‘Something like that,’ Hope agreed. ‘It’s kinder than leaving him hanging for days and then disappearing altogether.’
Iris gave her a sidelong look. ‘That sounds like the voice of experience. Did you have a tough time getting back into dating after the divorce?’
Hope hesitated. She should have expected this, especially after mentioning her wedding earlier in the evening. But she wasn’t sure she’d ever get used to the flutter of panic that hit her every time she had to explain about Rob’s death; people looked at her differently once they knew. For a moment, she considered going along with Iris’s assumption that she was simply divorced, but she liked the florist and didn’t want to lie.
She kept her gaze fixed on the cobbles and strove to keep her voice light. ‘I’m a widow, actually. Almost two years ago now.’
Iris stopped walking, her face a mask of consternation. ‘Oh my god. I’m so sorry – I’m an idiot.’
Hope shook her head. ‘Don’t apologize, you couldn’t have known.’
‘But I could have been a bit more sensitive.’ Iris bit her lip. ‘Is that why you moved to York? To get away from the memories?’
‘Partly,’ Hope admitted as they picked their way through the sporadic clusters of window shoppers and diners. ‘I’ve got family nearby so it seemed like as good a place as any to start over.’
There was a silence, which was something else Hope was familiar with after she’d used the W word, then Iris cleared her throat. ‘Have you dated anyone since… since you lost your husband?’ She cast a mortified look at Hope. ‘Sorry if that’s too personal. It’s just that you’re so young to be a widow.’
Tell me about it, Hope thought but didn’t say. ‘I went on a few dates,’ she answered. ‘But they backed off when we got to relationship history.’
‘Idiots,’ Iris said, scowling. ‘And I bet they didn’t even have the courtesy to be honest with you. I bet they just stopped messaging.’
‘Pretty much,’ Hope said. ‘Which is why you should tell your super keen guy that there’s no chance of a second date. It’ll sting but it’s much better than being left hanging.’
‘You’re right,’ she said, opening her phone and tapping at the screen with a purposeful air. ‘One plaster, coming right off.’
Dusk was falling and the streetlights were beginning to glow as they walked. The narrow, twisting streets that made up the heart of York – the ginnels and snickelways, as they’d been known for centuries – were one of Hope’s favourite things about the city, although not when they were thronged with tourists. But now, when the shops were closed and fewer people were out, that was the best time to wander round and gaze into the backlit shop windows. She was enjoying getting to know the hidden alleys and secret snickelways again. It was meeting up with an old friend.
‘There’s Will’s shop,’ Iris said, pointing past the Shambles main street to a black and white timbered shop with ornate bars across the window. ‘He’s a really talented jeweller – an artist, to be honest. You should go in and take a look sometime.’
Hope never needed an excuse to visit the Shambles; the ancient street that ran alongside the marketplace was made up of crooked, higgledy-piggledy buildings that grew nearer to each other with every storey. It had such an otherworldly air that just to walk along it felt almost like stepping back in time. But Iris’s observation reminded Hope of the incredible floral displays on show in the window of Blooming Dales. ‘Speaking of artistry, did Brodie like her flamingo flowers?’
‘I think so,’ Iris replied. ‘She especially liked the feathers I wove in among the roses. And it was my last delivery of the day on Saturday, so she got a little ride in the empty bike trailer.’
‘I bet she enjoyed that,’ Hope said, picturing the solemn-faced little girl laughing as Iris pulled her along.
Iris tipped her head. ‘She did. I told Will he should get her a bike of her own and teach her how to ride it. He didn’t look entirely thrilled.’
Hope grinned. ‘Ha. My brother has two boys and he claims his back has never recovered from teaching them to ride.’
They reached Fossgate, where their paths diverged. Iris was going back towards her flat above Blooming Dales, and Hope was heading for her own apartment, one of many in a converted mill beside the looping River Foss.
‘Thanks for inviting me this evening,’ Hope said as they prepared to go in opposite directions. ‘I really enjoyed it.’
‘Thanks for coming, I’m glad you had fun,’ Iris said. ‘And you’re working tomorrow, right?’
Hope nodded. ‘I’m on the shop floor in the morning and helping to do a stock check in the book room in the afternoon.’
‘I’ll wave at you from across the street, then,’ Iris answered. ‘See you tomorrow.’
‘Yes, see you tomorrow,’ Hope echoed with a smile and gave a little wave.
The glow from the ornate streetlight sparkled on the water as she crossed the gentle curve of the tiny Foss bridge and made her way to the wharf. Being near the river had been top of her list when she’d been looking for somewhere new to live; the flat she’d owned with Rob in Greenwich had overlooked the Thames and she had wanted to be near the water in York too. And Rob had made sure that money at least wasn’t something she had to worry about – their mortgage had been settled upon his death and she’d discovered another insurance policy he’d never even mentioned that gave her a cushion against the aching loss that permeated every other aspect of her life. But although she’d fallen in love with the top floor flat in York almost the moment she’d seen it, she didn’t feel settled there yet. It felt strangely empty, as though something vital was missing despite having all her furniture and possessions filling the space, and she often
