Rachel Dove - The Wedding Shop on Wexley Street

‘I just need someone to be there for me, Mum, for once. Why does everyone leave?’

‘Huh-hum.’ There was that noise again. Maria looked to her left and, through tear-stained eyes, saw that the shop door was ajar, and in front of it was a very puzzled-looking man. Quite a good-looking one at that.

‘Oh, shit!’ She jumped up, throwing the carton to one side and standing up so quickly she got a post-alcohol head rush. ‘Oh, ow!’ She grabbed her head with both hands, trying to quell the lightning bolt that was striking between her ears. He went to step forward, placing his bag on the floor and closing the shop door. He flicked it to closed, and then just kind of stood there, watching her. Maria was suddenly very aware of the fact that she had been caught mainlining ice cream, looking like a bag lady and talking to a wall. She wiped her eyes ineffectually. Looking down at the floor, she saw that the discarded ice cream tub was now lying on its side, dribbling its contents onto the hardwood floor. It felt like a metaphor for her life, discarded and dribbling away.

She took another stab at wiping her face with sticky fingers.

‘I’m really sorry, can I help you?’

The man didn’t say anything for a beat. He just looked at her, an odd expression on his face. She looked right back, trying to figure out who this man was and why he was just staring at her.

‘I’m the electrician. Are you okay?’ He was looking at her as though he was expecting a gust of wind to whip through the shop and blow her away. In turn, seeing him standing there, among the beautiful silks and trains of the front display window, Maria couldn’t help thinking how strong he looked. He was dressed in a simple black T-shirt and workers’ trousers in a dark gunmetal grey. He had actual guns, big arm muscles she could make out under his short sleeves. It was then she noticed his pockets were filled with assorted tools. He jangled a little as he moved closer, taking one slow step after another towards her.

‘I’m James Chance. I believe we spoke on the phone. Maria, is it?’

She nodded mutely, blinking back the tears that kept threatening to erupt. He took another step forward.

‘Okay,’ he said softly. ‘Why don’t you point me to the fuse box, and I’ll let you freshen up while I get started. That all right?’ She noticed his eyes then, blue-green, like beautiful glass marbles, topped off with thick, dark lashes against the darker cropped hair that peeked out from his baseball cap. They were looking at her with concern. It was a look she was all too used to nowadays, and she shrank away from it. The man picked up his toolbox and slowly walked closer to her. She walked zombie-like to the back room and pointed to the fuse box.

‘It’s there. I’ll just… er… go upstairs.’ She headed to the back stairs and looked back at him.

‘You okay down here?’ She realised she was about to leave her business, and her till, unattended, in the presence of a complete stranger.

‘I’m fine, don’t worry – and listen, I am trustworthy. I have ID, if you want to see it, or I can come back another time?’ The thought of him not fixing the electrics was incentive enough to swallow her fears. He didn’t look like a serial killer. Although what serial killers looked like was anybody’s guess. It wasn’t like they had a club badge or bought matching T-shirts.

‘No, no!’ she squeaked. ‘I really can’t afford to lose any more business right now. I really need the electrics fixing. I won’t be long, please stay.’ It didn’t escape her attention that she was begging a man not to leave. This was obviously her life now. Trying to hold a man down. Yay. Feminism was alive and kicking in Westfield.

He looked at her kindly. ‘I’m not going anywhere, don’t worry.’ She smiled back, oddly comforted by his words. He turned away, and she headed up the stairs.

Looking in the mirror in the bathroom upstairs, Maria groaned. No wonder the bloke had been looking at her funny, what with talking to the wall. And this. Looking at her reflection was like looking at a poster of Zelda from Terrorhawks . Minus the good hair. Hers was stuck up all over, from a mixture of being tousled during stranger sex to leftover hair mousse. Plus what looked and smelt suspiciously like toothpaste. She put the plug in and ran the hot water, nipping to the rail in the other room to see what clothes she had on the hangers. Making her own clothes had its perks.

Heading down the stairs fifteen minutes later, wearing a simple summer dress and tights from her accessories stock box, her hair scraped back into a tidy bun, she could hear the soft bangs of metal on metal, followed by the occasional grunting and muttering.

She stood beside him and he turned at the noise. His gaze flicked over her, his eyes looking her up and down, and she flushed with embarrassment.

‘Sorry, I’m having a bit of a day.’ She brushed her dress skirt down self-consciously. It was a plain navy blue, brightened up slightly by a thin red belt and sheer tights.

James looked at her and smiled. ‘You look nice. Are you okay? It’s not my business, but—’

‘I’m fine,’ Maria said, plastering on a fake smile. It was her stock response nowadays; it didn’t even have any meaning anymore. Who was fine these days, really? ‘Can you fix my box?’

Her eyes widened as her words hit the air. ‘I mean, my fuse box, er… my electrics. Can you fix it?’

His lip twitched and he looked like he wanted to say something, but he turned back to the box and pointed. ‘This is outdated. To be honest, I’m surprised it’s worked as long as it has. The fuse wire was shot, so I’ve fixed it for now, but you really do need to replace it all, rewire the lot.’

Maria felt like she’d been punched in the gut. ‘Is there any way we can avoid that, maybe patch it up?’

James shook his head. ‘I can do a temporary fix, but realistically it needs doing now.’

Maria stood there, biting the skin on her thumbnail, shaking her head from side to side rapidly. James stepped down from his small stepladder.

‘Listen, you can get a second opinion, but they’ll only tell you the same. It needs sorting, the sooner the better. I am quite quiet next week so I can fit you in. I can even start today, if you like – cut down on the days you’d have to close.’ He looked around him at the empty shop. ‘You’re closed today, right? Do you have anywhere to stay?’

‘I’m open today, actually, and I don’t live here. I’m living with a friend.’

‘Because of the power?’ James asked. Maria frowned. Why did he care?

‘Er, no – I don’t live here. I lived in Harrogate till recently, but I… now I’m staying with my friend. Cass.’

He said nothing, rubbing his hand down the scruff of his facial hair.

‘My friend, Cass, she has a cottage here in Westfield. So it’s handy for work.’

He kept looking at her, one brow arched.

‘She’s a hotshot Harrogate divorce lawyer. She’s been really great, actually, putting me up.’

Nothing. He was looking at her like he was trying to work her out. Why do I feel the need to fill the silences?