The Poka Dot Shop

by Laurel Remington

  ‘I can’t believe it’s the same place,’ I say, grinning. ‘Anyone fancy a cup of something?’

  Thomas has already thought of that and stocked the little fridge with Diet Cokes and water. He tosses us each a drink and together we gather in the centre of the floor and raise our bottles and cans for a toast.

  ‘To bin bags,’ Thomas says, winking at me.

  ‘To amazing friends,’ I say.

  ‘To polka dots,’ Stevie chimes in.

  ‘To success!’ Carrie says.

  ‘Here, here!’ we clink our bottles and cans.

  ‘Thank you so much.’ My eyes overflow with joyful tears.

  THE PRODIGAL MUM

  The next morning when I wake up in Stevie’s spare room, I remember the night before and half expect that I’m still dreaming. I can’t believe how the shop has been transformed – it’s like Eliza’s Emporium never existed. But, as the phone rings next to the bed and a familiar number comes up on the display, I realize with a flash of guilt that it did – and still does – exist to one very important person: Mum.

  ‘Andy?’ Mum sounds breathless as I pick up the phone. ‘I wanted to catch you before you left for school.’

  ‘Hi, Mum,’ I say. ‘You all right?’

  I wait for the hesitation that seems to come each time I ask this. But this time, she replies instantly. ‘Yes, Andy, I’m fabulous.’

  ‘Really? That’s good, Mum.’

  ‘Yes, and what’s more, I have news.’

  ‘What is it?’ I ignore a tiny flicker of alarm.

  ‘I think you’ll be pleased, Andy. I’ve had such a lovely time up here – seeing everyone, being with family, going for long walks. I’ve done a lot of thinking.’

  Thinking = bad. I just know it.

  ‘What about?’

  ‘About our future, of course! I’ve found this lovely old barn – just a hop, skip and a jump from the high street.’

  ‘A barn?’ My stomach clenches.

  ‘I could expand the Emporium. There would be so much more space. I’m coming to realize how cramped everything is. I could add loads more stock – get everything out of the bags in the back. I could have a little studio to do alterations – you know, like the buttons I put on that cardigan you sold.’ She breathes in swiftly. ‘I mean, the barn would need a little work, but I could get a bank loan – or something. The main thing is – it would be a whole new start.’

  ‘But Mum . . . it’s . . . in the Lake District.’ My whole life flashes before my eyes. I mean, we may have had problems, but we had stability – if that’s the right word.

  Through the phone line I feel the energy go flat. ‘But . . .’ Mum sputters, ‘you were the one who told me to come up here.’

  ‘Yes, for a holiday! That’s hardly the same thing. I mean – I have school, and friends, and . . .’ I don’t dare say his name, but it’s his face, his blue-grey eyes that flash into my mind like a firework.

  There’s silence on the end of the line. For a long second, I worry I’ve gone way too far. Mum was trying to make things better – move forward. Have I messed that up?

  ‘I mean, there are some good things about the idea,’ I stammer quickly. ‘More space would be good. Things wouldn’t be squished on the racks. And the bank loan. A little money might go a long way. It’s just – I don’t know. A barn? The Lake District? Do they “do” the whole vintage thing up there?’

  She exhales sharply. ‘I thought you’d be happy.’

  ‘I am! I mean – I want you to be happy.’

  ‘Do you, Andy – do you really?’

  ‘Well . . . of course I do. We just need to think about the options, that’s all.’

  ‘The options?’ To my relief, she laughs. ‘You sound like a grown-up – not a thirteen-year-old.’

  I bristle. It always comes down to the fact that I’m thirteen, therefore she – an adult – must know best. It’s not only irritating, but in this case, just plain wrong.

  ‘You could come up here – see the place for yourself.’

  ‘Um . . .’ I picture a ‘new and improved’ Eliza’s Emporium in some old barn up in the Lake District. Acres of space – for people’s old welly boots caked with mud; moth-eaten old tartan coats that have been stored in the loft for decades; stacks of used jeans; second-hand thermal underwear . . . ‘The problem is, Mum, I’m really busy at school right now. Maybe you should come back for a while, and then we could go up together in the summer.’

  ‘School.’ Her bracelets jangle dismissively in the background. ‘Yes, I suppose you’re right. You’ve got school. I’ve up and left you . . .’

  ‘Really, Mum, it’s been fine. I’m just looking forward to having you back. I’ve missed you lots.’

  As soon as I say it, I realize how much I do miss her. She’s my mum, and until now, we haven’t been separated. Yes, I’ve been busy, but I miss her hugs, hearing her talk about her day, and knowing that she’s there when I go to bed at night.

  ‘I’ve missed you too, Andy. More than you know. And you’re right. It’s time I came home. I’ll get a train back. Probably the day after tomorrow. There’s a late train that evening.’ She sighs. ‘Time to get back to the real world.’

  ‘OK, Mum,’ I say. ‘Can’t wait to see you. Love you.’

  ‘Love you too.’

  ‘And, Mum . . .’ There’s a click.

  ‘I have a surprise for you too,’ I say into the dead line.

  AN EMERGENCY MEETING

  That night, I call an emergency meeting of ‘Team Polka Dot Shop’. We meet in the old theatre. The wall lights have all been repaired and they cast a gentle glow over the vast white space.

  ‘Mum’s coming home the day after tomorrow,’ I say. ‘And what’s more, she’s thinking of moving to the Lake District.’

  ‘What, just like that?’ Stevie says.

  ‘She can’t,’ Carrie says. ‘I mean – you’ve got to have a say in it too, right?’

  ‘I’m thirteen years old,’ I intone in Mum’s voice. ‘I don’t have a say in anything.’

  Dangling his legs over the stage, Thomas is the only one who doesn’t look upset. In his paint-splattered T-shirt and jeans, his hair curling just above his shoulders, he looks gorgeous.

  ‘This is a good thing,’ he says.

  ‘What?’ The three of us look at him.

  ‘Your mum is up for a change – that’s what you want. She may not know what the change is – so now you’ll point her in the right direction. Or in this case, you’ve done a little more than just point.’

  A thousand reasons he’s wrong pop into my head, but my friends have done so much work, I don’t want to disappoint them. ‘I’m just worried that I’m not ready,’ I say. ‘I mean – the shop looks lovely – amazing. But we’ve got nothing in it.’

  He smiles at me then, full of confidence and self-assurance. ‘So, you’d better get ready.’

  He swings off the stage and gestures for Carrie and I to follow him. Just before he reaches the curtain he turns around and tosses Stevie his mobile phone. ‘Call your mum, Einstein. Tell her you won’t be home for dinner.’

  Thomas doesn’t bother to explain his latest scheme. Instead, he herds Carrie to the back of the theatre and the door that leads to the space under the stage. ‘We’ll bring up some extra fittings and mannequins,’ he says.

  I stop, hands on my hips. ‘What am I going to do?’ I ask.

  He holds out his set of keys. ‘Well, unless you’ve got some more hidden gems squirrelled away in the back of your mum’s shop, I’d say, get some of Hélène’s things out.’

  ‘Really?’ Carrie says.

  I take the keys. ‘Are you sure about this, Thomas?’

  He looks up at me and smiles. ‘Yes, Andy, I’m sure. Find some things you think your mum could sell in the shop. We can hang them on the racks so she can see what the place is going to look like.’

  ‘So you mean we’ll do it like a stage set?’

  He nods. ‘Show her how it c
ould look if we went with your idea of different sections for vintage, new designs and vintage-inspired designs.’

  ‘OK,’ I say, smiling back. ‘I’ll have a go.’

  We spend the rest of the evening working on restocking. We put out the hidden gems we’ve found from Mum’s stock, and also go through some of Hélène’s things and hang them on the racks. As lovely as Hélène’s things are, though, I can’t help but feel that something’s missing. The centrepiece for the window display that I’m picturing in my mind. And it’s my fault that it’s missing. I don’t tell the others though. Not until I’ve tried to make it right.

  When we finally call it a night and get back to Stevie’s house, I’m practically asleep on my feet with exhaustion. Stevie is not only tired, but also in pain from the walking practice. I help her into bed, but before I turn out the light, I ask if I can use her iPad.

  ‘Sure,’ she says. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘I just want to check our eBay auctions,’ I say. (Checking the bids on the things we’re selling has become one of my new favourite hobbies.)

  ‘OK – sure,’ she says. ‘Goodnight.’

  I unplug the iPad from its charger and take it to the sofa bed. I log into eBay and the original seller account that I created. I click on the messages section and type in a new message: to the buyer of the polka-dot dress.

  THE UNVEILING

  When I wake up three days later on Stevie’s sofa bed, I’m twisted inside out with nerves. Today’s the day when all will be revealed to the one person who matters most – Mum.

  No one else is awake yet, so I dress quickly, write a thank-you note to Stevie and her mum and dad, then heft my rucksack on to my back. It takes me ten minutes to walk home, and every step of the way I worry. Mum’s train was due to arrive late last night. If, for some reason, she’s already up and about, the surprise might be ruined.

  When I reach our house, I fish out my key and open the door. For a second, it feels strange to be back in my own home. But as soon as I see Mum’s shoes – pink-and-white striped espadrilles – by the door and hear the shower running upstairs, I feel a lot better. Mum’s home!

  I go into the kitchen and see that Mum’s bought a bag of groceries. I put on a pot of coffee for her and force myself to eat a piece of toast. I hear the sound of the water go off and her moving about in her room. I tidy up the kitchen and pour cereal into a bowl for her.

  Eventually she comes down. ‘Andy!’ she says, holding out her arms.

  I run into them. We squeeze each other tightly, and tears form in my eyes as I breathe in the familiar scent of sandalwood and rose.

  ‘I’m so happy to see you,’ I say.

  ‘It’s good to be back.’ She holds me at arm’s length and looks me over. ‘Have you grown taller?’ she says, ruffling my hair.

  ‘In three weeks?’

  ‘You look like a model,’ she says.

  ‘Hardly.’ I laugh, gesturing down to my jeans and black T-shirt. The jeans were another ‘find’ from when we were clearing out the shop. They were brand-new – still had a tag on them. The top is one I took as ‘payment’. It wasn’t new, but even the fashion police can’t give the thumbs down to a plain black T-shirt.

  ‘No, really.’ Mum’s face is serious. ‘I think we need to start aiming higher, Andy. We’re just as good as other people. We need to start believing it.’

  ‘I totally agree,’ I say. Mum may have been reading a few too many self-help books while she’s been away, but I hope that she means it. What had Thomas said? So now you’ll point her in the right direction.

  ‘In fact, Andy, I’ve been doing some thinking about what you said before I left. About getting in some really good stock, and raising the prices. I like putting bespoke touches on some of the pieces, and those ought to cost a little more. Whether we stay here, or move up north, I think those ideas have some merit.’

  ‘Really?’ I feel like a light has gone on inside me. The fact that she’s taking my ideas seriously means so much. Smiling, I take her hand and lead her over to the table. ‘Sit down,’ I say. ‘I made you a welcome home breakfast.’ I bring her the cereal bowl and a cup of fresh coffee. ‘I’m so glad that you’re back.’

  ‘Me too, sweetheart.’ Her smile looks genuine – almost like her old self. ‘Now, I want to hear about everything you’ve been up to.’

  ‘Well, I have been busy . . .’

  I hover as Mum finishes her breakfast. I’ve managed to convince her that all I’ve been doing in the last few weeks is hanging out with my friends, helping Stevie with her walking, and going for after-school jogs with Carrie. But now that it’s almost time to tell her the truth, I feel dizzy with nerves.

  Mum checks her watch and gives me a concerned look. ‘Don’t you have school, Andy?’

  ‘Um, it’s an inset morning,’ I lie. ‘I thought I’d come with you to the shop. There’s something I want to show you.’

  ‘The shop?’ Concern turns to wariness. ‘I assume the shop is just the way I left it. I took the key so no one could break in.’

  ‘Did you?’ I don’t meet her eyes. ‘OK – just let me know when you’re ready to go.’

  As we walk to the shop, Mum chats about the Lake District. It’s a little off-putting, but I nod my head and say: ‘I’m glad you had a good rest, Mum.’ I cut in and start talking about school before she can mention the ‘quaint old barn’ she found. As we turn on to the high street, I tell her about the special project that Ms Cartwright gave us.

  We pass the betting shop.

  ‘We’re supposed to make something better in our lives,’ I say. ‘We’re supposed to be a little braver. Take a risk . . .’

  We pass the funeral parlour.

  ‘That sounds like a worthy goal,’ Mum says. ‘What did you choose?’

  We pass the chippie.

  ‘Well . . . you’ll see.’

  Mum stops dead in her tracks. She lets out a little scream. Her hands grip my arm, fingers digging into my skin. ‘Oh, Andy,’ she says. ‘What’s happened? Where’s Eliza’s Emporium?’ She squints against the sun. ‘The Polka Dot Shop? What on earth is that?’

  Mr LeBoeff comes out of the chippie. Thomas is just behind him, looking a little bit like a deer in the headlights.

  ‘Eliza!’ Mr LeBoeff says. ‘Welcome home!’ He kisses her on both cheeks. ‘You must see what wonderful things these young people have been up to!’

  ‘I . . . I . . .’ Mum clutches her chest, her face bright pink.

  I lead her forwards. ‘Come and see, Mum. Before you say anything, just come and see.’

  Mr LeBoeff and Thomas follow from a distance as I lead her up to the window. She puts her hand over her mouth in shock. ‘What is this? I mean, it’s a designer shop or something. It’s not . . . mine.’

  Worry stabs my chest. Does she not like it? It looks so stylish and beautiful and we worked so hard. How can she not like it?

  ‘It is yours,’ I say. ‘Here, give me your key. I’ll show you.’

  She fumbles in her pocket and draws the key out with a trembling hand. The panes of glass in the newly painted door sparkle like gems in the morning light. The key fits and turns in the lock. Mum’s jaw gapes open, and it’s almost like she’s afraid to go inside.

  ‘Let me switch on the lights.’

  I go in before her and flip the switch by the till. The white space floods with light. The chrome dazzles, and the clothing on the racks – not very much, if I’m honest – looks neat and expensive. The polka-dot border and logo are classy and fun.

  As soon as Mum’s inside, she seems to revive. Like a kid in a sweet shop she rushes from one rack to the other, flipping through the clothing. ‘Where on earth did these things come from?’ she says half to herself.

  ‘Um, from Mr LeBoeff.’

  Mum turns back, as if noticing for the first time that we’re not alone.

  ‘It’s all vintage designer clothing that belonged to his wife,’ I say. ‘She was called La Belle Hélène.’

/>   ‘And now I am glad that it has finally found a use,’ Mr LeBoeff says. He wipes a tear from his eye. ‘It is exactly what she would have wanted.’

  Mum goes up to him and grabs his hand. ‘I don’t understand, Pierre,’ she says. ‘Please, tell me what’s going on. I mean, Hélène’s things? Her beautiful things in my shop?’

  ‘Your daughter and my nephew – and a few of their friends – worked day and night to fix up the shop,’ Mr LeBoeff says. (I notice that he hasn’t let go of her hand.) ‘They put their hearts and souls into it. Andy has many ideas about how to make it prosperous. Part of which will involve my old theatre.’ He points to the space that the curtain is covering – where the wall we knocked down once stood.

  My voice trembles slightly as I explain the ‘concept’ of The Polka Dot Shop. How we’ll sell a mixture of top-end vintage fashion, consignment, and new clothing by young designers. ‘We want to create a “destination”,’ I say, using the fashion professor’s word. ‘With something for everyone who loves fashion. Classic, modern, timeless, fun.’

  ‘But . . .’ Mum says, and I’m alarmed to see tears trickling down her cheeks, ‘how can we possibly afford all this?’

  Mr LeBoeff takes a clean tissue from his pocket and hands it to her. He tells her about how we’ve sold some of his wife’s things to make money to fix up the shop.

  ‘In truth, the idea was a painful one for me to accept,’ he says. ‘But I think it is for the best. We must look to the future.’ He smiles at her.

  Thomas gives me a wide-eyed look of surprise. ‘No idea,’ I mouth back silently.

  ‘Which is what Andy and Thomas have been doing,’ Mr LeBoeff adds.

  ‘And we’ve had lots of free help,’ I say, jumping in. ‘My friends, and Jolanta, and her boyfriend.’

  ‘Jolanta? She’s involved too?’ Mum’s tears come faster now. ‘I . . . I’m so . . .’