Christmas at the Little Waffle Shack - Helen J. Rolfe Page 0,2

told her, and he really wanted that person to be her. Fred, a wonderful, kind man, hadn’t dragged his feet with the sale and now the business as well as the flat belonged to Lucy. She’d carried on with the few clients Fred had on his records but, unlike Fred, she wasn’t a farrier. Her work instead focused mainly on bespoke items made from forged steel and wrought iron and she’d made everything from garden benches, light fixtures and decorative garden gates to smaller household items including candlestick holders that she’d supplied to Tilly at Tilly’s Bits ’n’ Pieces, decorative bowls for the table at home, coat hooks, coasters and ornaments.

She heated up the solid fuel forge. She’d got used to using it now and although it wasn’t needed as much nowadays in her line of work, it was something passed down to her by Fred. He’d used the same methods for years and part of her wanted to respect that and not completely rip everything apart and get rid of his mark on the place. She knew she could, the business was hers, but this forge felt as much a part of it as she now was. She found it quite fun using it too – loading up the fuel, seeing it glow. Lucy loved her job. She always had. And even though she’d never been encouraged by those around her, she’d known this was what she wanted. Sometimes she felt as if she should pat herself on the back because she’d ignored everyone else’s doubts and gone right out there and got what she wanted. Her parents had come around eventually and they saw the joy she got from her work, her determination and now her success. Her ex, Julian, had never quite got it.

She went over to the desk on the side of the workshop that the stairs from her flat came into. This was the side of the workshop she let potential customers linger in rather than the messier, more industrial side with the equipment that would be dangerous in the wrong hands, risky if you weren’t careful. Along with the desk was a filing cabinet, a couple of chairs, and shelves displaying some of her work that was available for sale. Usually items were made to order but sometimes she made extras and sold them to people who came in on the off-chance or found buyers via her website. From the desk drawer she took out the ring binder with commissions detailed inside – as a blacksmith she usually had multiple projects on the go; she was sure this was where the phrase ‘many irons in the fire’ had originated from – and she recapped the details from the sheet of paper on top, the worksheets gradually collecting marks from dust and dirt as she flicked back and forth between projects. It was a ‘dirty’ job, which Julian had discouraged her progression in, but she’d thought one day she may prove him wrong, he might get over it and see for himself as she succeeded that it was a career path that made her happy. But he’d been blinkered to so many things. And so had she.

Lucy found a playlist on her iPod and set it to blast out through the speakers in her workshop. Loud music on while she worked was a must, it motivated her, and luckily she didn’t have to worry about having a neighbour as this whole place was detached. The ice-cream shop was a few metres away on one side and wouldn’t be open until much later today, on the other side of her was the bus stop so anyone waiting there would probably enjoy some Christmas music if they could hear it, and beyond that there was nothing but the village field where the big Christmas tree now stood in all its finery and a log cabin had gone up in place of an old beach-supplies shop. Nobody had any idea what the log cabin was going to be either. Word had it that it could potentially be an eatery, but no one knew for sure and speculation as well as excitement were mounting in Heritage Cove.

Lucy couldn’t help bopping a bit to the Christmas tunes blaring out. She found a length of metal from one of her collection buckets of materials through on the other side of the workshop and, sure the forge was hot enough, put as much of the length as was needed into the fire.