CHAPTER THREE
‘Dad?’
The house was dark as Rose closed the door quietly behind her, and tiptoed down the hall towards the kitchen. Time for a wee herbal tea before bedtime, she thought, thinking there might even be time to catch up on her favourite show on Netflix.
Suddenly, she heard a groan from the living-room.
‘Dad?’
Rushing in there, she snapped the light on, and was faced with her dad sitting bolt-upright in his wheelchair, dressed in blue flannel pyjamas and wearing a Santa hat.
‘Surprise!’ he shouted, rattling a metal tin marked DONATIONS. It sounded almost full. ‘Welcome home, my sweet Rose petal.’
She clutched her chest and reeled back, breathing hard. ‘Good grief, Dad, you almost gave me a heart attack. What on earth are you doing, lurking about in the dark?’ As Rose recovered, she fixed her eyes suspiciously on the tin. ‘What’s that? Have you been out collecting again?’ When he nodded, she hesitated, leaning over him and sniffing the air. ‘And is that lager I can smell on your breath?’
‘Beer,’ he said with dignity. ‘Never touch lager, as well you know. Disgusting pigswill. Good only for twenty-year-olds with no sense of taste.’
‘You’ve been to the pub again, have you?’
‘I visited several establishments tonight, actually.’ He shook the collecting tin proudly. ‘And took donations in every one.’
‘Dad, I’ve asked you not to go out in the evenings, it’s not safe round here. When will you listen to me?’ Rose shook her head, shrugging out of her coat and throwing it down on the sofa. ‘It’s the Terrible Toggle, isn’t it? That woman’s a bad influence on you.’
A shadow of irony struck her even as the words left her mouth, but she pushed it aside. It was one thing for Paul to warn her against trying to save the shop, and quite another for her disabled father to be mooching about the streets with their crazy, elderly neighbour, collecting money towards the fund for saving Christmas Parade, as their block of shops was popularly known.
‘Her name’s Mrs Toghear, as you know very well,’ he said with an attempt at dignity, and jerked forward in his chair, setting the collection box down on the coffee table. ‘And it’s beneath you to refer to her in such unfriendly terms. She’s a good-hearted lady, and she’s been very kind recently, helping us out with the cause.’
‘Yes, because she’s got her eyes on your pension,’ Rose said bluntly.
‘Rose!’
‘Sorry. Did you think it was your charming conversation she was after? Or maybe your stunning Santa Claus impersonation?’ Rose pulled off the festive hat, and bent to kiss him on the forehead. ‘I love you to bits, Dad, and I would never want to hurt your feelings. You know that, I hope. But when will you learn to be more careful with women?’
‘More briar Rose than sweet Rose tonight, is it?’
‘That’s hardly fair, especially when I’m just looking out for you.’ But she made a face. ‘I admit though, it’s not been the best day ever.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
Rose shrugged. ‘I’m trying to put it behind me and … move on, or whatever it is they say in Self-Help books.’
‘Or kick the bastard in the goolies.’
‘Dad!’ She pretended to be shocked, because she knew that would amuse him. But really she had been thinking something vaguely similar herself. Except for the ‘goolies’ bit, perhaps.
‘Too rude?’
‘I’m not sure, to be honest.’
‘Not sure about what? If it was rude, or if he has any goolies to kick?’
Rose bit back a smile. ‘That’s the beer talking.’
‘So what?’ He shrugged. ‘Nothing like a spot of beer in the run-up to Christmas. Oils the parts that other men get kicked in.’
She shook her head in mock disapproval. ‘How about a cup of tea instead? To bring you down from that cloud of hyperbole?’
‘Oh, big words now. Very posh.’ Her dad followed her swiftly into the kitchen, the downstairs of the house having been remodelled after his accident to allow for the easy passage of his wheelchair. ‘This guy must have really got under your skin.’
Hardly.
But she didn’t say anything, and thankfully he did not push it.
The door to their former dining room, now his bedroom, was open, and as she passed it, she made a mental note to nip in later and tidy up. It was a sizeable room, with the addition of an en-suite toilet and wet room that had been built onto the back of the house, but he still managed to get it in a mess, dropping books and magazines everywhere. Not that she begrudged him the freedom to make a mess. Before he’d been in a cramped bedroom upstairs, unable to leave his bed for days sometimes, simply because the stair lift was on the blink. The major renovations downstairs had only been completed six months before, but at least he was self-sufficient now, which had been his primary concern since learning he would have to spend the rest of his life in a wheelchair.
‘Ordinary or herbal tea?’ she asked.
‘Blackcurrant Sizzler, please.’
‘Feeling a bit tart?’
‘A corrective after the beer.’
‘Well, I’m going to risk caffeine. I need it.’
She selected a sweet-smelling herbal tea bag from the glass jar, and a cheap-and-cheerful brand teabag for herself from the supermarket box.
‘So what happened tonight? It’s obvious that some undeserving man gave you hassle.’ He watched intently as she busied herself about the kitchen. ‘Come on, you can tell your old dad.’ He paused. ‘Did you break up with Paul?’
‘What?’ She looked round at him then, almost shocked. That was the second time today someone had made assumptions about her and Paul, and she was not sure she liked it. ‘I’m not going out with Paul. He’s my oldest friend, for goodness’ sake. We went to school together.’
‘And you’ve started spending quite a lot of time together too.’
‘Only because of the court case.’
Her dad raised his eyebrows, his smile knowing. ‘Is that the only reason? He’s single, you’re single …’
‘Dad, there are millions of single men in London.’ She shook her head, and leant against the kitchen cupboards, folding her arms as she waited for their kettle to come grudgingly to the boil. ‘Does that mean I should put them all on my ‘potential marriage material’ list?’
‘Now you’re just being silly.’
‘Well, if I’m being silly, I might as well be even sillier. Because I did meet another single man tonight. Maybe he’d do for my list.’
‘Aha!’
‘At least I imagine he must be single,’ she added blithely. ‘Because I can’t believe any self-respecting woman would agree to marry him. Maybe a greedy one might. He’s probably worth billions.’
‘Billions?’ Her dad stared at her, puzzled. ‘Who on earth are we talking about?’
‘The devil himself.’
‘Sorry?’
‘None other than Nick Grimsby,’ she said, hating the sound of his name on her lips. ‘You remember that name, surely? He’s the evil tycoon behind the acquisition of Christmas Parade.’ She corrected herself. ‘Attempted acquisition. Because he’s not going to bloody well succeed. Not if I have anything to say about it.’
Her dad ran a grooming hand across his forehead, though there had been no hair there to smooth down for at least the past decade. He looked dazed.
‘You spoke to Nick Grimsby? I don’t understand …’
Rose straightened and reached for her handbag, rummaging inside for the ogre’s business card. ‘There you go.’ She handed it to him, her lips pursed at the memory of the man who had given it to her, and nodded when he read the card silently. ‘That’s right. CEO of Thimblerig Holdings. Soon-to-be-owner of our shop, assuming he can manage to beat, bribe or plain bamboozle us out of there. Which he can’t, by the way!’
His gaze flashed up to hers, suddenly uncertain. ‘You’re absolutely sure about that?’
‘One hundred percent positive.’
Slowly, he nodded, then looked down at the card again. ‘So this guy, this Nick Grimsby character … He came to the shop?’
‘Pretending to be looking for flowers.’
‘Did you sell him any?’
‘I told him we were closed, so he went away in the end. But only after sticking his foot in the door.’ She shook her head. ‘The man’s a pest.’
‘So he made you a bigger offer for the shop, I take it?’
‘Not exactly.’
‘I don’t understand … ’
‘Not my finest moment.’ Rose sighed, remembering that embarrassing moment when she’d leapt out on him. ‘I thought he was … I don’t know, a stalker. He said he wanted to talk to me. But I’d texted Paul by then, and he came along and rescued me before Nick Grimsby could say what it was about.’ She laughed uneasily. ‘Though I doubt he’ll bother contacting me in person again.’
‘What the hell did you say to him?’
‘Oh, nothing.’ She busied herself with making their tea, then added under her breath, ‘Much.’
‘Rose?’
She turned to confront him. ‘The man’s a pantomime villain, Dad. Stealing from the poor to give to the rich. By which I mean him and his corporate stooges. Why do we need to worry about his feelings? We should be worrying about ourselves instead. About hanging onto this place.’
‘The mortgage is all paid up, don’t worry.’
‘And the loan on the extension?’
He looked troubled. ‘Well, yes. That could become an issue if the shop goes under. But if he made you a big enough offer, we could – ’
‘The Mistletoe Shop isn’t just any old business, Dad.’ She stared at him in disbelief. ‘It’s a part of us, of our family history. Your dad’s pride-and-joy.’
‘I know,’ he said wearily.
‘You can’t let a creep like that railroad us into giving up what we’ve worked for all these years,’ she said earnestly, meeting his worried gaze, ‘what Grandad Mistletoe built and worked for, just so his company can make a pile of money building luxury flats so expensive that nobody will probably ever live in them.’
‘I suppose not.’
She handed him his cup of herbal tea, the water slowly turning a dark purplish colour. He preferred the bag left in so it could get good and strong.
‘I know you’re saying now that we should take the offer,’ she said, trying to stay calm and reason with him, ‘but I still think we should fight the acquisition. That’s what we agreed in the beginning, after all, back when we first heard about the site being redeveloped. And nothing’s changed as far as I’m concerned. This is our heritage we would be giving away, not just retail premises.’
‘It would be such good money though, love.’ He banged his wheelchair bitterly, ‘And I’m stuck in this blasted chair while you’re having to work practically every hour of the day sends just to keep the place going.’
‘That’s not true. I’ve got Shantelle to help me now.’
‘She costs money.’
‘If you want to give me more time off, come and work in the shop a few days a week. You’d be more than welcome.’
‘I’ve told you, there’s not enough room. Not to keep turning the wheelchair.’
‘Then work at the counter.’
He shook his head. ‘What about the loo? It’s up a flight of stairs.’
‘We could adapt it.’
‘At what cost, though?’ Her dad looked grim. ‘Take the offer, darling. Give up the fight. We can always start somewhere else with new premises. Better-equipped premises that can accommodate a wheelchair.’
‘But it wouldn’t be the same!’
‘Maybe not,’ he said. ‘But nobody would think any the worse of you for taking the money.’
‘I would,’ she said pointedly, her cheeks flushed, and took up her own cuppa.
He was making perfect sense, and she hated it.
Argh.
She didn’t like the way this conversation was going. Nor how upset and off-balance she was becoming. But he had never suggested before that they should take the money. Where had all this come from? Or was it simply the beer talking? She had fully expected her father to support her, not side with the enemy.
This felt so wrong.
She never lost her temper with her dad.
Never.
Something else to blame on that nasty, horrid man from Thimblerig Holdings, she thought, and sucked in her breath.
It was him who’d put her in this bad mood, not her dad.
Nick bloody Grimsby.
‘I love the Mistletoe Flower Shop,’ she said softly into the silence. ‘I never thought I’d say this, but it’s become my whole life. And I know you still own fifty percent of the business, so it’s your decision too. But to let it go would be … Well, it would feel like a betrayal of our family, and I don’t think I could bear that.’
Her dad came forward to pat her hand, his smile lopsided. ‘All right, love, I get the message. I’m not going to force you to accept their offer.’
‘Thank you.’
‘But would you at least think about it some more,’ he asked carefully, ‘before saying no forever? Because you know how hard business has been recently, and it’s only going to get harder once the other owners realise it’s you who’s blocking the deal. Some of them are powerful people, and I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.’
Rose closed her eyes briefly, controlling her desire to refuse outright, and then gave him a tiny nod. ‘Of course, Dad,’ she said, putting down her tea, ‘if that’s what you want.’
But her hands had tightened instinctively into fists as she pictured Nick Grimsby’s knowing smile, and now she imagined strangling him with a strand of Christmas tinsel until that stupid grin set with rigor mortis.
She knew then that she could never sell him the Mistletoe Flower Shop, not even if he doubled or trebled his offer. Not when she disliked the man so much that she was already dreaming up elaborate ways of killing him. That was not something she commonly did with men, however annoying. Especially at this festive time of year.
Christmas!
She smiled back at her dad, but her brain was racing now. Perhaps there was still a way to persuade the others to say no to Nick Grimsby.