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7
There was a knock at the back door of the cottage and Emma went to answer it and seeing who it was or, more exactly, who it was and what she was wearing, burst out laughing.
‘I’m all set,’ Bev grinned, making her way into Em’s back kitchen.
‘I can’t believe you’ve actually walked around here like that.’
Bev lived a ten-minute walk away across the far side of the village.
‘Yep, well, why not? I drew the line at coming across in my slippers, mind – they’re in the bag, along with a bottle of Prosecco and some cheesy nibbles.’ She offered up her carrier bag to Emma.
‘You look like some crazy bag lady.’
‘Well, thanks.’
Bev stood before her in a full-on zebra-print onesie.
‘Right, well I suppose I’d better go and get mine on, then. Don’t want to be outdone. There’s two glasses ready there on the side so you get the Prosecco popped and poured. I’ll just be one minute.’
‘Can I still raid the chocolate shop like you promised?’
‘Yes,’ Emma shouted from halfway up the stairs. ‘But wait until I get back.’
‘Meanie.’
Em found her giraffe-print onesie on the chair in her bedroom, where she’d left it last night, and stripped off her jeans and jumper combo and pulled it on. She felt cosy straight away. Right, slippers on. So, she was ready for their ‘big night in’.
She arrived back down in the kitchen.
‘Can I fill my goodie bag now?’ Bev’s eyes lit up.
‘Yes, go on then.’ Emma led the way through the door from the back hallway to the shop, and switched on the lights.
‘Yippee!’ came a squeal from behind her.
‘Bev, anyone would think you were four, not forty-odd.’ But Emma was smiling as she spoke.
‘I know, I know. I still can’t quite get over the fact that my best friend actually has a chocolate shop. How did I get that lucky in life?!’
This evening, with it being especially dark outside, Em had to admit it did look rather like a chocolate version of Aladdin’s cave, with neatly piled truffle and ganache gems, gold and silver foil boxes, trails of ribbons and coloured packaging.
‘Here.’ Emma passed her friend a cellophane bag. ‘Go on, fill it. But, if you wouldn’t mind, take a few of those Christmas pud truffles and snowy stars that are left on the counter; that’ll help my stock situation. They’ve got to be eaten in the next week or so before they go out of date.’
‘No worries. I’ll gladly take them off your hands. What do you fancy, Em?’
To be honest, Emma had seen and handled so much chocolate in the past few weeks, she wasn’t sure. But she was always partial to a soft-centred caramel.
‘Just a couple of the chocolate salted caramels – those ones over there. That’ll do me.’
They were soon settled upstairs with a glass of Prosecco in hand, the chocolate goodie bag nestled between them, and their slippered feet propped up on the coffee table.
They’d laughed their way through Bridget Jones’s Baby and cried their way through The Notebook – a classic romantic film and novel that Emma always loved. And, hey-ho, despite the tears, a couple of hours spent with Ryan Gosling was never a bad thing.
‘Blimey, that ending just makes me want to go home and snuggle right up with Pete. But, wouldn’t it be awful for someone to just disappear from your life so suddenly?’ Bev stopped talking and looked across at Emma. ‘Oh balls! Sorry, Em. Films like this must be pretty hard for you, yeah? Like, I know it’s a long time ago and all that, but …’
‘It’s all right.’ Emma smiled sadly, unable to really voice what she felt inside.
‘You must miss that, though, that closeness. Don’t you ever want to go out and find someone? Go on a date? You haven’t been out like that in ages. And well, to put it bluntly, have a good shag.’ The Prosecco had certainly loosened Bev’s tongue. They’d had nearly a bottle each by now. ‘Or maybe you have been, and you’re keeping it all quiet.’ Bev arched her eyebrows.
Emma thought of the hunky man on the beach, but said nothing. That was better kept to herself. Chances were she’d never see him again, and maybe that was for the best. It was probably all illusory. No one had ever come near …
‘Hah, it’s Alan in the village, isn’t it?’
Em put her head in her hands. Then they both howled with laughter, until the tears were streaming again. Alan, bless him, had to be over seventy, with teeth stained brown from years of smoking roll-ups, and a tendency to be a bit of a letch, to say the least. He was no doubt lonely, having lost his wife several years before. But he would always stand just a bit too close in the post office queue, touching your shoulder as he asked how you were, and letting his hand linger just a bit too long, and Em was sure that one time he’d actually patted her arse. But it was so surreptitious, and when she looked round he was already two steps away at the newspaper stand, his head deep in the Northumberland Gazette.
Emma let out a sigh. Would she end up like that? Lonely, desperate for a fondle, watching Ryan Gosling films or The Time Traveller’s Wife on repeat?
‘Pete’s got a mate coming up the weekend after next. Why don’t you come out with us?’
‘What? A blind date? No way! I remember the last time you tried to fix me up with someone. All he could talk about was bloody computer programming and his gym weights. Didn’t mean a thing to me. I couldn’t have given a monkey’s whether he could lift a bloody ten-kilo weight or a car.’
‘Yes, well, he wasn’t the most interesting of Pete’s friends, I must say. But I’ve met Nigel before and he’s nice.’
‘Nigel? Are there still people called Nigel around? You’ve got to be kidding.’
‘Just get yourself out socialising again.’
‘I was out. At New Year.’
‘And before that?’
Emma couldn’t quite remember. ‘Look, I don’t need you meddling, trying to fix me up with someone.’ She could feel herself getting edgy. ‘I’m fine. I like being on my own. Why do we all have to be in loved-up couples? It’s just a myth.’
‘There’s nothing wrong in trying to be happy. Finding someone to love.’
‘I had it. I had all that, okay.’ Emma’s tone was taut.
‘Well, don’t you want it again?’
‘No, I’m fine. It won’t be the same. It couldn’t be.’
‘So, you’re never going to go out with anyone ever again? That’s just crazy.’
‘No, it’s not.’
‘It’s like saying you don’t want to ever eat chocolate again.’ Bev dug into the goody bag, pulled out a truffle and popped it in her mouth all in one go. There was a pause, as she ate it, then she carried on. ‘One day, it’ll sneak up on you and you’ll eat a whole bar.’ Trust Bev to think of a chocolate analogy. ‘And you might just like it!’
‘No.’
‘What’s that for an answer? Come on, Em. What is it, are you afraid or what?’
‘Okay, all right!’ Her voice was raised now, and she felt her neck flushing with heat. ‘Yes, I am bloody afraid … afraid no one will ever match up. How can they? And if, in some fantasy universe, they ever did? What the fuck then! What if something happened to them? I don’t want to go back to that place, Bev. I don’t want to ever go near those feelings again! So yes, I am bloody afraid … You happy now?’
‘No. Oh, Em …’ She placed her arm around her friend. ‘Hey, I’m sorry, hun. So sorry. I didn’t realise it was still so raw for you. I know you’ve told me about Luke, what happened. But seven years, Em. It’s seven years.’
‘I know.’
‘But hey, jeez, I didn’t know you then. I never saw how much it must have hurt at the time, did I? I see you now, strong and independent and beautiful.’ She stroked her friend’s red wavy hair. ‘And it just seems such a waste. But forgive me, I’m just a silly bloody woman who’s had too much Prosecco and hasn’t got a clue how hard it must be. How do I know how that might feel seven years on?’
‘Yes, you are a silly bloody woman.’ The edge of Emma’s lip started to sneak up into the trace of a smile. ‘A silly bloody woman in a zebra-print onesie.’
And they slung their arms round each other in a hug.
Two days later, Emma picked up the phone and dialled.
‘Okay, so I’ll go.’
‘Is that you, Em? Um, what are you talking about? Go where?’
‘On that date thing that’s not a date, that cinema trip or whatever you’re planning with Pete’s mate in a couple of weeks’ time. What did you say his name was?’
‘You will? That’s great! Well, that’s a bit of a turnaround … well done you! And he’s called Nigel.’
‘Ni-gel, how could I have forgotten? Can I back out already?’
‘Hah, don’t judge by a name. He looks more like a Brent.’
‘And what does a Brent look like?’
‘Blond, American?’ Bev suggested.
‘Well, I’m conjuring up Brent from that TV programme, The Office. And it’s not doing anything for me.’
‘Hah, he’s fine; not bad-looking, in fact. Easy to chat with.’
‘Okay, that’ll do. I’ve said I’ll go, so I’ll go. But don’t expect too much from me. Just friends, on a normal night out. Okay?’
‘O-kay. It’ll be fun.’
Emma wasn’t quite so sure. But even she could see it was about time she got herself out and about a bit more. She couldn’t hide behind the chocolate forever.
8
Emma had muddled through January, blowing off the cobwebs on some beach walks with Alfie. But three weeks of daily walks and yet there was never any sign of Mr Kiss. Perhaps he was just an illusion. A very warm, sensual figment of her imagination.
She spent some time visiting her family, catching up with her twin nieces and her brother James and his wife Chloe on a Sunday when the shop was closed with it being the winter, and she’d made a trip down to her mum and dad. She had restocked the chocolate shop supplies, but hadn’t needed to make too much. January demand was, as per usual, at its annual lowest. Holly came in for the Saturday afternoons although Emma hardly needed her as there was only a handful of customers, but it was nice to have someone to chat with.
Soon it would be February, so the two of them could jazz up the window display ready for Valentine’s Day. They could let loose with lots of pink, red love hearts, trails of ribbons, tempting boxes of ganaches and fudge. And she could hopefully look forward to a rise in income again. Christmas had been good, and she had managed to save most of that money, but there were bills to pay, rent and business rates, supplies to buy in. And the high-quality cocoa she bought from Belgium seemed to be creeping up in price all the time.
Emma was in the kitchen pouring chocolate ganache into love-heart shaped moulds. It was Saturday, so Holly was covering the counter, though Em had heard the door and its bell go only the once in the last hour. The jangle made her look up, and then she heard the voice of old Mrs Clark, one of their regulars, no doubt in for her bag of chocolate brazils, her weekly treat. Emma finished filling the moulds then popped through to the shop to say a quick hello.
By the disappointed look on Holly’s face, much as they both got on well with Mrs Clark, the girl had been hoping that the young man who had called at The Chocolate Shop last Friday might call back in – he’d been in during the week, but of course Holly hadn’t been there.
‘Why, hello, Emma dear. What are you busy making today?’ Mrs Clark was shrouded in a heavy woollen coat, a plastic rain cap covering her grey curls.
‘Chocolate love hearts for Valentine’s Day.’
‘Oh yes, that’s lovely for the young ones, isn’t it?’ She nodded towards Holly. Emma had the feeling she was being banded with the old ones.
‘You could do with getting a little chair in here, Emma. Be nice to sit and have a chat and get my breath back a bit. That hill’s a bit of a bugger.’
The girls smiled. Mrs Clark used the term ‘bugger’ freely and easily, as anyone else might use the word ‘devil’. It was the only swear word she did use, which made it seem humorous rather than offensive. She was certainly a character, having lived in the village all of her life, and her parents and grandparents before her. She’d often stay for a while in the shop and chat, telling them tales of life in the olden days in the village and the fishing community here. One of Emma’s favourite stories was the one about the fisherwomen who used to rock their cradles with their feet, so they could keep their hands free to bait the lines at the same time. It sounded a hard life, though, with poverty and disease rife in the village, but there was always mention of the happier times, too: the dances, celebrations, weddings, christenings. Emma could still recognise that community spirit since moving here to Warkton-by-the-Sea.
‘Yes, that might be a thought,’ Emma agreed. Some of her elderly customers would be glad of that, the chance to have a sit-down, before heading back down the village hill again.
They watched the old lady slowly pack her chocolate brazils into her large navy blue handbag, which reminded Em of something the queen might have, then set herself away. ‘Back home for a nice cup of coffee now. Better wrap myse’n up a bit first, mind.’ She tightened the scarf around her neck. ‘There’s a chill wind out there today. And still a chance of rain. Take care, me dears.’
‘Thanks, and you too, Mrs Clark.’
‘Bye.’
‘Bye, dears.’
And all was quiet once more. Holly gave a little sigh.
‘What’s up?’
‘Do you think he might come back?’
There was no doubt who Holly was mooning over. Funny, those words had been flitting through Emma’s head these past few weeks too. Not over the same guy, of course.
‘Ah, I expect so. He’s been in twice. Seems like he might be local or a regular visitor at least.’
‘Or maybe just a holidaymaker on a two-week holiday, and that was it.’ Holly looked dejected.
‘Maybe. You’ll just have to wait and see, Hols.’
‘Hmm.’
‘Time for a cuppa?’
‘Yeah, why not. Thanks.’
Emma went to click the kettle on.
They had their tea sat on stools in the kitchen. They’d soon pop through if they heard the shop door go.
‘So, what’s the latest with that Tom lad at school?’ Em asked.
‘Hah, nothing – exactly nothing. It’s like I don’t exist.’
‘Aw, sorry to hear it, Hols. He doesn’t know what he’s missing.’
‘It’s all right. It’s just we were such good friends when we were little. His mum and mine are still big buddies. We were too. It’s like he’s changed, totally. It’s all football, and flirting with the pretty, sporty girls. It’s like I’m just not important or interesting any more.’
‘I suppose we all change, life changes,’ Emma mused. ‘But that does sound a bit mean of him. There’s nothing to stop you being friends.’
‘I think he might have guessed that I fancied him and it’s probably frightened him right off. Oh, Em. I feel such an idiot. So now, I don’t feel I can even say hello. I go bright red and get a bit panicky.’
‘Oh dear.’ Young love, crushes. Why did relationships have to be so bloody complicated? ‘It’ll all work out somehow in the end, Holly. Just you wait and see.’ And as she said the words, she hoped to God that Holly never had to face what she’d had to. She’d learnt the hard way that there weren’t always happy-ever-afters. But why spoil the young girl’s hopes and dreams?
After their cuppa and chat, next up for Em was making a batch of choc-dipped fudge. She was busy melting butter and sugar together when she heard the jangle of the door again. She hoped it might be Holly’s dream man, but the door closed very soon after it opened.
‘The post’s here.’ Holly popped in the back and handed over a few envelopes that Emma placed to one side as she went to fetch cream for her fudge mix from the fridge.
Emma was soon pouring the mixture into a large metal tray to set and cool.
‘Mmm, that smells divine!’
‘Even better after the chunks get dunked in chocolate.’
‘I’d love it if someone brought me home a pack of that.’
‘Well, I think we can both think of a certain someone who you’d like to do that – and I’m not talking Tom now,’ Emma grinned.
‘Hmm. Do you think he’s got a girlfriend?’
They both knew exactly who Holly was referring to.
‘I don’t know. Why don’t you ask him the next time he calls in?’
‘Nooo. I couldn’t!’
‘Why not?’
‘I’d look a right idiot if he has. After all, who’s he buying the chocolate for?’
‘But, if he hasn’t?’
‘Then I’d just feel daft and not know what to say next. I’d look too keen, apart from anything else.’
Emma smiled. This girl had another huge crush by the looks of it.
‘What about you then, anyway?’ Holly was blushing furiously now, and was keen to divert the attention from herself.
Hah, not another one trying to fix her up. She’d had enough of Bev’s meddling of late. The foursome with Nigel was looming ominously.
‘No one special in your life, then?’ Holly pursued.
‘Now stop getting cheeky, you. It’s none of your business, madam.’ Emma was still smiling, but sooo not prepared to divulge any information. Not that there was anything at all to divulge.
Twenty minutes later Holly was out in the shop, keeping herself occupied dusting the shelves and the glass counter as it was that quiet, and Emma got around to opening the post. There was the usual junk mail, a bank letter, the quarterly electric bill – ooh, now that was a bit high. Oh well, it was the winter months, she mused. The fourth letter was handwritten on a thick white envelope. Emma opened it, drawing out a sheet of typed A4. It looked very formal. She recognised the name and address of her landlord.
‘I am writing to inform you …’ Emma stood there stock-still, the letter quivering in her hand.
She was still staring into space when Holly popped back through to put the polish and duster back in the kitchen cupboard.
‘Everything okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost or something.’
Emma wished it had been a ghost. It would be far less trouble than the contents of the letter.
‘Ah, no, just a bit of a shock.’ She wondered whether to share the news, no point worrying the girl unnecessarily, but oh, she needed someone to talk it over with.
As Emma began to read the words aloud, she felt like her heart was being squeezed. ‘I am writing to inform you that as from 1 March 2017 your monthly rent payment for 5 Main Street, Warkton-by-the-Sea, is to increase to the sum of £900. Nine hundred pounds! That’s a further one hundred and fifty pounds a month. I really don’t know where I’m going to find that, Holly.’
‘Oh no. That’s so not fair, Em.’
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
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.
