Page 43 of The Forgotten (Echoes from the Past #2)

Quinn sent a quick text to Gabe to tell him that she’d be home in a few hours, dropped the phone into her handbag, and descended into the station.

Jill sounded very upset, and it was only while Quinn paced the platform as she waited for the train that she realized that it was Friday and Jill wasn’t at work.

Jill loved her vintage clothing shop in SoHo and never took time off, primarily because she ran the business single-handedly.

Jill had given up a lucrative career in forensic accounting to follow her dream and had been very content with her life the last time Quinn visited her back in November.

She had a new boyfriend, and the shop seemed to be doing well.

What could have happened since they last spoke?

Of course, much could change in the life of an unmarried thirty-something small business owner in three months.

Quinn briefly reflected on her new venture with the BBC and the breakup from Luke, which happened by text, and was later followed by the revelation that her partner of eight years was already in a relationship and making plans for the future with someone else.

Luckily for her, things had worked out for the best, but that wasn’t always the case.

Jill was sensible and insightful when it came to the choices of others, but she was something of a hothead when it came to dealing with her own life.

She was surprisingly impulsive for a woman who used to spend her days crunching numbers, but her decision to quit her job, invest every penny she’d saved in a new business, and turn down a proposal of marriage from her long-term boyfriend had still come as a surprise to those who knew her, especially her parents, who’d spewed dire warnings about decisions made in haste.

Quinn hoped that whatever happened could be easily resolved with a cozy chat and a few glasses of wine.

Jill had always been supportive when Quinn needed her, and Quinn had every intention of being there for her best friend, no matter what crisis Jill was facing.

Quinn picked up two bottles of wine at the off-license shop on the corner and walked up to Jill’s flat on the third floor.

The apartment was small but fashionably decorated with eclectic pieces of furniture and Eastern-inspired accents.

Jill referred to her style as “shabby chic.” Jill herself looked shabby, but not particularly chic.

She was wearing an oversized jersey and leggings, and her hair looked unkempt and unwashed.

Her face was devoid of any makeup, a sign in itself that something was wrong, and her feet were attired in strange fuzzy socks in an alarming shade of magenta.

Jill plopped herself down on the sofa after letting Quinn into the flat and thrust out her chin in the direction of the kitchen, silently inviting Quinn to get wine glasses and a corkscrew.

Jill swallowed half a glass of wine in one gulp, then set it down and turned her red-rimmed eyes on Quinn.

Her fingers plucked nervously at the Indian throw pillow she hugged to her body like a life preserver.

“Jill, what’s happened? Why aren’t you at work?” Quinn asked, imagining every conceivable tragedy .

Jill shrugged. “I just couldn’t face it today.”

“Is something wrong at the shop, or with Brian?”

“Yes and yes,” Jill said as tears filled her eyes. “Oh, Quinn, everything has gone wrong so quickly. I was really happy. Finally, I was doing something I loved, and I thought I’d found a new love in Brian. We were getting on so well. And then it all went tits up, as Brian likes to say.”

“Why don’t you tell me what happened,” Quinn invited as she set down her own wine glass. She normally liked Malbec, but the wine made her feel queasy. Perhaps she should have eaten something before drinking. She hadn’t had anything since the madeleines Rhys made, and it was well past lunchtime.

“I must close the shop,” Jill replied, sounding broken.

“I’ve tried, I’ve really tried to keep it going, but I simply can’t continue hemorrhaging money.

I get about a dozen walk-ins during any given day, and maybe one of them, two if I’m really lucky, make a purchase.

There are days when I sell nothing at all.

Business picked up a bit just before Christmas, so I got my hopes up, but it’s been practically nonexistent for the past two months. I’m seriously in the red, Quinn.”

“Is there nothing to be done?” Quinn asked.

She knew what this meant to Jill. She’d been so happy when she quit her job and threw herself into setting up her business.

And now, less than a year later, she was talking about chucking it all in.

“Can you not advertise, utilize social media?” Quinn asked, knowing the answer already.

Advertising cost a lot and didn’t necessarily bring in customers.

Jill catered to a particular type of customer, women who liked vintage and one-of-a-kind pieces, not mass-produced ready-to-wears peddled by all the major chains and priced to sell .

Jill shook her head. “I can’t compete, Quinn. I’m spending way more than I’m earning, and if I stay open for a few more months, I will get heavily into debt. I’m an accountant, for the love of God. I can’t allow that to happen. I made a bad decision. I miscalculated, and now I’m paying the price.”

Quinn poured Jill more wine and sat back, thinking. There was something niggling at her, but she couldn’t quite remember what it was. Something she’d read. Quinn took a sip of her wine and closed her eyes, trying to envision what it was she was trying to recapture, but nothing came to her.

“And what happened with Brian?”

Jill’s fingers started plucking at the pillow again, pulling out bright red threads and tossing them to the floor, which was already littered with colorful fibers.

“Things were good. At least I thought they were. And then I found out that his ex has been stalking him on social media. I don’t go online much, but with business being so slow, I started spending more time on Facebook, searching for groups where I might promote for free.

I never knew how many groups there were,” Jill said, shaking her head in wonder.

“There are so many devoted just to Victoriana. I’ve joined several and posted some photos of my merchandise.

A lot of people responded, but many of them are not actually based in London, so no joy. ”

“And the ex,” Quinn prompted.

“She started commenting on all of Brian’s posts and sending him daily messages, asking him to come round. Seems that she’s no longer keen on the bloke she left Brian for. He appears to have a wife and two children that he forgot to mention for nearly a year. ”

“Yes, that would put a damper on the proceedings,” Quinn replied, disgusted.

She couldn’t help thinking of Luke, who most likely forgot to mention that he’d been living with Quinn for the past few years to his new love, Ashley, until he was sure that he wanted to pursue a future with her and give up Quinn. “What a wanker.”

“He is, and it did. I confronted Brian last week, and we had a blazing row. I accused him of wanting to get back with Denise and stringing me along until he knows for sure that things are back on between them.”

“And does he want to get back with her?”

“He claims that he doesn’t, and that he never replied to any of her messages, but I don’t really know.

Do I? He could have gone to her flat if he wanted to, and I wouldn’t be any the wiser.

What bloke can resist a woman who’s gagging for him?

He’s probably shagging her right now,” Jill added dramatically.

“What exactly did he say?” Quinn asked, suddenly feeling sympathetic toward Brian. Jill was being a bit irrational, even for Jill.

“Other than that I’m controlling, mistrustful, and generally insane? He said he loves me and would never go back to Denise, not even if things didn’t work out between us.”

“But you don’t believe him? Has he given you reason to doubt him?”

Jill started crying softly and buried her face in the much-abused pillow. “No, he hasn’t, but I was so upset about the shop and so stressed about my financial losses that I took it out on him. I haven’t heard from him since.”

“Has he heard from you?” Quinn asked carefully .

“No. Complete radio silence.”

“Do you think you might want to shoot him a text? Tell him you’d like to talk.”

“Why should I, when he hasn’t reached out to me? I’m the injured party here,” Jill retorted, tossing the pillow angrily across the room and splashing the rest of the wine into her glass.

“Jill, if you love Brian, then give him the benefit of the doubt. You are the one who accused him of cheating and lying. If you think he is, then grieve and move on, but if you think that he really does love you and wants a future with you, then you are making a mistake. Text him, call him, send a carrier pigeon. Whatever. Just make the first move. Talk things out. Clear the air. It’s never too late to end a relationship, but it might be too late to salvage one. I bet he’s desperate to hear from you.”

“Do you really think so?”

“I do. Here,” Quinn picked up Jill’s mobile off the coffee table and handed it to her. “Do it now, before you change your mind.”

“Oh, all right,” Jill mumbled and began to type. “I asked him if he’d like to meet for a drink tonight. Nice and neutral.”

“Good girl. Now, there’s something I just thought of.” The elusive idea that Quinn had been chasing a few minutes ago finally crystallized in her mind since she was no longer trying so hard to grasp at it.

“Jill, I read something a few weeks ago. A small blurb online, really. It talked of how a dress worn by Kate Middleton sold out in days after she was photographed wearing it to a charity event.”

“So?” Jill asked, gazing at Quinn in confusion .