The Little Gift Shop on the Loch: A delightfully uplifting read for 2019!. Maggie Conway

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       Chapter 2

      Lily was lying in bed on Thursday morning. She wasn’t sure of the time but there seemed to be little point in getting up. Everything had become a huge effort, a strange inertia settling over her.

      Earlier she’d listened to the flurry of noise and activity, doors opening and closing, as her neighbours left for work. Like her, they were mostly young professionals but unlike her, they all had somewhere to go. Now everything had fallen eerily silent.

      Lily shifted her position, trying to escape the trail of crumbs lodged uncomfortably against her skin. Eating crisps in bed last night in a vain attempt to soak up some of the alcohol probably hadn’t been her best idea.

      The weekend had passed in a daze of disbelief and self-recrimination, punctuated by copious amounts of comfort food, caffeine and alcohol. Her anger and disappointment at losing her job, and her feelings for James, were twisted into one angry knot of resentment. Her career and dream of a relationship had been wiped away in one cruel blow.

      She could feel flames of mortification simmering within her as she tried to work out how she’d misread the situation so badly. All those times he’d looked at her, holding her gaze a fraction longer than necessary, the compliments and conversations that had peppered their working relationship. How sad that she’d somehow manoeuvred her life into a position where she’d been so desperate for his attention, reading something into it when all he’d been doing was being friendly.

      Leaving the office on Friday already felt like a lifetime ago, although seeing six years of work reduced to the contents of a cardboard box wasn’t something she’d forget in a hurry. Spare tights, a couple of mugs, aspirin and a few photos weren’t much. She’d taken a final look around, swiping a box of gold paperclips and several pens in a final pathetic act of defiance. Technically stealing but given all the holiday she was due, she felt it was the least she was owed.

      On Monday morning, she woke early out of force of habit. An initial euphoria at her newfound freedom gave her a burst of energy. Take a few days and be kind to yourself after redundancy had been the online advice. Who was she to argue?

      So over the next few days, she’d done exactly that. She did all those things she’d always wanted to but never had time. She had the most expensive, luxurious facial Edinburgh could offer which had soothed her tear-induced blotchy skin, but had done little for her damaged self-esteem. She sat in the warm nook of a little cafe with a gigantic mug of coffee and read an entire novel. She stayed in her pyjamas all day watching films, only heaving herself off the sofa to take delivery of pizza. She joined the swarm of tourists for a tour of the castle, immersing herself in the glories and gore of the Scottish monarchs.

      She came home from the supermarket laden down with every conceivable cleaning product she could lay her hands on, and scrubbed her flat from top to bottom. And she discovered that even if she did have all the time in the world, she still wouldn’t use her gym membership.

      It all felt unreal. She was playing truant and any moment someone from work would call, demanding she return to the office. Time and time again she checked her phone for messages or emails, anything to show she was missed, that she was still needed. She tried to put a positive spin on it, to see it as an opportunity. But the only opportunity she could see was going slowly insane.

      The flat had always been her refuge at the end of the day. Now, in the silence of the day it felt claustrophobic, the walls closing in on her. She paced about, looking for something to do.

      Apart from the dubious decor and temperamental heating, it was a nice enough flat. Lily hadn’t intended to be there much longer, her interest already registered in an exciting new development of high-quality contemporary apartments, ideal for professionals like her. She’d enjoying visualising her new fat; a place of white walls, clean lines and understated elegance – ideally resembling a Swedish furniture catalogue. But she knew losing her job meant that wasn’t going to happen now.

      What she was supposed to do – the next piece of advice – was remind herself of her capabilities and make a plan to get back out there. At the moment, getting out of bed was a task too much. The weather was annoyingly warm and sunny, which didn’t suit her mood at all. At least if it was cold and raining – entirely possible in Scotland in June – she’d feel more justified in burying herself under the duvet.

      She’d got as far as updating her CV, noting with grim satisfaction that she looked impressive on paper, even if in reality she was a snivelling wreck. How things had changed in a week.

      She’d told herself not to wallow. But then rationality would fail her and she would slump again, despondency taking over. She was redundant. The word seemed to hang in the very air around her so that there was no escaping it. She had been disposed of. Surplus to requirements. One day she had somewhere to be, belonged somewhere, people waiting for her input. Then, nothing.

      The crumbs had somehow shifted again, biting into her flesh. Worried she might actually lie there forever, Lily was finally provided with the impetus to move by the soft thud of mail landing on the door mat.

      Several moments later, she sat on the edge of her bed with an open letter lying in her lap, wondering if strange forces were at work. It wasn’t so much the contents of the letter – she’d received ones like it before – but the timing. She scanned the words again embossed on the thick creamy paper from Bell & Bain Solicitors.

      Mr Bell was writing regarding her late mother’s estate, specifically the property in Loch Carroch. Taking into account that the property had been lying empty for several months, and mindful of current market conditions with a view to achieving the best price should she wish to sell, Mr Bell was politely enquiring if Lily had reached any decisions or would like to arrange a meeting to discuss the matter.

      Lily sighed, casting the letter aside. No, she wouldn’t actually. It had nothing to do with the current market or achieving best possible price and everything to do with finally facing the things she’d become an expert at avoiding.

      She remembered the first time she’d met Mr Bell, the day still painfully scored into her memory. She’d sat on one side of his massive dark wooden desk covered in mounds of paperwork, shocked to her core after the death of her mother. It had felt utterly unreal to be talking about her in the past tense. In life, her mother’s casual attitude to financial matters made discussing them now even more unreal..

      But it seemed for once, Patricia Ballantine (or Patty as she’d preferred to be called) had thought ahead and done the grown-up thing. Mr Bell explained that after the recent death of her own mother, Patty had put her affairs in order and made a will.

      ‘Makes things so much easier,’ he’d said kindly. Lily had sat in stunned silence, staring at a small tuft of grey hair on top of his bent head as he patiently and meticulously made his way through various documents.

      ‘And of course, there was the shop with the flat above it that she’d recently purchased in Loch Carroch.’ He’d regarded her over the rim of his owl-like glasses. ‘Perhaps you’ll want to sell, do you think?’

      Lily had looked down, fiddling with her bracelet. She knew she’d have to go one day to face the small shop that her mother had bought in the north of Scotland. But selling it would be to acknowledge that her mother really was gone, and Lily simply wasn’t ready to do that. As long as it was there, she still had something of her mother’s but she wasn’t sure she could explain that to Mr Bell. ‘Not yet,’ she had stated simply.

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