The bell above the shop door suddenly jingled, snapping her out of her thoughts.
She looked up eagerly; finally, a customer! But it wasn’t a customer. It was Daniel.He waved a white carrier bag in her direction like a white flag and placed it on the desk in front of her.
‘Still here then? I was half expecting to come back to a skip outside and a shop half empty.’
‘Now there’s an idea,’ replied Fern. ‘Especially after seeing this.’ She pushed the accounts book towards him. ‘The last recorded sale was weeks ago. For eighteen quid. Tell me, how exactly are you paying yourself? Or do you run on fresh air and optimism?’
‘Well, technically, I’m not paying myself,’ he admitted. ‘Matilda never did, either. Not in the conventional sense.’
Fern frowned. ‘What does that even mean?’
Daniel leaned against the counter. ‘It means that this placewas never about making money. Matilda ran it because she loved it. Because she believed objects carried stories, and those stories deserved to be found by the right people.’ He tapped the book with one finger. ‘If you’re looking for a thriving business model, you won’t find it in there.’
Fern crossed her arms. ‘So she just gave stuff away for free and neither of you took a wage? What am I missing here?’
Daniel grinned. ‘Sometimes she’d trade. Sometimes she’d wait for the right person to walk in.She told me this shop was a goldmine, you just had to believe in it.’
Fern rubbed her temples. ‘Believe in what? Miracles? That is not how businesses work.’
He shrugged. ‘It worked for Matilda.’
‘Did it?’
‘I get it,’ he said, quieter now. ‘You think this place is a lost cause, and maybe it is. But Matilda left it to you because you’re family, and she hoped you’d do the right thing.’
‘Matilda didn’t even know me. This whole situation is bizarre.’
‘Please give it a go, and don’t do anything hasty,’ he said, then smiled. ‘I mean, some girls could only dream of inheriting a shop full of trinkets and stuffed dead animals, and sharing a bed with a handsome stranger.’ He gave her a lopsided grin.
‘You’re deluded. What’s in the bag?’ She sniffed the air animatedly.
‘I’ve brought food. The best fish and chips on Puffin Island. The van only comes once a week.’
Fern inhaled. The tang of salt and vinegar filled the air, cutting through the scent of old books and antique polish. Her stomach let out a tiny, traitorous growl.
‘Curry sauce?’ she asked, narrowing her eyes.
‘A large tub of it.’
She exhaled dramatically. ‘Okay. We can be friends again.’
Daniel smirked. ‘You drive a hard bargain.’ He turned and strolled towards a dusty old suitcase stacked with mismatched crockery, and rummaged through delicate floral-patterned teacups and plates with gold-rimmed edges.
Fern frowned. She stood up and followed him. ‘What are you doing now?’
‘Getting plates.’ He pulled out two slightly yellowed dishes.
She recoiled. ‘You can’t be serious. I’m not eating off those dusty old things.’
Daniel wiped one against his sleeve. ‘There. As good as new.’
‘That’s not how hygiene works!’
He sighed dramatically. ‘Fine. I’ll wash them.’
‘What’s wrong with the ones in the kitchen cupboard?’
‘They’re in the dishwasher and I forgot to switch it on. These will do.’
