Page 3 of The Winter We Met
Nik nodded. ‘I used to love listening to stories from when my grandparents were younger and whatever problem I faced, they had some experience to draw on that they’d share with me and it would help.’ He wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. I pointed to the corner and a splodge of yolk. He grinned and wiped it again before pushing his plate away and giving a contented sigh. ‘I don’t feel like moving now.’
I groaned and looked at my watch. ‘I hear you but I’ve got to drop into work. It’s almost twelve and I promised to help out this afternoon. I’d better get going.’
‘Is it in the centre of London?’
‘God no – I couldn’t face the daily commute. I live in a town called Amblemarsh and Under the Tree is in a neighbouring village called Springhaye which is also where Gran’s care home is.’
‘It sounds quintessentially English, I’m picturing meadows and wildflowers.’
‘It boasts a river with canal boats. The village is quite quaint. There’s a brilliant pub next to Gran’s place and the shops are very unique. There’s a bookshop that also sells art, and a shop that sells nothing but handcrafted umbrellas.’
‘No!’
I grinned. ‘A needlework shop sells everything you could imagine connected to embroidery, it’s next to The Corner Dessert Shop that serves the best ever puddings. Next to Under the Tree is a camera shop called Smile Please. The owner, Mr Wilson, begrudgingly sells the mod cons to do with digital photography but his heart is in the old school trends and he stocks quite a collection of film cameras – some you could practically class as antique. It’s a family business, like yours, and has been handed down over two generations and still offers film processing.’
Nik sat up. ‘There’s only one vintage camera and film processing shop I know of in the whole of Sydney.’ He reached into his rucksack and lifted out a clunky old-fashioned film camera. ‘I’m a huge fan myself and have even got my own dark room at home – yes, hands up, I’m a bit of a photography nerd,’ he said. ‘There’s nothing quite like the excitement of developing your own negatives.’
‘Then you’d love Mr Wilson’s collection – almost as much as he’d love showing you around. Since the proliferation of phones with cameras their shop is often empty and certainly the only young customers he has are photography students.’ I paused. ‘You’re most welcome to tag along, as I head into work. Springhaye is about forty minutes on the train from here and it would take you just half an hour from there to get back into London later. It stops at King’s Cross which isn’t far from Islington. You could pop into Under the Tree afterwards. I’m sure my colleague, Seb, could cover whilst I have a quick coffee with you in the staff room before you leave. Although I imagine you must be tired, so please feel welcome to pop in any other day, if you prefer.’
‘I’d love to come with you, if you’re sure you don’t mind! That breakfast has re-energised me and I’ve nothing else planned.’ His face broke into a smile. ‘Thanks, Jess.’
2
The door’s bell rang and I turned around as Nik wheeled in his suitcase. The lunch hour rush had just passed and the shop only had a couple of customers. Winter sunrays poured indoors with him.
‘Welcome to Under the Tree.’ I beamed.
Nik put down his rucksack.
‘Was Mr Wilson as pleased to see you as I thought?’
Nik let out a low whistle. ‘What an amazing shop – he’s a real gent and let me study all the vintage cameras and wanted to take a look at mine. I’ve never seen such a range of analogue equipment. I could have spent hours looking at the range of lenses and he had a beautiful camera with a chrome and leather body. Its focal length lenses are really interesting. It’s one of the more reasonably priced ones as well. I’ve only seen it online before and am really tempted. It’s just come into stock and I’ve wanted a Pentax for ages.’
‘You’ll have made his day.’
Nik looked around.
‘That’s the reading area I was telling you about,’ I said. I couldn’t help feeling proud as I pointed straight ahead, past the till, to a section of the shop with red carpet and cushions on the floor alongside open picture books. Nothing pleased me more than seeing little ones ensconced in there, on a dark, wintry afternoon. Surrounding the square of red carpet was a wooden library of stories for older children. In the centre of the shop’s main floor was a table covered in pocket money priced toys. On the walls were shelves full of board games and plushies, building bricks, dolls and drawing equipment – plus one area dedicated to merchandise from well-known brands based on television series. The floor was beech laminate and the walls magnolia. The ceiling was eggshell-blue with white clouds painted on, along with yellow sunrays projecting out from the front right corner, above the door.
‘Love that,’ Nik said, pointing to the corner opposite, diagonally. A huge Christmas tree was painted on the wall, with sparkling baubles and a fairy on top.
‘The shelf projecting out from under the lowest branches features our toy of the week. The current one is a kit to make your own insect house.’
‘The whole vibe here is really cosy.’
‘You can say small if you want to.’ I grinned.
‘I don’t mean that, Jess. What I’m saying is… I can see this place has got soul. Some shops I visit are sterile and clinical with staff wearing crease-free uniforms and plastic shelves full of regimented stock.’
‘No chance of us being that tidy here.’
His eyes crinkled at the corners and made me want to joke again.
‘There’s nothing better than a toy shop that feels like home,’ he said.
‘Jessie! Finally it’s quiet enough for a proper chat. How was Nuremberg? Did you try any German sausage?’
I smiled at my assistant. His eyes flickered with amusement.
