Chances. Freya North
what the fuck is your name, mate?’
Vita thought, I’ll let the swearing go – there’s no one else in the shop and the boxes are quite pricey.
‘Taylor,’ said Tinker and everyone simply nodded.
‘When do you need this for?’ Vita asked. ‘It’s just that I could put your sister’s name on it – hand stencil it – look, like the one in the window.’
The boys murmured their approval.
‘I could have it ready for tomorrow morning And I could gift-wrap it too. After you’ve seen it, of course.’
‘Thanks, miss, that would be awesome.’
‘Excellent. What’s her name?’ And Vita hoped it was something pretty and not a daft nickname.
‘Megan.’
‘Excellent.’
‘Shall I pay now?’
‘Would you mind?’
Boz looked at her as if she was mad. ‘Of course I don’t mind. This is awesome.’
‘See you tomorrow,’ Vita said as she handed back his credit card and receipt.
‘I’ve read that book,’ said Spike, the quiet one, another Aussie, motioning towards Robinson Crusoe. ‘Couldn’t get to grips with Moll Flanders, though.’
After they’d gone, and once the school rush had abated, Vita started stencilling Megan’s name. She’d felt so disorientated after that night recently with Candy and Michelle – but today she felt as though she’d been sent three rugged guardian angels, one of whom was paying her to do something other than think about Tim and Suzie. She rifled through her stencil collection.
‘I’ll add a pattern,’ she said. ‘Free of charge.’ Her evening was sorted. She was relieved. She wrote on a Post-it and stuck it to the box.
Megan
Butterflies?
Vines?
Something for the Weekend
‘I remember this shop,’ Oliver told Boz as they drove past That Shop towards the end of that week. ‘Not that I’ve ever been in. But when my wife – but when my late wife and I – used to come into town, she’d always say, I’m just going to pop into That Shop. And ten hours later she’d always bought some tutt or other.’
‘Tutt!’ Boz liked the word. Then he looked worried. ‘The box – thing – I’ve bought Megan, it’s not tutt. It’s nicely made – it’s not cheap. Value, I’d say. She’ll love it.’
Oliver smiled as he scouted for a parking place in the multi-storey. ‘By tutt, I don’t mean the quality, I don’t mean tat – I mean girl stuff. The bits and bobs females never grow too old to fawn over and buy. Yet more photo frames, vases, candles, strange holders for wooden spoons, retro tea towels, bowls that are pretty but shaped too oddly to actually be useful. Heart-shaped stuff. Cushions. Bloody cushions – to be arranged daily, meticulously, on the bed or sofa yet always chucked off.’ He raised an eyebrow at Boz. ‘I’ll stay in the car, thanks.’
‘Might be a trinket that tickles your fancy, boss?’
‘I’ll stay in the car.’
‘I’ll be quick.’
Boz thought, Poor fucker. Boz and the boys always gave each other a look on Oliver’s behalf which said, Poor fucker, whenever he referred to DeeDee as if she was an old pal who had simply moved away from the area temporarily instead of being the victim of a tragic road accident three years previously.
I’ll stay in the car.
I’ll make a couple of calls.
No signal.
I’ll stay in the car.
Christ, this car park is a hellhole.
I’ll listen to the radio.
No signal.
I’ll stay in the car.
Boz won’t be long.
There’s only so much tutt even a young bloke can take, surely.
Vita heard the door open and read fast to just near the end of the page where there was a convenient line-break before she looked up.
‘Ah! I was wondering when you’d be along.’ She presented Boz with the wooden box. ‘I hope you like it. And, of course, your sister Megan.’
Boz was delighted as he inspected it from all angles. ‘It’s cool. It’s very very cool.’
‘I did her name, as you see – but I also added this little design. I was going to do a grapevine but I chose hops. They’re native to Kent, tell her. Which is known as the “Garden of England”, tell her – not that I’ve ever been. Tell her, we make beer from hops.’
Boz looked at her quizzically. He wanted to say, Like we don’t have beer in Oz? But though there was an engaging artlessness to this woman, there was a fragility too – and she was so serious about this box and the extra design – and he thought perhaps a tease might be heard as sarcasm. So he nodded and thanked her. She wrapped it in pretty paper, swathed it in bubble wrap and parcelled it up in heavy-duty brown paper. And then he saw a photo frame. It was in a soft padded faded floral fabric and it reminded him of the dress that Jessie had worn to her sister’s wedding.
‘I’ll have this too,’ he said. ‘It’s for my girlfriend, Jessie.’
‘That’s nice,’ Vita smiled.
‘She’s back home.’
‘You must miss her.’
‘Yeah – but you know what? We’ve been together ages – we’re cool.’
‘I could unwrap this lot, then you could put it inside your sister’s box and tell her to deliver it for you – save on two packages.’
Boz thought this was quite the most brilliant plan and told the lady so as she unwrapped and rewrapped the goods. If he was still in the UK at Christmas-time, he told her, he’d do all his gift shopping right here.
I’ll take some fresh air, I think.
I’ll wander down in the vague direction of That Shop.
Oliver looked at the window display, glanced beyond it, noted the sales assistant sitting on a stool, reading, absent-mindedly tucking her hair behind her ears as it fell forward again and again. Stuff. Everywhere. Tables and shelves of stuff.
Oh God, DeeDee, he would groan when they used to meet back at the car after one of her forays. Not more stuff.
But I love That Shop, she’d protest with a pout that turned into a smile. And Oliver would unlock the car and say, Get in, Mrs Bourne, we’re going home.
He wasn’t about to break the habit of a lifetime ago, today. But he did pop his head around the corner of the door and immediately felt he should raise his voice a little – as if the colliding fragrances from all the candles and soaps were a sound as much as a scent.
‘Come on, Boz. Back to work.’
‘Scented drawer liners for you, boss?’ said Boz, holding up a pack.
Oliver laughed. The sales assistant looked up momentarily before returning her attention to her book.
* * *
‘You are coming to a party!’ Michelle breezed into the shop, moments later, fresh from the hairdresser; her chestnut hair glossy and well cut, her eyes glinting at Vita who looked up from her book, a little confused.
‘Am I?’ She wracked her memory but could only conjure an