Love is a Four Letter Word. Zara Stoneley
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this they’ve got gobstoppers.”
“Now I know what the expression like a kid in a candy shop really means.” Georgie rolled her eyes in what she hoped was a theatrical, and not a sarcastic, fashion. But Ella didn’t care, she was too busy skipping from one new delight to the next. Literally.
“Well my, if it isn’t little Georgina Hampton. And haven’t you grown up?”
Georgie spun round at the sound of the familiar kind but firm tone of Mrs Bea. Her hair was shorter, slightly more curled and the grey that had been creeping in last time they’d met had taken over. But the round face was instantly recognisable, the twinkling eyes surrounded now by a few more wrinkles. And the broad grin was the one she remembered. If Father Christmas had been a woman, he’d have been Mrs Bea.
Beatrice Stone and her sweet shop had been a childhood treat that no amount of hard knocks could make her forget.
“I’d heard you were back in town, dear.”
See, she’d been right. That was just typical of this place, everyone over the age of thirty probably knew where she was working, how long she was staying (even though she didn’t herself) and who she’d been talking to. And what she’d been doing on a motorbike last night. She felt the colour rise to a glow in her cheeks and felt like some naïve kid who’d been caught out kissing behind the bike sheds. Not that she’d ever actually done that when she was at school.
Mrs Bea chuckled and the temperature went up another notch, if that was possible. She was not, was definitely not, going to let coming back here send her back to her teens. She was stronger than that, she’d changed. She was who she wanted to be.
“So, you’re back at the old place then?”
“No, in the apartment.” She picked up a lollipop, turned it slowly in her fingers. “I didn’t want to stay in the house, it’s too big.” Not that it was hers to stay in any more. Bea would know, but Bea probably just wanted to know more. She glanced up and the older woman was watching her closely. “And they—” she wasn’t going to say the witches name again, “--had rented it out anyway.” She shrugged. Carol had been thrilled, almost orgasmic in her ecstasy, if that was possible for a woman her age and mass, when she’d told them she was going back home for the summer. And Alfie had looked totally relieved. He’d passed a half-hearted ‘are you sure that’s what you want’ then hadn’t waited for a response. Oh yeah, they couldn’t wait to get rid of her and the only fly in the ointment has been the fact that they’d put the house, her home, out on long term rent. But then he’d remembered it had an annexe, and he’d moved heaven and earth to get it cleaned up, decorated and aired for her. Amazing how fast people could move when they really wanted to get rid of somebody. Not that they knew why she was really going back. She’d wondered who the germ of an idea that had been growing in her head would frighten more, if she ever mentioned it, her or Alfie. He’d probably clam up, head her off if he knew. Like he always did when she mentioned anything to do with the past.
“And how are your father and Carol?”
“Fine.” She put the lollipop back, and ignored the question on Bea’s face. She wasn’t going to talk about them. It had been a long overdue parting of the ways, and she would have moved earlier if she’d had the money to do it. But she’d flunked school, so he made her stay on until she had at least some qualifications to her name. And, after that, the first year of her art course had been great, but then Carol had kicked up such a fuss that he’d forced her into some stupid college where she was supposed to learn some ‘life skills’, yeah how to woo and wed it should have been called, before finally giving up and letting her choose how she wanted to live her own life.
She could almost feel the scowl forming on her face. She hated him for giving in to her step mum and not letting her finish the art course. She’d actually liked that one, but after the incident with the teacher… She sighed inwardly, it wasn’t her fault he was hot and wanted a muse, well was it? Artists were like that.
Being stuck in the sticks with boring old Alfie, Carol and their brood of boring kids hadn’t been her idea of fun. Working for them in their crap company wasn’t what she wanted to do with her life either. Being back here for the summer was marginally better. They didn’t want her in their hair, any more than she had the urge to be there. But the stupid old fart had to get the last word in, if she hadn’t got a job sorted and a plan for the future by the end of the summer then she had to go back – to ‘discuss things’. Well, to hell with them. She’d walked into The Veneto just as the front of house was walking out. It had been perfect timing, fate. And with her upmarket, boarding school background, the polished finish that the stupid college course had given her, and clothes to match the clients, she’d slid into place like she’d been there forever.
And on the second day at work she’d bumped into Ella and her mates doing a shoot at the restaurant. She’d watched them for a while, then tentatively suggested a different, much better spot to take photographs and before she knew it she was unofficial location scout.
So ancient Alfie and catty Carol could take a hike. She’d got two jobs. And that was just the start.
“Fine?” Bea was studying her carefully.
Fine, as long as she could keep the fifty mile gap between her and them. She nodded.
“Well, it’s lovely to see you back, dear. I’ve missed you. Oh my, your friend has got a sweet tooth.” She chuckled, and Georgie turned to see Ella depositing an armful of sweets on the counter with a sheepish grin. The sullen blonde had miraculously transformed into the epitome of customer service when Bea had appeared. All smiles and ‘how can I help you?’
“They aren’t all for me.” Ella had realised they were watching her unloading her sugared bounty.
“Sure, I believe you.”
“They’re for the crew as well. Honest. They will love them.”
The crew. She was here for a reason, here because Bea knew everyone and everything that happened in this place.
“Mrs Bea, Bea, I was wondering, you don’t know where…”
“Rowena.”
“Sorry?”
“He’s out at Rowena’s place.”
Fuck it was worse than she’d thought. Bea probably did know about the bike. And everything that had happened. Oh Christ, she resisted the urge to cover her face with her hands.
“I wondered when you’d get round to asking.”
They had to be a coven of witches. They just had to be. All these respectable looking old women must get together around their modern day cauldron, or crystal ball, or whatever and watch what everybody was up to.
“On Marsh Lane.”
It took a moment to register. “Marsh Lane?” She stared blankly at the older woman. He couldn’t be there. He just couldn’t.
Bea opened the door for them. “Yes, dear.” She patted Georgie on the back. “I’m sure that place brings back memories, doesn’t it? I remember you going down there every spare moment you had.” Her voice was soft. Georgie stared, incapable of speaking, her throat tight, and her stomach hollow. She just stood there not sure what was supposed to come next, Ella nudging with her elbow, her hands full of enough sugar to put every kid in the village school on a high until Christmas.
“Sarah Dixon saw him dropping you off last night. Now you take care, won’t you? And pop in again soon. And you watch yourself with that Jake Harcourt, although he’s not the hell raiser he used to be.”
Georgie tried to push the shock of where he was aside. Concentrate on what was really important. Okay, maybe they weren’t witches, maybe just curtain twitching nosy neighbours. Thank Christ she hadn’t kissed him, or, she gulped. She’d asked him in. Heaven help her if he’d said yes. They’d have made the front page of the local newspaper and given the town enough ammunition for the reverberations to get all the way back to Alfie.