Tell Me Everything (20 page)

“I'll have all these,” I said, taking a pile over to the counter. She smiled at me then, but I didn't smile back. “And some of those ties.” I pointed to the heap of silk ties that must have just come in and hadn't been sorted yet. “The brightest colored ones you can find.” They would look good against some of the T-shirts I'd chosen or as makeshift belts, but what I really wanted was for her to have to get on her knees and grovel before me. I was the customer after all. It was a heady feeling.

“
T
urn your head to one side. Gently. Not as if you're on a military parade. Now try walking again, the way I showed you before.”

I made my way from the back of the shop to the front, trying to thrust my left shoulder forward to match my right hip, and then the opposite with the next step.

“Right shoulder, left hip,” Mrs. Roberts was almost barking at me from behind the till. “How hard can this be,
Mollee?
Come on, try it again.”

I shuffled to the back of the shop.

“Bright smile,” ordered Mrs. Roberts. “Remember, appearance is everything. Now, left, right, shoulder, hip. That's right! You are looking like a lady, a proper French lady.”

I looked up at her with excitement and tripped over my feet, knocking into the envelope display. “Back to the beginning, Molly,” she said. “Once you've got this, we'll try it with a book on your head. Get the angle of your chin just right.”

She was so busy watching me she hadn't noticed Mr. Roberts come in. He stood hunched in the doorway, smiling at both of us.

“There you are, cheri,” she said, when she eventually saw him. “And what do you think of my transformation?”

I slumped in front of him, embarrassed, but Mrs. Roberts clicked her fingers at me. Quickly I pushed my hips forward so my torso was straight, one leg in front of the other, the heel of the front leg slightly raised.

“The shop looks very nice,” Mr. Roberts said, ignoring me.

I guffawed, but Mrs. Roberts looked annoyed.

“I meant Mollee, Juelles.” She pointed an elegant finger at me.

“Oh, she's looking lovely, dear.” But Mr. Roberts was staring at his wife, not at me. “Very neat and proper. You're working magic as usual.”

Mrs. Roberts clicked her fingers at me again. “You can relax now,” she said. “I have to go out for a bit before we go home, Jules. You will be fine, yes?” She picked up her bag and gloves, and then with an air kiss waved toward both of us, she was gone, the door shutting behind her like the final click of her fingers.

“It's nice to have you back,” I told Mr. Roberts, slumping back against the counter. Then I fussed about him, getting us some tea and telling him about the customers, until I realized it was true. In a funny way, it
was
nice to have him back. There was something comforting about the way he pottered around, checking everything I had done. He had a new stick he leaned on heavily, pausing only to tut-tut about all the changes in the shop until I told him they were Mrs. Roberts's idea. Then he walked round again, his head to one side as if he needed to look at it all again from a different angle.

“What a woman,” he wheezed, as he walked back to the counter. I pushed his mug of tea over to him. No white china for Mr. Roberts. “I bet she's teaching you a thing or two, isn't she, Molly? Although, you must admit, it'll take a lot of work to get
you under control.” He laughed as if this was a joke we should both be sharing.

I put my hand up to my hair. Miranda didn't work Mondays so at least she wouldn't spot the perfect chignon Mrs. Roberts had done for me. My shoulders straightened automatically, my chin at the right level for eye contact.

“So how's the boyfriend?” he asked.

“Busy,” I said. “He's involved with this big project at the moment that is taking up lots of his time, but it's not something I can really talk about.”

“Sounds important.”

I nodded.

“It's just that Mrs. Roberts has been worrying about you,” he said. “She said something about a note she'd found. Sometimes she gets a little, ah, French. Not that she's not perfect, but they can be more emotional at times.”

The
Help Me
note. I could have kicked myself. I'd forgotten about that night, but I still couldn't explain why I felt so disappointed that she hadn't asked me about it herself.

“She hasn't said anything to me.”

“You know her. She's not one to get involved, but she did wonder if you had everything you needed.”

Mrs. Roberts was worried that I didn't have things I needed? For the first time in my life I was cosseted and loved by people I really cared about. Between the shop, library, salon and bench, I had a surfeit of places to go. My days were so full of working in the shop, reading, doing up the Seize the Day bench, spending time at Miranda's salon that I worried sometimes about how I was going to fit it all in. And that was even before I included seeing Tim and training for the mission.

“I'm happy,” I said, and the strange thing was that it was true.

I felt fulfilled. My life had taken off in new ways I would never have expected a year ago. Every day was like a holiday. For the first time ever, I went to bed longing to wake up so I could enjoy the next day. But I still wished she'd talked to me herself.

“You are a funny girl,” Mr. Roberts said, but he was looking at me fondly. Not in the way he usually did when he said things like that about me. “And you like Mrs. Roberts?”

“Oh yes.” Even I could hear the enthusiasm in my voice.

He gave me a quick look. “The thing is, Molly, I'm still a bit poorly, so I'm not going to be able to come into the shop so much anymore, and Mrs. Roberts and I wondered how you would feel about working with her more or less full-time. She's been a wonder about it all. It's not really her thing, of course.”

“That would be fine,” I said. This time I was tactful enough not to seem too keen. “I'll miss you, of course.”

He nodded, liking this more. “We've got on all right, haven't we?” he said.

“We have,” I agreed.

“Told each other some rum little stories.”

“We have.”

“You've done me proud, you know. I spotted something in you when I saw you outside the church, but I never expected you to turn out such a nice girl. Just proves—” He fell silent.

“Proves what?” I asked.

“You shouldn't judge on first appearances.” He wheezed his way into a full-scale cough. I could feel my eyes narrow and my heart start to race as I waited until he was finished. “You must admit you were a bit rough,” he said eventually. “Wondered what I was letting myself in for.”

I was surprised to feel the old fury fill me. It had been so long since it last came that I had hoped getting so angry was just a
stage I'd been going through. But here it was, coursing back through my body like an old enemy that just wouldn't give up. I felt cold with what … ? Rage, fury, pique, outrage, resentment. Hatred that other people were always going to be telling me I was something I knew I wasn't, and the way I always believed them. I mumbled something toward Mr. Roberts. I was longing for him to go now. To get out of my shop with his coughing and ill, old-man smells and to leave it to me and Mrs. Roberts to clear up nicely.

“What's that?” He was still beaming, congratulating himself on dragging me out of the slums.

“I was never rough,” I said.

He let out a sudden roar of laughter. “You were like something the cat dragged in,” he said. “A big fat lump, sat there weeping and putting the fear of God into everyone.”

And then all of a sudden, something funny happened. The monster rage that had been threatening to ice me over unexpectedly melted. This wasn't something that had ever happened before. It normally built up instead, starting with something trivial, normally a slight that made me feel silly, and ended up with me turning away, running out, freezing off any emotional response to the person or situation so I wouldn't have to argue. But now the thawing was physical. I relaxed down from the top of my head, my stomach settling as the tension left, and then I started laughing too.

“I did scare that church woman,” I admitted.

It seemed like such a long time ago. A different Molly. I needed to keep my energy now for the bigger picture. With Tim, I could be part of something important.

There was a toot on the car horn from outside then and Mr. Roberts and I shook hands formally as he left. I handed him my
hand the French way, loose at the wrist and light at the fingers, aware that Mrs. Roberts was sitting in the car, adjusting her hair in the mirror as she waited for him.

“But you'll come back to the shop sometimes?” I asked. The unexpected thinness of his hand was shocking, his frail wrist stuck out from his cuff like a stick I'd easily be able to break in two. When I stood this close to him, I could see the skeletal outline of his skull. He even stumbled slightly as I let go of his arm.

“Mustn't keep her waiting,” he said, “but Molly?”

“Yes?”

“Keep Leanne safe for me. Promise?”

I agreed, even though I wasn't quite sure what it was I was promising.

W
ith Tim's memory training I had to look at something, in this case a patch of grass, and then shut my eyes and list as many things as I could about it for five minutes.

Grass is grass though. The only thing interesting I could see was a half-squashed can of lager with a wasp buzzing round the top. I got up and walked over instead to the tree opposite. Although the leaves were starting to fall, several of the branches were bowing under the weight of new pictures and messages that were tied on them now. I undid two and took them back to the bench to read.

I wish for peace, not war.

The writing on the first heart was childish and scrawling. The heart had been cut out with blunt scissors, which meant straight edges and paper tears. A snail's trail of glitter glue brightened up the cardboard. Four sequins had been stuck on at random, but when I flicked one with my finger it fell off and lay on the path, glinting in the sun.

I turned to the second heart. This had been done by someone older. It was beautiful. Whoever had made it had woven different colored ribbons in and out through the card, and had created a
collage of those see-through sweet wrappings so it looked like stained glass. A white label was stuck in the middle.

BE
SAFE
.

I turned it over. That was all.
Be Safe.
No name. No other message. Tim came up then so I handed it to him.

“That's nice,” he said, crumpling it up and dropping it on the ground. He hugged me to him so tightly his belt buckle was pushing into my skin.

“Good news, Charlie,” he said. “Everyone's really pleased with the preparation we're doing on the mission. I think that we'll be ready to go very soon. How does that make you feel?”

“Excited?” I asked hesitantly. I wasn't sure what the right answer was. It might have helped if I had some idea what I was letting myself in for, but I still hadn't confessed to Tim how I'd slept through my all-important first briefing.

He tried to lift me up then, playfully, but I was heavier than he thought so he stumbled. “Careful,” I said, but he wouldn't leave it alone. He picked me up from just below my bum, hoisting me over his shoulder.

“Tim,” I cried, “put me down.”

“You're my spy,” he shouted, half-running along with me across the path by the side of the playground. “My beautiful mission partner. My secret adviser. My very own Charlie Canterbury.”

A teenage boy walking a dog stopped and stared at us. “Crazy people,” he called out, but in a friendly way. Tim waved at him. “I love this woman,” he yelled, and as we passed I could see the boy wave back.

“I'm too heavy for you,” I called up.

“As light as a feather,” he said, as he finally put me down, but I could see the sweat drops forming on his hairline. I put my finger
up and wiped them off his skin, then put it to his mouth. He licked the tip of my finger like a cat. “So, spy,” he said.

“Yes, spy,” I replied.

We both smiled at each other.

“I thought we weren't supposed to draw attention to ourselves,” I teased.

“I forgot myself,” he said. “It's yourself, you make me do that.”

I felt warm inside. “How do you fancy a treat?” I said. “I've got an idea.”

We walked hand in hand, but just as we were approaching the pub Tim stopped. “No, Charlie. You're right and I was wrong. It's not safe for us to be seen together like this. Not so near to the start of the mission.”

“You're not the only one with a plan,” I said. I pulled him to the side of the pub and into the dark, empty beer garden. “Listen.” I put my ear to the wall. Reluctantly Tim came to join me.

I'd found that the bricks had a different feel here than other places I'd tried: the department store, several houses, even Miranda's salon when she wasn't looking. I was learning to pick up the different vibrations in the foundations. I knew Tim would be proud of me.

“Can you hear?”

Tim nodded. “Are you getting what I'm getting?”

I put my ear closer. All I could make out was laughter and confessions and jokes and, in the background, a life story droning on and on.

“This could be important,” Tim said. “Good work, Charlie.” He pulled out a small notebook from his back pocket and started making some notes.

“What can you hear?” I asked. I was resting both palms against
the wall now, feeling the warmth from the building settle into my skin.

“I'll tell you later,” Tim said. “When it's safe. So what next? Or do you want to stay here?”

“Do you know what I'd really like to do?” I asked Tim.

“Anything,” he said.

“Stay out all night and watch the stars.”

We went back to the bench and Tim put his coat round both of us. “Are you cold?” he whispered.

“Yes,” I said, letting my body fold into his as he held his arms tighter around me.

When you looked up at the whole sky you could only see a few stars at first. They seemed to twinkle and disappear. But if you forced yourself to focus on just one bit of the sky, then stars that had been invisible started to come forward and make themselves seen. More and more until what had previously been just a blank bit of black turned into a sparkling fairyland.