‘That’s why it’s nice to see some new life coming into this street,’ Harry’s voice carried from the front of the shop. ‘And a bookshop too. It’s traditional values, isn’t it? Stories. Getting folk to read. Better than sitting in front of those Gameboy things,’ he said. ‘We’ve a grandson – well, he’s twenty-five now, but he’s constantly on one of those gaming things. Hard to get a conversation with him at all. A nod if you’re lucky.’
The poor grandson probably couldn’t get a word in when he tried, Libby thought as she carried her cup to the front of the shop.
‘Things have definitely changed,’ she said, ‘but, as you said, hopefully we can keep a bit of life in the street. I like it here. Near enough to the town centre to get some footfall but not to be rammed with parking and buskers and the like.’
‘Don’t even get me started on buskers,’ Harry said, crossing his arms over his rounded tummy – the buttons on his striped shirt straining over his white vest. As he took a deep breath and started to talk, Libby had a feeling he was getting started anyway.
What she had intended to be a quick two minutes to the shop and back ended up more than twenty – but Harry had given her a free packet of near date Ginger Nuts as a welcome to the area, pressed them into her hand, saying there was no need to say thank you and had smiled that dazzling smile again at her. She could see that, in his youth, he had probably been a very handsome man, and by the way he talked – and talked, and talked – she sensed he was lonely. That he enjoyed being at the heart of the community. She wondered if he and Grandad Ernie would have gotten along. She imagined they would have, although how either of them would ever have managed to get work done would have been a mystery.
As she sipped the latte, felt the caffeine surge into her bloodstream, she vowed she’d make a point of getting to know Harry a bit better. To keep a wee eye out for him.
Libby smiled as she crossed back over the street and unlocked the door, pushing it open again. She sat at the counter, on the stool she had brought with her, and sipped her coffee, doing her very best to practice positive visualisation. She even allowed herself to crack open the Ginger Nuts before she could mentally hear Jess’s voice warning her about the many free-floating germs in the shop.
So, instead, she put the biscuits in her bag and opened her Pinterest account on her laptop. Smiling broadly, she looked at all the pictures she had pinned. Rich green walls. Copper light shades. Polished wooden floor. Vintage upcycled desks and chairs. Prints of classic book covers she would frame and hang around the shop. Reusing old shelving units – repurposing – that was the word, wasn’t it? It would be quirky – different – homely. Exposed brickwork at the coffee bar. Plants trailing ivy leaves. Quirky sundries for sale at the counter. She could fix the old glass-front drapery unit to stock pins and postcards, tote bags and badges. A bibliophile’s dream.
She was high on the thought of it, until pest control arrived and confirmed that, yes, all but one of the traps they had set contained vermin. Rats and mice. Double joy. The man laughed when she asked if he thought that was all of them, then?
‘Not likely, my love,’ he said. ‘But we’ve an idea of where they’re getting in. Hate to say it, but all this refurb work is likely to bring them out of hiding for a bit. My advice to you would be to let us lay the poison, but be prepared that we might need to work at this again and again until the heavy lifting is done and we can seal off any and all entry points.’
Libby’s skin crawled at what she now imagined as an army of furry friends scuttling between the floorboards and in the cavity walls.
‘I’ve seen places in worse states,’ Mr Pest Controller said. ‘You wanted to see it when that old derelict factory beside the Craigavon Bridge went up in smoke. It was the bloody Pied Piper of Hamelin on the Foyle Road. Hundreds of the wee bastards running for cover.’
Libby shuddered.
‘Yours is nowhere near that.’
‘I suppose that’s some reassurance,’ she said, although she felt anything but reassured.
Libby pondered over the fact that the rat catcher was exceptionally cheerful for a man who spent his day chasing vermin and infestations. The thought made her mildly nauseous – but she suppose it took all sorts. She made a mental note to invite him to the grand opening. She needed cheery people around – as long as he didn’t reference the scuttling vermin to her guests.
Next, Ant’s handymen arrived, complete with a second large skip, which caused Harry to peep his head out from his shop and offer her a big thumbs up as it landed with an unceremonious clunk on the road outside the shop.
‘Hard to beat a good clear-out,’ he shouted, before disappearing back indoors.
The men started on the yard first, clearing all sorts of detritus in super quick time.
Libby sent Ant a text, thanking him and telling him the men were doing a great job. He sent a smiley face back and a simple:
You can thank me later?
Libby rolled her eyes, but she was feeling positive, so it was in a playful way. She didn’t normally see Ant on a Monday, but just maybe she could make an exception and take a very quick visit to his that evening.
See you after work?
She typed back, and was rewarded with a grinning face emoji as a response.
When the shopfitter arrived to discuss her plans, she was positively glowing with excitement. She wasn’t even fazed when he told her that while he could help with design, fixtures and fittings, including the stockroom, and with the coffee bar, it might be worth scouting some vintage markets or auctions herself for the older pieces she wanted.
‘We could work on getting you some stuff – but, to be honest, it would be more economical for you to go with some reproduction stuff. A similar look for less money,’ Craig, a tall, skinny redhead with a thick Glasgow accent said.
Libby pulled a face. Maybe he was right, but she had fallen in love with the idea of bits and pieces which had stories of their own.
Craig noticed the look on her face. ‘If you have your heart set on the real deal, and you want the best deal – then shop around. I can get you a list of upcoming markets? I think there’s one in Belfast soon that tends to be good. You probably have an idea of what you want, but I’d recommend looking at ercol furniture. I think it would suit the look you’re going for. It’s pricey – especially the mid-century stuff – but it’s hard to beat, quality wise.’
Libby smiled. Shopping around was something she could do.
She liked Craig, she decided. There was something about him that made her feel reassured that not only was he on board with her vision for the shop, he was also not going to overcharge and underwork. His enthusiasm for the project was obvious.
They were leaning over the counter, scrawling sketches of what they thought the shop could look like when Libby was distracted by the sound of someone coming in through the door. She looked up and saw Noah walk through the door, with Paddy trotting dutifully behind him, sniffing the air.
9
The Old Curiosity Shop
‘Ah, Libby,’ Noah said. ‘Paddy and I just fancied a nosy. Given that the door was open. It’s already looking better in here.’ He nodded towards the newly cleared floors of the shop and where some of the old plasterwork had been stripped out.