Page 39 of Parker

Chapter thirty-one

Nicky's Design's, Buchanan Street

Nicky

Christmas songs blast from the speakers in the shop.

I’m finishing a hem on a very specific dress a customer requested for an affair on Christmas Eve.

The fifties-styled skirt portion has dancing Santas around the hem and joins with a fitted bodice—all in pillar box red.

The woman who will wear it is a larger woman, eccentric and wild.

She sells handmade signs and decorations for your tree.

The one she made me, with the shop name and two girls who look like Sophie and me, hangs in the window.

The bell signals a new customer has arrived, and I look up to see Michael, another shopkeeper from a few doors down, walk in. He sells a range of kitchenware and table accessories, the kind of things you look at and think are nice until you see the price tag.

“Morning, Nicky,” he says. “Still as busy as ever? The Christmas rush seems to be never-ending this year.”

I nod and mumble in agreement through a mouthful of pins. He’s younger than me, nearer thirty, with jet black hair and blue eyes. Good looking in a boy-next-door kind of way, he’s wearing jeans with a flashing snowman sweater.

“I love Christmas!” he gushes. “Don’t you?” I mumble incoherently again. His eyes scan the shop. “Is Soph here?” he asks, and I shake my head. “Good, because I wanted to ask you something.”

I stop what I’m doing and remove the pins from my mouth. “Is everything all right?” I ask.

“Yes, I was wondering if you wanted to go out for dinner with me sometime? I’ve been wanting to ask you for ages, but kept chickening out.

” He blushes and wrings his hands together nervously.

I look over at the sweet man asking me on a date.

I’ve not been with anyone since Joel, and it’s about time I got back out there.

“Sure,” I say. “Friday okay for you?”

His eyes widen in surprise. “Yes,” he says, and his face breaks into a beaming smile. “Friday’s perfect. I’ll pick you up here, say, at seven o’clock. I’ll book a table somewhere. Is there any food you don’t eat?”

“No, anything suits me,” I tell him. “And Michael, thanks for asking me. I’m looking forward to it.”

***

Friday night arrives, and I’m in the back room of the shop applying the finishing touches to my make-up.

I’m wearing a soft knit sweater with jeans and wedge boots.

I pile my winter jacket on top, then pull my pink bobble hat onto my head.

Michael’s waiting patiently out front since he arrived early, ten minutes ago.

I see him through a crack in the door, bouncing nervously from foot to foot.

He looks quite handsome in his smart blue shirt and slacks.

“You ready?” I say, stepping out to meet him.

He smiles at me, his grin running from ear to ear. “Wow. You look incredible,” he enthuses. “I will walk a few steps behind you so as not to upset your beauty.”

I blush and giggle nervously. He holds his hand out, and I take it. We step out into the bustling streets of the city.

Shops stay open late at this time of year.

People wander the streets, their arms filled with bags of Christmas presents for their loved ones.

Lights decorate every shop window. Huge red baubles hang from the lampposts.

It’s zero degrees, but crisp and clear. All the surfaces are turning white, adding to the festive feel.

We walk hand in hand, not speaking, only soaking up the atmosphere.

“I thought we could have a drink here first,” he suggests, stopping outside a glitzy cocktail bar. Everyone inside is dressed to the nines. I glance at myself in the window. “You look beautiful,” he says as he leads me inside.

We sit at a table for two in the window.

I scan the copious options on the menu. Finally, I select a non-alcoholic mojito and order when the server arrives.

Conversation flows, but there’s no sexual chemistry from my side.

He’s polite and charming, asking plenty of questions about me and the shop.

After an hour, he excuses himself to go to the bathroom before we leave to head to the restaurant.

Glancing outside, I look into the furious green eyes of my ex-husband standing on the opposite side of the street, watching me.

Joel is dressed in his sharp suit with two of his security on either side of him.

He walks toward the bar and strides in almost knocking a poor server out of the way as he enters.

His men stay outside on the pavement, scanning the area for threats.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he hisses.

“I’m having a drink with a friend,” I say, and his expression darkens.

“You don’t skip around the fucking streets of Glasgow holding the hand of a friend.” He’s been watching, or one of his team has.

“It’s none of your business,” I tell him.

“You’re always my damn business. You’re mine, Nicky. You always will be,” he snarls.

Michael returns to the table, and his eyes widen at the scene in front of him. “Mr. Parker?” he asks confused. Joel glares at my date. “Michael Evans. I worked at one of your establishments for a while,” he explains, offering his hand. My ex-husband ignores it.

“I don’t remember you,” Joel spits. “Now fuck off.”

“Um,” Michael says. “But Nicky and I are on a date.”

“Well, now you’re fucking not. Leave now, before I get my men to remove you.” The two men stare at each other. But Michael obviously thinks better than to argue and stands to leave.

“Will you be okay, Nicky?” he asks me.

“Nicky’s my wife,” Joel interjects. “Of course, she’ll be all right. I spend my life keeping her safe.”

“Your wife?” Michael’s eyes pop open in shock.

“Ex-wife,” I say deadpan, and scowl at Joel. “Very much ex-wife.”

Michael holds up his hands, admitting defeat. “I’ll leave you both to it, then. Sounds as if you have a lot to discuss. Especially if one of you thinks you’re still married. See you later, Nicky,” he says, then shoves his hands in his pockets and wanders off into the night.

“What the hell was that?” I yell at my ex-husband. “How dare you interrupt me when I’m socializing. You might control Glasgow, you prick. But you don’t control me.”

“Keep your voice down,” he growls, taking my wrist in his hand. “I just want to talk to you.”

“After that little display? No chance. Get lost,” I tell him, pulling my wrist from his grip, jumping down from my stool, and shrugging into my coat. “Stay away from me.”

He pulls a fifty-pound note from his pocket and places it on the table, then follows me out into the street. His long strides make one of my two short ones, and he keeps up with me easily as I march back toward the shop.

“Go away,” I call over my shoulder, but he stays behind me within arm’s reach.

We arrive at the front door, and I turn to face him.

I’m furious at his ability to spoil my night.

Furious with the huge emotions coursing around my body.

He holds my gaze for a few moments. The distance between us is both enormous and minute.

“Nicky,” he says quietly in an ominous tone. “Remember, you’re always mine. Wherever you go, I’m watching you, making sure you’re safe. The thought of another man’s hands on your skin will be the death of me. Don’t do it again.” With that, he walks away, his men following behind.

***

It’s Christmas Eve, and Sophie has already left. She’s spending the big day with her family. They invited me along, but a day at home on my own is much needed. Since opening the shop four months ago, we’ve been run off our feet. My Christmas is going to be a quiet one.

Our success is exhilarating but exhausting.

For the first time in my life, I have my own home with my own space.

I moved straight from my parents’ house to prison, to my mother’s flat, and then in with Joel.

After Sophie nudged me in the right direction following my relapse from the divorce, I took the lease on a small one-bedroom apartment on the outskirts of the city, focusing on paying my rent kept me off the demon drink.

The shop phone rings as I finish for the night. Locking away what needs to be and tidying the place ready to reopen after the Christmas holidays, I pick up the receiver, and the line goes dead. Again. Prank calls are a nuisance.

Darkness has fallen. The street outside my window is full of people hustling and bustling to get last-minute shopping done.

As I glance up, I spot two police officers heading my way.

This isn’t unusual―even in the few short months we’ve been open, I’ve had a few visits regarding shoplifters or fights outside the shop.

I step out from behind the counter as the smaller man in front pushes open the door.

Both are rake-like, with pale complexions and stubbled chins.

Apart from the difference in height, they’re almost carbon copies of each other.

“Mrs. Nicola Parker?” the taller officer asks.

“Smith now, but yes, that’s me. How can I help you, officers?” They both remove their hats and hold them across their chests. My heart sinks. Something about the situation screams disaster is on the horizon.

The smaller man takes a deep breath. “Is there anyone else here, Ms. Smith?” “No, my colleague has finished now for the holidays. I’m just getting ready to go myself.

” The men glance at each other. “I’m sorry, Ms. Smith.

We have some bad news for you. Your mother, Eveline Smith, was found dead in her apartment this morning.

” My mouth drops open, and I stare at them vacantly.

“Is there someone we can call? Who’s expecting you at home? ”

“No one,” I mumble. “I live on my own. What happened?”

“Her death is being treated as unexplained, but at the moment, there’s no reason to expect foul play. When was the last time you saw your mother?”

“Years ago. It’s probably been four years since we last spoke,” I answer.