‘You know,’ James says, as we walk along, ‘if we’d bumped into one another in six weeks’ time, we’d be going to the bookshop for a coffee.’
‘Not at this time,’ I say, pointing at his watch. ‘We’d be closed by seven.’
‘But you’ll have events, won’t you? Book readings? Local authors coming in for drinks? Maybe even book clubs?’
‘We haven’t really thought in detail about things like that yet, but yes, you’re absolutely right, that’s exactly what we need to be doing.’
‘Word’s got round, you know,’ James says, holding the door of the café open for me. ‘A lot of the local shopkeepers know what the building’s being used for, God knows how.’
‘And what’s the reaction?’
James shrugs. ‘Most people think it’s a brilliant idea, but there are always a few who put a dampener on things. Really they’re the people who have been trying to get hold of that building for years, and I think they’re just pissed off that they never got a shot at it.’
‘I can kind of understand that,’ I muse. ‘It is a great building.’
‘So how is Lucy? Oh.’ The waitress is standing by the table, waiting to take our order. James looks at me. ‘Cappuccino?’
I nod. ‘Incredibly excited but also pretty apprehensive. Jesus, even I’m apprehensive. I don’t seem to have slept for weeks. Look at these bags,’ I laugh, lowering my head to show off the shadows, but James shakes his head as if he can’t see anything.
‘You look fine,’ he says.
‘I don’t, but thanks. All I’ve been doing is lying in bed planning the colour of the walls, going through the sanding of the floorboards. All night every night I’ve basically redecorated the shop from top to bottom. I wake up every morning feeling like I’ve done a hard day’s work!’
‘Or had a hard day’s night,’ he smiles. ‘No wonder you’re exhausted.’
I laugh before continuing: ‘Exhausted but happy. It was the best thing I’ve ever done, handing in my notice. Even if it doesn’t work, although God knows I hope it does, I’ll never be able to look back and regret not having done it.’
James’s face lights up. ‘I know exactly what you mean. I’ve always thought that the one thing I would hate most in life would be to reach the age of seventy, look back over my life, and think if only.
‘We have to fulfil our dreams, and I think you’re incredibly lucky having a dream in the first place, and then being able to fulfil it.’
‘So if your dream is to be an artist,’ I say, trying to steer the conversation away from me, ‘how come you’re still an estate agent at the ripe old age of… how old are you anyway?’
James laughs. ‘Thirty-six.’ I practically fall off the chair. ‘I know, I know.’ He rolls his eyes and tries not to look exasperated as he says what he must say to everyone who accuses him of the same thing: ‘I look ten years younger,’ and then he laughs. ‘But I’ve got it all worked out. Why do you think I’m not spending fortunes at M & S? I’m stashing every penny away so that when I’m forty I can chuck it all in and spend the rest of my days painting.’
I’m impressed. Impressed by his passion and commitment. By his ability to set out a plan that will actually work for him. By his confidence in everything turning out fine.
‘I’d love to see your work,’ I say.
‘Would you really?’ Suddenly he seems shy.
‘I really would. I’m assuming you still paint.’
‘God, all the time. My only extravagance these last few years has been the studio, because I couldn’t live without my painting.’
How extravagant can a studio be? I know what his studio must be like. A tiny room splattered in paint and covered with canvases, smelling of turpentine and linseed oil; an easel propped up in the middle of the room, old coffee cups gathering mould, planted around like traffic cones.
I can see it all now, but actually I would like to see it. I’m sort of fascinated by this estate agent with an artistic side. I know very little about art, but I’d like to know whether his dream is a viable one, whether he has the talent to make it, although it doesn’t sound like he cares, he just wants to pursue his passion.
‘Why don’t you come over some time? Maybe you’ll even persuade me to cook.’ He smiles, then looks slightly worried. ‘Only if you want to. You’re probably very busy.’
You know, if those words came from anyone else, I’d think I was being asked out on a date, but I know, quite categorically, that this isn’t the case. I am definitely not his type. Which is quite a relief, really, because at least it means I don’t have to worry about anything. He’s just an interesting man with an interesting hobby. And I did say I wanted to meet some new people…
Chapter nine
‘I can’t wait to start decorating,’ Lucy groans eagerly, stepping into her professional painters’ dungarees, while George the carpenter looks at her as if she’s gone completely mad.
‘You’re not going to do it, are you, love?’ he says. ‘You’ll have to get some men in to do that. This is a huge job. Too much for you ladies.’
This immediately gets my goat, even though I know it’s only George being George, but nevertheless I speak up on Lucy’s behalf, telling them that they’re talking nonsense, and ladies such as ourselves would do a far better job than some big oafish blokes.
Sam the Spark – as we’ve come to know the electrician – smiles to himself without saying anything, as Lucy and I walk round inspecting their work.
‘I can’t believe it,’ Lucy says, stroking a single kitchen unit that is currently sitting in the middle of the café area. ‘Don’t you think it’s bizarre? How you left your job in the middle of June, when this place looked like nothing, and now, nearly two months later, it’s almost finished and you can see exactly how wonderful it’s going to be?’
We look around, at the low-halogen spotlights that instantly bring the appearance of bright daylight into the room, at the sleek modern counter in the centre, solid maple with glossy granite surfaces, from behind which Lucy will reign as queen of the cakes.
And now it’s almost done. The kitchen’s almost installed, the wiring’s done, the shelves have been sanded down and re-stained, and, as soon as the decorating’s finished, the floor will go down. It’s almost D-Day.
And it’s only now that everyone can start to enjoy it. Because it’s been hell. Everyone said it would be, but Lucy and I thought we knew better. The first set of builders we had turned up at seven o’clock every morning, on the dot, which we thought was pretty damn amazing. Until we realized that they were stopping for tea breaks every fifteen minutes, and that at lunchtime they were off for the rest of the day.
We tried to give them the benefit of the doubt. The pair of us started turning up every morning, always with a reason, but actually just to chivvy them along, to see if we could get them working. And that was the extraordinary thing, Lucy kept saying afterwards, amid much laughter and disbelief. There we were, their employers, and yet still, every fifteen minutes, the foreman would announce that they should down tools because it was time for tea. Did they think we were stupid, she asked in amazement, eyes wide. Well, yes, actually, they probably did, and quite frankly I’m not surprised. We were both so shocked that they had the audacity to do this when we were standing right there, that neither of us said anything.
But then Lucy found George. She’d asked his advice in Homebase, thinking that he looked like a man who knew what he was talking about. George not only turned out to be a fantastic chippy, he also had a team of people who worked with him, all of them reliable, hard-working and nice.