Chapter 8
8
‘I’m so glad Dad didn’t throw out the dragon fruit table!’ Ava hurls herself towards it and strokes the white-and-black pulp of the tabletop. ‘I was sure he’d talk you into getting rid of it.’
‘Your dad couldn’t talk me into anything. And if you want to know a secret, I think he’s a big softie at heart, and he loves that dragon fruit table really, but he’s too embarrassed to admit it now after all the bad things he said about it.’
‘Oh, you think so, do you?’ Ren appears in the doorway, holding a cake box from The Wonderland Teapot and a tray of three takeaway cups, but he doesn’t deny my observation.
I grin at him. It’s been a few days since I last saw him and I’ve missed him enough to make it feel like much longer, and his matching smile makes my heart rate speed up.
Ava comes over and throws her arms around me. ‘Thank you so much for the mugs, they’re the best mugs ever.’
She’s talking about the welly boot and cowboy boot mugs that Ren found the other day and how, when he went to pay for them as he was leaving, I refused and made him take them anyway. ‘It’s so unfair that he got to come and help you and I didn’t.’
Ren steps inside and I move aside some of the stuff on the counter so he can put the drinks down, and he hands me a cup of tea, and Ava a chocolate milkshake, and takes a tea for himself.
‘Well, today, you can stay and help Mickey while I take some of the stuff we threw out down the tip and to the drop-off point for charity collection.’ He opens the cake box and we help ourselves to a red velvet cupcake each.
I wasn’t going to accept his help with getting stuff to the tip, but he made a good point the other day that he’s got a big family car, and I’ve got a tiny two-seater that my dad used to drive. ‘I can help.’
‘I have absolutely no confidence that you wouldn’t rescue it all before it got thrown into the skips.’
I grumble but he has another good point. Agreeing to throw things away is one thing. Actually having to physically lob them over a railing and watch them smash to bits as they crash down into the skips below at the nearest tip is quite another.
‘I could help,’ Ava offers too. ‘I want to see what you made Mickey throw out.’
‘You’d be even worse! You’d rescue it all before I even got it out to the car!’ he says with a laugh. ‘Mick’s said you can stay here, and I’ll go and fold the seats down in the car to make more space and bring it to the door.’
I see Ava’s ears prick up at the shortened name, and I take a sip of my too-hot tea to cover how red my cheeks have gone. Because Mickey is already a nickname, not many people call me Mick, and the ones who do are typically only people who know me really well, and I like the feeling that Ren is steamrolling towards that category.
‘You can help me find ocean-themed stuff for the antiques fair at the end of the month, if you want,’ I say to Ava. ‘I don’t know where to start. I was thinking of displaying the diary and telling people the story of the mermaid and the sailor, along with a selection of ocean-themed objects to tie in, so if I start putting stuff aside now, we just need to find out the truth behind the diary and it’ll be a talking point to engage with customers…’ I trail off because my heartbeat is speeding up again at the mention of the antiques fair, but not in the fluttery good way – in the sheer overwhelming fear and dread way. I’m an imposter in the world of antiques fairs. My dad knew his stock. He knew exactly the kind of customer who’d want to buy it and exactly the right words to use to talk them into it. I don’t even know if I’ve got more than one item from the same house clearance. How can I ever do him proud at an antiques fair named in his honour?
I can sense Ren’s blue eyes burning through me and it feels like he can see the thoughts inside of my head, and I turn away until he makes excuses about going to get the car.
‘Dad says you went on a date,’ Ava says as soon as we’re alone.
I blink in surprise. ‘Your dad said that ?’
‘Well, no, he said you had cake and tea in a café, and you’re both single, so that’s a date.’
‘While we were waiting for you, you wally.’ I laugh in relief that Ren isn’t throwing around words like that. ‘My friend Marnie owns the bookshop up the street and she sends people on platonic dates all the time because she thinks they’ll get on as friends. It’s only a date if there are romantic feelings involved.’
‘He likes you. He blushes every time he talks about you, and Dad never blushes, not even when I talk to him about periods or this boy I like at school.’
And now I’m blushing at the thought of Ren blushing and she’s absolutely going to notice if I don’t redirect this conversation from the dangerous territory it’s straying into. Yeah, Ren is beautiful, but he’s very, very unavailable, and I don’t want Ava getting any ideas about our friendship because that’s all it is, and I’m not sure it’s even that sometimes. ‘You can always come to me if you want any advice about periods. Or boys, although I’m not so much of an expert with them, but I’ve got nearly three decades of period experience and I grew up with only a dad to talk to as well, so I know what you’re dealing with there.’
‘Did your dad put together a box for you? Every month, he finds, like, a shoebox, and fills it with different sizes of sanitary towels, and chocolate, and a book, and sometimes a new cover for my hot water bottle or a blanket or something, like a period care package.’
My heart melts. Now that is a guy who’s stepped up when it comes to periods. ‘My dad bought three books about periods and left them on the coffee table, right in the middle of the living room where anyone who came in would see them, because he wanted me to know it was nothing to be embarrassed about or shy away from. Every month, he filled the bathroom cabinet with supplies. I never had to ask for anything. It’s not easy to grow up without a mum, but having a dad like yours is special. Not all dads are like that.’
The conversation is cut short by Ren’s car pulling up to the door, carefully avoiding my mermaid’s tail statue and the tables full of junk that are still outside. I used to think they’d entice customers to come in, but I’m starting to wonder if it makes the place look like a jumble sale, and the Dickensian feel my shop gives off is because only people from the mid-nineteenth century would deign to shop here.
Ren opens the boot, revealing an endless cavern inside his big estate car and comes back in, pulling on a pair of workman’s gloves. Between the three of us, we carry everything from the area we’d cordoned off out to the car, while I try to make sure my second thoughts don’t show on my face. Some of this stuff has been here since my dad was alive, it’s hard to throw out things he chose, but I can also hear his voice in my head. If it hasn’t found a home by now, Mickey love, it isn’t likely to here. Let it move on .
When it’s all in and the car doors are shut, Ren stands in the doorway. ‘I won’t be long. I’m not sure which one of you is more likely to lead the other one astray, but neither of you do anything I wouldn’t do.’
‘Daaad, that’s everything ,’ Ava whines.
‘Well, luckily the shop is open so we’re a bit limited on things like going base jumping or wild-water kayaking in the hour it will take you to drop that off, but I’ll tell you what, we won’t do 99.5 per cent of the things you wouldn’t do, and you’ll forgive us for the rest, right?’
Ava laughs and so does Ren, his eyes twinkling as they meet mine across the shop.
‘And thank you,’ I add quickly. ‘You don’t have to do this but I really appreciate it.’
‘My pleasure.’ There’s that twinkle in his eyes as his gaze holds mine again, and then he shakes himself and swings his car keys around on his finger. ‘See you both later.’
‘Do you like Dad?’
Ava’s words catapult me out of the trance-like state I was in, standing at the window, watching his car pull away and then staring into space long after he’s gone.
‘It’s okay if you do,’ she continues. ‘Everyone at school thinks he’s hot. It’s sooo embarrassing. Every girl in my year has got a crush on him, and so have some of the boys. Everyone calls him the hottie history teacher.’
‘There are worse things they could say. It’s better than everyone saying your dad is the teacher who looks like a walrus, isn’t it?’
She giggles. ‘I’m going to tell him you said that.’
‘It’s okay, I’m sure he’ll take it in the spirit it was meant,’ I say with a giggle too. ‘And yeah, I like him, and I don’t mind if you tell him that too. Why shouldn’t I like him?’
‘Because you’re so alive and bright and young, and he’s so boring and old!’
‘He’s actually only three years older than me. And I don’t think he’s boring. I think he’s…’ I hesitate before I say something I shouldn’t and it takes me a moment to settle on a diplomatic answer. ‘…not having the easiest time since your mum left, but he’s trying his best, and underneath his hard shell, he’s actually very kind, thoughtful, and generous.’
‘Because he’s helping you with the decluttering?’ She’s going through trinkets on a dresser and comes across a ceramic seahorse and takes it over to the counter to put aside.
‘Yeah, but also because he’s… well, he always brings tea and cake even though he doesn’t have to. He’s brutally honest but that’s not a bad thing. Like those mugs, he could have just let you think he paid for them but he openly told you they were a gift – there’s something about someone who doesn’t hide even little things like that. I spent a lot of years in a relationship with someone who was never straightforward – it makes me appreciate people who are. He’s quick to apologise if he goes too far. And he makes me believe I can get a handle on the shop and face the antiques fair after all.’
‘Why are you so nervous about the antiques fair?’
‘Because it’ll be the first one without my dad.’ I was on my way out to tidy up the back room, and I stop to answer her question. ‘He thrived on doing antiques fairs and talking one-on-one with potential buyers, and it was his suggestion to have it in the castle, but he died before everything could be put into place, so it’s my turn to carry the baton and fulfil his idea. They’ve even named it the Philip Teasdale Antiques Fair in his honour, and that’s a lot of pressure. Everyone on Ever After Street is going to expect me to have something spectacular. Witt – the castle owner and the guy who’s set it all up – has got a news crew coming in and everything. There are going to be reports in newspapers and he’s sent press releases out to antiques dealers and special interest websites because he knew that’s what my dad would have wanted, but me… I’d rather stay in the background and hide in my shop.’
‘That’s sad.’ She looks over at me. ‘You’re so lovely, you should be on the news.’
Tears spring to my eyes at how unfiltered she is, and I march over and give her a hug. ‘So are you. Maybe your dad will let you come and help me out and we can both be on the news.’
‘I’d like that.’ She hugs me back. ‘Dad will say no though. He never lets me do anything fun.’
‘He’s just trying to protect you. It’s what dads do when you’re thirteen. I was thirty-six when mine died and he was still trying to protect me, even then. One day you might appreciate it more than you do now.’
I let her go and go out to tidy up before I sob all over her. After I’ve crushed up a few cardboard boxes for recycling, and she’s put a few more ocean-themed ornaments on the counter, she blurts out, ‘What’s it like not having a dad?’
‘Horrible. Absolutely horrible. It’s the worst feeling in the world. I would do anything to hug mine one more time. I hugged him every single day and it was never enough. If I could go back, I would hug him so many more times. Enough to make up for all the times I’ve wished I could hug him again since he died.’ It’s hard to think about my dad without getting emotional and I bite my lip to stop my eyes welling up again. Even two years later, the grief is still raw, lurking just under the surface, ready to be set off at any little moment.
She nods and thinks about it for a minute. ‘I keep thinking he’s going to leave too.’
It surprises me so much that the tears that were about to spill over stop in their tracks. ‘Ava, that’s something your dad is never going to do. You think he’s dull and predictable, but that translates to being steadfast and reliable. I get the impression that your mum was fun and exciting, and while that might be exhilarating in the short-term, what you really need in a parent is exactly what your dad’s built of. Strong and steady. There are worse things he could do than drink nothing but tea and go to bed early. I know he wasn’t exciting enough for your mum, but you’ve got a good, good guy there and you’re the most important thing in the world to him. Trust me, people like your dad don’t walk out on people they love. Don’t let your mum’s actions cloud the reflection of your dad too.’
She gives it some serious thought, and then comes over and gives me another hug. ‘Thanks, Mickey.’
We’re interrupted by a customer coming in, and Ava immediately goes over and asks the woman if she’s looking for anything in particular. I remember what Ren said about her lacking in confidence, and I get the sense that being here really has done her good. When she ends up buying a bell jar containing a model of a frog doing yoga, Ava brings it up to the counter and wraps it in tissue paper, and all I have to do is put the money into the till, wondering if I’ve accidentally fallen foul of child labour laws.
‘You didn’t tell her the story,’ Ava says as the woman leaves.
‘What story?’
‘I don’t know. Whatever story you’ve made up behind the frog in the jar.’
‘Oh!’ I laugh awkwardly. ‘Your dad’s made me wonder if I rely too much on stories and not enough on cold, hard facts. I don’t think she minded too much.’ I glance out the window and it brings my mind back to a thought that’s been niggling lately. ‘Speaking of cold, hard facts… Honest opinion – what do you think of the stuff outside?’
I ask her for a second opinion on the tables and crates beyond the window, with a few display pieces and boxes of stuff for people to rifle through. I thought it was a whimsical hotch-potch way of displaying things, but now I’ve started to wonder if it’s looking like a junk overflow, the thought won’t go away.
‘Bad. It’s sooo bad. It’s ugly and cluttered and it looks like the shop has filled up with so much stuff that it’s had to vomit the excess onto the street outside, and you don’t tidy it often enough.’
I laugh because she’s definitely inherited her dad’s bluntness and then pull my sleeves up with a determined nod. ‘Come on then, let’s get rid of it.’
‘Not the mermaid’s tail though! You’ve got to keep the mermaid’s tail, it’s awesome!’ she calls after me as I run upstairs to grab a couple of pairs of gloves and some binbags.
The mermaid’s tail meets approval. At least I’m doing something right.