‘Well, I’m never having a holiday ever again, so that scarcely matters,’ said Issy. Then she realized she was using a ludicrously self-pitying tone in front of someone who rented a flat that she shared with her baby and, it seemed, her mother, and changed the subject.
‘Shall we get back?’
Pearl sighed. ‘Well, it’s either that or a shopping spree down Bond Street and a quick stop into Tiffany’s.’
Issy smiled wanly. ‘Well, at least we got cake.’
‘We did,’ said Pearl.
Chapter Five
Peppermint Creams
For you, as sweet as you are.
1 egg white
1 lb icing sugar
peppermint essence
Beat the egg white until frothy – do not overbeat. No, that is just enough. Perfect. Stop now.
Sieve in the icing sugar and now the mixture should be stiff. Yes, there is a lot of icing sugar on the floor. Don’t worry about that now. Don’t stand in it. Don’t … OK, your mother is going to have a fit.
Right, just a couple of drops of peppermint essence … just a couple, otherwise it’ll taste like toothpaste.
OK, are your hands clean? Now, make it into paste – yes, like playdough. No, you can’t eat playdough. Now, we’re going to roll it out and you can cut out circles. Well, yes, or I suppose you can have animal shapes … a peppermint cream horsie, that’s fine. Oh, a dinosaur? Well, yes, I don’t see why not … There we are. Now we have to put them in the fridge for 24 hours.
Well, no, I suppose we could test just one.
Well, I suppose they don’t all have to go in the fridge. Or, no, any of them.
Love, Grampa
If Issy shut her eyes, she could smell the sweet peppermint creams, melting on her tongue.
‘Come on,’ Helena was berating her.
‘I am a brave person,’ Issy was trying to say in the mirror, brushing her teeth.
‘That’s right,’ said Helena. ‘Do it again.’
‘Oh God,’ said Issy. She was about to spend the day marching cold into estate agencies and asking for work. She thought she was about to throw up.
‘I am a brave person.’
‘You are.’
‘I can do this.’
‘You can.’
‘I can handle inevitable repeated rejection.’
‘That’s going to be useful.’
Issy turned round. ‘It’s all right for you, Len. The world is always crying out for nurses. They’re hardly going to start closing all the hospitals.’
‘Yeah, yeah, yeah,’ said Helena. ‘Shut up.’
‘You’ll see,’ said Issy. ‘One day they’ll get robots to do it all and then you’ll be out of a job and sorry you weren’t more sympathetic to me, your best friend.’
‘This is better than sympathetic!’ retorted Helena, stung. ‘This is useful!’
Issy was starting near the flat. If she could find a job within walking distance, so much the better. No more wet bloody mornings standing outside Pear Tree Court and forcing her way on to the 73 – well, at least that was a nice thought.
The door to Joe Golden Estates pinged as Issy went in, her heart in her mouth. She reminded herself she was a calm professional, with experience in the property trade. There was only one man in the office, the same distracted-looking balding chap who had been showing that woman around the shop.
‘Hello!’ said Issy, too surprised to remember why she was there. ‘Aren’t you renting Pear Tree Court?’
The man peered up at her with a wary look in his eyes.
‘Trying to,’ he said gruffly. ‘Bit of a bloody nightmare.’
‘Why?’
‘Doesn’t matter,’ he said, suddenly remembering where he was and switching into salesman mode. ‘It’s a fabulous property, so much character and loads of potential.’
‘Hasn’t every business that’s gone in there failed miserably?’
‘Well, that’s because … that’s because they’re not approaching it the right way.’
I will make friends with him then ask him for a job, Issy told herself. I will ask him for a job … shortly. Soon. In a bit. Yes.
But what actually came out of Issy’s mouth was, ‘I couldn’t take a look at it, could I?’
Des, of Joe Golden Estates, was sick of his job. He was sick of his life, if he was being honest. He was tired of the market, tired of being on his own in an empty office, tired of endless to-ing and fro-ing with this stupid Pear Tree Court property as one person after another thought they could make a go of it, when, pretty as it was, it remained a commercial property that didn’t actually face a road. People got dreams in their heads that were nothing to do with business. This looked like another one.
Then he had to go home and sympathize with his wife. It wasn’t that he didn’t adore their baby, it wasn’t that at all, it was just he did need a night’s sleep now and again and he was sure that everyone else’s baby wasn’t still waking up four times a night at five months. Maybe Jamie was sensitive. It still didn’t explain why Ems hadn’t got out of her pyjamas since the birth. It had been a while now. But if he ever mentioned anything, she started screaming at him that he didn’t understand what it was like to have a baby, then Jamie would start screaming, plus her mother was usually over, sitting in his spot on the sofa, slagging him off, he suspected. Then it would all get so noisy he’d wish himself back at work again for five minutes’ peace and quiet. He hadn’t the faintest idea what to do.
For the first time in what felt like weeks, Issy sensed a tiny flame of curiosity spark inside her. As Des somewhat reluctantly opened up the heavy door with three different keys, she glanced around, just in case the scary blonde lady was behind her somewhere, and would scream at her to get the hell out of her shop.
Because she could see at once that while there were all sorts of problems with it (no road frontage being only the most glaringly obvious), 4 Pear Tree Court had a lot of plus points too.
The large glass window faced west, which would let plenty of sunlight into the shop in the afternoon, making it a nice place to come and sit and linger over coffee and a cake when business typically was quieter. Issy tried not to let her imagination run away with itself. Although the alley had rubbish and a stray bicycle skeleton in it, it also had cobbles and, although it was as unhealthy, stunted and metropolitan a specimen as one could hope to find anywhere, there was a real live tree next to the ironmonger’s. A real live tree. That was something too. Once you were inside the court, the noise from the traffic seemed to fade away; it was as if you were stepping back to a quieter, gentler time. The little row of shops was higgledy-piggledy and jammed together and looked a little like something out of Hogwarts, and number 4, with its low wooden doorway, odd angles and ancient fireplace, was the sweetest of them all.