‘You don’t have a mum?’
‘My mum died when I was five. I grew up with my dad who was trying his best too. I’m sure there are many, many…’ I glance at Ren and give him a half-smile to let him know I’m joking. Well, half-joking. ‘…manythings to insult your father about, but is drinking tea really one of them? Would he be a better person if he drank lemonade instead?’
‘At least it might fizz him up a bit!’
We both giggle, and Ren is trying not to laugh too. ‘Oi! I think tea-drinking is a gene that every Brit has but it lies dormant until you hit your twenties and then you suddenly realise there’s nothing better than a cuppa.’ His blue eyes flick up to me under thick black eyelashes. ‘And the reading is for work. I’m a history teacher and I take my students’ books home with me for marking.’
A history teacher? Colour me surprised, although that explains the knowledge of aluminium and Victorian times. ‘You’re way too—’ Hot. Gorgeous. Um… I’ve got myself into hot water with this unfinishable sentence. ‘Young!’
A spark of imagination strikes at last, but I’m certain they both know what I was really thinking. ‘You’re way tooyoungto be a history teacher. When I was in school, my history teacher was so decrepit, the entire class joked that he taught history because he’d been alive since the 1700s. He used to drone on and on about various battles. Sometimes he’d go quiet and someone would have to poke him to double-check he hadn’t died mid-lesson.’
Ava giggles and Ren gives me a grateful nod, like he realises I’m trying to ease the atmosphere. ‘I’m sure your customers don’t usually overshare this much.’
‘Oh, you’d be surprised. I knoweverythingthere is to know about Mrs Moreno’s bunion trouble, her wait for a hip replacement, and her cat’s urinary incontinence problems. There’s oversharing and there’soversharing.’
Ava giggles again and Ren tries to suppress a smile. I can see the tension in his shoulders physically ease under his blue jacket, and it gives me a warm glow inside to have given them a moment of light relief. It didn’t seem like they were having the best afternoon. This is exactly why I like trying to engage with strangers who come in.Everyonehas a story. Everyone is going through something, and most people are all too happy to talk about it, and I love hearing stories.
‘What’s the story behind the skeleton fairy?’ Ava’s hand rubs over the box as I wait for the ancient till to finish printing the receipt.
‘I think she was waiting for a boy she loved. It’s the way her hand is reaching out towards someone. Maybe he was a fairy prince, promised to someone else, but he swore that he was going to be true to himself and come to her, but ultimately he was too much of a coward, and she died waiting because she never gave up on love.’
‘Awwwww.’ Ava’s looking around like she wants to know the stories behind more objects. ‘How about those plates?’
She points to a display of a dinner set, the key pieces shown off in a glass-fronted cabinet, the rest boxed up underneath. They’re a beautiful pearlised white plate with delicate red roses and green stems around the edges. ‘I got them from an auction. I like to think they belonged to a young married couple. Maybe they got them as a wedding present. I can picture them sitting down to their first meal together as husband and wife, or maybe this was the good china that they only got out on special occasions. Maybe this was saved for the meals when both sets of in-laws came over. Maybe one disapproved of the other, but the only thing they could agree on was how pretty the china was.’
Ava looks enthralled, but Ren looks confused. ‘But what make are they? Are they a sought-after brand? How old are they? Are they in good condition? Are they valuable?’
‘I don’t know. I’m not running an antiques shop here. I think they meant something to someone once and they will do again one day, they’re just waiting for their new owner to find them.’
‘And, meanwhile, gathering dust and taking up a huge amount of space you could use to display something that might actually sell or clear some of this clutter.’
‘Dad! You can’t call it clutter! It’s a collection, like Ariel’s!’
‘Ariel had a cave full of junk, and so does Mickey. The only difference is that Mickey thinks other people want to see hers, whereas Ariel had the decency to keep hers private. Disposophobia is what it’s called – the fear of getting rid of things.’
Ouch. I recoil like an insect has stung me. I square my shoulders and try to look unbothered, even though he’s hit a nerve. ‘Well, it’s a good thing it has absolutely nothing to do with you then, isn’t it? Whyareyou so interested in how I run my shop anyway?’
‘I’m not, I…’ He seems stumped for a moment, like he’s just realising how his opinions are coming across, and then he waves around the cloth he was still holding to his forehead. ‘If there was less clutter, there’d be fewer head injuries. My interest is solely from a health and safety perspective.’
Ava gives him a death glare and then turns back to me. ‘Just ignore him. He doesn’t mean it.’
‘It’s okay. He was raised by wolves, right?’ I try to cover it with a carefree grin, but that commenthurt. It shouldn’t. His opinions shouldn’t be relevant to me, but the lack of customers lately has made me wonder if he isn’t the only one who thinks this, but he’s the only one both brave enough and rude enough to say it out loud. He’s also unwittingly confirmed one of my underlying fears – that there’s too much clutter in here and, one day, a customer could get hurt.
‘Some people will always be too uninspired to believe in the magic of things, and will never understand how wonderful it is to find an item that feels like it was meant to be yours, or to look at something and be transported into another world.’
I think he can hear the wobble in my voice because that look of guilt crosses his face again, and he goes to say something but stops himself before any words come out.
‘We’re all puzzle pieces. Parts of us are scattered across the world, and every so often, someone will find one of their missing pieces and it’s a joy to witness. That’s what my dad wanted when he started this shop and that’s what I want with my collection.’ I’m fighting to keep my voice calm, but they can definitely hear the internal struggle.
One man’s disparaging opinion is no different to every other person’s disparaging opinion. Usually I can shrug those off, but there’s something about Ren, a sharpness combined with a softness that makes me wish he was one of the ones who got it.
‘Well, this is the best shop I’ve ever been in.’
‘Thank you.’ I try to cling onto Ava’s words, while he shoves a hand through his product-filled hair awkwardly, knocking one foot against the other, like he still wants to say something.
‘We should go.’
‘I don’t want to go,’ Ava replies.
