Never Fall for Your Back-Up Guy by Kate O’Keeffe

Chapter 17

I’ve been at the shop for a couple of hours, dealing with a bunch of customers and putting together a quote for a client who wants their conservatory redecorated, when I begin to wonder where Scarlett is. She hadn’t mentioned going to any meetings today, and after the Hampstead debacle, I’ve checked and double checked the shared calendar. There are no entries.

After handing a customer a gift-wrapped metal Buddha head, I pick my phone up from behind the counter and call her. It rings and rings and goes to voicemail.

“Hey, Scarlett. Just checking in to see when you’ll be in. I’ve got the wardrobe delivery at Asher’s today and need to get there to let them in. Call me!”

I hang up and drum my fingers against the counter. This isn’t like Scarlett. Usually she’s the efficient, on top of it one, the one chasing business and working her heart out to make this venture a success. If I’m honest with myself, lately she’s been a little distant, like she doesn’t care as much as she once did. And I totally get that. It’s not easy to have to deal with a failing business. It’s hard graft, it’s anxiety provoking, and it’s not for the faint-hearted—as I’ve been discovering.

Stevie’s yap captures my attention. She’s looking at me through the bars of her pen, her little body waving from side to side as her tail swings.

“Do you want to go out, little pup?” I ask as I collect the shop keys and her lead from a hook behind the counter.

I connect the lead to her collar, lift her out of the pen, and lock the door behind myself after sticking the back in five minutes sign on the door. We make our way down the mews, stopping every few feet for Stevie to sniff and do her doggy business. I note with satisfaction, as she trots around the corner and onto the main street, that the lead is loose and she keeps checking in with me to see if I’ve got any further instructions for her to follow. Dog Diva Denise might have singled us out for humiliation, but puppy school has worked wonders on my little dog.

As we walk, the tempting aroma of coffee ekes its way into my consciousness, and spotting Starbucks a couple of shops away, I make the decision to treat myself to a cinnamon latte with extra cream.

We pass Karina, and I gaze begrudgingly in the window at the plethora of customers and staff in the plush surrounds, oozing an air of success and expense. I’m about to continue my trek to Starbucks next door when a flash of bright orange and a mop of blonde hair captures my attention.

Is that…?

No!

It can’t be.

What’s Scarlett doing in Karina?

Like I’m a spy in a movie—if spies have Jack Russell puppies on pink leads—I move to the edge of the large picture window so I can see her, but she can’t see me. I watch as she tosses her tresses, beaming her pretty smile at an elegantly dressed woman in black. They talk for a while, and then shake hands before Scarlett turns to leave. I step quickly back against the wall, hoping she hasn’t seen me spying on her.

“Come on, Stevie,” I say in a low voice, and we rush next door to Starbucks and push through the door.

From the safety of the café, I watch in wonderment as Scarlett struts past, her head held high.

I pull out my phone and call her as I poke my head out the door. She opens her handbag, takes out her phone, and a second later I hear her voicemail telling me she can’t take my call right now.

What the…? She busied me?

I hang up, deep in thought.

What would Scarlett be doing at Karina? Maybe she’s come to a deal with them? Maybe she’s agreed to something with them that’s going to save ScarZar? A you take these customers and we’ll take those so we can co-exist kind of thing.

But why wouldn’t she tell me about it?

My coffee fix forgotten, curiosity gets the better of me. Stevie and I step out onto the footpath and follow Scarlett down the busy street. In a hundred or so yards, she stops to look through the window of a makeup shop, and I dash into Mark’s and Spencer’s, nearly knocking down a hunched-over elderly woman moving at a pace that would make a snail complain she’s moving too slow.

“Watch where you’re going, love,” she scolds.

“Sorry. Are you okay?” I say as I take a hold of her shoulders to steady her.

“Other than you nearly causing my ticker to have a fit, yes, I am okay.” She narrows her gaze at me. “What are you doing lurking here, anyway?”

“I, err, I’m checking in on someone,” I reply, as I peer around the corner and watch Scarlett turn from the window and walk into the makeup shop.

“Oooh, is it your fella? Are you checking up on him to make sure he’s not carrying on with another girl?”

“No. It’s my business partner. I need to know what she’s up to.”

Her eyes widen. “Well, that sounds exciting. Do you think she’s up to no good, love?” She glances down at Stevie. “What a sweet dog.”

“I honestly don’t know what she’s up to.” I shoot her a smile. “I need to keep an eye on her. Sorry to nearly bowl you over.” I begin to move away when I feel a dry hand on my forearm.

“Do you need a sidekick?” she asks. “I could be Robin to your Batman or…what other sidekicks are there, love? Oh. I can’t think of any.”

I regard her with surprise. “You want to be my sidekick?”

She nods, the loose skin around her jawline swinging from side to side with each movement. “Why not? All I’ve got planned for my day is taking home dinner for one and watching Coronation Street on the telly, which is all very well, but I do that every day.”

Seriously?

“I wouldn’t want to take you away from that.” I tilt my head around the entrance and watch for Scarlett to reappear. There’s no sign.

“Bucky!” the woman says with a look of satisfaction on her face.

I blink at her with incomprehension. “Excuse me?”

“Bucky is another sidekick. He’s Captain America’s sidekick.”

We’re back to sidekicks? Ones that remind me of George Honeydew, at that. “True.”

She knits her thin grey brows together. “But then things didn’t work out so well for Bucky, did they? What with the turning evil and the dying and the whatnot. So maybe not Bucky.”

I offer her a weak smile, wondering why this woman is still talking to me, nice as she seems to be. “Look, with all due respect—"

“I used to be a detective in the Metropolitan Police, you know,” she says with obvious pride. “Cracked many a case in my day, I did. I got awards and whatnot for my efforts.”

I skim my eyes over her. She’s wearing a beige floral dress with a brown cardigan, thick skin-tone pantyhose, and flat, sensible, old lady lace-up shoes. Which makes sense, considering she’s got to be at least my granny’s age. I’m having a hard time marrying the woman before me with a police detective who’s “cracked many a case.” “Wow. That’s impressive. Well done,” I reply, because what else is there to say?

“So, can I help you, love?”

I glance down the footpath. There’s no sign of Scarlett. Is she still inside the shop? Where is she going? What is she up to?

I turn to the woman. “Look, I need to go and find her.”

Her wrinkled face lifts in a beaming smile. “All right then. Let’s go. I’m Mavis, by the way. Mavis Cooper.”

I extend my hand and we shake. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Cooper.”

“Oh, call me Mavis, love.”

“Okay. I’m Zara. Shall we go? I’d hate to lose her.”

She waves her hand as though shooing me away. “Off you go, then.”

Together, we walk out of the entrance to the shop and onto the footpath, heading towards the makeup shop. Well, when I say “together” what I mean is we both do it, just one of us does it considerably faster than the other.

No points for guessing who.

Halfway to the makeup shop, I look back over my shoulder at Mavis. She’s wobbling along the footpath with a determined look on her face, her nostrils flaring with the effort.

How exactly did I get myself into this situation?

“I’ll nip ahead and check,” I say to her as I quicken my pace.

“Don’t get spotted, love,” she calls out.

I reach the entry to the makeup shop and sneak a look inside the glossy white store with its rows and rows of makeup. I scan the surrounds but she’s nowhere to be seen.

A panting Mavis arrives at my side. “Any sign?” she asks between breaths.

“I can’t see her, but there are so many aisles in the shop that she could be behind any of them.”

“What’s her description?”

“Why?”

“Because I can go in and have a look-see, can’t I? She doesn’t know what I look like.”

My lips curve into a smile. “Good thinking, Mavis. She’s about my build and an inch or two shorter with blonde hair to here, and she’s wearing a bright orange sleeveless dress that comes to the knee.”

“She’s a Barbie doll.”

“Well, I suppose, but she does have a normal length neck.”

“Sounds like a Barbie doll to me, love. You stay here with your little doggie. I’ll be back in a mo’.”

Slowly, as though she’s one of the slower students at sloth school, Mavis moves past me and into the shop. After a few excruciatingly slow paces, she pauses and turns back to face me. “Am I apprehending her?”

I’m not sure Mavis could apprehend a turtle—or a fellow sloth school student, for that matter. “Let’s just watch her for now.”

“You sure, love? I apprehended a few big blokes in my time, you know. They called me Muscles Mavis back at the station.”

I press my lips together to stifle a giggle. “Quite sure.”

“Right you are.”

Muscles Mavis makes her creaky, wobbly way into the brightly lit shop, and I lean back against the wall and glance down at Stevie, who’s busy sniffing the ground.

“What is Scarlett up to, Stevie?” I say, and she tilts her head in question. “You wish you knew, too. Don’t you?”

I take another furtive glance inside the shop. There’s no sign of either Scarlett, or Mavis, for that matter. I return my attention to the street and wait, tapping my hand against my thigh.

That’s when I hear it—a loud, piercing, demanding voice, drowning out the shop’s soundtrack. “What are you doing? Let go of me now!”

Scarlett.

I turn to see her bustling towards me with her hands held behind her back by none other than Muscles Mavis. My jaw drops open. What the…?

“Settle petal,” Mavis says in her gruff voice. “I’ve got someone who needs to have a word with you.”

Scarlett’s eyes land on me and realisation dawns on her face. “You set this person on me, Zara?” she demands as they come to a stop in front of me. “What the heck is going on?”

I hardly know myself right now.

“Will you let go of me?” she says to Mavis. “You really are surprisingly strong for an old woman.”

“I’m not letting go until Zara has asked you a few questions, missy,” Mavis says, speaking deliberately slowly in a vaguely threatening tone.

“What? Why?” Scarlett questions.

“Mavis, it’s okay. You can let go of her,” I tell her.

“It’s my experience that you often get a better response from these types if they’re under some pressure, if you know what I mean,” Mavis replies.

“These types? I take offence at that. I’m not some common criminal,” Scarlett sniffs.

“It’s fine, Mavis. Please, let her go.”

Mavis does as I ask, and Scarlett sucks in air as she rubs her wrists. “What the heck is going on? Why did you set this insane old lady on me?”

“I’m not insane, thank you very much,” Mavis replies haughtily. “I’m a pensioner.”

“Scarlett, stay put,” I tell her. “Mavis, thank you so much for all your help. I think Scarlett and I need to have a little chat now. But I do really appreciate all your help.”

“You’ve given this old chook something to live for today. Thank you, love,” she says as she grips my hands in hers.

I beam at her. Muscles Mavis is a real sweetheart. “Come by my design store whenever you like. It’s ScarZar down the street in the mews.”

“Oh, I know that place. Lovely green sofa in the window.”

“That’s right.”

“All right, love. You take care now.” She eyes Scarlett and then adds, “And make sure you get your answers from her.”

“I will.”

She throws Scarlett a final scowl before she says, “Ta ta, love,” to me and toddles off slowly down the street.

“Zara, I cannot believe you just did that to me,” Scarlett huffs. “I was humiliated.”

“I’m really sorry. I think we should talk. Don’t you?”

She looks up at me through her lashes, shamefaced. “Okay.”

Five minutes later, we’re sitting at a small table at Starbucks, a couple of cups of steaming coffee before us, and Stevie sitting on my lap looking around the café.

“Okay, spill. Why were you in Karina today shaking hands with one of their designers?” I question.

“I was checking out the competition, of course.”

I shoot her a look that tells her very clearly that I don’t believe her.

She lifts her hands in the air. “Okay. I’ll come clean. Look, we both know ScarZar is over. We can’t fight the big guns and win, Zara. You know that as much as I do.”

“So, you’re just giving up?” I ask, aghast.

“No. I’m not giving up.”

Relief washes through me. “Oh, thank goodness. I thought you were giving up on us. You don’t know how good it is to hear that.”

She twists her mouth, rendering her face hard. “What I mean is, I’m not giving up on my interiors career, but I am taking my skills elsewhere.”

I pull my brows together. “What do you mean?”

“Zara, get with the programme, girl. ScarZar is dead in the water. No one wants to work with us, we’re haemorrhaging money, and pretty soon we’ll both be in such serious debt, not even your wealthy family will be able to bail us out.”

My hands fly to my hips. “For the millionth time, they’re not wealthy.”

“Pull the other one, will you? Your brother posed as Mr. Darcy on that reality TV show and he’s a blooming lord.”

“That doesn’t mean my family’s got any money, especially not money they’re going to throw our way.”

“Which is why I’ve got no choice but to leave.”

“You’re leaving ScarZar?” My voice is almost a whisper.

“I start at Karina on Monday. They love me. They will give me the clients I deserve.”

“You’re going to work for the enemy?”

It all falls into place. Her absence from the shop lately, her chic new clothes, spotting her shaking hands with the Karina designer. Especially the last one.

“Oh, don’t act so surprised. One of us was bound to do it at some stage. I just beat you to it, that’s all.”

“I would never go to the competition!”

“Really?” she questions with a supercilious look on her face. “Look, let’s agree to close the shop and dissolve ScarZar. We can work the details out later.” She loops the strap of her handbag over her shoulder and collects her cup of coffee from the table in front of her.

“But what about our existing clients?”

“Darling, we’ve only got a handful of those, and they’re all chomping at the bit to come to Karina with me.”

I suck in air. “You’re taking our clients?”

“Of course. They’re mainly mine, anyway. You’ve been too busy working on your boyfriend, Asher’s place to put any work into finding real clients.” She leans in closer to me and adds, “You do realise you’re just a charity case for him, don’t you? He’s only being nice to you because he feels sorry for you. You can decorate his place for as long as you like and make him your silly back-up guy, but he’ll never fall in love with you. Men like him go for women like me.”

My jaw drops open in total shock. There are so many things to unpack in her little speech, all I can manage is to gawk at her, my mind aswirl with thoughts.

I think of the way I’ve been feeling about Asher lately, about my discovery about his past, about how we had that moment after the baseball game the other night when I thought he was going to kiss me.

She rises to her feet. “You can have the business if you want it. What’s left of it, anyway, which isn’t a lot.” She scoffs, her face twisted into a nasty smile. “Good luck.”

And then she turns on her heel, and I’m left gaping as she waltzes out of the café door.