Chapter 7 #2
‘This is my home, my job. I’m not going anywhere.’
Fern sighed, rubbing her temples. ‘Daniel, this isn’t your decision.’
‘Actually, it kind of is.’ He put down his knife and fork. ‘I live here, I work here and I know this place inside out. You have no idea what you’re getting rid of.’ He held her gaze, and there was something about the way he looked at her, his hazel eyes steady and unwavering, that made her pause.
‘Please don’t make any hasty decisions.’
‘Daniel, I don’t want an antique shop on an island I didn’t even know existed a day or so ago. My life is in London. The best I can offer is to give you first refusal.’
He shook his head. ‘I can’t afford to buy it. Look, let the idea of it all sink in first, before you decide what to do with it. Please.’
‘I don’t even know the first thing about antiques,’ she declared.
‘Then work in the shop with me today and I’ll teach you.’
‘What?’ She gawped at him.
‘You can’t make any sort of decision until you’ve had hands-on experience. You’ll learn and you’ll fall in love, I promise. We open in ten minutes.’
* * *
Fern stood in the shop staring at the little sign that read CLOSED. Sunlight streamed through the dusty windows, illuminating the haphazard collection of oddities within – the brass telescopes, mismatched china sets, ancient globes and a disturbing number of porcelain dolls.
‘Go on,’ Daniel encouraged, sipping his coffee like he had all the time in the world, ‘turn it over.’
‘This is ridiculous,’ she muttered, but she reached out and flipped the sign to OPEN.
‘There we go. Your first official act as the new owner, and because it’s your first day, you get the comfy chair.’
Fern turned, eyeing the ‘comfy chair’. It was an ancient, overstuffed monstrosity with a floral pattern, its arms sagging, its cushions suspiciously lumpy. ‘That thing looks like it’s possessed.’
Daniel grinned. ‘Exactly. Enjoy.’
As she sat down the chair let out a groan of protest, its springs creaking beneath her weight.
And then … nothing happened. No customers. No curious browsers. Just silence.
She sat in absolute stillness, staring at the front door. The occasional sound of a clock ticking or the creak of a contracting floorboard were the only things breaking the monotony. Fern drummed her fingers on the armrest. ‘Does it ever get busier?’
Daniel stretched, leaning back against the counter. ‘Not really. But when a real treasure hunter walks through that door, your life will change.’
She exhaled. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever been so bored,’ she muttered.
Suddenly, the bell over the shop door gave a feeble jingle, and Fern jolted upright as an elderly man stepped inside the shop.
He was tall, with the most elaborate moustache she’d ever seen, and silver hair swept back in waves.
His tweed coat was immaculately pressed and hinted at old money, but his warm, inquisitive eyes softened the image.
He held a sturdy wooden cane, though he didn’t seem to rely on it much.
Daniel, who had been lounging behind the counter, straightened instantly. ‘Here we go,’ he mouthed at Fern. ‘Your very first customer.’ He widened his eyes and tilted his head slightly, silently urging her to say something.
‘Can I help you at all?’ asked Fern.
‘I’m just looking,’ the man replied as he browsed through a pile of music books, then turned his attention to the piano that was standing upright in the far corner.
He propped his cane against it, sat on the stool and lifted the lid.
His fingers slid over the keys and immediately Fern was impressed. This was a man who knew how to play.
‘You play well,’ said Fern, standing up and stepping towards the piano.
‘I do, but not for a long time.’
‘She’s a bit of a gem, that piano,’ Daniel said, joining them and resting a hand affectionately on the lid. ‘Needs a good tune, mind you, but she’s got a story.’
Fern turned to look at him with interest.
‘This belonged to Matilda, the former owner of this shop,’ Daniel continued. ‘She passed away recently but she used to play it nearly every day. Sometimes classical, sometimes ragtime, even the odd jazz standard when she was feeling playful.’
The elderly man nodded appreciatively.
‘She studied at the London School of Music,’ Daniel added. ‘Talented doesn’t even begin to cover it. This piano’—he tapped the frame lightly—‘is early twentieth century. Solid walnut casing, original ivories. She kept it in impeccable shape, up until the last year or so, anyway.’
The old man didn’t speak for a moment. Then, softly, he played a few more notes, letting them linger in the still air of the shop. ‘It’s a mighty fine piano.’ He seemed lost in thought for a moment.
Daniel smiled. ‘It is.’
Fern looked at Daniel. ‘Matilda studied music?’
‘She did,’ replied Daniel before turning back towards the man. ‘Would you be interested in purchasing the piano?’
The man shook his head. ‘Not on this occasion, but it’s extremely impressive,’ he replied, standing up and grabbing his cane before moving towards an antique gramophone and browsing through old music memorabilia.
As they watched him, Daniel leaned in and whispered, ‘How did you not know that Matilda studied music?’
‘Like I told you, I didn’t even know she existed until forty-eight hours ago.’
Daniel widened his eyes. ‘You know nothing about Matilda?’
‘Nothing whatsoever,’ she admitted.
The man turned towards them. ‘I don’t suppose you have any music boxes?’ He swept a glance around the shop.
Daniel shook his head. ‘I’ve never seen one and I’ve worked here a while.’
The man nodded as he waved his cane in the air and turned and walked back through the door.
‘Tell me more about Matilda. It’s crazy that I write about musicians for a living, and I’ve ended up inheriting a shop once owned by a talented musician.’
‘You write about musicians? That sounds an amazing job. Your next feature could be about how you found a man on the train whose guitar playing dazzled you, and you lived happily ever after.’
Fern rolled her eyes. ‘Back to Matilda.’
‘Spoilsport. I believe she was an incredible composer back in her time.’ Daniel picked up an acoustic guitar that had been propped beside the counter, settling it upon his lap.
Fern, still processing everything, watched as he absentmindedly strummed a few chords. The sound was warm and rich, filling the shop with an easy rhythm. He wasn’t just playing nonsense, there was a melody there, something familiar yet unknown.
Curious, she stepped closer. ‘What are you playing?’
Daniel glanced up at her, his fingers still moving over the strings. ‘A song Matilda taught me.’
‘She taught you?’
‘Yeah. She had all these melodies in her head. She’d hum them while working in the shop. I picked up a few.’ He played a chord, letting the note linger, then gave her a teasing smile as he strummed a jaunty little riff.
‘Can you write a song about me? Go on, sing something.’
‘All right, you asked for it. Here goes nothing.’
He strummed a lively, upbeat rhythm, and then began to sing,
‘Well, here comes Fern from the big city lights,
‘With a suitcase full of dreams and a head full of heights.’
He strummed a few more chords and carried on.
‘You claimed you were scared of the moose’s head, but let’s be real…
‘You just wanted to cuddle, to see how I’d feel!’
Fern threw back her head and laughed. ‘You are mad!’
He struck a final chord, a playful grin spreading across his face. ‘Don’t even pretend you didn’t love it!’ he teased, his voice warm and light as he leaned the guitar against the desk.
‘That was so ridiculous, Daniel!’ she said, shaking her head. ‘I was scared of the dark and all that mooing.’
‘That’s your story and you’re sticking to it? But on a serious note, I think we’d make a good team running this shop.’
‘Daniel, I’m a music journalist. I’m not cut out to run an antiques shop on Puffin Island.
This is all just junk and there are no customers.
From what I’ve seen there’s no way this place is making money.
’ Immediately, she saw the smile slip from his face.
‘I know you don’t want to accept it, but I’m here to clear out all this junk as quickly as possible and get back to London.
’ Her voice was firm but not without a hint of hesitation. She hated upsetting him.
Daniel met her gaze. ‘This was Matilda’s life’s work. You can’t just get rid of it all. She’s collected most of these pieces herself. Each item in this shop tells a story.’
Fern could see the look of dismay on Daniel’s face.
She tried to smooth things over while still making clear that the shop would be sold.
‘This place … it’s had its time. Matilda would never have wanted it to become a burden.
Yes, she loved it, but things change. I mean, how much money can this place make?
Is it really a business? No one’s bought anything today, and you’re living in a …
haunted house,’ Fern said, gesturing around the shop.
‘I mean, it’s not even a place you can bring girls back to.
It can’t be doing much for your love life. ’
‘Matilda wanted this shop to go on.’
‘You can’t make me feel guilty.’
‘I’m sorry, I don’t mean to, she just…’
‘She just what?’
‘She knew her life was coming to an end, and she told me never to let this shop go as it would be my fortune and my future.’
‘Then why did she not leave the shop to you? Why would she leave it to me, someone she had never met?’
He shrugged. ‘She gave me the tenancy agreement, and she promised everything would work out.’
‘How long is the agreement for?’
‘A lifetime.’
Fern blinked. A lifetime? That was … not the sort of arrangement you could just brush off with a polite eviction notice and a scented candle. ‘You surely don’t want to live here for a lifetime?’
Her mind buzzed. Should she speak to the solicitor? There had to be paperwork, clauses, footnotes, something about this. Matilda had left her a business and a flat, but also, apparently, a full-grown man with a lifetime lease.
Was that even legal? Could you inherit a sitting tenant? What happened if you wanted to sell? Could you just turf someone out who’d been promised security by the person who left you the whole circus in the first place?
Her stomach churned. This wasn’t just an inheritance anymore. It was a minefield.
Yet here was Daniel, utterly relaxed, as if this situation was completely normal.
‘It’s all I have, and I will be forever grateful that Matilda looked out for me. The shop’s a mess, sure, but it’s got character. You can’t just erase all that. It just needs a good tidy-up.’
Fern raised an eyebrow. ‘Well, I’m not exactly in love with “character” in the form of creepy old clocks and moth-eaten tapestries. This place is practically a museum and that smell…’ She laughed – but Daniel wasn’t laughing.
A silence fell between them. Fern could feel the tension. She hadn’t expected him to feel so strongly, but she knew at some point there would need to be another difficult conversation as her job and home were both in London.
‘I’m going to take a breather,’ he said and pointed to the front door. She watched in silence as he wandered onto the lane, and when the cuckoo clock chimed loudly, she nearly jumped out of her skin.
This shop, and the memories of Matilda, seemed more important to him than she’d realised. She looked all around. What exactly was she going to do?