Buttercup [H.S]

Chapter Four

It's 8.10am on Sunday morning, and all of the market vendors are huddled around the notice board by the entrance when I roll in.

I can hear Elton John's piano twinkling out of Harry's speakers at the back of the building.

"What's going on?" I ask Lucy as she floats up to me. Despite craning my neck, I'm too short to peak over everyone's heads to get a glance at whats pinned to the wall that's causing such a stir.

"It's the Market Comity," she says as fiddles with the straps of her halter neck, "they're putting some sort of competition on for us all."

"Competition?" I repeat.

Gavin, from the burger stall, turns to us with an unamused frown. Unfortunately for Gavin, being in the line of work he's in, he always smells like the grease from his deep fat fryers. Lovely guy, just...you know, stinks a bit.

Lucy and I take a cautious step back as he expands on the minute explanation I'd received.

"They're doing an Islington Market Spotlight" he huffs, tugging up his grey shorts around his round stomach, "Going to be asking punters to vote, best stall gets a business grant of five grand from the council."

"Five thousand pounds?" I squeak in disbelief.

In business terms, that amount of money could be swallowed up fast. But it could mean that I could pay off my business loan, get out of my overdraft and then maybe I could try and get my stall back on track to what I'd dreamed it to be. I wouldn't rely on coffee sales to make ends meet.

I spot Harry chatting animatedly with Krish, and suddenly it occurs to me that I could even consider moving to a different market.

The thought of leaving here makes my chest feel tight. I may only have gotten really close with Lucy, but it still felt like home here. However, my home now had an intruder, a rat, that seemingly already had his paws in with everyone.

I think I'd seen him more friendly with everyone here than I had been in my entire 12 months running my stall.

I was always in awe of some peoples ability to just walk into a room full of people and connect with them. Lucy was like that too. She regularly went to the after-market drinks with the others. I'd always feign an excuse as to why I wouldn't be tagging along, too much baking to do or a busy evening with friends (they didn't need to know that by Friends, I meant binge watching the sitcom on Netflix) and now they'd simply stopped asking. I couldn't blame them.

And speaking of Harry, despite my best efforts with a bottle of whiskey last night, I hadn't forgotten that he'd been witness to my emotive outburst at Lucy, or the pitiful look he'd given afterwards.

Nor had I forgotten the plan I had hatched immediately following. I obviously couldn't avoid him, being that we'd be working practically shoulder to shoulder. I couldn't right my wrong doings, even if he had have let me apologise yesterday I knew a simple sorry didn't cut the mustard. So I had to take control the only way I knew how, the way I had protected myself through my teen years.

And I started off Mission: Hate Harry rather well, when he caught my eye as we all made our way to open up our respective businesses. There was an excited hum amongst everyone over the Spotlight Prize.

"Hey, Buttercup," he says, jogging over to me. I flinch back when he goes to place his hand on my arm. He notices and creates a bit more space between us. He clears his throat, "I just wanted to see if you were okay after- "

I don't let him finish, cutting him off with a ferocious glare.

"We're staying out of each others way, remember?"