‘Ren?’ I raise an eyebrow. ‘Is Stimpy nearby?’
For the first time since they came in, his mouth turns from a thin line into a smile, and it’s a thing of beauty. ‘You must be a nineties kid with exquisite taste in childhood cartoons.’
‘They don’t make TV like they did when we were growing up,’ I say, because I assume he’s roughly a year or two older than me. ‘Is Ren short for something?’
‘No.’ His huff suggests that itisbut he’s not about to enlighten me.
‘Dad’s name is Brennan,’ Ava says without looking up from her work.
‘Dad’s name is only Brennan when he’s in very severe trouble with your grandmother,’ he clarifies.
She looks up at me. ‘He’s in very severe trouble with Grandmaallthe time.’
I glance up at him and meet his eyes. ‘That I can believe.’
It’s almost like he wants to smile again, but he looks away instead, taking another moment to cast his nit-picky eyes around my shop. ‘Okay, I get that there are weird things in here, but why on earth is there a jar of forks on the counter?’ He takes a step closer so he can pull one out and hold it up to the light. ‘And why are they all bent and twisted?’
I go to answer, but Ava gets in before me. ‘Dad! They’re not forks, they’re dinglehoppers!’
I grin. ‘Exactly. You know how Ariel thinks a fork is called a dinglehopper and it’s for brushing her hair, and then she goes to dinner with Prince Eric and sits there combing her hair with one? I get a lot of old mismatched cutlery collections that are useless for selling, so why not make the most of them with a quirky touch? A bit of heat from a hot air gun, and I can curl the tines to make them a little bit different. Some people think it’s weird, some people get it.’ I nod to him and then to Ava in turn – the former and the latter. ‘They’re free. You can take one if you want.’
He looks at the jar like he’d rather stick a bent fork up his own nostrils, but Ava stops colouring to carefully select one. Her brown hair is in a side plait, and she uses the dinglehopper to brush through the ends and then hands it to her dad to hold for her. ‘Thank you so much!’
‘Yeah, we’ll be sure to treasure it forever,’ Ren mutters. I have no doubt that, if it was up to him, he’d be looking for the nearest bin as soon as they get out the door.
Eventually Ava steps back from the masterpiece on my arm, where my mermaid tattoo has now got her tail scales neatly coloured in every shade of the rainbow, and purple streaks amongst her black tendrils of hair, and it’s such a bright explosion of colour that I’ll be sad to wash it off in the shower tonight.
‘Best fun ever! Can I take a photo?’
‘Only if you take one for me too.’ I get my phone out and hand it to her and she makes an effort to get the perfect angle.
I tidy the pens back into the packet, and Ava moves the skeleton to the middle of the counter again, and I go back to hunting for a box under the counter, and when I stand back up again, one clutched in victory, she’s opened a purse and started counting money out onto the counter. There’s a five-pound note, a two-pound coin, and I can see the panic on her face as she desperately roots through her purse, counting out small change. She looks towards her dad like she’s about to ask him for the extra money, and I decide to save her the trouble. ‘You know what, I’ll take a fiver for it.’
She gasps. ‘Will you really?’
‘Sure.’ It was priced at £10, but I’d rather things go to someone who really loves them, no matter what they can afford. ‘I don’t own anything in this shop – I’m just keeping it safe until it can find love again with a new owner, and this dead fairy has definitely just found her new owner.’
‘Oh my God, thank yousomuch, you’re the best!’ She looks so delighted that she might be about to vault over the counter and hug me, and I can’t help smiling at how happy it’s made her.Thisis how I want customers to feel when they find a treasure they can’t live without.
Ren’s look of disdain suggests he thinks otherwise. I meet Ava’s eyes and roll mine in solidarity as I fit it into the box and poke polystyrene packing in around it. ‘Maybe your mum will like it.’
His lack of wedding ring has piqued my interest and, when I see an opportunity to work it into the conversation, I can’t stop myself pushing for more info…
‘I don’t have a mum.’
…and regret it immediately.
‘Ava! That’s categorically untrue. Just because your mother’s not here right now?—’
‘Mum left.’ She interrupts him to explain to me, and then turns back to him. ‘Why do we have to pretend she didn’t? I used to have a mum, now I don’t. Now she’s swanning around in Italy with her new boyfriend and she’s forgotten we exist because all you do is read and drink tea!’
I cringe internally at the oversharing, but he cringes visibly. He turns to me with his hands held up. ‘Sorry, Ava hasn’t learned that we don’t share personal matters with people in shops yet.’
‘It’s not personal, it’s fact. What am I supposed to say when someone mentions her like that? “Oh yeah, I’m sure she’ll love it, except she hasn’t bothered answering a text message in over a year and couldn’t care less if we were alive or dead?” If I pretend everything’s fine, you’ll have a go at me for lying!’
‘Ava!’ He pinches the bridge of his nose again, looking like he’s trying and failing to stave off a headache. ‘Mickey doesn’t care. She doesn’t know us. We don’t know her. This isn’t a conversation to have with a stranger.’
‘I care.’ I bite my lip, feeling stuck between the metaphorical rock and hard place. He’s right, of course, whatever’s going on in their family is nothing to do with me, but Ava clearly needs someone to talk to, and I recognise her need for someone,anyone, to know what she’s going through. ‘I like hearing stories. Every object in my shop has one, and so does every person. Everyone deserves to have their story heard. And I’m sorry,’ I say to Ava. ‘It was presumptuous of me to mention your mum. I know all too well what it’s like to grow up with people assuming you have one, and how awkward it is to have to explain that your family isn’t like other families and to feel different and out-of-place.’
