Chances

‘Go online and do the whole Amazon dot com thing.’

‘Nah. She’s going to be ten. Requires something special.’

‘Gap? Topshop?’

‘I can’t go in there on my own.’

‘Twat.’

‘Cheers, mate.’

‘Try that shop in town? You know the one – That Shop? All the trinketty things in the window?’ Tinker was often teased for the way he made every sentence a question.

‘Oh yeah.’

‘We can go past that way – come on.’

* * *

To Vita, the three young men with a good day’s manual work written all over their tired faces, dusty boots and forearms, were far more incongruous customers than her notorious little old lady, currently rifling through the fruit-shaped scented soaps. When she started the business, Vita swore never to utter the four words sure to dampen the ardour of any unsure shopper, May I help you? She’d researched it – listening in other shops, trying it herself. May I help you? Nine times out of ten, four words sprang an automatic reply. No thanks, just looking. Vita, therefore, devised other techniques, discovering how casual asides worked best. She assessed the posse and tried to work out which one was buying. The tallest one, she reckoned, the one with the curly dark hair and the smudge of something or other on his neck. Yes, the other two appeared to be looking on his behalf while he stood still and scanned the wares as a whole. She put down her book as if it was high time she had a little tidy of the table with the notecards and scented lip balms. As she neared, one of them – the one with the closely cropped hair and goatee – picked up the linen-and-patchwork beanbag mouse.

‘Lovely for a baby,’ she mentioned as she passed by. ‘Organic cotton – and nothing that can be pulled off or swallowed.’

The lad looked at her, jiggled the mouse, put it back down. ‘Oh, it’s not for a baby?’ he said. ‘It’s for his kid sister?’

Aha!

‘How old is his kid sister?’ Vita asked.

‘Boz – she’s ten, isn’t she? Ten, ma’am?’

Vita, who’d never been called ma’am before, was suddenly quite taken with it. ‘Ten, hey? Ten-year-old girls have secrets – and they need places to hide them.’

The other two had gravitated towards her and their mate.

‘Well – I don’t sell secrets, I’m afraid,’ said Vita. They all laughed. ‘But I do have – these.’ She guided them towards the back of the shop, smiling sweetly at the old lady who was pocketing something. ‘Here.’

She showed them the balsa-wood boxes made to look like miniature wardrobes. Each had a drawer under a door, with a proper keyhole and brass key that was ornate and looked old. They were about the size of a shoebox, deceptively light, in paint washes that suggested they’d been found on a sand dune.

‘Yeah!’ said the brother of the birthday girl who she thought was called Bruiser or something. ‘That’ll hit the spot.’ Australian, Vita thought.

‘Ma’am?’ said the American or Canadian who’d first spoken to her. He was talking quietly but urgently. ‘That old woman? She’s – I think – well, she’s kinda taken something? I don’t know what. Would you like me to – you know?’

Vita brushed the air quickly. ‘No, no – she’s fine. I know her.’ She was much more interested in matchmaking a ten-year-old with a gift.

The three young men looked towards the door where the old lady was headed – and then earnestly back at Vita.

‘But she’s—?’

‘Please,’ Vita said, ‘it’s fine. Honestly. Now – about your sister?’

‘It’s awesome, miss,’ said the Bruiser brother. Vita thought she preferred miss to ma’am. ‘I’ll take it. The bluish one, I reckon. What do you think, Tink?’

‘If I was your sis? I’d think you were damn cool, Boz.’

‘Boz,’ said Vita, to herself but out loud.

‘Yeah?’

Vita reddened. ‘It’s just the male customers I usually have are mostly called Felix and Ted and Blaise – names like that. And they’re usually holding their mums’ hands.’

‘It’s short for Robert,’ Boz told her, which he could hear didn’t make any sense so he chuckled.

‘Spike’s short for Michael,’ Boz continued, motioning to the one who had yet to speak. ‘And Tinker – what the fuck is your name, mate?’

Vita thought, I’ll let the swearing go – there’s no one else in the shop and the boxes are quite pricey.

‘Taylor,’ said Tinker and everyone simply nodded.

‘When do you need this for?’ Vita asked. ‘It’s just that I could put your sister’s name on it – hand stencil it – look, like the one in the window.’

The boys murmured their approval.

‘I could have it ready for tomorrow morning And I could gift-wrap it too. After you’ve seen it, of course.’

‘Thanks, miss, that would be awesome.’

‘Excellent. What’s her name?’ And Vita hoped it was something pretty and not a daft nickname.

‘Megan.’

‘Excellent.’

‘Shall I pay now?’

‘Would you mind?’

Boz looked at her as if she was mad. ‘Of course I don’t mind. This is awesome.’

‘See you tomorrow,’ Vita said as she handed back his credit card and receipt.

‘I’ve read that book,’ said Spike, the quiet one, another Aussie, motioning towards Robinson Crusoe. ‘Couldn’t get to grips with Moll Flanders, though.’

After they’d gone, and once the school rush had abated, Vita started stencilling Megan’s name. She’d felt so disorientated after that night recently with Candy and Michelle – but today she felt as though she’d been sent three rugged guardian angels, one of whom was paying her to do something other than think about Tim and Suzie. She rifled through her stencil collection.

‘I’ll add a pattern,’ she said. ‘Free of charge.’ Her evening was sorted. She was relieved. She wrote on a Post-it and stuck it to the box.

Megan