The Turnaround Treasure Shop (3 page)

It hadn't taken long, less than a month of careful, casual appreciation and study of her to recognise a number of sensitivities in Lily. He knew she'd been divorced for a number of years, and because of the way she behaved, in that quick-to-blush and ruffled manner, Nick guessed she hadn't been with a man in a very long time. If he ever got her in a closed room, alone with him and about to be made love to, she'd be shy and tongue-tied, limbs stiffened, eyes blinking.

Somehow, knowing all that made him want her more.

Honour and protect. He'd probably never shake the sense of responsibility ingrained in him. But these days he'd been pushing down thoughts of a very different way to honour and protect than the one he'd been trained in. Lily Johnson was ruining his peace.

But Lily wasn't ready for him or possibly any man, and Nick ought to be grateful for that because he wasn't the right man for her. He knew that without doubt.

Later that afternoon, Lily walked along the walkway, head down and with a slight frown on her face as she mentally went through a list of things to do once she got home. Not too many tasks to attend to, but somehow her days were always full. Find internet bill; fold washing for the kids to put away; put another load on. Maybe she'd find a spare 30 minutes to spend time in her workshop before dinner…

‘Must be two o'clock then.'

Lily looked up and smiled at Junior Morelly, the owner of the hardware store. ‘How's it going, Mr Morelly?'

‘Getting too old. Like a lot of folk.' He said it with a smile but Lily knew he meant it, being five years past retirement age.

‘My offer stands,' Lily said.

Junior munched on his dentures, eyes narrowed, and Lily held her breath.

‘Would only need you two afternoons a week,' he said. ‘And I wouldn't be putting the heavy lifting your way; I've got someone in mind to do that.'

Lily nodded, breath still held but mind ticking like a cash machine. Was he going to give her the job? He'd mentioned it a week ago. Two afternoons a week to clean the hardware store's back rooms and storeroom, once they'd been cleared of accumulated wares. It was well known around town that Junior might be retiring any year now, and that he'd been talking about clearing out the old in order to make room for the new. After the storerooms had been sorted, Lily would only be vacuuming and dusting, mopping floors and getting rid of the occasional spider who might think the empty rooms looked like home.

It wouldn't be much money but if she continued scrimping the way she'd become accustomed, the extra dollars could go towards her dream. The Johnson Family Fund. The shop on the corner. Lily Johnson & Children, shop owners. Business people.

Anticipation of getting this job and all it would mean for her skittered up Lily's backbone and as though the shop behind her encouraged her hopes, she even heard a bell tinkle. The one she planned on fixing to the doorframe. An old brass one she knew would find its way to her, somehow.

‘So?' she asked.

‘When can you start?'

Lily sighed in gratitude. ‘Thank you, Mr Morelly. I can start tomorrow.'

Junior smiled. ‘Excellent, but too soon. I need to clear the debris and junk first.'

‘Don't forget me if there's anything I could use for my hobby. Any bits of furniture or old metal items; I'll be happy to pay you for them.'

‘Nothing in there's of any use to anyone. Not worth a cent so if you find something you can keep it.'

‘I'd rather pay, even if it's only by cleaning for free for a while.'

‘Mule-headed, just like your mother.' He turned, then swung back. ‘I've got that someone I was telling you about lined up to help clear out the junk next week. So you can come along and help out — but no heavy lifting.'

Lily nodded. ‘Thank you.' There'd be treasure to find first, and after the storeroom had been cleared, no more than dusting and sweeping involved for Lily. Nothing she didn't do every day at home.

‘You are going to the Ball, aren't you?'

‘Yes, of course.' Why would he think she wasn't?

‘Good. Good.'

Junior turned back to the hardware store and Lily headed down the wooden walkway.

She turned the key, pushed through the glass-panelled door of the empty corner shop and stepped inside her impossible dream.

She flicked the overhead light on and a kind of papery-thin, tissue-wrapped eagerness engulfed her, as it always did. One step closer now she had a second paying job. Another year, maybe two — okay three — and this could be hers. What was three years anyway? It had stood empty for nearly eight.

‘Hello,' she said to the bare wooden shelving, the arch above the counter, the alcove and the shady nooks. ‘Here I am again.' The wonderful shop sparkled in the afternoon light, as though smiling and thanking her for her superb efforts. Ceiling clear of cobwebs; architraves without a spot of dust or mildew; walls washed, floorboards mopped. The shop vacant but not hollow. Unoccupied but full, to Lily's mind. Its heart simply waiting for someone to decorate it.

Lily put her hands together, the tips of her fingers on her mouth, and closed her eyes.
Please, God, don't let anyone lease it before me
.
It's too small for anybody but me. Don't forget that, God
. Lily had plans and God knew all about them. She didn't much believe in prayer, but she knew in her heart that something sustained the universe and as she'd been taught respect by her mother, it seemed like a good idea to keep praying — just in case.

In her mind she saw the shop filled with all the pieces from her hobby. Her pastime; her love. Regenerated furniture, rejuvenated country curios. All given new life by Lily's hands. Everything nobody else wanted. The pieces people threw out as old and outdated. Chests of drawers, bedheads, stools, garden benches and meat-safes. Unwanted tin wares, metal milk pitchers and candlesticks. Quilts, cushions, throws, lampshades threaded in beads.

She opened her eyes.

Turnaround Treasures —
Second-Chance Love
. What better name could there be for her impossible dream?

Rituals done, Lily got to work, dragging the old stand-up vacuum from the back storeroom. It might be 30 years old but it worked perfectly, still doing the job it had been intended for.

There was so much use left in so many neglected items. The junk and unused bits and pieces people put onto rubbish tips made Lily's heart swell with anticipation. A hard-working life she might lead, but nothing had ever bruised her optimism. Life. Old vacuum cleaners. Unwanted furniture. Curios and country wares.
Still loving, still caring
was Lily's motto — about anything, including her family and their future.

She bent and plugged the vacuum into a wall socket. Only once, nine years ago, had her optimism dimmed to despair. People stigmatised anything second-hand. For a while Lily had felt useless and second-hand. But she'd dragged herself out of that frame of mind. She'd had her children, still young, to care for. She didn't want them thinking they were less than perfect. Didn't want them thinking that because they only had a mother they weren't a real family.

Real families had fathers, Lily could admit this reality to herself but she'd be forever grateful her children didn't have to live with
their
father. He didn't deserve them, which is why she'd paid to have all their names changed to her maiden name. It was one way of cleaning him out of their lives. Martin Wilson, gambler and giver of black eyes, hadn't even bothered to fight her on it. He'd signed consent to change his children's surnames as though he were signing a chit for the 3.30 at Flemington racetrack. They hadn't seen him since. Fortunately, Lily's mother had paid for the divorce. Lily had been able to wipe her hands of him and the memories just over a year after she left him. After that, Lily hadn't accepted money from anyone, even her mother. And she never would again.

‘My, don't you look pretty this afternoon.'

Lily looked up and smiled as Mrs Tam popped her head around the shop door.

‘So do you, Mrs Tam.' Her mother's good friend, although a more unlikely association Lily couldn't think of unless you put a fiery dragon next to a lamb and watched them form a bond. One more openly opinionated than the other, but both with hearts as precious as a golden nugget.

Mrs Tam's black hair, balanced in a bun on the top of her head, had strands of silver in it. Her small stature was as solid as the hair-do, as was her community spirit and ingrained gentleness.

‘Did you need something?' Lily asked, resting the vacuum handle against the counter top. ‘Everything all right with the library?'

‘Well, I don't want to put more on your plate, Lily, but I do have a favour to ask.'

‘Shoot. What do you need?'

Mrs Tam tutted. ‘You ought not to accept a proposal before it's been aired out loud. I might be about to ask you to take over the running of the petrol station.'

Lily laughed. Mrs Tam had run the petrol station since — Lily didn't know how long. Before Lily was born, and when there was a Mr Tam. ‘I trust you. What can I do for you?'

Mrs Tam angled her face and patted her bun. ‘I wouldn't mind a hand with something at the library…'

‘Then I'm the woman for the job,' Lily said when the old lady paused. ‘I've read all the books.' Apart from the knitting manuals. ‘What do you need?'

‘An inventory. I've been given 10 boxes of books from a library on the outskirts of Cooma — the donated ones that are double-ups, obviously, and not all the best, untouched ones.'

‘If they're now Swallow's Fall's books, then they're the best to us,' Lily said. ‘You want me to go through the boxes?'

‘Yes please. But you're not to do any heavy lifting.'

Lily raised her eyebrows but said nothing. Awareness seeped into her mind. Why were the townspeople suddenly so concerned about her lifting heavy items? It wasn't as though Lily was the weak-limbed type. Skinny, yes, but there was strength in her muscles. Partly due to genes, partly down to willpower. And a whole lot because of yoga — Lily's favourite pastime after furniture restoration.

‘I've got someone in mind for the lifting, but you ought to be there too, to make the inventory as he lifts.'

‘Okay.' Lilly tilted her head, envisioning boxes the size of sofas. ‘So who have you roped in to do the lifting?'

Mrs Tam brushed the air with her hand. ‘I haven't actually asked him yet, but I'm sure he'll step up and do it. Now.' She turned for the door. ‘I'll leave you get on with it. And watch you don't ruin that pretty dress, Lily. It's a dress made for romance, not a dress made for scullery-maiding.'

Lily frowned and looked down at her romantic dress as Mrs Tam left the shop. An ordinary day dress. Ivory-coloured with tiny blue roses, which were quite romantic-looking, frolicking down the skirt. Sleeveless and scoop-necked, the fitted bodice currently covered by her beige cardigan because of the autumn chill.

Her frown deepened as she studied herself from the upside-down angle. She wandered closer to one of the windows, the blinds closed and the light from the ceiling bulb reflecting on the glass, turning it into a makeshift mirror.

Did she look like a scullery maid?

The uniform for Kookaburra's was just that — a uniform. She wore shorts or jeans when she was at home but she loved her dresses and skirts. The swish and soft brush of the cotton as she walked. She loved falling head first into her feminine side whenever the chance came. It was a way of cherishing herself, even if it was only for a few hours a week.

She thrust out her chest, put her hands to her hips and rested her weight to one side in a cover-model pose. She ought to be grateful she still had a figure at the age of thirty-four and with two children but mostly she wished she had plumped out a bit. At least in the right places, like her breasts and her hips. Skinny-Minnie didn't say Sexy.

She turned and pulled the vacuum cleaner into the centre of the shop. Sexy? What was she thinking? Must be the thought of those honeymooners cuddled up in room six. Spending what was a relative fortune to Lily on a country hotel and not getting out of bed.

She shook her head as her thoughts strayed to what they might be doing in that bed — and her hair fell out of its braid. She grabbed it, pulled it into a ponytail, twisted it and stuck her red pencil through the knot.

She thought of Andy, desperate for his internet connection so he could continue his fascination with how mechanical things worked. And of Janie-Louise, having to cycle everywhere she wanted to go. It was difficult keeping Janie-Louise tethered to one spot. Her children were so different. Andy proud and desperate to be seen as a man, and Janie-Louise full of youthful grace — long-legged, smiling and happy.

Happiness was everyone's right but if Lily didn't work hard, happiness might drain from their lives. She wasn't going to let that happen. Watch the cents and the dollars will look after themselves, her mother had said from the year dot. It was kind of ingrained in Lily to do just that, especially after being married to a man who treated money as if it was free.

Lily flicked the radio on, and old one she'd bought for peanuts from a farmer out of town having a garage sale, and tuned in to her favourite station of 90s popular songs. It was Andy she worried about the most. He'd been five years old when Lily had first met her ex-husband head-on. Andy had been old enough to remember the horrible times. The times his father had ignored his young son and toddler daughter. And ignored his wife, when he wasn't vilifying her or putting her down for being so pathetically mousey and weak.

Lily switched the vacuum on and turned the radio up. So what if she never got the shop? She could dream. Her children were her real treasures.

She got to work. Vacuuming her fantasies and singing along to impossible dreams.