Ricky styled it out with his customary easy charm. ‘Morning,’ he said, his eyes taking in everyone in the room and embracing them with an engaging smile. Then he turned his focus to Charley. ‘Have you got those flyers?’
‘Yes!’ she said, handing them over. ‘Thanks very much for doing it. I really appreciate it.’
‘It’s my pleasure.’ He nodded at the others. ‘See you later,’ he said breezily, and left to go back to his shop, pausing only to look down at Finn who was pushing a tractor with a trailer full of plastic sheep around the floor. ‘Cool tractor,’ he said sincerely, and the little boy beamed up at him.
The second the door shut behind him, Tara and Angie did a slow turn to Charley.
‘And who was that?’ demanded Tara.
‘He runs the bike shop,’ Charley replied with studied carelessness.
‘Nice-looking chap,’ Angie said, her eyes glittering mischievously beneath raised brows.
‘I hadn’t noticed,’ lied Charley, not daring to look Pam in the eye.
‘Nice-looking body,’ added Tara suggestively, her eyes not leaving Charley’s face for a second.
Willing herself not to blush, Charley shrugged carelessly. ‘Yes, well, he probably cycles.’
‘So, you have noticed him!’ teased Tara.
‘He’s a friend. Just a friend! A local shop owner!’
‘He seems very keen to help you.’ Tara was merciless.
‘Very keen,’ nodded Angie, straight-faced.
‘Oh, pack it in! He’s just being neighbourly.’ Charley exclaimed. ‘Just trying to help a fellow entrepreneur!’ she finished, sounding way more pompous than she’d meant to.
‘Oooh!’ responded Angie and Tara before collapsing into childish laughter, which Pam was also clearly struggling to suppress. Charley studiously ignored them.
Clambering over Pam and Finn, and trying not to tread on them or inadvertently slaughter any farm animals, Charley and Tara went back to their monumental task of stocking the shelves, while Angie sketched the first slogan onto the wall. Then she filled the wording in with gold paint and outlined it with a fine line of black to make it stand out. Then she stuck her paintbrush over one ear and, apparently blissfully unaware of the streak of black paint now daubing her temple, she stood back and regarded her work critically.
‘What do you think? Is it okay?’ she asked tentatively. ‘And be honest!’ she begged.
‘Stunning!’ announced Charley.
‘Absolutely,’ nodded Pam.
‘It’ll do,’ said Tara with a perfectly straight face.
Charley rolled her eyes, and a smiling Angie cracked on.
As the slogan on the back wall was going above the clock, this meant Angie couldn’t quite reach to paint it standing on the floor. She picked up one of the wicker chairs, letting out a slight ‘oof’ with the effort of reaching around her huge bump.
‘You shouldn’t be lifting that,’ Tara told her sternly, and immediately, both she and Charley moved to take the chair from her.
‘Don’t fuss. It’s lighter than Finn,’ said Angie, putting the chair in place under the clock.
‘Be careful,’ said Charley.
‘It’s not being up here that’s the problem,’ said Angie, ‘It’s the getting up and down.’ Now over eight months gone, her enormous bump got in the way as she tried to step up on the chair, so Charley helped her climb up. Once she was up there she seemed steady enough, and Charley relaxed, leaving her to get on with her artwork.
The minutes flew by, with everyone involved in their own worlds of busyness, focused on their own tasks. There was nothing to alert Charley to what was about to happen, until it was too late.
Vaguely, she heard Angie cursing under her breath, and turning round Charley saw her stretching out, way too far, to reach to paint the very edge of the slogan above the clock.
And then it seemed to happen in slow motion.
The chair overbalanced and, yelping in fear, Angie toppled off sideways, crashing to the floor, her round belly hitting the corner of the table on the way down.
‘Angie!’ screamed Charley.
Charley leapt over Finn in her rush to get to her mate. Tara joined her only a fraction of a second later. Clambering to her feet, Pam instinctively swept Finn up into her arms to comfort him, where he struggled, wailing in distress with his arms out, urgently trying to get to Angie lying on the floor.
‘Mummyyyyyyy!’
‘I’m fine! I’m fine!’ Angie reassured him, before ungainly rolling over onto her hands and knees in order to push herself to her feet. Tara and Charley slipped one arm each under hers and gently helped her up. Angie was clearly shaken, and Finn’s eyes were still wide with fear and his little lip was trembling. No doubt anxious to calm her frightened little son, Angie deliberately made light of her accident.
‘It’s all right, sweetie. Mummy just had a bit of a bumps-a-daisy!’
The fear in the little boy’s face began to melt away and he settled more calmly on Pam’s hip, but his fingers continued to grip her shirt tightly. Tara and Charley were about to help Angie to sit down into the chair when she suddenly froze, frowned deeply and let out a small moan.
‘I think you’d better sit down,’ said Tara, exchanging an anxious look with Charley, but before Angie could lower her huge bulk into the chair, she winced and groaned again, even louder. Then, taking a deep breath and abandoning the chair altogether, she stood up, moved across to the table, where she leant on it, clearly trying to steady herself.
‘I’m calling an ambulance!’ cried Charley, whipping her phone out of her back pocket.
‘Mummy!’ cried Finn, thrusting his arms out to her, immediately scared again.
‘I’m fine, sweetie,’ said his mum. Then turning to Charley, she added, ‘Honestly. I’m only having Braxton Hicks.’
‘Branston what!?’ said Charley alarmed.
‘They’re sort of practice pains,’ Pam informed her calmly. ‘They’ll probably die down in a few minutes.’
‘Don’t panic,’ Tara said to Charley, then turning to Angie she asked if she’d like a cup of tea.
Tea? TEA? thought Charley, thinking everyone around her, apart from Finn, had clearly gone mad.
Angie nodded, and then uttered a long, loud groan. Charley made a decision. ‘I don’t
