I worked hard to get back in Mrs Webb’s good books. I offered to help in the kitchen instead of being asked. I made her the odd cup of tea and told her she looked nice when she came downstairs in the morning.
It worked. She seemed to soften towards me and I found I could breathe a bit easier.
As the weeks went on, Beth seemed to bloom – laughing more, even singing to herself sometimes. I noticed that Mrs Webb was making a big effort with her. Baking, taking her shopping for school clothes and even to the local cinema one day to watch the latest Disney film.
It didn’t escape my notice that I was never invited to join in their activities, but I pushed that aside. I was pleased Mrs Webb liked Beth and felt sure she didn’t mean to exclude me from the time she spent with my sister.
How wrong I was.
21
The closest supermarket I can find on Google is called Booths. I’ve never heard of it before, but the neat white letters on the dark green sign look a bit more upmarket than I’m used to.
The car park is spotless, with perfectly painted lines, and it has those shallow, fancy trolleys that never have wobbly wheels. I park, feeling slightly out of place already, and head inside.
The sliding doors open smoothly with a soft hiss, and the first thing that hits me is the beautifully organized bright interior. It’s like walking into a lifestyle magazine, all the fresh food gleaming and neatly arranged. The wide aisles stretch ahead like runways, lined with pyramids of glossy apples and carefully stacked artisan bread. The air smells faintly of freshly ground coffee and something floral, maybe lilies from the fancy bouquets by the entrance. This is definitely a different experience from my local Aldi back in Nottingham.
I pick up a basket rather than a trolley, telling myself I’ll grab just a few items to tide us over. Milk, bread, just the basics. Until I set eyes on the beautiful pastries and fresh salads.
One look at the prices, and my heart lurches. Nearly four pounds for a sourdough loaf? Whipped butter that costs more than a cheap bottle of Pinot Grigio? They must be having a laugh.
I move quickly, pretending I’m not wincing at the price every time I pick something up. If we’re to have anything at all to eat today, I’ll have to suck it up.
I collect a block of mature Cheddar, ignoring the price tag. I tell myself we can afford it now. We can affordanything.
I’m on the deli aisle, eyeing up some olives stuffed with feta becausewhy not, when I hear someone call me: ‘Merri, is that you?’
I spin around and see Tilda, pushing a trolley towards me. She looks as if she’s just stepped off a Pinterest fashion board: her hair is pulled back in a sleek ponytail and she’s wearing a soft beige coat that probably cost more than our old car.
‘I see you’ve already sniffed out where to buy the best food around here,’ she says, her smile bright. ‘I’m obsessed with this place. I like it even more than Waitrose.’
‘It’s amazing,’ I agree, having never set foot in Waitrose. ‘But so expensive! I’m used to shopping on a budget. Dev will do his nut when he sees the cost of a few bits to tide us over until I do a big online shop.’
Tilda rolls her eyes, waving a hand dismissively. ‘You’re too honest. Just don’t tell him – that’s always been my ploy. What they don’t know doesn’t hurt them, right?’
We laugh and, for a moment, it feels easy, like we’ve known each other longer than just a couple of short meetings. Tilda checks her watch. ‘Fancy a coffee after your shop, or are you in a rush? I know you just got here.’
I hesitate, glancing at my basket. It’s not like I have anywhere pressing to be and, honestly, the idea of sitting down with someone who seems nice and friendly in a brand new environment is tempting. ‘No rush, another hour won’t hurt. I’d love some coffee.’
Her face lights up. ‘Great. There’s a place a few doors down from here. The Bean Shack. They make thebestcaramel lattes.’
We agree to meet in the café in twenty minutes, and as I finish my shopping, I find myself smiling. Moving here felt like leaping off a cliff, leaving everything and everyone behind.Especially since my friendship with Paige was feeling a little off. But now, with Tilda being so open and friendly, it feels like maybe – just maybe – I’ll find my footing.
I pack the bags into the boot and lock the car before heading down the street. Booths sits at the end of a neat row of shops, all with classy signs and colourful hanging baskets. The Bean Shack is tucked between a small boutique and a florist.
The bell jangles as I step inside. Mismatched but somehow stylish furniture – plush armchairs, worn wooden tables – fills the space and resembles someone’s cosy living room. The smell of coffee beans and cinnamon wraps around me, comforting and familiar. There’s a vintage vibe to the place, with old records propped up on shelves and hand-painted mugs hanging behind the counter.
Tilda is already at the front of the short queue, insisting on getting the drinks. ‘Caramel latte for you, too?’
I nod and she waves me towards a free corner table by the window. When she joins me, setting down the cups with a flourish, her Gucci handbag lands on the table with a soft thud, the gold logo catching the light. It’s hard not to notice the diamond rings on her fingers, each one glittering in its own spotlight.
‘So,’ she says, leaning forward, ‘tell me all about yourself. What you and Dev do, and where you lived before your big win.’
Normally, I’d be cautious about sharing too much, but something about Tilda’s openness makes it easy to be honest. Besides, if we’re going to be friends, I need to be prepared to trust her and open up a little.
‘We lived about four miles from Nottingham. I worked in healthcare, and Dev was in sales. We rented a tiny place and …’I stir my latte, surprised to be smiling affectionately at the memory ‘… our car broke down a couple of days before we found out we’d won the house. We were getting buses to and from work because we had to wait until payday to fix it.’
Tilda laughs, shaking a headful of expensive highlights. ‘Wow! It was a timely win, then.’
