Page 25 of Dreams Come True at the Fairytale Museu
‘Hah hah,’ I grumble so he knows how utterly amusing he is, but in a strange way, I appreciate his support and roundabout way of trying to make me feel better.
Instead of saying anything else, he turns around so he’s facing me and walks backwards before continuing the conversation.
‘What are you doing? You’re going to fall over and crack your head open.’
‘I don’t mind staring death in the face,’ he says with a cheerful shrug.
‘It’s not death you’re looking at, it’s me. Walk normally, for goodness’ sake.’
‘Don’t worry about it.’ His blue eyes are focusing so intently on my face that it makes my cheeks heat up and a tingle run down my spine, and I almost forget to worry about how likely he is to trip over his own feet.
He really is the strangest man. Businesslike to a worrying degree for 99 per cent of the time, and then he randomly turns into a naughty toddler who walks backwards in the street and gets abnormally excited about the prospect of sentient exhibits.
I’m lost in my analytical thoughts, so he says, ‘On the plus side, at least we’ve learned that Mr Hastings knows you really well. I’ve yet to hear better descriptive words for you than idealistic obstructionist.’
It sounds like he’s poking fun and I can’t help the snigger that escapes. ‘And I’ve yet to hear a better descriptive word for him than stuffed-up cucumber. You were spot on there.’
He laughs too, lines crinkling up around his eyes, and they distract me so much that I blurt out, ‘Is it really a rescue plan?’
‘Hmm?’
‘You. What you’re doing? He called it a rescue plan. I still don’t understand why you’d try to rescue my museum. There’s no conceivable way it will ever be more profitable than a cinema complex.’
‘Not everything’s about profit.’
I do an exaggerated double-take. ‘From the moment I met you, you’ve repeated endlessly thateverythingis about profit. Half the time, I think you understand the language “money” better than you understand English.’
His face heats up in an odd way, and he ducks his head and nearly overbalances when he steps on a grate covering a drain, but he still continues walking backwards. ‘I’m scratching an itch to do something different. When I heard about your concept of a museum, it… grabbed hold of me. Like I said, this would be the fifth cinema complex I’ve been involved with lately. However, there’s only one ofyou. And having met you, seen your passion, seen Ever After Street as a whole, I think there’s a lot to be said for helping and upgrading what already exists. I’d like to take the company in a more organic direction. We have a reputation for being modern and innovative, and I’ve always liked that, but in recent years, I think I’ve become more mindful that the past isn’t always best knocked down and built over and there’s room for preservation as well as forward thinking.’
Again, I find myself believing him even though I have no reason to. ‘I like that.’
‘It feels like the right thing for the company. In some situations, how we do things is not always the best approach, and there’s room for compromises and looking at things from different angles… but I’m not the boss, and the boss still needs some convincing.’
‘The boss is your mother?’
‘Indeed.’
Again, it’s an answer he could expand on, but he doesn’t, and we’re almost at the car park entrance so I don’t push it. You can’tforcesomeone to reveal something they don’t want to share.
‘Where are you going back to? Where’s home?’ I ask instead.
‘I don’t know.’ We’ve reached his car and he stares at it blankly for a moment before shaking himself and giving the black roof a pat. ‘Where’s home to anybody?’
‘Somewhere they feel safe and free to be themselves?’ I suggest and he shrugs another blank shrug, and it strikes me as incredibly sad. If home doesn’t feel like home, then what have you got?
‘But I live in Bromsgrove, if that’s what you want to know,’ he says quickly, like he’s trying to circumvent how unexpectedly melancholy that answer became. ‘It’s about fifty miles away from here. My mother runs the office in London, but I’m usually based out of our Midlands office.’
‘Fifty miles?’ My eyes widen. ‘So you do a hundred-mile round trip every day just to make my life a misery?’
‘Yep.’ He looks up at me with that naughty toddler twinkle in his eyes again. ‘And it’s worth every penny in petrol costs.’
I laugh out loud and retreat towards my own car. ‘Thanks for the united front today.’
‘Thank you for…’ He trails off like he doesn’t have a clue what he was intending to thank me for and then shakes his head. ‘…the carriage-related workout this morning, I guess. See you tomorrow.’
I echo his words with a wave, and surprisingly, I feel a bit lighter as I get into my car and wait, watching in the wing mirror while he starts his engine and pulls out. For once, seeing him tomorrow doesn’t feel like an entirely bad thing.
9
