Freya North - Chances

Freya North

Chances

Copyright

Published by HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

Copyright © Freya North 2011

Freya North asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

This novel is entirely a work of fiction.

The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780007326662

Ebook Edition © 2011 ISBN: 9780007326679

Version: 2017-11-28

Dedication

For Mummy

Lovely, funny, beautiful – and so very very brave. A woman of worth, indeed.

With love,

Your Chief Sherpa

Epigraph

All discarded lovers should be given a second chance

– but with somebody else

MAE WEST

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Epigraph

That Shop

Oliver and Jonty

The Tree Houses

Michelle and Candy

Tinker, Spike and Boz

Something for the Weekend

The George and Dragon

The Thorpe Arms

Suzie Vs Candy

Rick

North London

Location Location Location

And So to Bed

Sting

Flower Man and Tree Fella

Tim and Vita and Rick

Helpful Unhelpful Thoughts

Suzie Vs Vita

T.P.O

The Cagoule

The Wretched Cagoule

Suzie

The Wasp Catchers

Beer and Jam

Roots

Mr Whippy

Post-Mortem

Sunday

Dermott Hogan

Day Trippers

Tim and Vita

Jamie Oliver Oliver

Jonty

The Cowgirl

Helping Hands

Tristan Tree

The Wynfordbury Taxicab

Tim and Suzie and Vita

Parenting

Elsie Mackenzie

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

Keep Reading – The Way Back Home

Up close and personal with Freya

Don’t miss Freya’s other bestsellers

Acclaim for...

About the Author

Also by Freya North

About the Publisher

That Shop

Sitting in her shop, That Shop, on the stool behind the counter (an old console table which was for sale and had been since she opened three years ago), Vita kept her head down, nose buried in her book, yet managed surreptitiously to watch the elderly lady whilst wondering what she’d allow her to nick today. A fortnight ago, it had been a small jar of pastel-coloured guest soaps in the shapes of seashells. Prior to that, an ashtray, brass, in the shape of a Moroccan slipper. Vita didn’t think the old lady smoked, she thought her vice might be little more than the occasional sherry and shoplifting. Fascinating. And why had she stolen that tin of mini sparklers with ‘Wedding Wishes’ embossed on the lid? Not that Vita had minded – they were on offer anyway. The most expensive thing the lady had swiped had been the small pewter noughts and crosses set – but there again, no one had expressed any interest in it.

Sometimes, Vita could anticipate which object would be pilfered; at other times, she knew something had gone but it took her a couple of days to figure out quite what. She liked the fact that what was taken was dictated not by its value but by its desirability. Those sparklers had been cheap as chips but the little tin was so pretty.

Vita watched and tried to guess. The Gardener’s Handcream? The light-pull in the shape of a black cat? The old lady was currently admiring the candy-coloured dustpan set. Vita thought, She’ll never get that under her jacket. A couple of months ago, perhaps, when spring was late and it was still cold and the woman was swamped by a shabby old coat in Prince of Wales check. Today, she wore a light blouson a shade darker than her lilac rinse. What would she be able to squirrel away when true summer came? Did she choose her summer clothes on account of capaciousness of pockets? It was only June but the weathermen were predicting a heatwave for this summer. The shopkeepers of Wynford hoped so. Vita thought back to last summer and all that rain that had been so bad for business. It seemed such a long time ago now.

It was one of the animals! Vita detected a sudden lift in the old lady’s energy from near the rack at the back of the shop on which the plastic animals stood as if lining up waiting to board the wooden ark on the neighbouring table. Which, though? Which had gone?

Gazelle. Vita reckoned it had to be the gazelle. There were plenty of them left. In her experience, the children always made a beeline for the carnivores.

‘Nothing today, lassie,’ the woman said diplomatically as if, on some future occasion, with new stock, or just what she was looking for, she might be happy to part with her money.

When I was at school, Vita mused once the tinkle of the shop’s bell had subsided and she had the place to herself again, I stole for a little old lady just like you.

Tim thought, If she’s reading a bloody book – if she’s reading a bloody bloody book . . .

His business philosophy was that his shop, That Shop, needed to make money, notwithstanding the average item price being around £10. Vita’s personal philosophy was that her shop, That Shop, should simply be somewhere people loved to go, to be heartened by lovely things.

She is bloody reading a bloody book.

‘Hi.’

Tim jerks his head at her book and raises an eyebrow.

‘ Robinson Crusoe ,’ Vita says, as if it vindicates any objection. ‘I read this fantastic novel about a young girl who was obsessed with Robinson Crusoe – so when I finished it, I started this straight away. Have you read it? I can’t believe I hadn’t.’

I’m gabbling. Still nervous around him – madness. ‘It’s a classic. Did you know Daniel Defoe is credited with inventing the novel? I even wonder whether “cruise” comes from “Crusoe”.’

‘This isn’t a desert island, Vita, it’s a deserted shop.’

He approaches the till and prints off a balance. ‘Christ alive.’

‘I know,’ Vita says gravely, ‘it’s been slow.’

‘I saw that mad old woman coming out,’ he says.

‘I don’t think she’s mad – just, you know, eccentric.’

‘She’s a thief, that’s what she is,’ Tim says. ‘Watch her like a hawk.’ He had caught the woman shoplifting last Easter. A small papier mâché rabbit. Not expensive – but a key seller at a time when they were shifting loads. He’d made her put it back. He’d done it tactfully and authoritatively. As though he was talking to a child. Vita hadn’t liked that at all. It was just a little Easter bunny.

She won’t be doing that again, he’d said to Vita.

Just now, Vita muses how it wouldn’t cross Tim’s mind that the old lady had been doing precisely that, on a regular basis, ever since. With Vita’s unspoken blessing.