The Little Shop of Hidden Treasures Part One: Starting Over

by Holly Hepburn

  Praying she didn’t look as flustered as she felt, Hope wondered how to reply; admitting she’d applied for the job on a whim would make her seem even flakier than she already appeared and it was hardly a professional response. ‘I’ve always had an interest in old things,’ she answered, choosing her words with care. ‘And who could resist the opportunity to spend every day somewhere like this?’

  ‘Not me,’ Will said. ‘Or Brodie, for that matter.’

  They both glanced down at the girl, who was still absorbed in her task. ‘I’m afraid the box isn’t for sale,’ Hope said. ‘It’s a bit of an enigma – no one’s been able to work out how to open it.’

  He nodded. ‘My mother has one. I remember spending hours trying to get into it and was ready to take a hammer to it until my brother revealed the secret.’

  ‘Which was?’

  ‘A few impossible-to-detect sliding panels and cleverly hidden compartments,’ he replied. ‘But each box is individually crafted – what opens one won’t work on another. They wouldn’t be much good for keeping secrets if they all worked in the same way.’

  Hope smiled and felt the last vestiges of embarrassment fade away. ‘Well, this one seems set to keep its secrets forever. I don’t think Mr Young would appreciate us taking a hammer to it.’

  Will laughed and Hope decided she liked that too. They stood for a moment, smiling at each other, until the bell over the door jangled again and a tall woman with a hood over her eyes hurried inside. ‘Hells bells, Hope, is it ever going to stop raining?’

  She paused in the doorway, shaking down her hood to reveal a mane of lustrous dark hair as she took in the scene. ‘Oops, I didn’t realize you had a customer.’ And then her expression lit up. ‘Oh, but it’s only Will. I don’t have to mind my manners after all.’

  Hope had to swallow a grin; she’d met Iris on her second day at the Ever After Emporium, when the florist had hurried across the road and begged to borrow an Art Deco vase for the Blooming Dales window display. From that first whirlwind encounter, Hope had formed the distinct impression that Iris wasn’t really one for observing the social rules that governed most people’s behaviour. She was forthright and bold, wore scarlet lipstick and winged eyeliner as though she woke up that way every day, and had the kind of irrepressible smile that hinted she might bubble up into laughter at any moment. Hope had warmed to her immediately and thought she might be on her way to making her first new friend in York. It wasn’t surprising that Iris would know Will – Hope got the impression that there was a real sense of community within the ancient walls that surrounded the city’s heart. There was probably a traders’ association, where the glamorous florist must turn heads and steal hearts in equal measure.

  ‘Not just me,’ Will said, shifting slightly so Iris could see the child at his feet.

  ‘Oh,’ she breathed, walking towards them. ‘This must be Brodie.’

  ‘It is,’ he replied. ‘So, minding of manners is definitely still required.’

  Not that Brodie was paying any of them the least bit of attention. She was still poking and prodding at the box, turning it over and over in her small hands, and Hope could almost feel the girl’s determination to solve the riddle. But the secret had eluded all the adults of the Ever After Emporium – was it possible that a child would succeed where they had failed? Hope pictured her nephews and their boisterous, exuberant approach to play; the box would have been discarded in favour of a football within seconds. But Brodie was entirely different – all her concentration was focused on the job and she seemed to be enclosed in her own little world. It was remarkable.

  ‘How is she coping?’ Iris asked, lowering her voice. ‘More to the point, how are you coping?’

  Will smiled but this time it didn’t reach his eyes. ‘Oh, you know. Taking it one day at a time.’

  Wary of being caught staring again, Hope let her own gaze drift around the shop as she wondered about the exchange. There’d been sympathy in Iris’s tone and sadness in Will’s. Hope recognized the vagueness of his reply too, using the sort of words she had when she’d needed to politely fend off well-meaning enquiries after Rob’s death. A failed marriage, perhaps, and all the heartache and adjustments that brought. It would certainly explain the way Iris was watching Will, as though he might break at any moment. Hope was familiar with that look as well, although thankfully not from Iris or anyone else in York, apart from her family. She’d told Iris she was single, when the florist had asked what her partner did, and then deflected the conversation onto safer ground. Another coping mechanism.

  ‘How’s business?’ Will asked, glancing at Blooming Dales through the rain-speckled window. ‘I suppose the flowers don’t mind the wet weather.’

  ‘They might not but I do,’ Iris said, wrinkling her nose. ‘Walk-in trade is down this week – it’s a good thing we’ve got plenty of wedding orders to keep us busy.’

  His eyes drifted to Brodie once more. ‘Your windows always look so amazing. Maybe we’ll pop in and pick up a bouquet for home, to remind us it’s almost summer.’

  Iris dipped her head. ‘I could deliver it, if you like, save you having to carry it in this rain. Do you have a favourite flower, Brodie?’

  That got the little girl’s attention. She raised her blonde head to study Iris, then flicked her gaze towards the window.

  Hope thought she understood. ‘Pink, like the flamingos?’

  Brodie gave a shy nod.

  ‘Flamingo pink,’ Iris repeated approvingly. ‘Very nice. I’m thinking gerbera, roses and maybe some alstroemeria. Tall and graceful, just like the birds.’

  Will gave her a helpless look. ‘They won’t look graceful if I have to arrange them. Do they come in a vase?’

  Iris winked at Brodie. ‘I’ll take care of everything. All you’ll have to do is put the bouquet into water.’

  ‘I can probably manage that,’ Will said. ‘With Brodie’s help, obviously.’

  ‘Then how does a Saturday morning delivery sound?’ Iris asked. ‘You can drop me a message later with the address for delivery.’

  ‘Sounds like the perfect way to start the weekend,’ Will said. ‘Thanks, Iris. This is very kind of you.’

  The florist waved away his thanks. ‘It’s no trouble. I deliver all over the city – have bike, will travel.’

  Hope blinked as she tried to build a mental picture. ‘You deliver flowers by bike? How?’

  ‘Of course,’ Iris said, grinning. ‘We’re very eco-conscious. I attach a lightweight trailer to the back, load it up and off I go.’

  ‘In all weathers?’ Hope said, with a dubious glance at the rainy street outside.

  ‘Us Yorkshire women are made of stern stuff,’ Iris replied. ‘But we’re practical too – I also have a cosy little Volkswagen van for when the weather is really grim.’

  Hope was about to say that she was a Yorkshire woman too, although her years in London had worn her accent away, but Brodie stood up abruptly and handed the puzzle box to Will. He checked his watch. ‘You’re right – we should probably think about lunch.’ He gave the box to Hope. ‘Thanks for letting her handle it.’

  ‘It’s a shame she didn’t crack the mystery,’ Hope said. ‘Mr Young would have been delighted.’

  His eyes creased at the edges as he smiled. ‘I’m sure we’ll be back.’

  ‘Maybe next time, then,’ Hope said. ‘I’ll have a word with the flamingos too.’

  It was only after Will and Brodie had made their way back out into the rain, with the umbrella safely in hand, that Hope realized what had been troubling her. In the whole time they’d been in the shop, she’d hadn’t heard the little girl make a single sound.

  Iris puffed out her cheeks when Hope mentioned Brodie’s silence. ‘No, she doesn’t speak. Not since the accident.’

  Cold dread settled in Hope’s chest. Maybe Will wasn’t newly separated. Maybe it was more awful than that. ‘The accident,’ she repeated slowly.

  ‘The car crash,’ Iris said. ‘Back
in February, on the A64. You might remember – the road was closed for the best part of a day.’

  Hope swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. ‘I wasn’t living here then.’

  The florist sighed. ‘It was terrible, one of those freak accidents that doesn’t seem to be anyone’s fault. You only needed to glimpse the car to know no one could have survived.’

  One hand flew to Hope’s mouth as Iris confirmed her worst fears. ‘Oh no.’

  ‘Brodie was devastated, as you’d expect. Will’s doing his best but it takes time, doesn’t it? I know kids are resilient but that’s an impossible hole to fill.’

  Especially when he’d be struggling with the loss of a partner himself, Hope thought as sympathy and pity welled up inside her. It was a miracle he was coping as well as he was; she certainly hadn’t after Rob’s death.

  ‘Poor Brodie,’ Iris went on, with a sorrowful shake of her head.

  ‘Poor Will too,’ Hope said. ‘He must be grieving as well.’

  A frown creased Iris’s forehead. ‘Of course. Losing a brother is awful. But Brodie lost both her parents – I’m not surprised she’s retreated into herself.”

  The words crashed over Hope like a wave. Had Iris said Brodie had lost both parents? ‘But I thought… isn’t he—’

  Iris stared at her for a moment, then slapped her own forehead. ‘Oh, I’m an idiot! Of course you assumed Will was Brodie’s dad – why wouldn’t you?’

  Bewildered, Hope pieced together the evidence. ‘So he’s her… uncle?’

  ‘And her closest living relative,’ Iris replied. ‘Or at least, the only one capable of looking after a five-year-old. His mother has dementia, I think, and lives in a care home. And Will is Brodie’s godfather – there was no question of her going anywhere else.’

  Anywhere else being foster care, Hope guessed, or a distant relative or family friend who were virtual strangers. Another wave of pity swept over her. ‘That poor girl.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Iris agreed. ‘Obviously, it’s been tough for Will too. It’s not as though he’s got anyone to help him. Imagine going from being a single bloke to a surrogate parent overnight.’

  While dealing with his own loss too, Hope thought. Although she could imagine having someone else to care for might help with the grief; plenty of people had suggested she get a puppy or a kitten in the months after she’d lost Rob but it hadn’t seemed fair when she’d be out at work every day. A child was another ballgame entirely. The sense of responsibility must be overwhelming.

  ‘He took a shine to you, though,’ Iris went on, a smile playing at the corners of her scarlet lips. ‘And you’re single too. New in town.’

  Hope’s face bloomed with sudden heat. ‘What? That’s not true. I mean, yes I am single and new here but he definitely wasn’t… he didn’t—’

  She broke off as Iris threw her a disbelieving look. ‘Hope. You could have cut the tension between you with that silver letter-opener over there.’

  ‘But –’ Hope flailed in mortified bewilderment, thinking back to the moment Iris had burst into the shop. ‘But there was no tension – we were chatting about the puzzle box.’

  ‘It looked like more than that to me. You were both smiling for a start.’ Iris waggled her eyebrows. ‘Really smiling.’

  She couldn’t deny that, Hope thought, resisting an urge to fan her overheated cheeks. ‘Maybe we were,’ she said. ‘But it was on a strictly professional basis.’

  The other woman nodded. ‘I’m sure it was. But even so, I know chemistry when I see it.’ She paused to smirk at Hope. ‘Sexual chemistry.’

  Hope wanted to crawl under the nearby Edwardian occasional table. Iris was sharp – of course she’d noticed her admiring Will. She might as well have been projecting an enormous cartoon love heart over her head. ‘I’m sure he has enough on his plate at the moment,’ she said, hating the stiffness in her voice. ‘And I’m not looking for a relationship either.’

  Instantly, Iris looked contrite. ‘Ah, I’m getting carried away – making assumptions. It’s a weakness of mine – sorry.’

  Hope took a deep breath and willed her flaming skin to cool down. ‘It’s okay. No harm done.’

  ‘Good,’ Iris said and paused, looking at Hope with a speculative gaze. ‘If you’re not looking for a relationship, are you at least in the market for making new friends?’

  ‘Yes,’ Hope said cautiously.

  The florist beamed at her. ‘Great! How do you feel about dancing?’

  Chapter Three

  Hope tugged self-consciously at the borrowed belt around her waist. The attached coins jingled musically, which only made her feel more awkward, even though the sound was barely audible among the chatter from her fellow dancers. When Iris had suggested Hope came along to her dance class on Monday evening, she’d been vague about the details and Hope had assumed it would be something like Zumba. She wasn’t sure she’d have agreed if she had known it was a belly dance class.

  ‘I don’t think I can do this,’ she told Iris, glancing nervously around at the other dancers. ‘I’m not very… bendy.’

  Iris gave her a sunny smile. ‘You don’t have to be. The beauty of belly dancing is that it’s gentle and progressive, so you can be led by your own body. And Fleur is a wonderful teacher – you’re going to be fine.’

  Their teacher certainly looked wonderful, Hope thought with an envious glance towards the front of the studio. Dressed in a neon-yellow yoga top and sky-blue leggings, Fleur was every inch a dancer. Her exposed belly was an expanse of smooth golden skin and her long dark hair almost brushed the band of the sequined belt that sat on her hips. Hope sighed and undid the knot that held her own belt in place, moving it down so that it settled in the same place as that of the teacher. The word lithe might have been invented to describe Fleur. And Hope was sure it wasn’t a word anyone would use to describe her.

  ‘I’m too tall to be any good,’ she warned Iris. ‘I tried dance lessons before my wedding and the teacher said she’d never seen anyone so ungraceful.’

  Iris gasped and let out a short huff of indignation. ‘I hope you told her where to shove it.’

  She hadn’t, Hope remembered, but Rob had, with the icy politeness that always came out when he was furious. He’d wanted to try again, with a better teacher, but Hope’s confidence had been too badly bruised. Consequently, their first dance had been a self-conscious swaying shuffle around the floor, until their guests had given in to her cajoling and joined them. It hadn’t really mattered at the time; all Hope had cared about was the look in Rob’s eyes and his arms around her. But in the long days after his diagnosis, when he’d lost the ability to walk… then she couldn’t help wishing they’d whirled like Fred and Ginger while they still could.

  She knew what Rob would say to her now, just as she knew he’d be right. Straightening her shoulders, she summoned up a smile for Iris. ‘I’m being silly. Sorry.’

  ‘Not silly,’ Iris replied, squeezing her arm. ‘But look around – no one here has a perfect body, apart from Fleur and dancing is her job. Belly dancing isn’t about that, anyway – it’s more inclusive.’

  Now that Hope looked more closely, she could see what Iris meant. There were around a dozen other women in the studio and they were a mix of ages and sizes. Some wore leggings and t-shirts, some had skirts with splits that travelled the length of their thigh and skimpy tops, but no matter how much skin they had on show, every single woman seemed comfortable and relaxed. It was a total contrast with Hope’s own body language, reflected in the floor to ceiling mirror opposite: dipped head, folded arms, tension radiating as though she was waiting for a hammer blow rather than a dance class. Taking a deep breath, she unfolded her arms and shook them out, shifting her weight from one foot to the other as she did so. ‘Okay. I’ll give it a go.’

  ‘Excellent,’ Iris said, smiling. ‘I think a bit of shimmying is going to do you the world of good.’

  There was no time for Hope to ask what she meant – Fleur was looking ar
ound expectantly and the buzz of conversation dimmed. ‘Welcome!’ she called with a dazzling smile. ‘If you’d like to find yourselves some space, we’ll start with some gentle stretches.’

  Hope automatically gravitated to the back of the studio, allowing the rest of the dancers to fill the space in front of the mirrors; the last thing she wanted to see was her own flustered face as she failed to follow Fleur. Iris took her place beside Hope without comment.

  ‘Listen to your body,’ Fleur said as the first few slow chords of a delicate Arabian melody drifted across the room. ‘Only stretch as far as you need to and if this is your first class, be kind to yourself.’

  Iris waggled her perfectly groomed eyebrows at Hope. ‘See? Be kind.’

  ‘I’ll try,’ Hope replied.

  The stretching was as gentle as Fleur had promised. By the end of the song, Hope’s heart had stopped thudding and she felt a little encouraged that she hadn’t fallen over while copying the teacher’s movements, not even when she’d balanced on one leg and raised the other to make circles with her foot. There’d been some furious wobbling but Hope hadn’t actually hit the floor, which was a definite win.

  ‘So far, so good,’ she whispered to Iris, who smiled.

  ‘Keep going. You’re doing great.’

  That was the last time Hope had time to talk, as Fleur led the class through a whirlwind of hip lifts, shimmies, snake arms and belly pops. Each movement was clearly explained and demonstrated but Hope was acutely aware that she was at least half a beat behind everyone else, in spite of her fierce concentration. Fleur seemed to notice that Hope was struggling, however; the teacher made frequent eye contact in the mirror as she broke down the techniques, with encouraging nods and smiles. And every once in a while, something seemed to click within Hope and her body moved in a way that was similar to everyone else. She found the shimmy particularly fun, even though it made parts of her wobble in a most alarming way, but she was still relieved when Fleur announced it was time to warm down. Hope winced as she eased into the stretches and she realized her muscles were going to be complaining more over the days to come.