‘It’s decorative. You can put candles in them. And a curiosity shop is hardly the place to keep birds in captivity, is it? They’re Victorian, from the times when families used to capture wild songbirds and keep them in the house to sing to them.’
‘Victorian birdcages would have been made of brass or wood. This is aluminium if I’m not mistaken. Cheap aluminium that will bend if you press it too hard.’ He reaches up and does exactly that. ‘Aluminium was discovered in 1825 and the difficulty in obtaining it made it rarer than gold in Victorian times. Believe me, they weren’t building birdcages out of it. They’re not Victorian, they’re cut-price tat, most probably made in China.’
‘They’re athrowbackto Victorian décor. I didn’t mean they were actually Victorian. This is not an antiques shop. There’s acuriousmix of everything in here.’
‘From the looks of it, there’s not amixof everything, there’s simplyeverysingle thing that anyone’s ever thrown out.’ His hand shoots out and he rummages in a basket and pulls out a scrap of fabric and holds it up. ‘Why do you have a basket of fabric pieces?’
‘They’reoldfabric pieces. Scraps of fabric can be important to crafters or vintage collectors or people who remember things like curtains or bedding from their childhood and want to reminisce.’ Even as I say it, I wonder why I’m defending myself. What I stock in my shop has nothing to do with this judgemental stranger and I don’t have to justify it to him or anyone else, despite how guilty I feel about the bloodied red mark blooming on his forehead.
He grunts and puts it down again. One hand is still dabbing at his forehead with the damp cloth, and he shoves the other one into a pocket of his smart trousers with a pin-sharp centre crease. Hopefully the spiky tone in my voice was enough to tip him off that his opinions are unwanted here.
A few minutes pass in awkward silence, interspersed only by gasps of joy and various iterations of ‘ohmigod, Iloveit’ and ‘coolest thingever’, and I keep expecting him to follow his daughter through and have a look around, but he seems glued to the spot right inside the entrance. ‘You can come in, you know. You don’t have to loiter in the doorway.’
‘I have a great fear of what else might fall on top of me. I’ve found a safe spot here, I’ll stick to it, thanks.’
‘You’re blocking the door for other customers.’
He glances at the door behind him with a look that suggests other customers are about as likely as seeing Bigfoot toddle up the road carrying a handbag and twirling an umbrella. ‘Well, if you’re suddenly overwhelmed with a rush, I’ll get out of the way. Or provide Search and Rescue support when they get lost inside, or first aid when something leaps forth and attacks them. You can barely move in here!’
‘That’s not true! You can move.’ You can’t movemuch, mind, but I’m not giving him the satisfaction of admitting that. All right, it’s a tad overcrowded, but it’s a charming hotch-potch of treasures. It’s not supposed to be organised with military precision. It’s intended to be a jumble where customers can unearth objects they’ll love and cherish for the rest of their lives, but his words make me squirm uncomfortably. I worry my shop has reached the stage where it’s too crowded, and hearing it said so blatantly does nothing but confirm my fears.
‘You can’t honestly believe all this has value. Given the quite odd disembodied half-mermaid statue outside, I thought it was going to be mermaid themed but there’s no theme at all. It’s like you opened the shop door and let every forgotten storage unit in Britain throw up in it.’
I want to laugh at his turn of phrase, but I stifle a snort behind my angry look. Who does he think he is? I want to tell him that this is a perfectly successful little business, full of treasures that I rescue from where they’re unwanted, and I keep them safe until a new owner can find them and give them love again, but given the lack of customers lately, ‘perfectly successful’ might be pushing it a bit. Besides, I don’t have to justify that to anyone, let alone some random man who thinks he knows best. ‘Does it ever cross your mind that not everybody wants your opinion? I’ve been running this business for the past couple of years, and for decades before that with my father. What gives you the right to come in here and be so judgemental and derogatory?’
He goes to answer but ends up mouthing at the air when no sound comes out. He blinks at me, open-mouthed for a minute, and then goes to push a hand through his hair and accidentally clonks the hanging birdcage again, sending a metal clang ringing through the shop, and shakes his head, and I get the impression that it’s more at himself than at me.
‘You’re right,’ he says quietly. ‘It’s been a rough day and I’m taking my frustration out on you and lashing out at your shop. I’m sorry.’
‘At least your daughter has better taste than you, and better manners when it comes to giving strangers their unfavourable opinions,’ I mutter, secretly quite glad to see the look of shame that accompanies his apology.
He’s an odd one. Opinionated but also, quite apologetic? That’s not the first time he’s said sorry in the past few minutes, and his face has reddened at being called out on his rudeness. He’s the kind of man I should dislike, but he’s also quick to apologise and there’s something about him, a sadness or tiredness that makes it seem like there’s no heat behind his words, plus it’s really hard to dislike someone who looks like the real-life version of my first ever childhood crush, Prince Eric fromThe Little Mermaid.
‘And it’s not a weird disembodied half-mermaid statue. It was a full mermaid once – my dad bought it for me when I was a little girl. It’s stood outside for decades, but it was looking a bit sorry for itself after years of wear and tear, so my dad cut it off at the waist, repainted it, and turned the tail upside down, so it looks like the mermaid is diving into the street.’ I struggle to keep the emotion out of my voice because it was one of the last things he did before he died. He wanted to give my beloved statue a new lease of life when he knew thathewouldn’t be around for much longer. ‘No one insults my mermaid’s tail.’
‘Sorry, I didn’t know it was so important.’
I’ve obviously failed at hiding the emotion it brings up, because he looks genuinely guilty, and I wish I hadn’t bothered trying to explain. Why does it matter to me if he likes my shop or not?
He takes a tentative step further in and touches a hand to the side of his head, indicating the starfish clip in my hair. ‘You’re really committed to the role, with the hair and the T-shirt.’ He runs a hand across his chest, meaning the slogan across my top.
It’s not a uniform as such, but I collect T-shirts with mermaids on them and I’ve amassed quite a collection of pun slogan tops, and today’s one is blue with waves and a mermaid’s tail diving into them, and the words ‘Nice to sea you’. ‘I love mermaids. I wanted this place to feel just like Ariel’s underwater cave of wonders but on dry land.’
If he was going to say something disapproving in response, he doesn’t get a chance because a shout comes from the other side of the shop. ‘Oh my God, Iloveit! Ihaveto have it!’
There are footsteps as Ava comes barrelling back into the main shop with an ornament tucked under her arm. It’s a skeleton in an elegant sitting position with a huge pair of colourful butterfly wings on its back. I’ve been calling it a dead fairy and I knew someone would love it one day.
‘This is the best thing I’ve ever seen!’ she squeals. ‘It’s going to look incredible in my Instagram photos! All my friends are going to love it!’
‘Ava… Not everything is about social media.’ When she turns and glares at her father, he trails off and pinches the bridge of his nose, and I feel a bit sorry for him. Despite his harshness, he seems out of his depth, and that look crosses his face again – the one that suggests he’s secretly wishing for someone to rescue him.
‘I want to buy literally everything.’ She puts the butterfly-winged skeleton on the counter and I hurry back over to serve her. ‘This place is so cool.’
‘Thank you.’ I blush as I say it. It’s been a while since my shop was complimented like that. It used to be cool, but it doesn’t feel cool these days, not even to me. It feels cluttered, and if I’m honest, maybe a bit stifling? I used to love spending the days in here when my dad ran it, but now…
‘You have the best taste. And I love your starfish clip. And, oh my God, you’re even wearing Ursula’s necklace.’ Personal space is not an issue for her as she reaches over the counter and lifts the large gold-painted shell that’s hanging on a cord around my neck, an exact replica of the necklace the Sea Witch uses to capture Ariel’s voice. ‘That’s so awesome.’
‘Thanks. My best friend, Lissa, runs the Colours of the Wind museum and she had it made for me as a birthday present. If you’re staying on Ever After Street for long, you should go there. It’s the coolest place.’
