The Poka Dot Shop

by Laurel Remington

  I shove the stained wedding dress into a bin bag, and put the Maggie Sottero dress and the orange velvet suit to one side. I can see that it’s going to be harder than I thought to go through everything, because some things might be worth keeping.

  Carrie and Stevie get on with going through some of the clothes, and Thomas checks out the racks that have fallen down. ‘We can use these,’ he says to me. ‘Maybe not for the front of the shop, but for the back.’

  ‘Can’t we just get rid of it all?’ I say. ‘Start again?’

  ‘Shop fittings cost money,’ Thomas says. ‘You should keep what you can.’

  ‘OK. You’re probably right,’ I say.

  I walk over to the edge of the arch. Through the knocked-down wall, the theatre is like a big white blank canvas. The arch is elegant with little bunches of plaster fruit that just need another coat of white paint. Having the two spaces together seems right somehow. Like they’ve been finally reunited. Will they become a gym and yoga studio, or a fabulous shop? Or something completely different? Right now, I don’t have a clue.

  ‘It’s such a classic building.’ Thomas says, coming up beside me like he’s reading my thoughts. ‘It would be a shame to turn it into a gym.’

  ‘A gym?’ Stevie says. She swivels her chair and comes towards me. ‘So you were serious when you said that?’

  ‘Someone is interested in buying the theatre and the shop,’ Thomas says. ‘Their idea was to turn it into a gym and yoga studio.’

  Stevie frowns at me. ‘I thought this was about redoing the Emporium for your mum.’

  ‘For me it is.’ I don’t look at Thomas.

  There’s an uncomfortable silence.

  ‘Sorry,’ Stevie says. ‘I’m getting a little confused here. Do we need to go outside until you two sort it out?’

  ‘No!’ Thomas and I say at the same time.

  ‘O . . . K,’ Stevie says. ‘Um, do you want to tell us what’s going on?’

  I plunk down on the floor. Thomas paces back and forth.

  ‘I first had the idea to transform Mum’s shop when I discovered Thomas working on the theatre – just on the other side of the wall,’ I say.

  ‘My uncle owns the theatre,’ Thomas clarifies.

  ‘So what was he planning on doing with it?’ Carrie asks, looking shyly at Thomas.

  ‘It’s a long story,’ Thomas says. ‘The point is that it’s been sitting here empty all these years. I thought that if he sold the theatre he could move back to Paris.’

  ‘Makes sense, I guess,’ Stevie says. ‘Does your uncle want that too?’

  ‘Not exactly,’ Thomas admits. ‘I’ve kind of been keeping the whole thing a secret from him. I wanted to surprise him by fixing the place up and showing him that it was possible. My uncle has lots of friends and family back in Paris. I know he’s torn – he feels sentimental about staying here, but Paris is his home.’

  ‘Gosh,’ Carrie says. ‘It’s kind of a mess, then.’

  ‘Kind of.’ Thomas nods. ‘I know I need to talk to him soon. Really soon, in fact.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Stevie frowns. ‘You do.’

  He sighs. ‘Everything seemed really clear to me. But then when Andy told me her whole idea, I wasn’t so sure. I’ve given it some thought, and I think her idea is really good. Have you told them?’ He turns to me.

  ‘Not the whole thing.’

  ‘Tell them.’

  As I begin to talk, I wonder if he’s torturing me. Describing my ‘vision’ in front of Stevie’s logical scrutiny and Carrie’s down-to-earth common sense is hard – harder than when it was just me and Thomas, brainstorming and thinking aloud. As I speak, all the problems swirl around in my head. How to get good stock and new customers, how to come up with a new brand and relaunch the business. Even if I could get my head around all that, at the end of the day, I’m only thirteen.

  ‘Wow,’ Stevie says when I’ve finally finished my spiel. ‘That’s quite . . . um . . . ambitious.’

  ‘I think it’s awesome,’ Carrie says. ‘It’s a brilliant idea to combine your mum’s shop and the theatre back into one. You have to do it.’

  Thomas pushes his dark hair back from his face. ‘It’s totally crazy,’ he says. ‘But that’s what’s cool about it.’

  I look around me and all I can see is the rubble and debris of the knocked-down wall. A great big mess. When I had my original idea to transform Mum’s shop, there wasn’t anyone out there wanting to buy the shop to turn it into something else. But now I realize how much is riding on my plans – Mum’s future, Mr LeBoeff’s, Thomas’s, mine – and I suddenly feel overwhelmed. I shake my head slowly and look at Stevie. ‘No,’ I say, ‘you’re right. It is too ambitious. I have no business thinking I can do this . . . this enormous project all on my own.’

  ‘But you’re not on your own,’ Carrie says. ‘You’ve got us.’

  Thomas eyes me critically. ‘It’s going to take a lot of guts and nerve, but I thought you had that.’

  ‘I don’t know. I just want my mum to be happy. But she’s not even here. I’m keeping more secrets from her – and I didn’t want to do that.’

  ‘It’s for her own good,’ Stevie says.

  Thomas steps forward, shaking his head. ‘Look, Andy, you have to decide.’ I can tell that he’s annoyed by my lack of courage. ‘You convinced me that your idea could work, but if you’re chickening out, then that’s that, I guess.’ He turns and walks towards the back of the theatre. ‘I’m going now to help my uncle close up. You guys lock the door on your way out.’ He tosses me the keys.

  As soon as he’s gone, it’s like the air from the room has deflated like a balloon.

  ‘Is there any reason you can’t do both?’ Carrie says. ‘I mean, fix up the shop but also talk to the gym people. Property doesn’t just get sold overnight, you know.’

  I don’t know, but it sounds like she does.

  ‘My dad’s got some rental flats,’ she adds. ‘He’s bought and sold lots of properties. It always seems to take ages.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re right,’ I say. ‘And it’s so great that you’re on board. It’s just . . . I don’t want to waste everyone’s time.’ I look at Stevie. ‘You believe in parallel universes and wormholes and things. Can’t you see into the future and see what I’m supposed to do – get the shop ready for Mum to sell, or fix it up?’

  ‘I wish I could,’ Stevie says, ‘but the thing is, you had a plan. Why not stick to it and see what happens? Ms Cartwright’s right about one thing: that sometimes we need to be a little braver. You’ve started this, and now the only thing that’s stopping you is you.’

  ‘You do sound like Ms Cartwright!’ I can’t help but laugh a little.

  Stevie smiles too. ‘Come on, Andy. This is your chance. You may as well have a go.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Carrie says. ‘We’ll finish sorting through the stock. And once that’s done, we can start painting.’

  ‘Bring lots of crisps,’ Stevie says.

  ‘Yeah, and maybe we can order pizza.’

  ‘Sounds like a plan,’ Carrie says.

  ‘Yeah,’ I say, smiling. ‘It does.’

  IN WITH THE NEW?

  Ifeel much better knowing that my friends are on board, and so enthusiastic about the plan. But that night, lying on the sofa bed in Stevie’s spare room, I can’t sleep. Doubts creep back into my mind. How am I going to get the shop fitted out by the time Mum comes back, especially since now it’s missing half the main wall? How am I going to get new things to sell – nice things? And then there’s Thomas. I’m happy for Stevie and Carrie’s help – and I’m really going to need it – but I miss the time we spent just the two of us doing up the old theatre. And it’s confusing the way he seems to blow hot and cold. One minute he wants to sell the theatre, and the next he’s disappointed in me for being a coward. But either way, I need to talk to him.

  After school, Stevie, Carrie and I go directly to the shop to do some sorting of stock before dinner. As we still don�
�t have a key to the shop, we let ourselves in through the old theatre. When I see the knocked-down wall, I feel the knots tighten in my stomach. What started as a makeover of a shop has now become a huge project! But the only way forward is to stick to the plan.

  ‘Start going through the stuff in the back,’ I instruct them.

  ‘OK . . .’ Stevie says. ‘But what about you?’

  ‘I’ve got an errand I need to run.’

  Stevie raises an eyebrow. She mouths the word: ‘Boyfriend?’

  I roll my eyes. ‘I’ll be back in half an hour. If not, I’ll see you at your house later. OK?’

  I walk down the alley to the back of the chippie and stick my head in the back door. But Thomas isn’t there. Instead, I find myself face to face with Mr LeBoeff.

  ‘Oh, hi,’ I say, embarrassed. ‘I was um . . .’

  ‘Andrea.’ He puts down the knife he’s using to chop up some fish into goujons. ‘I haven’t seen you for a while.’

  ‘Yeah, I guess not. Things have been kind of hectic.’

  ‘And how is your mother?’ He goes to the sink and washes his hands.

  ‘She’s up north visiting her mum and sister,’ I say. ‘She’s taking a break – from the shop and stuff.’

  Mr LeBoeff nods. ‘Good,’ he says. ‘A holiday sounds sensible. You know I was worried about her.’

  ‘Yeah. Thanks for that. I think it will be good for her.’

  He smiles faintly, and begins wiping down the work surface with a cloth. Since Thomas isn’t here, I should just go. But I don’t. Thomas said he was going to talk to his uncle about the theatre. I don’t know if he’s done it yet, and I don’t want to betray a confidence. But now that I’m here, I realize that this is the thing that’s holding me back. Thomas and I can’t do this all on our own – eventually, his uncle is going to need to know. His future is on the line too. Before I can talk myself out of it, I speak up. ‘Um, Mr LeBoeff, I was wondering . . . about the old theatre.’

  He stops what he’s doing. ‘The theatre?’

  ‘Thomas says it belongs to you. That you bought it for your wife. Before she . . . died. I wondered if you had any plans for it.’

  ‘Thomas told you, did he?’ He grins. ‘And here I thought you stopped by to brighten my day with a chat.’

  ‘Oh. Sorry.’

  ‘No matter. You are both young. It is natural to be drawn together.’

  ‘It’s not like that,’ I say. Maybe it’s the hot vats of oil, but I suddenly feel myself breaking out in a sweat. ‘We’re just friends.’

  ‘Friends . . .’ His mouth creases. After a moment, he nods. ‘I think that is for the best.’

  I raise an eyebrow. I hate to admit it, but his comment really stings. Does he think I’m not good enough for his nephew or something? Not that Thomas would ever want me as a girlfriend – or that I’d even want to be his girlfriend. It’s just that sometimes – like when he kissed me on the cheek, and drew the white x – I think about what it might be like if I was.

  Mr LeBoeff rinses the cloth in the sink. ‘You see, lately I have become worried about the boy.’

  ‘Worried? About Thomas? Why?’

  He shakes his head. ‘He does not talk to me. He does not come home. He is doing something in secret. I worry that he has fallen in with . . . what do you say? . . . a bad crowd.’

  ‘A bad crowd?’ I choke back a laugh.

  ‘I do not know what they get up to. And so far his schoolwork has not suffered. But is he drinking? What is he doing? He is only fourteen years old. Perhaps, Andrea, you can reassure me on this point.’ His face is so earnest, so full of love and concern, that I can’t just let him go on thinking the worst.

  ‘I don’t know who he hangs out with at his school, but as far as I know, he’s not doing anything bad after school. Quite the opposite. He’s very, um . . . focused.’

  Mr LeBoeff leans against the work surface like a great load has settled on him.

  ‘It is difficult, you know, this business of raising a child. Thomas has a great future ahead of him – I believe that with all my heart. He is intelligent and, as you say, focused. But sometimes I worry that he does not believe in himself. That being here – working here’ – he sweeps his hands around him – ‘he feels that there is nothing out there for him that’s better than this.’

  ‘Maybe . . .’ I think about what he’s saying. For a few years now I’ve felt trapped – by Mum’s shop and my stupid hang-up about the clothes. My new project has given me a purpose – a new way of looking at things. And Thomas has a goal too – helping out his uncle. A goal that he hasn’t communicated to him.

  ‘At least Thomas thinks about his future,’ I say. ‘That’s a lot more than I can say.’

  Mr LeBoeff nods. ‘Yes, he does.’ He turns to go back to work. I realize that I’ve let the conversation stray off topic.

  ‘Mr LeBoeff, about the theatre?’ I say. ‘What are you planning to do with it?’

  He studies me. ‘Why do I have to “do” anything with it?’

  ‘It’s just that I’ve heard that there’s a developer who wants to open up a gym around here. You could sell up. Move back to Paris.’

  ‘Paris?’ He looks a bit stunned.

  I realize that I’m on the cusp of giving away a major confidence here. Thomas said he would talk to his uncle, but he clearly hasn’t done it yet. In a split second I weigh up the options. Thomas is doing what he’s doing for his uncle’s own good – same as I’m doing for Mum. And right now, I think it’s in everyone’s best interest to get things out in the open.

  ‘I know it’s none of my business.’ I take a breath, stumbling on. ‘And believe me, it only started out because I was worried about my mum. I think you might already know – or have suspected – that she’s been feeling really low. It’s because the shop is failing. I wanted to do something to help her save it. I wanted to change it into something that sells more than just old junk.’

  He smiles warily. ‘It is a very good thing, Andrea, that you are helping your mum. But what does that have to do with the theatre – and a gym? And . . .’ his eyebrows rise, ‘Paris?’

  ‘Thomas wanted to help you too,’ I stumble on. ‘He thought he could fix up the theatre so you could sell it.’

  ‘And why would I want to sell it?’

  I swallow hard. ‘So you could move back to Paris. He thinks you’d be happier. He was doing it for your own good.’

  ‘So that’s what he’s been up to.’ His face softens with relief.

  ‘I was helping him paint the theatre. He was going to get it valued – see what it was worth. But the estate agent says someone is interested in turning it into a gym – along with Mum’s shop.’ I take a breath. ‘But I’ve had another idea. It’s kind of far-fetched, but it’s like . . . I don’t know . . . my vision. An amazing high-end fashion shop. Like a dépôt-vente.’ The word sounds silly coming out of my mouth. ‘It’s a crazy idea, really. I mean, I’m thirteen years old. I’m sure it sounds totally stupid.’

  ‘Show me what you’ve done,’ he says, taking off his apron and putting it on a peg.

  ‘What? You mean now?’ My mind races for an excuse. I can’t let him go in there. Half-painted, with a knocked-down wall—

  ‘Yes, I want to see.’

  ‘Thomas is going to kill me . . . !’

  Mr LeBoeff takes a ring of keys off a peg next to the door.

  ‘Show me.’

  Dreams – Old and New

  Like a prisoner marching to the gallows, I lead the way to the back door of the theatre. Mr LeBoeff doesn’t even have to bother with the key – I’m pretty sure Stevie and Carrie are still inside sorting stock at the back of Mum’s shop, and the door is already unlocked. I pray that Thomas isn’t inside – that he doesn’t see me bringing his uncle in. I know I’m doing it for Thomas’s own good, but he’s bound not to see it that way. Maybe somehow, if I can avoid him, he’ll just think that Mr LeBoeff went in on his own. The phantom x burns on my cheek – and
it seems a long time ago. Maybe we’ll never be more than just friends, but the idea of Thomas hating me is just too awful to think about.

  Mr LeBoeff goes inside. I follow as he walks slowly down the corridor, looking around like he hasn’t been in there for a long time. When he gets to the curtain, he rubs his fingers over the velvet nap, like he’s struggling with his memories. I hold my breath until he finally pushes it aside and goes through.

  I stand beside him as he gasps and crosses himself, muttering softly. I want to speak – to explain – but for once I keep quiet. He walks around, craning his neck at the ceiling, at the columns, at the pure white walls. His gaze skims over the smashed wall and the half-ransacked inside of Mum’s shop. I can hear the faint sound of Carrie and Stevie talking at the back of the shop. Mr LeBoeff doesn’t seem to notice. He walks around and around, lost in thought, all the while talking under his breath. To himself – or maybe, to someone else. His wife – Hélène. The person who the theatre was meant for. Finally, he stops walking. He stands right in the centre, his back to me. I’m tempted to sneak out – surely he must have forgotten that I’m even here. But then he speaks.

  ‘Thomas didn’t know her,’ he says, half to himself. ‘Not the way she was . . . before.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I whisper.

  ‘I’ve never told him the truth. How Hélène fell apart – with her illness, and about when his parents died. It just seemed too difficult to explain.’

  ‘Does he remember his parents?’ I say.

  ‘Not really. He was very young at the time. I suppose that is a blessing. And Hélène too has been gone for many years. I just wish’ – his eyes fill with tears – ‘that she was here to see this.’

  ‘If she had lived, what would you have done here?’

  He gives me a kindly smile. ‘We had a grand plan together. A plan that was worthy of her past, and mine.’ His eyes glaze over with memory. ‘Once, the name Pierre LeBoeff meant something in Paris.’