“No obligations,” said Arlene with a shrug. “Meet with him, have a chat, and if you’re both happy, consider having him step in to help. I get the impression he’s a little restless. The work and a little bit of pocket money might be just what he needs. And don’t you think it might be good to have someone as a backup in case, at the very least, you’re feeling under the weather?” Once she had finished, she turned her attention elsewhere. “Father Mulligan, can you show me where you store the extension leads? In case I need them again?”
Arlene trailed behind Father Mulligan in the direction of the small storeroom. As Nathan readied to leave, Jenny stopped him.
“I don’t want to interfere, Nathan, and I don’t always agree with Arlene, but she might be offering you a lifeline here,” said Jenny. “If this man’s got baking experience, why not at least meet him?”
One thing being with Jaymes had taught him was that he had to start living again, grabbing every scrap of life thrown his way. What could be the harm in meeting Fingal? Maybe he did need to look for solutions instead of constantly finding reasons for not doing something. A long weekend with Jaymes in the countryside away from Crumbington sounded perfect. Surely he was entitled to a bit of fun now and again? He waited until Arlene returned to the room to collect her things.
“About your suggestion, Arlene. I’d like to meet this friend of your husband’s. Let me know his number and I’ll contact him.”
Tomorrow, in the cold light of day, he could always reconsider and not call. As though hearing his thoughts, Arlene plucked her phone from her bag.
“Better still, Nathan, I’ll call him now for you. Get him to come to the shop first thing. That way, you can let your friends know tomorrow whether you’re taking them up on their offer. Best not to leave these things until too late.”
When Nathan turned to Doris, she patted him on the arm as she went to leave with Father Mulligan.
Maybe they were all right.
Maybe the time had come to let go a little.
Chapter Fourteen
Surrender
Three weeks later, pounding the gently sloping street leading to the village square, Nathan mulled over the appearance of fifty-nine-year-old Fingal Finnegan. Apart from having to listen intently to his Irish brogue, he had quickly warmed to the man, found him down-to-earth and more inspired than Nathan had ever been about the profession. He reminded Nathan of his grandfather. His eyes had sparkled when he’d toured their simple operation. Another huge bonus was that he and Arthur Meade got on like long-lost brothers. Fingal had spent time shadowing him, Arthur and Halina, going through each simple routine, including opening the store, dealing with invoices and closing and cashing up in the evening. He had even suggested improvements, things Nathan had never before considered.
Nathan knew he could confidently leave Fingal in charge for the weekend. With his experience, he could manage as well, if not better, than Nathan.
So why did that not feel good enough?
How could he voice his concern with Jaymes when his lover had lit up like an overexcited retriever at the chance to spend a weekend away together? Jaymes had pounced on the opportunity to tell Polly that he’d managed to prise Nathan away from the shop for a short break, using the ruse that he would combine the visit with a meeting of his fellow environmentalists. Naturally, Polly had not bought the idea for one minute and called him at the shop.
“What’s all this about you getting someone to manage the bakery for you over a weekend?”she had asked.
“Friends offered their holiday cottage. And your cousin is difficult to refuse when he gets an idea in his head.”
“In all the years I’ve known you, Nathan, you’ve never left the shop in someone else’s hands.”
“You think I haven't considered that? But Fingal understands the business better than anyone. And I'm not far away if things go south.”
“You know Jaymes is going to talk your ears off about trees and nature and shit. Are you prepared for that?”
“I have earbuds and playlists for that eventuality. Hey, here’s a thought. Why don’t you come along?”Nathan had asked in the certainty that Polly would refuse.
“Jaymes asked me already. If it hadn’t been term time, I might have considered.”
A part of him had wanted Polly to talk him out of the idea.
“Do you think I shouldn't go?”
“I didn’t say that.” Polly had gone quiet then. “Is this progress, Nathan?”
“You’d need to ask my therapist. Oh hang on, that’s you. Look, I have no idea what this is, but I’m going to give it a try. Even if I end up strangling your cousin and heading back early to face charges.”
“In which case, you have my blessing.”
Nathan stopped to drink from his water bottle outside the village locksmith where a huge bronze key hung in the shop window. He recalled the moment, last Monday, when he’d braved handing over the spare set of shop keys to Fingal. But as he’d placed them into the man’s callused palm, he’d felt removed from his body, as though someone else had done the deed. What should have been a moment of liberation had felt like a betrayal.
Moving on again, he jogged past the local chemist, slowing when he read a poster advertising homoeopathic remedies for anxiety, fear and panic attacks. However irrational the emotion, the thought of being away from the shop even for a single working day tied his stomach in knots. If he had time, he might pop back later and chat with the chemist.
