The Little Shop of Hidden Treasures Part Two

by Holly Hepburn

  Hope mulled it over all morning as she worked at the Emporium. Joe didn’t have much to spend and she knew he hated having to ask for help. But out of his three siblings, Joe had always been closest to Hope and if he was going to come to any of them, it was most likely to be her. She might have suggested he buy their parents a nice bottle of wine, to go with the exquisite decanter set she’d found, if Harry hadn’t got in there first and bought six bottles of eye-wateringly expensive Burgundy from the year of their parents’ marriage – 1981 had been a good year for grapes as well as weddings, it seemed.

  The Emporium had nothing to offer, either – at least, nothing within Joe’s price range. Then her eye was caught by a Victorian silver photo frame – still far too expensive, even with her staff discount, but it triggered an idea.

  Have you still got the photo of Mum and Dad you took at Harry’s birthday last year? she typed.

  Joe’s response was puzzled: Yeah???

  Send it over. Hope typed, smiling to herself. I’ve got an idea.

  * * *

  It was just after closing time by the time she reached Will’s shop near The Shambles, breathing a little heavily from walking fast. He unlocked the door when she tapped gently on the glass, smiling when he saw it was her. ‘Hello. Come on in.’

  ‘Thank you for doing this,’ she said, once she was inside the brightly lit, glittering shop. ‘It shouldn’t take long.’

  ‘No problem,’ he replied. ‘I’ve picked out a few frames that might work. Did you have any trouble with the photo?’

  It had taken Hope four attempts to successfully transfer the photo on her phone to the self-service printing machine at Happy Snaps on Davygate, and even longer to get the size and resolution right. It wasn’t that she lacked the technical skills, more that the machine seemed to have a mind of its own and clearly thought it knew what Hope wanted better than she did. But she had persevered and, with a bit of help from the only-slightly condescending shop assistant, she’d managed to get the job done.

  She held up the jute carrier bag that held a cardboard A4 folder. ‘We got there eventually,’ she said. ‘I used the measurements you suggested so fingers crossed.’

  A number of silver photo frames were spread along one end of the long, glass-topped counter. Hope was just about to take a closer look when the door behind the counter inched open and she spotted a flash of movement in the room beyond.

  ‘She’s been like a cat on hot bricks ever since I mentioned you were popping in,’ Will murmured to Hope, then paused to glance at the door. ‘Do you want to come and say hello, Brodie?’

  There was a faint rustling, followed by the sound of small feet thudding across the floor. A second later, the door was pushed back and Brodie was there. The largest of the red and gold Matryoshka dolls Hope had given her was clutched firmly in one hand.

  ‘Hello,’ Hope said, with a little wave. ‘Would you like to help me choose a frame for my photograph?’

  Nodding, Brodie stepped forwards. Hope laid the jute bag on the counter and slid the cardboard folder out. ‘This is a picture of my parents – it’s their ruby wedding anniversary next week.’

  Brodie gave Will a questioning look.

  ‘That means they’ve been married for forty years,’ he explained and glanced at Hope. ‘But together for longer, I imagine.’

  ‘Forty-two,’ Hope said. ‘They met at a Roxy Music gig in 1979. Dad always jokes that he owes Bryan Ferry a drink – “Love is the Drug” started just as Dad’s eyes met Mum’s and that was it.’

  Will smiled. ‘That’s what you should have engraved on the frame – Love is the Drug.’

  It was perfect, Hope realized, and even more so when she remembered the framed picture was actually a gift from Joe; he’d inherited their parents’ love of music and played guitar in a band. ‘Excellent idea,’ she said, beaming at Will. ‘Do you think there’ll be space?’

  ‘Depends on the frame,’ he replied and gathered up the silver rectangles to lay them out in front of her. ‘Why don’t you see which one you like best?’

  Hope’s gaze slid to the little girl on the other side of the counter. ‘What do you think, Brodie? Which one goes best with the photo?’

  But Brodie’s gaze was fixed on the picture. It was a black and white image, taken in the garden at Harry’s birthday party the previous August; Hope’s mother was seated and her dad stood behind the chair, bending to loop his arms around her. Joe had caught them mid-laugh – their father’s eyes were crinkled with merriment and their mother’s face was half-turned towards him, glancing up with her mouth curved in a wide grin. To Hope, it was the definition of joy and it made her smile every time she saw it.

  ‘Do you like it?’ she asked Brodie.

  A flurry of emotions seemed to dance across the girl’s face. Without warning, she dipped her head towards the doll she held. Hope saw her lips move but there was no sound.

  ‘As you can see, Brodie loves the dolls you gave her,’ Will said. ‘This one is Titania, named after we watched A Midsummer Night’s Dream on CBeebies.’

  ‘That’s a beautiful name,’ Hope said, and thought back to the afternoon she’d given the set of Russian nesting dolls to Brodie. The little girl had immediately discovered the progressively smaller dolls inside, each decorated more delicately than the last, and had listened wide-eyed as Hope told her she could trust them with any secret she wanted to share. Judging from the wordless whisper Brodie had bestowed upon Titania’s head, the little girl had taken Hope’s story to heart.

  ‘The other dolls have names too,’ Will said. ‘They often have breakfast with us.’

  Hope hid a smile as an image of him serving up Rice Krispies to Brodie and her six wooden friends popped into her head. Not for the first time, it struck Hope how much Will’s life must have changed since the accident that robbed him and Brodie of their family. But he seemed to be relishing his new role, both as a surrogate parent and in his unexpected side gig as chef to a family of Matryoshka. ‘Wow,’ she said. ‘Do they leave toast crumbs in the butter?’

  Brodie shook her head hard, causing Will to smile. ‘No, but there was an issue with the Nutella. We had to set some rules.’

  ‘I can imagine,’ Hope said gravely. ‘Is there anything worse than crumbs in the Nutella jar?’

  His lips quirked. ‘No Nutella at all? But we should probably work out which frame you’d like. Then I can get the engraving done in plenty of time.’

  Hope studied the frames, most of which were considerably more modern than the selection she’d found at the Emporium. They were also a fraction of the price, despite being sterling silver, and she was sure she’d be able to find one that Joe would like. But before then, there was someone else whose opinion mattered. ‘Which frame do you think suits the picture, Brodie?’

  Shyly, and after a silent consultation with Titania, the girl tapped at a sleek plain oblong that had plenty of room for engraving around thick banded edging. Hope nodded in agreement. ‘Great choice. I’m sure my brother, Joe, would choose the same one if he was here.’

  ‘You’ll need to tell me what you’d like written,’ Will said. ‘Then I can make sure it’s all going to fit.’

  Hope pursed her lips. ‘I like the music quote idea. So perhaps that along the top. And the date of their wedding along the bottom, with their names. What do you think?’

  ‘Shouldn’t be a problem,’ he said as he reached below the counter and pulled out a sheet of A4 paper covered in different fonts. ‘All you need to do now is decide on a style.’

  After some deliberation, she selected an elegant but unfussy font that she thought suited the frame, the photo and her parents’ taste.

  ‘Good choice,’ Will said. ‘I’ll get the engraving done and fit the photo over the next few days. Is that okay?’

  Hope smiled. ‘That’s great. My little brother will be thrilled.’

  Will raised his eyebrows. ‘I bet he will. He’s going to get all the credit while you did all the work.’
<
br />   ‘Not all the work,’ she countered. ‘You’re doing the hard bit. So, on behalf of Joe and me, thank you. You’re a lifesaver.’

  Brodie had been waiting patiently but now she seemed to have decided there’d been enough talking. She tugged on Hope’s sleeve and glanced towards the door that led to the workroom beyond.

  ‘I’m not sure we have time,’ Hope said in answer to the unspoken question. Her eyes sought Will’s. ‘Do you mind if I say hello to the other dolls?’

  ‘Not at all,’ he answered. ‘I’ve got a few things to tidy up anyway. Mind out for the goose, obviously.’

  The workroom was exactly as Hope remembered it. Will’s scarred oak workbench dominated in the centre of the room, dotted with the tools of his trade; she could imagine him sitting there, head bowed, hard at work under the spotlights while Brodie played on the rug or drew at the white wooden desk in the corner of the room. Her desk was covered in colourful hand-drawn pictures that spilled onto the floor and mingled with escaped felt-tip pens. She was clearly an artist.

  The other Matryoshka dolls were laid out in a semi-circle on the rug. Brodie sat, cross-legged, in front of them and looked expectantly at Hope. ‘That’s very kind,’ she said solemnly. ‘I’d love to join you.’

  Sitting beside Brodie, she allowed the girl to show her each doll. ‘I can see you’re taking very good care of them,’ she said, once each doll had been introduced and returned to her place in the semi-circle. ‘Mr Young will be pleased.’

  Brodie nodded, then shuffled across the white wooden desk. She rummaged among the papers, sending more cascading to the floor, then seemed to find what she was searching for. She presented it to Hope, who immediately recognized the tall yellow building. ‘Oh, it’s the Ever After Emporium,’ she exclaimed, examining the picture with delight. ‘Are those the flamingos in the windows?’

  She was rewarded with a smile and another drawing. This one also showed the Emporium, with the stick figure of a woman beside it. She had a mass of curly orange hair and a smile so wide it surpassed her face. ‘Is this me?’ she asked, wanted to be sure. When Brodie nodded, she went on. ‘What a lovely picture – you’re very good at drawing.’

  Apparently satisfied by the praise, Brodie turned her attention to the dolls and began to rearrange them. Hope twisted round and gathered up the sheets of paper that were scattered on the rug. There were several pictures of the Matryoshka, bright and colourful, and others that were clearly Will and Brodie; his hair was bigger than his head. But the image that caused Hope’s smile to fade, the scene appeared over and over, was the one that contained two tall figures and one small one. Sometimes they were linked hand in hand, the little one always in the centre, but more often the adults were far away, leaving the child on her own. The only colour in those pictures was the yellow hair of Brodie and her mother, and the blue tears dripping down the little girl’s face.

  Hope’s own eyes swam and she raised a hurried hand to dab at them. It wasn’t a surprise that Brodie would express her grief through art – she was sure Will encouraged her to do so – but she wasn’t prepared for her own reaction to the pain and loneliness that ached from the page. It brought back all the desolation of the early days after Rob’s death, when she’d been breathless with loss and wracked by the unfairness of it all. But she had been an adult, and she’d known the day was coming. She couldn’t begin to imagine how hard it had been for Brodie.

  Hope only realized the girl was beside her when she took the picture from her hands. It wasn’t a snatch, just a gentle assertion of ownership. Hope blinked back the frosting of tears along her lashes. ‘You must miss them very much.’

  Brodie didn’t look up from her picture but Hope thought her head inclined just the tiniest fraction. ‘It’s okay to feel that way. I lost someone too. It was a long time ago now but I still miss him every day.’

  Her throat closed over the last word and she had to press her lips together to keep the sudden rush of emotion in check. Grief still caught her out sometimes and she supposed it always would. But she didn’t know how to convey that to a five-year-old, not in a way that would be comforting, so she stayed quiet. Brodie was silent too but, after a second or two, her hand crept into Hope’s. They stayed that way for a moment, then a gentle cough broke the spell.

  ‘Time to head home, Brodie,’ Will said as they both turned instinctively. ‘Gather up Titania and the others.’

  In an instant, Brodie was slotting one doll inside another. Hope got to her feet. ‘I should be going too. I left Elenor on the brink of another date with Khalid last night and I have a feeling he might be about to pop the question.’

  Will smiled. ‘I’m amazed you were able to put the journal down.’

  She gave a little huff that was partly embarrassed but mostly selfdeprecating. ‘I didn’t. I woke up at three o’clock with the diary still open on my lap and a serious crick in my neck.’ His obvious amusement made her laugh. ‘I know. I need to get out more.’

  ‘I’m in no position to judge – my evening routine consists of the CBeebies bedtime story and falling asleep on the sofa.’ He gazed meditatively at the ceiling. ‘I can’t actually remember the last time I went out.’

  With no family to help, it must be tough, Hope reflected. ‘Can’t you get a babysitter?’

  He glanced at Brodie and lowered his voice. ‘She doesn’t like to be separated from me and isn’t great with strangers, so it’s been tricky to have people over. The therapist thinks it will pass, in time, but in the meantime…’

  He trailed off, finishing with an accepting shrug. Hope flashed him a sympathetic look, which made him shake his head. ‘It’s fine, really. Anyway, my point was that I’d be swept up in Elenor’s story too – from everything you’ve said, it sounds incredible and it’s even better knowing it all really happened.’

  ‘That’s how I feel too,’ Hope admitted. ‘Although it’s a bittersweet pleasure, knowing there’s no sequel – no second season to binge on the moment it drops.’

  ‘But also no disappointment when the writers get it wrong and ruin everything,’ he joked, then hesitated. ‘Would you like to come over for dinner on Saturday? It won’t be anything fancy but we’d have more time to chat. Unless you already have plans with Iris or Ciaran, of course.’

  Hope mentally reviewed her schedule for the weekend; she was going to the cinema with Iris on Friday night and had her regular family lunch date on Sunday. But Saturday night was free – Ciaran had already made it clear he wasn’t around. She’d made tentative arrangements to try and catch up with friends in London but there was something in Will’s tone, combined with her sudden suspicion that he was finding the change in his lifestyle harder than he’d admitted, that made her reconsider. ‘I don’t have plans,’ she said, then bit her lip. ‘As long as Brodie won’t mind…’

  ‘Mind?’ he echoed, smiling. ‘You’re top of her VIP list. Although I have to warn you, she’ll insist on giving you a detailed tour of the house.’

  Hope grinned. ‘I’ll consider myself warned. Ten quid says we’re asleep on the sofa by seven-thirty.’

  ‘Oh, a late night?’ Will said. ‘The smart money is on seven o’clock. The CBeebies goodnight song is better than Nytol.’

  ‘I think we can do better than that,’ she replied, laughing. ‘I’ll bring coffee instead of wine.’

  Will nodded. ‘Good idea. And if all else fails, we can break out the matchsticks.’

  Chapter Seven

  The Minster bells were chiming six o’clock on Saturday evening when Hope arrived at the address Will had given her. The house was one of a cluster of terraced and detached properties tucked away down a narrow, cobbled lane off Marygate. As always in the city centre, space was at a premium and there were no expansive gardens attached to the houses. Will’s home had a small courtyard out the front, surrounded by a low wall, and a well-tended apple tree was in full leaf at its heart.

  She made her way up the short driveway and rang the bell, admiring the sage g
reen paintwork on the door and windows while she waited.

  ‘Perfect timing,’ Will said, when he opened the door to greet her. ‘We’re just having hot chocolate.’

  The interior of the house was all clean lines and sleek curves that cleverly made use of the compact space. A rounded staircase curled upwards from the hallway and two beechwood and glass folding doors led into a glossy modern kitchen. The effect of the minimalist white units was only slightly disrupted by a number of Brodie’s drawings stuck haphazardly on the doors. At the far end of the kitchen, a set of folding doors opened onto what looked like a walled garden. Hope glanced inquisitively to the right and saw an inviting open plan living room with an L-shaped sofa and geometric patterned rug facing a wide flat-screened TV. Here too there were signs of a juvenile takeover; the rug was dotted with toys, and Charlie and Lola were dancing across the television screen, although the sound was off. Hope thought of the chaos that ruled both Harry and Charlotte’s houses and wondered if Will had yet accepted he was fighting a losing battle.

  Brodie was seated at the kitchen island, on a tall, velvet bar seat that Hope knew would be a magnet for sticky fingers. She smiled as Hope approached.

  Will pulled a jug of steaming milk from the microwave and fired an enquiring look Hope’s way. ‘Want to join us? Or would you prefer a glass of wine?’

  ‘Hot chocolate would be lovely,’ Hope said and offered him the bottle of Sancerre she’d brought. ‘Although maybe this can go in the fridge for later.’

  He grinned. ‘Good choice. But I thought you were bringing coffee.’

  Hope lifted the jute bag from her shoulder. ‘I did. And I found a little something Brodie might like – if that’s okay?’

  Brodie’s eyes lit up as Will put the bottle in an undercounter fridge. ‘You’re spoiling her,’ he said but without the slightest trace of reproach.

  ‘It’s educational too, if that helps,’ Hope reached into the bag and drew out the brightly coloured picture book she’d spotted in the window of the Little Apple Bookshop as she made her way along High Petergate. ‘It’s a story about the Matryoshka dolls – where they come from and how they’re made.’