Chapter Three
I turned the corner onto the street where I worked in time to see The Suit standing outside the hardware shop almost opposite Claude’s Antiques. He stood tall with his chin tilted up as he straightened his tie and ran a hand through his hair. To any onlooker, he appeared to be examining the pans and brushes on display, but I knew different. He was keeping an eye on the antique shop behind him.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. I didn’t know what it was about this man, but his existence in our town filled me with dread. Was he the gentleman Claude was having a meeting with? He seemed too fancy for our little town; his suit looked more expensive than everything in both shops combined.
A car horn pipped down the street, and he looked left and right in apparent shock. I made to cross the road but couldn’t find a big enough gap in the traffic. A pedestrian knocked me with their elbow and yelled, “Watch where you’re going, son!” causing people to stare, and I had to force myself to carry on to avoid being in people’s ways.
I paused merely feet away from The Suit. His position had changed; his head was bent to the left, and he was staring intently at me through the window’s reflection. I bowed my head and attempted to cross again.
Before stepping into the road, something made me take a final glance at The Suit’s mirror image. His upper lip curled into a malicious grin, forcing another shiver down my spine, then he swivelled round and marched down the street in the opposite direction.
If it wouldn’t have made me late, I’d have followed him. His presence unnerved me. I’d seen him twice now and been unable to follow him on both occasions. I was desperate to find out who he was. However, despite my curiosity, I hoped he wouldn’t be around for long.
I continued to the shop and opened the door. The ever-present aroma hit me before the bell rang. I loved the smell in Claude’s Antiques. Mr Phillips smoked a pipe, and the scent of it mixed in with the polish I used to clean everything.
As the bell above the door chimed, Mr Phillips jumped from his ledger, then focused his eyes back on the numbers on the page when he saw it was me. I paused at the threshold in horror. The counter was in a state of disarray; he had two phone books open, plus the yellow pages. His Rolodex cardholder was out (which held the details of customers and other antique dealers), and at least twenty of the cards were scattered across the worktop. I’d never seen things so disorganised.
I wondered why he had jumped too. I’d never seen him do that before. Was he frightened of something? I didn’t think anything could scare Mr Phillips.
‘Afternoon, John-Michael,’ he said, not looking up.
‘Hello, Mr Phillips,’ I said. ‘Would you… like any help looking for something?’
‘No, thank you. I think I’ve got it covered,’ he said.
I scratched my head as I searched for something else to say. ‘Can I help you tidy up, then?’
‘No, I’m good.’
‘Oh okay. Umm… so, the meeting… How did it go?’
He set down his pencil but still didn’t raise his head. He exhaled loudly. ‘You don’t need to worry about that, laddie. You just keep repairing them watches. I’ll take care of everything else.’
‘Yes, sir.’
I shook my head as I approached my workbench. I had left it clean and tidy when I finished on Saturday, and now a small box of trinkets sat on it with three watches and a mantel clock, waiting to be repaired.
I lifted the box and placed it with some others tucked away in the corner, then I carefully placed the watches on a small cushion I kept under the bench so I could set up my working area.
I grabbed a duster and gave my mirrors a wipe. I worked in the back of the shop, and Claude had let me position mirrors and reflective surfaces where I saw fit and to make my hours there comfortable. People came from miles around to have their watches repaired by me. I’d also started repairing mantel clocks and would soon progress to bigger ones. Word had spread quickly about my skills; I had fast become the most sought-after horologist around. The knowledge made me feel really special, like I was needed and wanted in some way. I wasn’t needed or accepted anywhere else.
First, I took out a white cloth from my top drawer and placed it on the bench, smoothing out the creases as I did so. Next, I opened the second drawer and removed all my tools and carefully set them out in the order I would be using them. Lastly, I retrieved my loupes from the bottom drawer; these were the magnifying devices I used. Two were given to me by my grandfather, and the other, Claude had given me. I had the white cloth so I could see all the pieces clearly and the parts were easier to find should I drop them with the delicate brass tweezers.
Before I started, I made us both a strong and sweet cup of tea. Claude had four sugars in his, and I had two. There was a mini kitchen in the back next to the storage room with a sink and a hotplate stove. Before the kitchen was the door that led upstairs. Mr Phillips lived alone in the small flat above the shop. His wife Mary had died three years earlier. Mr and Mrs Phillips hadn’t had any children of their own. However, they did have nieces and nephews, though they lived in Australia. He’d never met them in person, but he did get a photo of them every year, which he took pride in showing me.
I made the teas and set Mr Phillips’s mug at the side of his ledger. He didn’t acknowledge my presence; he was engrossed in searching through his Rolodex.
‘Here’s your tea, Mr Phillips,’ I said.
He flinched when he heard my voice, then shook his head. ‘Oh, thanks, John-Michael,’ he said, abandoning his search to shuffle some papers before putting them under the counter so I couldn’t see them.
‘Mr Phillips, I was thinking…’
‘Hmm, what about?’ he said, moving to shut his ledger.
‘Well, we’ve known each other for a long time. How about you call me JC now, if you’d like?’
‘I’d like that,’ he said. I looked towards the mirror nearest to him and saw he was smiling at me.
‘Great.’ I turned to leave but stopped. His jumpiness and the mess of the counter had me curious.
‘Did you have a good meeting, then, Mr Phillips? It must have been pretty important to shut all morning.’ I shuffled my feet on the wooden floor as I spoke. I wasn’t used to questioning him, so I had to proceed with caution.
‘Well, see’n as though you’ve asked… again. A potential buyer wanted to see me about some rare antiquities I’ve got my hands on. But he’s not quite right for them. Plus, I’ve got a collector in mind.’
‘How rare? Is it a watch?’ I titled my head and tapped my lip with my index finger.
‘Never you mind, that’s for me to worry about. Get yourself started on them watches,’ he said, waving me off.
‘But, Mr Phillips, I thought we didn’t have secrets from each other, and you said the other week I needed to start learning more about the business side,’ I said.
‘That’s right, we don’t, lad. But it won’t be around long enough for you to see or concern yourself with. Okay?’
‘Okay…’
I stomped back to my work area and roughly pulled out my chair, banging it on the floor. It frustrated me that no one ever discussed important topics with me, as though they thought me too young to hear what they had to say. How was I meant to learn the business if Claude didn’t share important details with me? And I hated that I was never allowed to take part in adult conversations, like any input from me would be irrelevant. I was an adult now, after all—old enough to drink, vote, work, and have a girlfriend. Just because I acted differently to everyone else didn’t mean I didn’t understand things. I wasn’t stupid.
And no, perhaps I wasn’t normal in their eyes, but what was normal, anyway? Who decided that?
I knew what was going on at home. Grandad was worried about money and how he would continue to keep the roof over our heads without having to sell more of his beloved car collection. I had offered to pay lodge out of my wages, but he refused, said he wouldn’t hear of it. I t
old him he had heard me, because I’d just told him, but he waved me away.
Sometimes I wish I could have gone into car mechanics like the rest of the men in my family, and maybe Grandad wouldn’t have had to sell his cherished cars. Maybe I could do both? I would have to think about it. I knew my way around a car engine. Of course, I did. So did my sister. But I’d turned away from cars and bikes when Grandad first sat me down and showed me the insides of a watch. I couldn’t believe how many components and mechanisms made up such a small object. It looked so complex; I had to know how it all fit together.
And now something was going on in Claude’s Antiques.
It was about time I became more involved in the adult world. Especially if it were to affect the shop. I worked here, too, and I’d be lost without my job here. It gave me purpose, a routine. And most of all, it kept me out of Mum’s way.
I started on the first watch while I thought of the secret antique and the mystery man who loitered outside. I wondered if they were connected.
Chapter Four
I finished work at five and went to find Mr Phillips. I spotted him in his office bent in front of his large safe. Inside was a large red case I’d never seen before, and I’d seen most of the inventory that had come through the shop in the last eight years. I’d had a Saturday job here until I finished my exams. Then he’d upped my hours.
‘Goodnight, Mr Phillips.’
He jumped and slammed the safe shut, grunting something at me.
‘See you Thursday. Don’t forget to lock up,’ I said with a frown before leaving. What was in that safe he didn’t want me to see?
I decided to take a shortcut home through the medieval orchard between the shops. The orchard belonged to the town’s castle centuries ago. It was gone now; only the odd bit of stone and timber remained, but the orchard and moat endured.
The trees had started to blossom, and I enjoyed the sweet smell as I walked through them. It wouldn’t be long before people would come to pick the fruit for their pies and jams. Nana B used to bake using the apples here. She died, too, just before Dad died. People didn’t stay around long enough for my liking. Did people really not want to look at me like Mum said? Is that why they died? To get away from me? I shook the thought away. It didn’t feel nice in my stomach to think that way, so I focused on my surroundings instead.
I liked walking through here; when there was no one else around, I could keep my head up and see the sun beaming through the old branches. The trees were ancient—probably as old as the castle would have been if it were still standing. The branches were old and gnarly, twisting around like vines. When I was younger, I would imagine the branches sweeping me up and lifting me high above the town to see what no one else had the pleasure of witnessing.
As I exited the orchard, I dropped into the moat, which had been cleared of muck and water the year before. It was a common hangout for kids from the nearby grammar school to hide and smoke in at lunchtime. I’d seen them loitering a couple of times. I’d never tried a cigarette or even kicked a football around.
I was expelled when I was ten, not long after my father’s death. It wasn’t because of that, nor was it because I’d been naughty or disruptive, in my opinion. The reason the school had given was due to an unfortunate incident with a boy in my class named Joe; the incident resulted in him having a broken nose. Though I hadn’t laid one finger on him.
I’d bent down to pick up a book, and as I rose back up, I saw Joe’s reflection in the glass of the door, poised like a tiger ready to pounce. As Joe moved, I ducked and rolled out of the way, resulting in Joe colliding face-first with the door.
It wasn’t my fault. When I look back on it now, I think the school just wanted to be rid of me. They said they didn’t know how to teach someone like me. I had no idea what that had meant at the time. In fact, I still don’t. I could be taught, I just didn’t want to look at people. What was unteachable about that?
As I walked, I didn’t bother looking for someone to follow as I normally would have done. All I could think about was Claude’s Antiques and what I should do next to get to the bottom of the mystery. Maybe if I could unravel it, I’d be accepted into the adult world and people would treat me as such, instead of a child. Would solving it take me one step closer to who I should be?
I arrived at the house to the sound of my mum listening to the Eurythmics in the front room. That room was hers; it didn’t have as many mirrors as other rooms. She said she wanted a bit of normalcy in at least one part of the house besides her bedroom. The front room had a peach, three-piece suite, a wall unit with a drink’s cabinet inside (though it never had any bottles in it), and a couple of framed pictures of Mum and Dad on their wedding day.
I watched her thin frame from the reflection in a mirror. She slowly swayed and mumbled along to the music, a glass of wine clutched in one hand and a cigarette in the other. I missed seeing her dance with dad. He would pick her up and twirl her around as they listened to the record player, and she’d be laughing and yelling at the same time, asking him to put her down. Then he would spin her before dipping her backwards to give her a kiss.
That’s when everything was good, when mum used to smile, though not at me. She was young and beautiful back then. She didn’t smile now; she wore a permanent frown, and she’d stopped wearing makeup. I left her to it and headed up to my room to write in my journal.
I’d bought the journal to keep a record of all the people I’d followed over the years. It was thick and heavy, and I’d wrapped twenty elastic bands tightly around it. The journal lived concealed in my wardrobe; there was a drawer at the bottom which I removed and hid items underneath.
I started with The Texan—how he’d walked, what he’d looked at—then moved on to The Coalman. Then I wrote everything I could remember about The Suit and where I’d seen him. He was the most important entry in my journal to date. I even underlined his name three times to indicate his importance.
Downstairs, the phone rang, and I closed my journal and returned it to its hiding place. Then I lay on my bed and stared up at the ceiling where I’d placed my favourite Bruce Lee poster from Enter the Dragon. Our gardener Fred had told me all about Bruce Lee, and we’d watched his films together on his little black-and-white television. Sometimes I spoke to Bruce, asked him what he would do in my shoes, though he never answered me. I think I’d be quite taken aback if he ever did.
I’d been on my bed for all of a minute when I heard Mum shouting for me to come down. I hadn’t even realised she had acknowledged my presence when I arrived home from work.
As I walked into the lounge, I knew I was about to get another talk about this morning’s police car ride. She only ever called me down to speak to her when I’d done something wrong.
‘Care to explain why you were seen getting a ride home with the police this morning, John-Michael?’ she asked with a hand on her hip which jutted out through her skirt. She’d grown thinner since Dad died.
‘I wasn’t doing anything wrong, Mum. PC Williams gave me a lift home,’ I told her reflection as I twiddled my hands behind my back.
‘The police don’t just give free rides,’ she said, walking over to the record player to lift up the arm. ‘They’re not a taxi service, John-Michael. Do you know how embarrassing it is to hear all about it from Mrs Nosey-Nelly?’
I rubbed at my head as I searched through my memory, trying to identify who this woman was. I came up blank.
‘Who’s Mrs Nosey-Nelly? Do I know her?’
‘It’s Mrs Kelly. Don’t change the subject.’
‘Then why did you call her Mrs Nosey-Nelly?’
Mum sighed loudly, then slumped into her favourite seat, almost spilling her drink as she went down. ‘Do I have to explain every tiny detail of everything I say? God, I’m sick of it.’
I opened my mouth to respond, but she interrupted: ‘Is there anything in that brain of yours? Do you have the slightest comprehension of how your actions affect me?’
H
er voice rose and rose in pitch until it would only be audible to the dogs roaming the streets. Heat rose to my face, just as it seemed to in hers. I backed up to the door, then turned and ran.
Her voice came down a notch as she shouted, ‘That’s it! Go running off to your grandad, like a baby!’
Tears pooled in my eyes, blurring my vision as I found my way through the house. You would think I’d have got used to it by now—the jabs and snide comments. They were always worse when she’d been drinking.
I burst into Grandad’s office without knocking.
‘She’s at it again!’ I yelled at my grandad’s reflection in the mirror to my right.
Grandad sighed, set down the newspaper he’d been reading, and looked back at me in the mirror.
‘It’s not she—that’s the cat’s mother. And what over this time?’ he asked.
I stepped inside, letting the door swing closed behind me. ‘Sorry, Grandad, and sorry for not knocking too.’
‘That’s alright, John-Michael. Just don’t forget next time. Tell me what’s wrong,’ he said, folding his arms on the desk in front of him.
‘Mum was listening to her records, then she got a call from Mrs Kelly—do you know Mum calls her Mrs Nosey-Nelly?’ I asked him, switching my attention to the mirror on my left.
‘Focus on what you wanted to tell me, John-Michael.’
‘Oh right, yes. She shouted me down and asked me why I’d got a lift home in the police car this morning. I told her I hadn’t done anything wrong, which is the truth—’
The sound of breaking glass echoed down the hall, making me flinch. I couldn’t bear the noise of shattering glass. ‘Not one of my mirrors again…’ I groaned, wiping at my head as my brow furrowed.
‘It can be replaced, you know this. Now, you stay here until I come back,’ Grandad said, slowly rising from his brown leather chair. His bones clicked and popped as he stood. I’d told him numerous time he should see a doctor, but he’d told me he had a feeling his joints needed replacing and there was no way he could be off his feet. Plus, he didn’t trust doctors, anymore. Not after Dad.
Mirror Man Page 3
