Chapter Seven
Realising there hadn’t been a charity shop in the village before he went to America, Henry had no idea where it might be, or if there was more than one; he cursed himself for not doing more research.
He could hardly walk in, proffering a donation, ask if Ava worked there and leave, box in hand if she didn’t.
He’d spent the past week trawling Dapplebury House for an appropriate item but finding anything that wasn’t classed as a family heirloom had proven problematic in a home that had passed through generations for more than two centuries.
Eventually, opting for the easier criteria of something his mother wouldn’t miss expedited the task.
He didn’t want to delay reconnecting with Ava any longer. Carpe diem!
The wise words of his Latin professor, lost on Henry as a child, had grown in pertinence since seeing how rapidly his father’s health and faculties had become cruelly compromised as a result of his brain tumour.
His father’s illness had seen him send for him and pass on the estate long before either of them had ever imagined; for Henry it was a wake-up call.
Having walked into the village, Henry found himself wandering along the cobbled street, carrying the box awkwardly, as he searched for the shop.
It had been a long time since he had walked through the centre of the village.
There were more coffee shops than he remembered, a couple of bookshops, an art gallery and too many antique shops — seemingly closed by virtue of it being, what .
. . a Monday? Before noon? He didn’t know what the answer was but sighed.
No wonder the village is on its arse. Seeing two empty shops, Henry groaned.
The state of the village, and the fact he still hadn’t found Ava’s charity shop was doing nothing to improve his mood.
Deciding to give up, he strode across the road.
Pushing his hair out of his face, Henry glanced at the final run of shops and spotted a sign that said, “All Critters Great and Small”.
He recognised the shop name as the same as that of Ava’s mum’s charity, as he said it aloud.
He hadn’t seen it as he’d walked up the street, due to the fact the road forked around a central arc of buildings, housing a further two coffee shops, the butchers and a sweet shop, before stretching into the main high street.
At least knowing the shop’s name provided some explanation as to why Ava worked there.
Her mum was known as a woman with a mission, but Henry also knew it was a mission that generally left her daughter to roam the village and the land of Dapplebury House while she gave her time elsewhere.
He cleared his throat and picked up his pace.
Glancing at himself in the shop windows as he went, Henry wondered if he should have got his hair cut.
He had been home just over a week, but still hadn’t done anything about his collar-length hair, much to his mother’s frustration.
Trimming his beard, taking a shower and putting on clean jeans and a T-shirt, now hidden under his coat and scarf, suddenly didn’t seem enough with the prospect of seeing Ava, just moments away.
As he reached the door, he paused. Having spotted a sign saying “No donations until further notice” he muttered a curse.
Now so close, he wanted to see it through.
What kind of charity shop doesn’t want donations?
Shifting his grip on the box, he decided to go in anyway.
A bell rang as the door, lighter than it appeared, clattered into the shelves of bric-a-brac behind it.
‘Oh, bugger. I mean, sorry.’ Henry shut the door apologetically and flicked his hair from his eyes.
The lone customer looked up before returning her attention to an array of pink T-shirts, while the elderly lady at the counter met his gaze and smiled. ‘Not to worry, it happens all the time.’
Henry realised he was staring, disappointment at her not being Ava hitting him with the realisation that this was another turn of events he hadn’t contemplated.
To gain thinking time, he smiled and began browsing the shop — impressed as he took it in.
The charity shop he’d seen in his university town looked cluttered; he’d imagined it musty inside, full of unwanted and outmoded clothes and artefacts.
This was orderly, more like a boutique. Women’s and men’s clothes were in separate sections, and neatly arranged in blocks of colour on wooden hangers all facing the same direction.
The shop wasn’t big, but there was an array of clothes, five shelves of completely random ornaments and cookware, as well as a CD and DVD area, and a children’s section.
It smelt much better than he had imagined, with the scent of sweet apples emanating from a diffuser tucked in the corner of a top shelf, reminding him of warm apple crumble — a welcome smell on a chilly day.
The shop was a treasure trove hidden amongst the coffee shops and antique places in the village.
He wondered how well known it was and how busy it ever got.
Unfortunately, the men’s section of clothes was the smallest of all the displays.
Balancing the box in one arm, Henry held up a couple of shirts and looked thoughtfully at the shoes — none of which were his size.
With limited reason to stay in the shop, he risked looking like someone loitering with intent — which he was, but he didn’t want the woman at the counter to think that.
‘Looking for something specific?’ The elderly woman was perched on a stool, looking at him expectantly as she awaited his response.
For Ava to walk through that door was his instant thought but he didn’t want to answer questions about what he wanted her for, or how he knew her.
So far his return to the village had remained discreet.
He hoped to keep it that way. If too many people knew he was back and that his father was passing over the responsibility of Dapplebury House and the land that went with it, it would lead to speculation about the prospect of change.
As Henry was sure change was listed as something to entice fear, dread and anxiety in the local dictionary, he didn’t want that happening.
He needed time. His mind had been in turmoil since he had been back.
Discussions had over the telephone and decisions made in theory, became more complex when faced with the realities of their consequences.
‘Umm.’
‘Only, if you tell me, we might have what you’re after out the back.’
Out the back. Henry held on to the words. Perhaps the very thing he had come into the shop looking for was out the back. ‘Umm.’
‘There’s as much out there, as what you see in here. Just not enough time in the day to sort it all.’
Henry began thinking on his feet. ‘So that’s the reason for the sign is it?’
The woman looked puzzled.
‘No donations. Too much stuff, not enough time?’
‘Oh that. Yes, exactly that. Mind you I’ve been taking a few bits in. Can’t bear to send folks away when they are offering donations. You never know what you might be turning away.’
Deciding it might be easier than he thought to take a look out the back of the shop, Henry placed the box on the counter. ‘In that case, I’ll confess to this being a donation. I wasn’t going to leave it, but if you’re happy to take it, then it would save me taking it home again.’
The woman gave a cheeky smile. ‘Worth having is it?’ she asked, with a glint in her eye.
Henry smiled as he thought about the antique, gold photo frames he’d found, wrapped in yellowing tissue paper, stashed away in his father’s office.
His mission to find something to donate had been inspired by his desire to see Ava; he hadn’t thought about actually helping the charity.
But on reflection, that was precisely what those unwanted but no doubt valuable items would do.
The realisation appeased his guilt about taking them, somewhat.
‘Photo frames mostly, but valuable . . . I’d imagine. ’
‘Well, at the risk of getting in trouble, such is the story of my life.’ The woman winked. ‘I’ll take them.’
‘That’s great, thank you. But the box is heavy, shall I put it out the back for you?
’ Henry flashed her a smile. He liked her cheeky style and decided to play along.
The few older women he’d met in Los Angeles had stiff, expressionless faces.
Those he knew from his own circles — his mother, aunts on her side and those he met at functions — tended to be stiff in other ways — serious, stuffy sorts.
This woman had lived, and it showed. She reminded him of Mrs Perkins, who had been the housekeeper at Dapplebury House when he was younger. He liked her.
‘You’re not going to steal from us while you’re out there are you?’
Henry let out a deep laugh. ‘No. I promise.’ He held up his hands.
‘Good, you didn’t look the sort, and I’m usually a good judge.’
As Henry lifted the box from the counter, pretending it was heavier than it was, the woman grabbed his arm. ‘Wait, I’m meant to ask you if you’ll Gift Aid your donation, sir.’ The mocking tone in her voice suggested she had been told this many times.
Hmm, details. Henry didn’t want to give details.
‘Do you pay tax? Oh, bother, I’m not meant to say that.
I mean . . . ah hum.’ The woman reached under the counter and read from a piece of paper she had to hold at arm’s length despite her glasses.
‘We get twenty-five per cent extra, from the government at no cost to you, you just need to pay tax within the UK to be eligible.’
Henry softened at the thought of his donation raising more money for the charity. ‘Sure, why not?’ Taking the form, he wrote down the details of Ted, the elderly, but still on payroll, resident gardener at Dapplebury House.
The woman looked at the form and peered over her glasses. ‘Well Ted, I don’t know what you’ve been taking these past months, but my goodness, you’ve aged well since I saw you last.’ She raised her eyebrows expectantly, causing her glasses to slip a little further down her nose.
‘Ha!’ Henry swallowed. ‘You must know my . . . uncle. I’m . . . staying with him for a bit. Sorting a few things from his cottage,’ he lied.
The woman’s expression softened. ‘He’s never mentioned you. But I’m pleased he’s got someone looking out for him — family, such a treasure to have. Tell your uncle, Flo said hello.’ With that, she winked again.
Henry wondered if Ted had any family looking out for him. They had spent many long afternoons together when Henry was younger, and an enjoyable few hours wandering the grounds of Dapplebury House since his return, but Henry realised, he knew little of his personal life.
Flo stuck a Gift Aid sticker on Henry’s box of donations and continued, ‘I’ve missed Ted this past year. My herbaceous border’s not been the same since he stopped calling. He had the best hardy perennials for miles your uncle.’
Henry coughed and picked up the box once more. ‘I’ll, um, just pop this through shall—’
‘Can I try these on?’ The customer who had now chosen two pink T-shirts from the rail interrupted.
‘Of course.’
As the woman disappeared into the changing cubicle, Flo leaned over the counter and whispered, ‘At that size, you either go for baggy and have no shape, or go for fitted and show your shape. Neither’s ideal, but my money’s on the latter with that one.’
Feeling embarrassed for the woman, who Henry was quite sure could hear every word of Flo’s not so hushed whisper, from behind the curtain, Henry didn’t respond but motioned to the box instead. ‘So shall I?’
Her full attention returning to their conversation, Flo smiled. ‘Where were we? Oh yes, back in the day—’
As the door to the shop opened, and a young woman holding hands with a toddler came in, Henry couldn’t help but think he’d had a lucky escape regarding whatever “back in the day” memory Flo had been about to share.
He seized the opportunity to head through the door that was marked private at the back of the shop.
If the front of the shop was a treasure trove, the back was an Aladdin’s cave, packed with all manner of things waiting, yet to be discovered.
Henry called out hello, but the silence made it clear nobody was there.
Not knowing which of the overflowing sorting pens he should put it in, he placed the box on the floor next to a large sorting table — surrounded by an array of price stickers, hangers and size cubes.
Disappointment welling inside, Henry turned to leave, but as he did so, he spotted the noticeboard.
A newspaper clipping with a picture of Ava and her mum stood out, alongside it was a tribute to “The Founder and Much Missed Champion of All Critters Great and Small”.
It spoke of Lily Flynn’s passion for the charity and her untimely death from natural causes.
Henry was shocked, his thoughts instantly with Ava.
She and her mum had had a tumultuous relationship; Ava often feeling second best to the animals her mum cared for.
He looked again at the article and then at his surroundings.
Would guilt have made Ava give up on her own hopes and dreams?
Henry didn’t know, but he intended to find out.
Leaving the box under the table littered with piles of clothes that were presumably part of the “too much stuff” to sort, he left.
As he headed back through the shop, Flo gave him a wave from the counter and held up the slim-fitting pink T-shirt of the now crimson-faced customer with a wink.