Chapter Two
Benjamin
W hat does one wear for the first day of work as a shop assistant in one of the most well-renowned chocolatiers in the UK? And why didn’t I just ask my new boss Mr Bennett what the appropriate attire for such an esteemed position would be? You know why, Benjamin. Because you were too busy smelling him, ogling him, dreaming of… Yes, yes, I know, but oh gosh, was he dreamy looking. I mean, a little standoffish and grumpy, but oh so very, very handsome. Dashing, actually. With his golden-blond hair and clear blue eyes. I wonder how old he is. He seemed old because he was very serious, but I didn’t notice any grey in his hair, although it was rather hard to tell because it was oh so very golden. And his skin… beautiful and soft-looking, with a few fine lines around his eyes.
Trailing my fingers along the different coloured dress shirts displayed on a table in the high street shop, Meredith’s Modern Men’s Wear , I recall what Mr Bennett was wearing. Dark jeans. A navy-blue button-up. And that charcoal apron wrapped around his broad chest and slim midsection, the grey colour clashing with the icy blue of his inquisitive eyes. His gaze wasn’t hostile per se, just intense. It felt like he could see right through me, into the very core of me, peeling off the top layer of my well-rehearsed polite persona, only to reveal all my flaws and failures. All my mishaps and mistakes. Because there are indeed many, and my shortcomings were always thrown at me at every opportunity during my childhood.
‘Look at you, Benjamin. Always such a mess. Can’t go an entire day without messing up to save your life, can you?’ and then, of course, Father’s preferred phrase: ‘You even had to ruin your mother’s Easter luncheon, didn’t you? It’d have been easier for everyone if you’d never been born.’
It’s true, though. It would’ve been easier. At least, there’s never been any doubt in my heart that my parents felt that way because they never failed to point it out every chance they got. And over the years, my brothers learned how to copy my parents’ behaviour to get in their good graces. Needless to say, I haven’t had any contact with any of them since the day I left home at eighteen.
“Can I help you, love?” A cheery voice sounds next to me, a pair of friendly grey eyes regarding me.
“I’m just…I’m just looking, thank you,” I murmur, letting go of the soft cotton fabric. Lavender with a frail bluish undertone. My favourite colour.
“Well, if there’s anything, then do let me know. I’m Meredith and this is my shop,” she beams. Oh, blast. It’s never easy—well, almost impossible, really—to steal from someone once you know their name. And Meredith is such a lovely name, and she even seems lovely. It’s even harder if they treat you with kindness. I’m addicted to kindness, you see. Growing up without any can turn even the strongest of us into a kindness junkie. I don’t shoplift very often, but sometimes, when I see something very pretty and fluffy usually, the urge strikes.
“I uhm…Can I ask you something?” I lower my voice, throwing a glance at the only other customer in the shop. I’ve never been to this place before, although it’s on the high street in Nettle Green in Kent where I’ve lived all my life. Maybe it’s new.
“Of course you can, love,” Meredith chirps.
“What would you wear for your first day of work as a shop assistant in a chocolate shop? A high-quality chocolate shop,” I hastily add, shifting nervously on my feet. The worn leather of my old shoes is soft against my feet, but as much as I love them, they’re doing a poor job of hiding that they’re falling apart.
“Well…” Meredith’s smile is friendly as her eyes coast along the row of dress shirts. “I would go for smart but practical. It needs to give off a good first impression since you’re dealing with customers, but it also needs to be something that you can move around in freely.” She taps her bottom lip deep in thought before she reaches for a dark green long-sleeved polo on a shelf next to her. “This one, dear. Try this one. The moss-green will go perfectly with your hair colour and your beautiful eyes,” she practically glows while handing me the polo.
Beautiful. No one has ever used the word beautiful while referring to my eyes—or any other part of me, for that matter.
‘Stop looking at me like that, with those beady eyes of yours. You only have yourself to blame.’ Yes, it’s true. It is my fault. All of it. Looking down at the green polo, I reach for it and the tips of my fingers connect with the silky-soft fabric. So similar to Bunny’s fur. So smooth and warm and just overall lovely. No. Don’t go there, Benjamin. Don’t .
“It’s…it’s very delicate,” I whisper, a lump building in the back of my throat, the ghost of Bunny’s sweet familiar scent lingering in my nostrils. “But it’s too nice…” I trail off. “I’ll only ruin it.”
“Nonsense!” Meredith quips, her pearl earrings dangling cheerily. “A stunning young man like yourself. You need something nice to wear.”
“I…I think I’ll just wear something of my own. But thank you!” I rush out. The last thing I want is to hurt Meredith’s feelings since she’s been so nice to me. Nicer than anyone in a long time, really. Stealing a glance at the price tag only confirms that there’s no way I can afford to buy the polo and now that I know Meredith, there’s no way I can bring myself to lift it.
“Try it on, at least,” she smiles, squeezing my left wrist. “See how it looks on you.” Her expression is forthcoming, unjudging, with nothing but sincerity in her eyes. Suddenly, I want to see myself in it. Feel the fabric against my skin. To lose myself in another version of my life for just a moment, pretending that I’m someone else. That I can be someone else for, however briefly, a moment. Someone who wears delicately knitted moss-green polos and works in a prestigious chocolate shop alongside the—although slightly grumpy—very dashing Mr Bennett and doesn’t have a single care in the world. Someone who’s not Benjamin.
“Okay,” I give in.
“Excellent,” Meredith clasps her hands together in front of her chest, her fingernails painted in a pale pink mother-of-pearls varnish. “You’re definitely a size small,” she muses, leafing through the stack of polos. “Aha! Here we go. Last one. See, Lady Providence is smiling at us. The changing rooms are over there,” she nods to the back of the shop. “If you need any help, love, just give me a shout and I’ll be with you in a jiffy.” She turns around and walks towards the counter, her heels click-click-clicking against the grey epoxy floor, and I head in the other direction, towards the changing rooms.
Closing the curtain behind me, I quickly discard my worn mustard-coloured sweater on the wooden stool in the corner and carefully slide on the polo. Taking in my reflection in the full-size mirror, I freeze on the spot. The polo fits me perfectly, like a second skin almost. And Meredith was right. The deep moss-green colour really matches my dark brown hair perfectly. Even the dull brown of my eyes no longer seems quite so lifeless, but instead rather… pretty. Yes, pretty. The luxurious fabric stretches across my slim chest and tapers down my slender waist, and I suddenly like what I see in the mirror. I look stylish. Nice, even. And that’s exactly it, isn’t it? It’s too nice. Too nice for someone like me.
‘Look what you’ve done, Benjamin. Ugh, you just ruin everything, don’t you? No wonder your mother has stopped inviting people over when you’re around. Such a nuisance.’ My heartbeat fastens into a frantic pace as the sound of Father’s voice rings through my head. Yeah, I can’t have nice things. I’ll only ruin them just like I’ve ruined everything else.
Taking off the polo carefully, I quickly put my sweater back on and leave the changing area. Heading for the counter, my eyes downcast, I hope Meredith won’t be there, so I can just place it on the counter and slip out of the shop unnoticed. No such luck, though.
“How was it?” she enquires cheerfully, twisting her golden necklace around her index finger.
“It was…it was very nice,” I gulp, looking at the stack of woollen scarfs in pastel colours adorning the counter, my gaze zeroing in on a lemon meringue one. My mouth waters. I love pastels. I dream of an entire closet fi lled with pastel-coloured clothes. Like that scene in the Great Gatsby . The original one, not that awful, fast-paced one with Leonardo. No, the one with dreamy Robert Redford and Mia Farrow. When he shows her all her pastel-coloured shirts, she twirls around and laughs and laughs and lau—
“And…?” Meredith beams expectantly.
“Oh. I think I’ll just think about it,” I whisper, placing the polo on the counter and, along with it, my dream of life’s little luxuries. “But thank you for your time.”
“Nonsense! What’s to think about? It’s perfect for you, young man.” A frown appears between her groomed brows as something seems to dawn on her. Brushing at her fringe, she bites her bottom lip, deep in thought, before her face suddenly brightens again. “Oh, silly me! I forgot to tell you. It’s on sale. 50% off. I’m trying to make room for the new spring collection, so it’s gotta go, really,” she smiles as she starts to fold the polo neatly. “You sure I can’t tempt you? Last small one in green,” she sing-songs.
“I…” I lift my gaze, my eyes connecting with hers briefly. “I think I’ll just…” I pull at the neckline of my sweater, a suffocating feeling rising in my chest, as I steal a glance towards the exit.
“I tell you what,” she continues, unfazed, as she pulls a paper bag from behind the counter and places the polo inside it. “Take the polo. Then, when you get your first salary, you come pay me.” There’s a finality to her words, a challenging glimmer in her eyes, giving off an end-of-discussion message.
“But…but you don’t know me,” I blurt, my eyes stinging with unshed tears. “I’m just…” I shake my head in disbelief as she pushes the bag across the counter against my chest .
“And I love chocolate!” she coos. “It’s my guilty pleasure, you see.” She winks conspiratorially. For a moment, confusion blurs my mind. “And I don’t mind a bit of liquor inside, if you know what I mean,” she grins. “ Barnaby is always better with a little buzz.” She laughs, waving a hand in front of her. “Who am I kidding? Life in general—and menopause in particular—is better with a little buzz.”
“Oh…I see…” I nod eagerly, leaning in over the counter and lowering my voice. “I don’t think I’ll get paid for another month, though.”
“That’s perfectly all right, love. You go on now.” She shoos me, pointing at the exit. Still in somewhat of a stupor, I turn around and nearly float out of the shop, clutching the paper bag against my chest like it’s my most prized possession. Well, it is. I’ve never owned anything this pretty before. If I had a closet, I would twirl and twirl and twirl around in front of it later, holding the polo against my chest. Just as I’m closing the door carefully behind me, she calls out after me, “And best of luck at your new job, young man! I hear our Mr Bennett is quite a character.” Yeah, I’m going to need that. I’m going to need all the luck in the world. But maybe—with this shirt—I can at least fool Mr Bennett for a little. Our Mr Bennett.