Page 29 of The Woman Who Said Yes

‘Oh, this is interesting!’ She gazes down at Gideon on the workbench.

‘It’s mine, actually,’ I explain. ‘I mean, it was a present⁠—’

‘Oh, you’re a customer?’ This seems to please her. Perhaps she’s relieved at not being the only one taking up Sam’s time when the shop’s closed.

‘We’re friends,’ I explain. ‘He’s doing an emergency repair job for me.’

Lucy nods, still apparently fascinated by the fish. ‘They’re amazing, aren’t they? These old taxidermy specimens?’

‘They really are,’ I agree, noticing a switch in Lucy’s expression. It’s as if she’s noticed that, actually, they’re not so appealing close up. ‘But if I’m honest,’ I continue, ‘I wouldn’t have chosen it myself. It might sound ridiculous, but I always think it’s sort of gawping at me⁠—’

‘Really?’ she asks in surprise. A little vertical channel has appeared between her perfectly arched brows.

I shrug, feeling silly now in the steady gaze of this woman who’s had a successful exhibition at a little north London gallery. A little exasperated, too, with Sam. Lucy is his customer, not mine. She’s brought him chocolates, not me – so why is he letting me do all the talking? Also, I don’t feel he thanked her quite enough. Mum raised me to be unfailingly polite, penning elaborate thank-you letters to relatives for the smallest of gifts:

I loved the hair bobble and I’m going to always use it for my ponytail, thank you very much!

‘What I mean is,’ Lucy says with a small laugh, ‘it’s strange that you think it’s gawping at you.’

I frown and look at her. ‘Why’s that?’

Her eyes widen as she looks to Sam, as if for confirmation. ‘Haven’t either of you noticed?’

‘Noticed what?’ he asks, looking confused now.

Lucy chuckles. ‘I’m no expert on fish, Sam. But I can’t see how this one could gawp at anyone when it doesn’t have an eye.’

17

‘I wish I could help,’ Lucy says as I scrabble about on the floor in search of – what exactly? I don’t know what a pike’s eye looks like. Was it the real one, or a fake? Am I looking for a gleaming bead or a minuscule withered disc?

‘No, it’s fine,’ I say distractedly, hoping to convey the message that, now she’s delivered the chocs and had a little flirt with Sam, she can be on her way.

She looks down at me, frowning. ‘Could it have got stuck in one of the floorboard gaps?’

‘Yes, maybe.’ I glance at Sam, who’s grabbed a brush and is conducting a slow, methodical sweep of the floor.

‘Are you sure it even had an eye?’ Lucy muses.

‘We-are-yeah,’ Sam says quickly.

‘Well, Sam,’ she says, ‘thanks again for everything. I know you pulled out all the stops for me.’

‘Honestly, it was no problem⁠—’

‘—And I wanted to say, I’m having another little show – a solo one this time, if you’d like to come?’

‘Oh, erm—’ he starts.

‘Both of you, I mean?’ Lucy says quickly, and she fishes out a small flyer on stiff white card from her bag. I get up and brush the dust from the knees of my jeans and take it from her.

‘Thank you. That sounds great,’ I say as I see her out of the shop. Again, Sam’s manners are lacking. I return to find him having resumed sweeping the area under the workbench.

‘Well, that was very kind of her,’ I say pointedly.

‘Mmm-hmm.’ He upends the brush, frowning as he picks carefully through the bristles, as if inspecting a child’s hair for nits.

‘Bringing you chocolates!’ I pick up the small black box and study it.