Page 37 of Dreams Come True at the Fairytale Museu
‘No, of course not. That would be an unthinkable invasion of privacy.’ He sighs and shakes his head at himself. ‘I didn’t mean for that to come across as entitled and control-freak-ish as it did. Obviously you can text anyone you want and it has nothing to do with me. I shouldn’t have asked in the first place. Sorry, this is messing with my head.’
The Tablet of Gloom drops out of his hand and onto the padding of the dustsheets as he clonks his head down onto his arms and lets out another long sigh. ‘I know you know something.’ He doesn’t lift his head and his voice is muffled behind his arms. ‘I know it’s your friend doing all this, and obviously you’re going to be on her side and keep her secret, which is fine, of course you are, but I thought…’ He shakes his head again, like he’s trying to shake loose the right words. ‘I don’t know what I thought. But I’m not your enemy and I’ve been enjoying my time here, getting into the swing of things, and I… I thought you knew that.’
‘I do,’ I say quietly. When it seems like he hasn’t heard me, I reach over and press the backs of my fingers against his forearm to give him a nudge and then repeat it, and it’s enough to get a smile out of him.
‘I know my job has a bad reputation, I know property developers are seen as unscrupulous and untrustworthy, but we’re not all like that. Some of us are trying to make the world better, one place at a time, and are just trying to please everyone and keep all the plates spinning at once.’
His voice is quiet and he looks away as he says it, and it feels like another big chip in his professional armour. And it leaves me with a decision to make – share the secret with him, or stick by my friends who I’ve worked with for years, who have always bent over backwards to help me in every conceivable way, and tell him another outright lie, when he sounds vulnerable enough to reallyneeda bit of honesty.
‘It’s not Mickey.’ I swallow hard. Ihaveto choose my friends. I have to stick by the people who have always stuck by me. ‘It’s not anyone here. They don’t know what’s going on either, they just saw the exhibits outside and thought it would give people a laugh on social media. That’s it, that’s all I found out.’
‘Okay.’ He looks over at me. ‘Okay. If that’s what you’re sticking with, then that’s that. We aren’t going to get anywhere if we don’t have any trust between us, so I’m going to choose to believe you. I do understand loyalty, and distrust of strangers, and I understand Ever After Street coming together against me, but I don’t want to see this place closed down any more than you do. You can choose to believe that or not, it’s up to you.’
I don’t intend to let out a scoff, but one escapes anyway because no one could possibly be as invested in this place as I am. ‘Maybe it would be easier to trust you if you were honest about what you’re doing here. How does helping my museum benefit you? What do youreallyget out of this? You’re trying to prove a point to your mother?’
He looks at me for a long time, so long that I can almost see the war playing out behind his eyes and I hold his gaze, because I can’t tear myself away from the depths I can see hidden behind his sarcastic quips and uptight seriousness.
‘Yeah, in a way,’ he says eventually, sounding exhausted from thinking about how to word it. ‘No matter what I do, no matter how much I achieve, she always knows better. That parent-child dynamic never goes away. She never says “well done”, but only ever points out what I could have done better or handled differently, and I always feel inferior and like a child still finding my feet, even though I’ve been in this industry since I left university. She dismisses every suggestion I make without giving it consideration, and I spend every moment of my working life desperately wanting her approval, and never getting it, and being stuck in an endless cycle of trying to prove myself only for it to never beenoughbecause I have this thing that makesmenot good enough, and?—’
‘What thing?’ I didn’t mean to interrupt him, but that’s piqued my curiosity in a way that can’t be ignored.
I see the moment he realises what he’s just said and sheer horror crosses his face and he gets a rabbit-in-headlights look, like he doesn’t know which way to run. His whole body has stiffened, like he’s about to leap up and bolt at any second.
‘It’s okay, I get it,’ I say quickly, because I don’t know what he’s talking about, but Idoknow that he isn’t ready to explain it right now either, and I’m enjoying getting to know more about him. The last thing I want him to do is scarper. ‘It can’t be easy working with a parent.’ I try to smooth things over and let him breathe, because it looks like he’s breathless from spilling all that out. ‘Every child willalwaysbe their parents’ child, no matter how old they are. I can see that making for an interesting working dynamic…’
I leave the sentence deliberately open-ended, hoping he’ll fill in more if I give him time.
‘The museum is not so much about proving a point but proving that I can do something right,’ he says after an abnormally long pause. ‘I was fascinated when I heard about it and I know other people will be too. It’s important to the community and has local support. I thought if I could take this concept and turn it around, make it bigger and find investors, show that we can take what’s already here and improve it… but I never realised how personal it is, and how muchyouare a force to be reckoned with. I didn’t expect to come up against someone like you.’
It’s my turn to blush. Generally I feel ineffectual and invisible, and the last thing I am is a force to be reckoned with, but he makes it sound like a good thing, and I like how I feel in knowing he sees me that way.
‘I admit that I didn’t factor escaping exhibits into my original plan, but the attention they’re bringing will help. If we can prove this place is worth saving – that it can do just as much for the area and for the company profits as another cinema complex could – then my mother will be forced to approve of something I believe in, and realise the company can move forward in a different way.’
I feel like he’s both said more than he intended to and still not really answered what I was asking him, because there still aren’t any set goals, any parameters, and maybe that uncertainty is something I have to accept.
‘I should be taking over the company. My mother is seventy-two, she should be thinking about retirement, slowing down, taking time to enjoy her life, but she won’t because she doesn’t think I know what I’m doing.’
‘I doubt it’s just that,’ I say carefully.
‘No, of course not. Berrington Developments was my dad’s thing – his life’s dream. He worked for so many years to be in a position where he could start his own company, and he did, and later that same year, he died. I was only fourteen so I was too young, and it wasn’t what Mum wanted to do, but she knew how hard my dad had worked and how badly he’d wanted it, and she couldn’t stand by and let his new company fail, so she took over it. She grievedthroughit. She poured every ounce of grief and heartache into his company, she worked every hour imaginable, and she did it. She made Berrington Developments into a huge success. She made it into exactly what he dreamed of it being. No one could fault her for that, but…’ He trails off with a shake of his head, another sentence he doesn’t know how to finish.
‘What about whatyoudream of it being?’
He fiddles with his water bottle for a long time before he answers. ‘I don’t know, but different to what it is now. I’d like to save buildings, invest with a purpose of preservation rather than just… destruction.’
I can’t help thinking about his wish. If he’s unfulfilled at work, is that why he feels that life is meaningless? I can’t shake the need to prod further. ‘And your mum doesn’t agree with that line of thinking?’
He shakes his head.
‘Maybe it’s not you at all.’
‘No, it’s me, trust me.’
‘But if the company was tied up in your mum’s grief then maybe it’s more connected to that. Maybe she feels like she keeps your father alive by working. For as long as she does the job he should have been doing, in a way, he’s still there. That’s a long time to work so hard, and if she stops, does she have to finally face the fact that your dad is gone?’
‘He’s been gone for twenty-seven years. I think she’s noticed by now.’
‘I meant metaphorically, obviously. She sounds like someone who worked rather than grieved.’
