi,’ Charlie said, pausing as he reached Holly, who straightened up and turned around just at the right moment. ‘How are you?’
‘Not bad, thanks,’ Holly replied, carefully and neutrally, as if this was just any other exchange with any other passing local.
Charlie’s eyes were friendly, and he was smiling, which was definitely a good sign. He obviously didn’t hold grudges.
‘Have you had a good week?’ he said, glancing towards the open shop door as if checking out if there were any other customers still browsing and buying.
‘Oh, same old, same old,’ Holly smiled, flattered that he’d stopped and not just said hello and moved on. ‘I’ve sold a lot of Himalayan salt crystals this week – I think it’s the spring-cleaning vibe that everyone gets this time of year – people are determined to do a bit of polishing of their auras as well as their houses!’
‘And an aura is…?’ Charlie tried, and failed, not to look amused.
‘The light that surrounds you,’ Holly replied. ‘Skilled readers can work out a lot from the colour of your aura – your thoughts, your emotions and your preoccupations.’
‘Really?’ Charlie tried, and once more failed, to affect a more serious expression, and Holly knew he was taking what she said with a rather large pinch of salt, Himalayan or otherwise.
‘Oh yeah,’ she continued, remembering what Mariad O’Flaherty, who owned the shop a couple of doors down from hers and made a living from reading and cleansing auras, had told her the last time they’d had a conversation. ‘A dark one might indicate health issues, or things on your mind, an inability to let go of something, for instance. It’s a good idea to spring-clean it once in a while.’
‘I’m not sure I want to know how you spring-clean an aura!’ Charlie laughed. ‘Although I’m sure the inhabitants of the Palace of Westminster could provide all kinds of shapes and colours that a reader of such things would have a very interesting time with.’
Holly laughed as well. ‘I can’t see them, personally, but if you were ever interested in having yours read, I can refer you to our local practitioner, Mariad.’ She fingered the sprig of rosemary she’d picked from the pot by the shop door. ‘But enough of that. How are you settling in to life as an MP?’
‘Pretty well, thanks,’ Charlie replied, ‘although the weather’s making us all very sleepy. I dread to think what we’ve agreed to this week in the chamber, and all for lack of air conditioning!’
‘If Willowbury gets a new retail park slap in the middle of it, we know who to blame!’ Holly joked. Then she paused, looking at Charlie properly for the first time since he’d stopped. He still had a hand up to his neck, and now he was up close, Holly noticed his shoulders were tensed. ‘Are you OK? Is your neck sore?’
‘Just a little bit,’ he admitted. ‘I’ve not been sleeping too well, and the train was busy on the way back tonight, so three hours from London Paddington crammed against the door did nothing for my neck. I really should get a new desk chair for what passes for an office in London, too.’
‘You should take better care of your back and neck,’ Holly chided. ‘If you hang on a minute, I’ve got some fantastic rosemary and peppermint essential oil. Just get someone to massage it in. It’ll help you sleep, too. Although it sounds like you’re doing enough of that at work!’
‘Er, OK,’ Charlie said.
Holly noted with amusement Charlie’s sudden look of discomfiture that didn’t seem to have anything to do with his professed neck pain. Grinning, she opened the door to her shop. ‘Come in while I dig that oil out.’
As she pushed open the shop door, Holly realised that, much like a lot of her customers, ComIncense seemed to both fascinate and unnerve Charlie. She’d seen it a lot since she’d opened the shop; people were drawn to ComIncense because of its outlandish range of dried herbs, sights and scents, but also terrified that they would do, say or buy something that was wrong or inappropriate, or even break something. Most of the time, she tried to quell these worries with her own friendly presence (it was useful to be approachable to make sales, after all, despite what some of her fellow business owners believed), but for a moment, devilry won with Charlie as she saw him looking around.
‘Of course, the latest thing in relaxation is Shamanic Dolphin Choir music,’ she said as they wandered back through the shop. ‘I’ve sold a lot of CDs of that lately. People find the sixteen-part delphinidae harmonies do wonders for stress.’ She glanced back over her shoulder and was inwardly tickled to see Charlie’s face registering that familiar look of intrigue, discomfort and incomprehension that tended to happen when some of the more reserved clients looked too closely at her stock. ‘Perhaps I can lend you a couple of CDs to try out?’ She paused and pushed her advantage a little, staring into his eyes intently, as if selling Shamanic Dolphin Choir music was her complete raison d’être.
‘Um… yeah, thanks,’ Charlie stammered. ‘Sounds, er, great.’
At his look of stammering incomprehension, Holly burst out laughing, unable to keep up the charade any longer. ‘It would be,’ she smirked. ‘If I hadn’t totally just made it up.’
Charlie, obviously relieved, grinned back. ‘Thank Christ for that. Honestly, you wouldn’t believe the things I’ve had foisted on me to try out since I took this job. I think I can live without the singing dolphins.’
‘Fair enough,’ Holly kept smiling. Turning towards the rack of shelves where she kept her essential oils, she picked up the bottle of rosemary and peppermint infusion. ‘I can mix this with some base oil if you don’t want to faff about with warming up olive oil at home.’