Page 32 of An Enchanted Moment on Ever After Street
‘Yeah.’ He sounds contrite. ‘I know. But I was supposed to be doingyoua favour and instead I got too worked up and let my nerves get the better of me. Do you know how long it’s been since I sat down with another human face to face and tried to make a conversation that I couldn’t growl and walk away from? I worked myself up into a ball of angry frazzled nerves. I expected the worst and I didn’t give him a chance. And I’m sorry.’
‘A prickly, spiky ball.’
‘A selfish and inconsiderate prickly spiky ball who’s trying to make it up to you via the medium of invasive plant removal?’ His voice sounds hopeful, and I’m trying not to smile but it isn’t working. ‘Thought it might give you a fright if I appeared in yourgarden looking like someone from a forensic investigation team and started digging. Can I come through?’
He’s nervous. He must be self-conscious, standing there on Ever After Street, maybe not so oblivious to the curious looks passersby are throwing our way.
I step back to let him in. ‘Can I help?’
‘No, it’s a one-man job. Besides, aren’t you working?’
Oh hell’s bells, I’d forgotten all about that. ‘Yes. The after-school club will be here in less than half an hour and I haven’t even decided what I’m reading yet.’
He glances towards the front like they might turn up at any moment, and I follow him as he heads past my ‘books of the week’ display shelves and through the children’s section, hesitating like he wants to look around, but time is limited. He lets himself out the back door and I fight the overwhelming sense of not wanting him to go yet. This is the first time he’s ever beeninmy shop. I don’t want it to be the only time.
‘You know where I am if you need a hand, right?’
He salutes me with a gloved hand as he goes to collect tools from where he’s left them outside the back gate.
I stand in the doorway watching for a few moments, and Mrs Potts meows and wraps herself around my legs, like she’s sensed Darcy’s presence too. I herd her back inside and reluctantly close the door. I don’t know what knotweed removal entails, but it’s probably not something a cat should be getting involved in.
Usually I love after-school night. It reminds me of why I wanted to open a bookshop in the first place, and how much a love of books can affect a child’s life and turn them into a lifelong bookworm, but today I can barely concentrate because of Darcy in the garden.
I can’t stop myself glancing out the window, trying to see between the painted blue sky and green hills and watch what he’s doing, and my mind is not on the children waiting for mynext sentence. I went forThe Princess and the Peain the end. I’ve got a dried pea and everyone takes it in turns to place another layer of fabric over it to see if the plasticine princess I hastily rolled together can still feel the pea, and when the story is over, the group of kids all clamour for another one. Parents are still wandering around the shop, hopefully doing some early Christmas shopping, so I readThe Ugly Ducklingtoo, and absolutely no one pays the slightest bit of attention to the sounds of chopping and digging from the garden.
When I next glance up, the back door is slightly ajar and a figure dressed in white fills the gap. Darcy has come to story time too.
I’m fluttery because hewantsto listen in, and sad because he’s outside looking in, hiding behind a door, never brave enough to step into the light, even in his Hazmat suit disguise. It feels like a metaphor for his life – a part of the world but so alone that it can’t feel like it sometimes.
It seems to take forever to get the stories finished, ring up the parents’ purchases, and wave goodbye to the little group as they flood out onto Ever After Street with cries for cake from Lilith’s tearooms. I lock up and go straight to the back door, where Darcy is outside finishing up.
The towering knotweed has gone and is currently burning in an incinerator drum he’s brought with him, and Darcy pulls off his plastic boot covers and stuffs them into a bin bag, followed by stripping off his elbow-length gloves, and I think I’m finally going to get to see the hands that produce such beautiful handwriting, but underneath the long gloves is another pair of gloves that tuck under the sleeves of his suit. Not a millimetre of him is exposed, and I can’t help the twinge of disappointment.
A little thrill shivers through me when he starts walking towards me. His visor must be made of two-way mirrored plastic because he can definitely see out, but I can’t see in. If I couldsee his face, I think he’d look quite perplexed by the width of my smile.
The garden looks so much different than it did. There’s something about a patch of knotweed that’s imposing and, even without knowing what it is, you know it’s something sinister. Darcy’s also stripped down the ivy and it’s all starting to come together now and look like it might’ve been a garden once. ‘I don’t know how I can ever thank you.’
‘Getting to witness story time was thanks enough. I saw all this light and laughter from inside and wanted to see what it was all about. It’s been alongtime since I read a fairy tale. It was nice, actually. We don’t hear those kinds of stories as adults and it made me want to raid the children’s section and reminiscence about the olden days.’
‘If I remember rightly, I tried to give you a book that’s perfect for that.’ I give him a pointed frown, and he looks back at me for a long moment. At least, I think he does. I canseewhere his face must be, but I still can’t see his face.
‘I’m done for now, anyway. The area will need another dose of herbicide within a few weeks to make sure it won’t come back, so I’ll go…’ He gestures vaguely in the direction of the gate.
‘No, don’t. Come in! Please!’ I say it so quickly that the words come out as a shout, and I’m moments away from leaping forth and hauling him into the shop. Seeing him inside seems like a new realm of our relationship. It’s like there’s an escape route outside and shutting himself in a building with me is the largest amount of trust he’s shown so far. ‘Everyone’s gone and it’s past closing time. No one else will be in.’
‘I don’t… um…’ He wrings his gloved hands together.
‘Mrs Potts would really like to see you.’ I’m not above using feline-related blackmail.
He looks up at the door and I get the sense he’s about to do something he’ll regret. ‘Oh, go on then, your cat has got me wrapped around her little finger.’
I narrowly avoid victory-punching the air as I step back and let him in, and he wipes his boots on the doormat and pulls the door closed to shut the October air out.
‘I never knew you read to children.’ The children’s area is right by the back door, and the book of Hans Christian Andersen fairy tales is still open on the table. He flicks through it. ‘I used to do that.’
‘Really?’ My mouth falls open in shock. ‘Where?’
‘A library, before it closed down. A long time ago. I used to host a creative writing class for kids there.’
