Page 7 of A Wonderland Wish on Ever After Street
‘I didn’t—’ The dial tone sounds in my ear before I can protest thatIdidn’t interrupt anything.
‘He’s hung up.’ I pass the phone back to the Mad Hatter.
‘He does that.’
The awkwardness is tangible. I didn’t expect him and he didn’t expect to be so unexpected, and now he’s standing with his hands in his pockets, waiting for me to invite him in.
My instinct is to tell him where to go. I don’t want or need any additional employees, particularly ones that I didn’t know about until five minutes ago, but I don’t think I can argue with Mr Hastings. And all right, a Mad Hatter in Wonderland is actually a very good idea, I’m just annoyed that no one thought to even consult me about it.
In my mind, I frantically scan across the food preparation area. I can’t be caught serving supermarket-bought goods, not by anyone. Have I left any packaging strewn around? Any hint that those goodies filling the display case werenotbaked by me?
‘Sorry about all this. Clapping eyes on me first thing in the morning must be a shock for anyone. Can we start over? I’m Bram.’ He holds a hand out for me to shake.
I transfer the playing card into my other hand and reach out to shake his. He’s got warm hands with long nimble fingers, if the speed at which he produced the playing card earlier is anything to go by. ‘Bram? I’ve never heard that name before. Short for… Bramble? Bramley Apple?’
He laughs. ‘Abraham. But no one’s called me that since the day I was born, other than my father. And I’m sure you’re heard of Bram Stoker, the nineteenth century writer ofDracula, which was also short for Abraham.’
‘Well, aren’t you brimming with fun facts?’ I say,despite the fact it had never before occurred to me that Bram Stoker was short for anything and that’s actually quite interesting. I’m still trying to remember if I’ve left any incriminating evidence lying around. It’s bad enough that I’ll be bluffing my way through Unbirthday parties and afternoon teas, the absolute last thing I needed was to have to cover it up in front of another staff member as well, particularly one who has clearly got contacts at the council. It’s even more of a liability that he will discover my sordid supermarket secret and report back to them about my underhanded misrepresentations.
Speaking of underhanded misrepresentations, it’s now quarter to nine and I really need to get back to mine. ‘It’s getting late, you’d better come in.’
‘You know what they say – gotta make fudge while the sun shines!’
‘Hay. Make hay while the sun shines.’
‘Who’d want to make hay unless they’re a horse?’ His face screws up in confusion and then he peers at me and narrows his eyes. ‘Areyou a horse?’
‘Do I look like a— You know what, don’t answer that.’ I pull the door open and he stops to tip his hat to me. The stack of three hats on his head must be sewn together because when he lifts the bottom one, the other two stay attached, and it’s the most bizarre sight that makes me smile despite my misgivings about this arrangement.
I can’t help watching him in amused confusion as he stops in the middle of the room and looks around in wonder. ‘Oh, my fur and whiskers, look at this!’
It’s another Wonderland-ism that the White Rabbit says in the book, and if nothing else, I can appreciate someone who knows my favourite book as well as I do.
He spins around in a circle like he doesn’t know where to look first. He reaches up to touch one of the teapots I’ve got hangingfrom the ceiling with colourful ribbons pouring out of their spouts. They’re above head height, but apparently not too far up that they can’t be fiddled with.
‘Can you not?—’
Before I’ve had a chance to ask him not to touch the decorations, he’s bent down and picked up a wooden mushroom. They’re cheap garden ornaments, but I painted their caps red and added glow-in-the-dark white spots. He turns it around between his hands, and— ‘Flamingo croquet!’
He drops the mushroom andracesacross to the strip of artificial grass and picks up a flamingo club. They’re not adult size and he has to bend over to hold it and putt the hedgehog ball through the playing card arch. He misses and it rolls across the room.
I huff and go over to get it, intending to confiscate it before he tries again, but he’s already put the club down and is now taking a selfie with one of the giant paper flowers.
‘Holy frogs and donkeys, this place isamazing.’ He’s still looking around in awe, and his eyelinered brown eyes fall on me. ‘Did you do all this yourself? Because I’ve seen the council restoration budgets and they’re notthatgenerous.’
‘Yeah, mostly. I love crafting and I loveAlice in Wonderland, so…’
‘It was a match made in heaven. This isgorgeous.’
‘Thank you.’ I can’t help blushing because he sounds genuinely bowled over and it gives me a little thrill of hope that customers will feel the same way. Apart from Marnie and Darcy and a couple of the other shopkeepers who have brought things over, no one’s really seen inside yet. He’s the first stranger with no biased reason for being kind.
‘Wow. I feel like I could work here for a week and I still wouldn’t have seen everything.’ Now he’s twirling the red and black card suit bunting that’s hanging in the front window, and then he turns back to the painted lettering on thewall behind the counter. ‘Good choice of quote. I would’ve gone with “we’re all mad here”.’
‘Not all of us are mad…’
‘Ahh, some of us are mad enough for everyone.’ He gives me a lopsided grin that seems like a well-practised response to something he’s heard many times.
That word again. Everything seems to be coming back to that word this morning. ‘Areyou mad?’
