Free Summer Daydreams by Carole Matthews

me to the chippy tomorrow just to give it some fresh air. There’s also a pretty little cerise fabric one that looks like a flower and it has a big diamanté sparkle in the middle. I don’t think I’ve used this since Petal was born either, as it’s only big enough to hold a lipstick and a tissue and these days I can’t go out without a suitcase full of emergency gear. On the more unusual side, I have a green leather bag in the shape of a watering can, one that’s made from two old vinyl records and one that’s a recycled number plate. One is a red patent leather radio complete with moving dials and there’s a big yellow teapot too. Petal’s favourite.
    Finally, my top treasure. My one and only Lulu Guinness bag. Olly bought this for me when Petal was born, at great expense. It’s a slim clutch in black with a picture of a London bus and a woman in a sharp fifties suit with a nipped-in waist embroidered on the front. It’s my prize possession. If the house was burning down, I’d first rescue Petal, then the dog, then this handbag. I’m assuming Olly would be able to make his own escape.
    An hour and one chewed pencil later, and I’ve roughed out two designs that give me a frisson of excitement all along the hairs on my neck. Dude snores away in the corner, paddling the air with his feet. In his dream he could well be chasing next door’s cat with whom he has a hate/hate relationship. The entire house is asleep but me. I know that I’m way too excited to settle tonight. Somehow I resist the urge to go into the bedroom and show these to Olly as I’m sure he wouldn’t be very enthusiastic after having his precious beauty sleep interrupted.
    I hold my designs out at arm’s length and try to regard them with a critical eye. They’re good. No matter what the dastardly Amelia Fallon might think, I know in my heart of hearts that they’re good.

Chapter 18
     

     
    I’m in the offices of Best of Business and, accordingly, I’m trying to look like a businesswoman. Phil was right. Even in these straitened times, there is still help to be had with setting up new businesses. I am classed as a micro-entrepreneur in Best of Business jargon and am to be the future of our country. Jolly glad about that.
    I found out all about them from the library and when I called the helpline, I was offered an appointment for the next day. From there I was matched with my very own advisor to help me through the trials and tribulations of business startup. An official hand-holder for the first year of my company’s existence. Believe me; I feel that I need one as this all seems totally daunting. They’ve managed to hook me up with someone, they say, who has experience that matches my business perfectly. I do hope so. Best of all, there’s no charge for his services for the initial period of a year. Nothing. This is equally good as I’d never be able to afford it otherwise. Today, I’m due to meet him for the first time.
    The offices are very posh – all glass, stainless steel and low lime-green sofas. I don’t think I’ve ever been in a place like this before. Frankly, I’m feeling a bit wide-eyed and unworthy. I’m glad that I spruced myself up. Today, Ms Nell McNamara, micro-entrepreneur, is wearing a black dirndl skirt, red blouse and ballet flats. I’m also carrying my Judy Garland bag – primarily because it’s the biggest one I possess and I’m anticipating taking away lots of pamphlets.
    Sitting opposite me in an armchair that mirrors mine, is a man called Tod Urban who is to be my appointed mentor and it’s fair to say that Mr Urban is very easy on the eye. I had expected a business mentor to be staid, soberly dressed in the style of a bank manager. But he isn’t. This man’s wearing slim black jeans, a white T-shirt and winklepicker shoes. His hair is showing some grey at the temples and it’s worn long, swept back from his face. I think some men get better with age – you only need to look at George