Never Can Say Goodbye Read Online Free PDF Page A

the reorganisation, said cheerfully.
     ‘It’ll all look much better when we’re full of caffeine.’
    ‘Will it?’ Frankie, shivering inside a thick yellow jacket, a green woollen dress, thick tights, long boots and several scarves,
     twirled the shop keys in her fingers. ‘I wish I had your optimism. It’s only been closed for week but it doesn’t look like
     Rita’s shop any more. It just looks cold and cluttered, and it smells … well, old and unloved.’
    ‘Like you.’ Lilly giggled, her bottom wiggling in her skinnyjeans as she teetered away into the kitchen on her perilous heels.
    ‘Thanks.’ Frankie pushed her way through the cramped rails and leaned listlessly against the wooden counter. ‘Thanks a bunch.’
    And that was the problem, Frankie thought. It wasn’t Rita’s shop any more. The lively, laughing place that Rita had made such
     a pleasure to work in for the last three years had disappeared with its owner.
    Rita had gone. There had been gloriously coloured photos of the Mykonos beach wedding – with Rita glamorous in a vivid sarong
     and Ray in matching Hawaiian shirt and Bermuda shorts, both looking ecstatic – and the pretty taverna, emailed.
    The shop was hers. All hers.
    Outside, the sign-writers had emblazoned FRANCESCA’S FABULOUS FROCKS in huge curlicued gold letters across a facia of deep
     purple. She’d spent the last weeks meeting with Rita’s solicitors, accountants and business advisors and signing umpteen pieces
     of paper. The shop was really, truly, hers.
    And she didn’t have a clue what to do next.
    Without Rita she was rudderless. Without Rita’s cheerful friendship, she felt both lonely and alone.
    ‘There you go.’ Lilly pushed a steaming mug into Frankie’s hands. ‘This’ll warm you up. It’s pretty darn cold in here. Don’t
     you have any heaters?’
    ‘Thanks, and there’s central heating that works from a boiler in the kitchen. We turned it off when Rita left. I’ll have to
     get it going again, especially if I want to open up next Saturday.’
    ‘Mmm.’ Lilly, snuggled in a vivid orange wrap-aroundsweater, leaned against the counter beside her. ‘It’s pretty depressing at the moment … and I’ve just thought of something.’
    Frankie sighed. ‘Oh dear, have you? Is it gossip about a celeb I’ve never heard of having an affair with someone else I’ve
     never heard of? Or someone on Twitter? Or … ’
    Lilly, her spiky blonde hair falling into her heavily kohled eyes, looked hurt. ‘I do have other thoughts sometimes, you know.’
    Frankie laughed. ‘I know. Sometimes you think about men, and clothes, and men, and make-up and shoes, and men and more shoes.’
    ‘Well, if you don’t want to hear my idea … ’
    ‘Sorry, yes, of course I do.’
    ‘It’s got to do with trade descriptions.’
    Frankie gazed at Lilly in surprise. What on earth did Lilly, whose entire life outside her job as a receptionist at Beauty’s
     Blessings in Hazy Hassocks, revolved around men and clothes and shoes and glossy magazines and clubbing and reality telly
     shows, know about the trade descriptions act?
    ‘Go on … ’
    ‘Well –’ Lilly blinked inch-long blue eyelashes ‘– the sign outside says “Francesca’s Fabulous Frocks”.’
    ‘Yes, and?’
    Lilly looked round the crammed jumble of rails. ‘Well, it’s not, is it? Frocks, I mean. It’s just, well, any old tat. If it
     says frocks then it should be just frocks.’
    Frankie, excitedly slopping coffee, hugged her. ‘Lill! You’re a genius!’
    ‘I know,’ Lilly sighed. ‘It’s such a shame no one else ever realises it. Er, why?’
    ‘Because that’s what it’s going to be. What it says on the tin.’
    ‘What tin?’
    ‘Oh, just a figure of speech. No, seriously, you’re brilliant. That’s what it’ll be. Just a frock shop. A lovely, gorgeous,
     retro frock shop.’
    Frankie sat in silence for a moment, just visualising it. A frock shop. A fabulous frock shop