Free A Little Love by Amanda Prowse Page B

wanted to emulate. Pru turned to Milly and grinned. The taxi pulled up on the corner of Curzon Street and Shepherd Market. The brakes had hardly been applied when Pru and Milly leapt from the back of the cab. They stood in the road, taking in the entire building. Pru looked up with her hand shielding her eyes, noting the deep-set windowsills, the sash windows, the sturdy brick construction and the heavy wood-panelled front door.
    The building had been empty for the last few years. The family that owned it had closed shop on their pharmacy after fifty years in business. Remnants of their history, however, still lingered. A tall Georgian bow window held a large blue glass apothecary bottle with a pointed top and a slender glass stopper. The word ‘Chemist’ was written across the bulge of its body in a fancy gold script, just visible through the thick layer of dust that clung to it.
    Inside the shop there was the faintest whiff of chemicals and in certain corners you could smell violets, possibly one of the scents they’d sold or maybe the calling card of a loitering ghost. Mirrored panels edged in brass sat high on the walls, tilted slightly to reflect the scenes below. Pru looked up into them with her teeth biting her bottom lip: she could see reflected the shelves stacked with bread, dark wooden bistro tables with chatting customers clustered around them and ladies lifting pastry forks towards expectant mouths. The old apothecary counter would be remodelled to carry their plates of tortes, meringues, sponges and pastries. And behind the counter, on shelves also edged in brass, they would store the ornate boxes in which people would take home their wares.
    As Pru looked at the crumbing plaster walls, which had taken on an orange hue, she saw vintage fruit baskets and fishermen’s woven willow panniers, in which they could display a selection of loaves. She raised her hand and, squinting, used her finger to outline the shape on the walls. Then she turned to Milly, who smiled and nodded.
    ‘Yes!’ Milly spoke as if answering a question. ‘With lavender sprigs interspersed in the weaving to give it a rustic feel.’
    Pru laughed. The two of them had spent decades discussing and planning Plum Patisserie. No detail had been left to chance and so clear were they about their vision that they could both see it now clearly.
    Milly patted the wall between the old dispensary and the shop. ‘With this wall gone—’
    ‘We’ll have the right floor space,’ Pru finished. ‘And we’ll keep the bow window—’
    ‘Use it like a display case for our most dramatic cakes!’
    The cousins rushed towards each other and gripped hands, jumping in a circle like excited six-year-olds.
    ‘This is it, Mills,’ Pru managed to utter through lips that quivered with emotion.
    ‘Yes, Pru. This is it.’
    Trudy watched the duo and wrinkled her nose at the intricate cobwebs that looped from the mirrors to the broken chandelier, whose vast arms whispered of former grandeur. She cast her eye over the dull green brass fixtures and tried to hide her distaste.
    ‘It’s nothing a good going over with some Brasso won’t fix, Trudy!’ Mills reassured her.
    ‘Well, that’s good to hear.’ Trudy rubbed her fingers together, trying to rid them of dust. ‘And let’s hope it also works on rotten woodwork, broken windows and mould.’ With that she flicked her head and reached for a cigar.
    Pru and Milly laughed.
    ‘Don’t you see, Trudy? This is the place! It’s been waiting for us, waiting for us our whole lives.’ With these words, Pru finally gave in to the tears that had threatened.
    Trudy took a deep drag. ‘Oh my God, you actually think that’s the case, don’t you?’
    ‘No.’ Pru shook her head. ‘I don’t think that’s the case. I know it. We’re home.’
    Now, some two decades on, ensconced in her bedroom high above the bakery and its classy decor, Pru smoothed her crisp white bed linen and considered how far they had come.