Page 88 of Little Miss Fortune

‘I don’t know what you mean.’ I put on some plain trainers.

‘Excited to see me?’ he asks with an arrogantly raised eyebrow.

Something dismissive is about to escape my mouth, but I do not get a chance to say it. His hand slides into mine and pulls me from the house, barely letting me shut the door.

‘I hope you are prepared for today.’ He is not skipping, but I feel like he is one muscle away from it.

‘What are we doing?’

‘Wouldn’t you like to know?’ he says as if bopping my nose.

His joyous demeanour is infectious. ‘I would, actually. How far are we going? You are not taking me fishing by any chance?’

‘There is a river involved.’

First stop is the local market that recently reopened after a three-year hiatus, possibly related to a global event that no one really likes to talk about. I’ve either never been, or I suppressed the memory during an annoying teenage phase in which I considered walking around stalls and talking to people excruciating. Probably that. The market snakes around a square surrounded by pubs and small shops. This area used to be a silk mill, apprentices’ living quarters, and a printing workshop, but it has been transformed into independent stores and a pottery shop, with the old water mill still functioning. The names of the pubs are related to William Morris, who used to print textiles in the neighbouring area.

There are so many people around, with pints, Pimm’s and Aperol on their tables, and even more people going to the stalls. Local chilli jams, breads, cheeses, seafood. The independent bookshop is displaying books by South Asian authors to celebrate South Asian Heritage Month. This area is so alive, and I haven’t been here in years

I have never seen Toby interacting with people outside the office, but he is so charming and personable. While I just walk around, smile, and shake my head if someone asks me if I’m interested in anything, Toby talks to everyone. He also says things louder, which allows other people around him to join the conversation. He gives everything a try and hands me the rice crackers with mango jalapeno spread. The fishmonger and he find common language about the river that the mill is on and types of fish you can catch here. He likes Toby so much that he opens fresh oysters for Toby and me to try. For free. The fishmonger lost £2 from that interaction.

He finds common ground with every single person he speaks to. Half of the ladies try to pry his relationship status out of him, to which he confidently responds by grabbing my hand and saying, ‘It’s our first date, actually. Took months of convincing her.’

It was one-and-a-bit months, thank you very much. They would laugh and congratulate us, but I see it—the surprise in their eyes. You? Convincing her?

I swallow my pride the first two times, but three times in a row and my mood definitely sours.

‘You all right?’ Toby asks.

‘Yeah, this is really cool, isn’t it?’ I squeeze out a smile.

‘Have you been here before?’

‘They do very good steak over there.’ I point at the building with a pirate ship in front of it.

Toby’s apprehension is written all over his face. ‘Right.’

‘I promise you! Mum’s word.’

‘We should check it out sometime. I’ll hold you accountable if you lied.’

A woman with a clipboard and a wooden box floats to us in an overly enthusiastic manner. ‘You two look like people who would join our raffle to fund the upkeep of the water mill! It’s £1 for a set of two entries, £5 for a set of twelve. First place wins a spa massage from the studio above the hat boutique, second place gets a house plant from Earth Growth, and third place gets a dozen cupcakes from Tiama Bakes.’

She points at each stall.

‘We’re so in.’ Toby gives her a tenner. She writes our names and phone numbers against the raffle numbers, which I think breaks some data protection rules, but that would bring the mood down.

‘The winners will be announced at one! Good luck.’ She chases down a family and works her magic on them.

‘We will need that massage after the next stop.’ He turns to me.

‘What do you have planned?’

‘Quacky Races. Once we leave the mill area, a pavemented road will take us all the way to a National Trust park that today holds a rubber duck race that has resumed after a three-year hiatus.’

Huh, déjà vu, I wonder what could have happened?

‘Why did you ask me to wear something covered?’ I ask fearfully.