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It might not be fair, but it looked like she had no choice. Either pay it or get out; the landlord was giving her one month’s notice. Bollocks! She started reading again, her hand trembling: ‘This is due to the desirable nature of the village properties, and the increase in holiday trade.’ Basically, her landlord could turn this into a holiday cottage and make a mint, no doubt.
‘It’s not just my business, it’s my home too, Holly.’
‘Oh Em, it’ll work out somehow. It has to. Warkton just wouldn’t be the same without your gorgeous little chocolate shop, or you. It’s our little chocolate heaven – all my mates love popping in here. And, you’ve become a real friend to me. No, The Chocolate Shop can’t possibly go – nor you. There has to be a way.’
But the massive implications were starting to sink in. Emma began to feel sick.
For the rest of the afternoon Emma’s stomach was churning and her mind was on fast-spin. She could see all the dreams she had had, the business she had grown, her home and her new life here in this lovely village by the sea, all come crashing down. If she couldn’t meet the new rent payments, what then?
9 (#ulink_936bc042-357e-5abb-b609-ce34b81812c3)
As soon as the shop closed that day, despite it turning dusky outside, Emma headed down for her usual walk past the harbour and towards the dunes to the sea. There was no one else on the beach, just a few terns who would soon be ready to go home to roost. Home … That thought, that word, made her heart sink even more. Where would home be, if it couldn’t be here?
She could try and rent a new cottage locally, she supposed, but without the business, or a job, where would that leave her? And where else could she lease new premises that would work as a chocolate shop, have the kitchen space she’d need and offer accommodation; somewhere where the tourists would flow and she wouldn’t have to pay more rent than now? That seemed a challenge too far, and veered towards looking for a miracle.
But she wasn’t a quitter, and she wasn’t ready to hand in her notice on The Chocolate Shop by the Sea just yet. There had to be a way.
She strolled along the sands, Alfie trotting by her side. She wasn’t afraid of the dark, or the beach, or of being on her own – she’d done that for long enough, after all. But she was afraid of losing all the things she had built here, and that she knew, by the desperate, sinking feeling in her heart and soul right now, she had grown to love.
She needed someone to talk all this over with. Someone she trusted, who knew her well, but who would also have a business sense, and be able to give sound advice. Her brother, James, was just that person.
‘Right, what’s up, sis?’ James confronted her as they sat in his kitchen.
He knew her so well. She tried to keep her emotions in check in her daily life. In fact, some people might say she came across as slightly cool at times – but that had been a preservation instinct from those toughest of times when she had to try and carry on and keep a brave face. But with James it was different. She was his big sister, and as well as he knew her, she knew him inside out too – his moods, his light, his shade, which exact buttons to press to wind him up within seconds. She’d mastered that at the age of five! And he’d seen her through the very worst of times; held her as she sobbed, provided a sofa, chili con carne – the only meal he could cook back then – bottles of lager and empathy in his shared Newcastle flat when he was starting out as an accountant. He’d helped to bring her back from the brink when she was at rock bottom.
Now he lived in a three-bedroomed house in a hamlet just outside of the market town of Alnwick. Her five-year-old nieces, Lucy and Olivia, had still been up when Emma had got there, so Emma hadn’t felt it was right to start chatting about her troubles straight away. Chloe, James’s wife, was upstairs with the girls now, settling them in bed as they had to be up for school in the morning. They’d loved the chocolate cat and dog figures Emma had brought for them. Just a small gift, but the hugs Emma had received in return were mammoth. It was nice that something so simple could make them so happy. She loved living near to them, being close enough to drop in. Would that still be possible in the coming months?
‘It’s not like you to phone and then want to come across straight away. So …?’
‘You’re right. I need to talk something over with you.’ Emma was sitting at their large wooden kitchen table. This room was definitely the heart of the house. James sat opposite her. They were similar in looks, with their red hair and striking green-grey eyes. Emma’s hair was a lot curlier, though she styled it to a more manageable wave nowadays. James’s was more of a sandy colour, going towards a strawberry-blonde. They’d both used to get teased for their red locks at school but James had just laughed it off; being good at sport, tall, and good-looking, he countered the taunts of ‘Ginga’ with his own ‘Ninja Ginga’, and being very good at taikwondo, he used to frighten them off with an air kick.
Emma had been less confident as a younger teenager, soldiering on in the face of the comments. But then, the bullies would pick on you for anything really – being too tall, too short, wearing glasses, being clever, not being clever. Children could be cruel, and teenage peer pressure seemed to bring out the worst in the bullies. Since when did we all have to fit the same mould? Like chocolates, it was the variety that was so lovely.
But suddenly it all changed: at the age of sixteen her hair began drawing lots more attention, positive attention, and later, when she met Luke, he told her he absolutely loved it. She was taken aback by that after years of taunts, and in their early, sensual days she remembered him running his hands through her long locks. He used to love it falling over him when they were making love.
‘Em? So, what is it you need to talk about?’
‘Ah, right, sorry. Yes, me coming here … I really needed to chat something over with someone. Someone I trusted.’
James raised his eyebrows, interested and concerned. ‘So?’
‘Oh, James, the bloody landlord is hiking up the rent on the shop and the cottage, big time. There’s no way I’ll be able to afford it. I’m only just making ends meet as it is. And I can’t just whack all my prices up, I’m pretty sure I’d lose my regular customers if I did. But the thought of having to leave, my business, my home, everything …’
‘Oh, bloody hell, Em. That’s such a tough one. What’s the price rise? Do you think there’s any room for negotiation?’
‘A hundred and fifty pounds extra each month. And I doubt he’ll negotiate. He’s a miserable sod at the best of times. I’m sure he’s hoping I’ll leave. Nine hundred pounds a month he wants and he’s asked for me to give my notice, if that’s out of my budget, which he bloody knows it will be.’ She started to chew at a hangnail on her index finger. ‘I probably do pay a fair price at the moment, and it’s not risen for three years, but last time it only rose by fifty pounds per month. He says he could ask for even more with a new tenant, and I reckon he’s looking at a holiday cottage option too. Warkton is getting far more popular with the tourists now.’
‘But surely that will help your business in the future?’
‘Maybe, yes, but even with a slight rise in trade this coming year, I still don’t think I can cover costs like that.’
‘No.’ James rubbed his chin, thinking. He angled his long legs out under the table. ‘What about trying to expand the business a bit to source some extra income – going along to local markets, craft fairs, things like that?’
‘Well, I suppose I could give it a try. The run-up to Christmas might be good for that, but that’s a long way off for now. And then I’d need cover at the shop, or at least to send someone else out to do that for me, so I’d have to pay extra wages. But, it’s certainly food for thought. Might be problematic in the summertime, a stall, that is – you couldn’t keep the chocolate chilled enough. How do I temperature-control a market stand without having to pay out on a load of equipment?’
‘Not sure … Hmm, might be tricky. Just thinking out loud. Perhaps that’s not one of my better ideas.’
‘No, no. It’s good brainstorming like this, and you’re trying to think practically. I’ve been wracking my brains since the letter landed, and I’ve not come up with any magic answers yet.’ She very much doubted there was a magic answer.
‘Right, right, bear with me.’ James tapped his fingers down on the table top. ‘This one’s a bit better. What about local hotels, restaurants, small shops and delis? Approach them to stock your goods, give them a percentage, and you get to keep the rest. Sale or return might be more attractive at first, but then you should get some regular orders from it.’
‘Hmm, yeah. I already do that with The Fisherman's Arms. They have a mini box of two of my truffles as a welcome gift in their B & B rooms.’
‘Well then, there you go, just think bigger. What about the country house hotel at Renford, The Swan in Alnwick, the deli in Seahouses, the shop in Bamburgh? There must be several places near Warkton. Take some samples, be brave, and just go and ask. The worst they can say is no.’
‘Yes, and there’s the hotel in Warkton, just up the hill from the shop. That has to be worth a try.’ It was a good starting point. She’d have some late nights crafting chocolate if some of them took her on, mind, but it would be so worth it to keep her shop and her home, and she was never one to be afraid of hard work.
‘That’s the girls settled finally.’ Chloe walked back in, dark air swinging to her shoulders, effortlessly stylish in loungewear that looked like something out of the White Company. She always made Emma feel under-dressed, but she was lovely, had been a real friend over the years. ‘Cup of tea?’
Emma was about to say yes, when James cut in, ‘I think I’ll open a bottle of red, actually. We can brainstorm this together. We’re thinking of ways to increase Em’s turnover, possible outlets that might sell Emma’s chocolate, Chlo. Think this needs a bit of teamwork and a glass of something a bit stronger than tea.’
‘Okay.’
‘Just a small one for me then, James. I’ll be driving back, remember,’ Emma said.
‘Of course.’ He got up to find a bottle of Merlot from the rack, and a corkscrew.
Chloe took the seat beside Emma. ‘What’s happening then, Em?’
Emma retold the story of the landlord’s letter and imminent price hike.
‘Oh no, so sorry to hear that, Emma. That must put you in such a difficult position.’
They chatted the situation over further. Emma knew it had been right to come here. It was great to have the support of her family, who were always there for her. No problem seemed quite as bad with them onside. By the time she left at 10.00 p.m., she was armed with an A4 sheet of ideas, a list of companies to approach, a realistic price increase to consider for the shop’s goods, and a slightly woozy head from all the thinking. She felt a little more hopeful. It certainly wasn’t going to be easy; approaching all these businesses was different to them agreeing to take her goods, and she’d still have to make a decent profit after paying them a cut. And there would be many long nights ahead making the numbers of chocolates required to fulfil any orders as well as keep the shop going.
There was still a long road ahead, but the horizon looked that little bit brighter.
10 (#ulink_c91e85f8-ee89-596a-a8a1-a12bb6e5865e)
It was the night of the non-date date. Emma was filled with a sense of impending doom, but at least it was keeping her mind off the troubles her chocolate shop was facing.
Why exactly had she agreed to this?
It was all Bev’s fault, twisting her arm on that girlie night. Now, in the cold light of a late-January day, with a slash of red lipstick, an attempt at mascara, and a cinema ticket reserved for her, she felt she couldn’t back out. She looked longingly at the comfy sofa and her TV as she passed by her living room, on the way to the stairs. Even Alfie gave a sad little whimper from his basket.
‘Won’t be long, Alfie.’ Hopefully, not long at all. See the film out, have a quick bite of supper, and then make a quick exit. She’d said she’d take her own car and meet them at the cinema in Berwick-upon-Tweed. Exit strategy firmly in place!
She pulled up her black-and-white Fiat 500 in the car park outside the Maltings Theatre. She usually really enjoyed her evenings here, watching the latest chick flick or thriller with Bev, or sometimes a matinee with her nieces. It had a nice cosy feel. Tonight was going to be different.
They were to meet at the Stage Door Bar within the theatre building.
Well, here goes, Em. Best foot forward and all that. She poked a boot out of the car door, and stepped out. She had chosen a plain black shift dress and a pair of to-the-knee black leather boots. Luckily, she had paired it all with an emerald-green scarf that her mum had bought her for Christmas, or she might have looked as if she was going to a funeral. Oh well, that was a little how she felt.
Right, find some enthusiasm, Em, she rallied herself. It was a night out, after all. It might end up being fabulous fun. This Nigel, who looks like a Brent, might be a bit of a hunk and his conversation could be scintillating. At worst, she’d just keep the chat with this guy polite and friendly and then she could always fall back on her trusted friend, Bev, for a good natter and leave the boys to it. It’d be fine.
Emma collected her ticket at the main desk and treated herself to a share-bag of Maltesers to nibble away at during the film, popping them in her handbag for now. She was to meet the others in the bar which was downstairs, so headed there. She swung open the door on to an old-fashioned room of plush red velvet and an unusual night-and-stars painted ceiling. The theatre bar was cosy and quirky, and she’d enjoyed several glasses of rosé here with Bev over time.
She spotted the three of them ordering, and suddenly felt a little nervous – like she’d fallen back into her insecure teenage years. She smiled across at Bev, and walked over, taking in the outline of the third person. He looked tall, slim – on the side of skinny, actually – as she approached. Blond hair starting to thin on top, a nice smile, phew, and yes, nice grey-blue eyes. Definitely okay at first glance.
‘Hey, hello, Emma.’ Bev greeted her warmly, giving her a hug. ‘Nigel, this is Emma. Emma, Nigel.’
Emma went to shake hands, just as he moved in for a kiss on the cheek, which was fine but slightly out of kilter.
‘Nice to meet you, Nigel.’
Pete kissed her then too, and offered to get her a drink.
‘Gin and tonic please, Pete. That’d be lovely, thank you.’ She’d just have the one, and stick to the plain tonic thereafter. She was driving, after all.
‘Busy day?’ Bev asked.
‘Yes, I’m building up supplies for Valentine’s Day now, so I’ve been busy crafting.’
‘Emma is a chocolatier,’ Bev announced proudly for the sake of Nigel.
‘Great,’ he replied.
‘Bev makes it sound very grand. I make chocolates and sell them,’ Emma explained.
‘She has her own business, in Warkton-by-the-Sea. It’s gorgeous.’ Bev was obviously keen to make her sound fabulous.
Emma smiled. ‘It’s just a small shop. But I do enjoy it.’
‘Good. I have to admit, I don’t generally eat chocolate, though. I do a lot of running, marathons, trails – have to keep an eye on my dietary requirements. Stock up on the healthy carbs and proteins, you know.’
‘Right. Well, it’s good to eat healthy.’ She smiled stiffly. And boring. So, he doesn’t like chocolate. It wasn’t the best of starts.
‘I suppose you have to do a lot of training?’ She tried to make conversation.
‘Yes, a lot of it’s in the gym at this time of year. Half-hour to an hour running sessions, and I try and do a bit up in the hills at weekends. The odd twenty-miler.’
Twenty miles.
‘Do you run at all?’ he continued.
That was like asking Emma if she’d ever been to the moon. Emma would have trouble running twenty metres. In fact, she hated running. Cross-country at school was always a disaster.
‘Ah, no, not really. I walk a lot, on the beach, with Alfie, my dog,’ she explained.
‘Ah, I see. Well, no dogs for me, I have a pet allergy.’
Oh my, this was going to be harder than she’d even imagined. Emma gave a sideways glance at Bev, who quickly diverted the conversation with, ‘Right, well who’s looking forward to the film? I’ve heard some great reviews of it.’
Pete handed Emma her gin, whilst Nigel sipped his pint of real ale. ‘Yes,’ Pete added chirpily, ‘I think the theme tune is up for a BAFTA.’
‘Great.’ Emma then took a large slurp of G & T; she had a feeling she was going to need it.
‘So, where’s home for you?’ She persevered with the polite conversation, hoping he wasn’t going to say that he’d just moved up to the Warkton area.
‘Newcastle way, Gosforth. I moved in to a new flat about six weeks ago. Used to have a country pad, Corbridge way.’
Recent divorcee was clanging like an alarm bell in Emma’s mind. Messy divorce? Still in the horrible post-relationship throes? She felt a little sorry for him, if so. He was probably missing his wife and kids. Not wanting to quiz him any further on what might be a difficult subject she just said, ‘That’s a nice area, Gosforth.’ Playing it safe.
‘Yes, I’m finding my feet.’
It was a relief when the bell sounded to announce there were just five minutes to the start of the movie. They made their way through to the small theatre and found their seats. Pete filed in first, then Bev. Nigel stood back to allow Emma to sit next to her friend, and then he followed. The seats were fairly close and quite small, traditional pull-down plush red velvet pads, with wooden armrests, and there was the usual shuffling as the audience settled down.
Emma took off her jacket, and then got out her bag of Maltesers at the ready. She opened the pack as quietly as she could, as the intro music of the movie started up, passed them around amongst their group, then carefully wedged the pack between her knees to avoid any spillage.
Ten minutes into the film, she felt a nudge at her knee-cap, and acknowledged Nigel about to dip in to the pack. She hadn’t time to lift the pack out, so nodded as if to say help yourself. She felt a slight rummage as he took a couple, smiled at her, then they both carried on watching the film. It was the latest Bond, action-packed as you would expect – there was a high-speed car chase whizzing on noisily at the moment. At least they didn’t have to make conversation any more.
Ten minutes or so later, she felt another little dig between her knees. Bloody hell, he was dipping in again. So much for not liking chocolate! This time, as his hand slid out of the pack, it brushed lightly across her knee. Was that on purpose? But she couldn’t be quite sure. She lifted the pack up a bit to rest on the top of her leg. She felt slightly uneasy – but it was probably her imagination getting the better of her. She settled back to watch the film, taking a few more sweets for herself, enjoying that initial chocolate melt then the malty-sweet crispiness.
Fifteen minutes on and Bev smiled across at her, mouthing, ‘Good film.’
She smiled back, yes, at least the film was okay. She needn’t be rude about the company; they just didn’t have much in common, that was all, but she could just muddle on and see out the evening.
She jumped in her seat as an armed criminal leapt out at Bond from a sidestreet. And then the Maltesers bag started to go again. Nigel was staring straight at the screen whilst rummaging a little more than was strictly necessary, then his hand tracked slowly up her thigh. Okay, this was no accident. She’d moved the bag on purpose, so no physical contact need be made between them. She darted him a stern look, as if to say: I know what you’re up to, matey, and it stops here!
He gave a small, weaselly smile in return, and then popped a Malteser slowly into his mouth. The letch! She might as well have been on a date with Alan Fondle Fingers from the village at this rate!
Emma stiffened, trying to avoid any bodily contact at all, which was hard considering how narrow the seats were, and they had shared armrests. She folded the sweet packet down, pushed her knees tightly together and propped her hands on top of both legs protectively. That should stop him. But was she being paranoid?
Bev gave her an odd look as if to say, what are you doing? Whilst Pete was completely oblivious, transfixed as he was on the film. Another fifteen minutes must have passed, and Emma began to relax a little. The sweets were still held fast on top of her knees and were probably melting by now.
Then, just as she was concentrating on the film again, she felt another small tug at the bag, and his hand slid down beneath the bag to the inside of her kneecap as he gave her a wink. Oh, for Christ’s sake. It certainly wasn’t the chocolate he was after, was it? Thank goodness she’d put her thick tights on. He seemed the sort who’d be up and under your knicker elastic in under thirty seconds. Jeez!
‘Right,’ she fumed, in a strained whisper. ‘Take the bloody pack.’ She slammed them at him and got up, excusing herself to a middle-aged couple who had to stand up from their seats to let her pass. ‘Sorry, sorry. Trip to the ladies needed.’ She fumbled out of the row in the near dark. An usher then guided her to the rear of the cinema with a torch.
She hadn’t needed the loo, but sat down in a cubicle anyhow, still fuming and scheming her exit plan. Go right now? That seemed a bit rude to Bev and Pete. But could she suffer the rest of the film? Possibly, but there was absolutely no way she was going out for a meal with old Fondle Fingers now. He’d be trying to pleasure her with a poppadum or something.
She texted her brother: Ring me at nine o’clock sharp. Please x There must only be twenty minutes or so left of the film. They’d be on their way out by then. Say the dog’s been sick and I need to come home straight away. You’d be my hero x
I hope I’m your hero already ;) bounced back. Will do. What on earth are you up to?
Tell you later. Thanks, you’re a star. X
Then she texted Bev: He’s a right letch. Soz, but I’m gonna have to dash.
