Page 10 of Dreams Come True at the Fairytale Museu
‘No one’s ever asked me that before.’ He looks up at the lanterns hanging above our heads and chews his lip, giving it some thought. ‘Yes, I suppose I do really. I’ve never thought of it like that.’
I should probably be annoyed at his cynicism, but he looks unexpectedly downbeat, and it strikes me as a bit sad. It seems like his front has dropped for a moment, and I’m intrigued by the shift in his demeanour.
He shakes himself and consults the Tablet of Gloom yet again. ‘And there’s something about a Lego model of Agrabah palace being broken by children fighting with Rapunzel’s frying pan?’
‘It wasn’tbroken, it was… temporarily deconstructed, and I put it back together again. The owner was fine about it. No harm done.’ I don’t tell him about the sleepless nights, endless phone calls to the Lego collector who’d lent Colours of the Wind his Disney palaces collection, printed downloads of instructions, and help from at least three other Ever After Street shopkeepers to get the palace looking as good as new again after the unfortunate frying pan incident. It’s another one of those demoralising things where I wish parents would keep an eye on their children and not let them run wild, but I feel helpless to do anything about it, and a stern look can only go so far.
He turns back to theTangledarea and lifts a frying pan down from a display hook on the wall and waves it towards me. ‘Whyarethere frying pans here?’
‘It’s a thing from the film. If you’d seenTangled, you’d understand.’
‘I’m an adult man,’ he says again, sounding like he thinks I’ve failed to notice.
‘Only men who are threatened in the masculinity department are afraid to watch Disney movies.’
‘Or men who just don’t like them.’
‘No one dislikes Disney movies. They are timeless and ageless.’
‘Okay, people who simply aren’t interested in them then. If I sit in front of my TV to relax and switch off for a while, some cutesy cartoon for children is not my first choice of viewing material. Each to their own and all that. You can like them and I can not be interested in watching them and we can still co-exist peacefully. Who knew, eh?’
All right, that’s a fair point, and ‘each to their own’ is one of my main mottos in life, but no onereallydislikes Disney movies. ‘I didn’t mean it like that, but you’re being judgemental when you haven’t even seen one. People of all ages and all genders enjoy Disney movies, and it’s narrow-minded to suggest you won’t enjoy one because you’re?—’
‘A demonic gerbil with no soul?’ He interrupts me to offer it as such a polite suggestion that it makes me laugh.
I meet his eyes across the room, and there’s a glimmer of something much warmer about him, and I’m intrigued by another peek behind the front I saw earlier. He seems much more down-to-earth than his standoffish façade has led me to believe so far today. Maybe working with him won’t really be so bad, even though I’m filled with misgivings and reservations too. ‘We don’t all have to like the same thing, but you reckon you can overhaul a museum that you have zero understanding of. You’re not best placed to be involved here.’
‘I don’t know what you want me to say. I don’t have children. I don’t have siblings so there are no nieces and nephews. I don’t have an extensive family with gazillions of little cousins. I’ve drifted apart from friends who have children because our lives are on different paths. If I’ve ever watched a Disney movie in my life, it’s before I was old enough to remember. That doesn’t mean I can’t see the potential here from a business perspective, and it seems likeyourpassion is enough to drag us both through kicking and screaming, so can we get on with it? You explain what I need to know and I’ll ask if anything doesn’t make sense – deal?’
‘Deal,’ I say after he gives me another tight, sarcastic smile. I saw a hint of a real smile earlier, and if he let that out more often, he’d be averygood-looking man, with his dark brown hair and blue eyes – if he wasn’t threatening to demolish my museum, that is.
‘Is thereanythingin this room that you recognise?’
Warren looks around, and I almost feel sorry for him over how bewildered he seems as he takes in the model versions of Princess Jasmine, Pocahontas, and Elsa fromFrozenwith a large snow-covered polystyrene mountain behind her and a billowing blue dress and snowflake-covered cape, and Princess Aurora, wearing the pink-and-blue splodged dress that Sadie has painstakingly recreated from the final scene ofSleeping Beauty, and Belle in her yellow ballgown, carrying a single red rose.
‘Well, that’s Cinderella and the pumpkin carriage.’ He points to the mannequin wearing a silver-blue ballgown and standing in front of a pumpkin-shaped carriage, and then to the shoes on a pedestal plinth beside it. ‘Glass slippers!’
He looks momentarily excited to have recognised something, and then his face turns serious again. ‘These are in my report.’
I groan involuntarily and drag myself after him as he hurries across the room while reading from the Tablet of Gloom and then tucks it under his arm and picks up the shoes from the display.
‘These are actual glass?’
‘No, that would be dangerous. These are multi-faceted crystallised acrylic that are much safer and less breakable than glass.’
‘You let children actually wear these? Actually put them on and walk around in them?’
I nod.
‘And they cost £200 a pair?’ The look of horror on his face suggests he doesnotsee that as a bargain. ‘And you’ve had to replace them more than once?’
I reluctantly nod again. I know it’s not the most cost-efficient way to run things, but the price of an occasional replacement is worthwhile to see the look on a child’s face when they slip their feet into what could be therealCinderella’s magical glass slippers. They have to be realistic, realism costs money, and children occasionally break expensive things. It’s another law of the universe, even if it feels like I’m throwing money away sometimes, and when he says it like that, it does sound a bit daft.
Warren gives me a ‘hold that thought’ gesture, puts the shoes back on the plinth, and hurries towards the lobby, and then returns holding a carrier bag. ‘A member of my staff was able to source these this morning.’
He pulls something from the bag and deposits it proudly into my hands. ‘These were £2.50 from a nearby market. Budget friendlyandmuch less susceptible to breakages. Win-win. Your ones can go in a display case, never to need replacing again, andthesecan be worn by children who want to feel like Cinderella.’
I look down at what I’m holding and let out a gasp of dismay. Hecannotbe serious! I tear the plastic cover off the cardboard backing and extract the shoes, which look like a larger version of a Barbie doll shoe. ‘They’re pink! And plastic! And so poorly made that they have sharp bits inside.’ I knock them together and they make a hollow clunking noise. ‘They’re cheap trash. Even £2.50 is a rip-off considering how bad the quality is. No one would believe Cinderella wore these!’
