Noticing a record player over in the corner, Fern set it up, placed the record on the turntable and carefully lowered the needle. A soft crackle filled the silence, followed by the start of the beautiful song. She hadn’t heard it in ages, and it caught her off guard how emotional it made her feel. After the song finished she put the record back in its sleeve. She lifted the lid of her laptop again and for the next hour got lost researching Nathaniel Loring’s life. The internet was packed with information about him. There were a series of professional profiles, biographies and news articles. His Wikipedia page showed he was born in 1940. A London Music College graduate, he’d gone on to become one of the most celebrated composers of his generation. She scrolled further. The songs he wrote had been sold to some of the most iconic artists of the sixties, shaping the sound of an era.
He’d made a fortune from his very first composition, a piece that had become globally recognised and re-recorded by countless classically trained artists. His success in the music industry had catapulted him into the realm of multimillionaires. But the most surprising detail was that Nathaniel had spent most of his life in Italy, living in the heart of the musical world, before returning to England just ten years ago. In his early years, Nathaniel had opened a music school in London, which was still thriving and nurturing young talent today. The music she had heard earlier, it wasn’t just a song; it was the reflection of a legacy.
Just then, Daniel walked in through the back door, guitar in hand.
Fern smiled and he narrowed his eyes. ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’
‘Because, Daniel Brooks, I’ve made a decision,’ she said with an exaggerated dramatic flair. ‘I’m going to give you a chance.’
Daniel cocked an eyebrow. ‘Are you going to suggest moving in permanently? Because if you are, we really need to talk about the bed situation.’ He leaned against the door frame, looking more amused than anything. ‘You snuck over to my side again this morning. I mean, I don’t want to sound presumptuous, but I think that’s a little forward. After all, we haven’t even made it to date three yet.’
Fern’s mouth dropped open. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
Daniel grinned. ‘So you were just…accidentallymaking yourself comfortable on my side of the bed? Totally understandable.’
Fern rolled her eyes. ‘Be serious for a second!’ She walked over to the shelf of dusty knick-knacks and picked up a vase. ‘This shop is a goldmine of chaos, but I think we could make it more… functional.’
‘Go on…’
She motioned vaguely around at the mismatched furniture, the stuffed badger sitting on top of a bookcase. ‘We should put this place in some sort of order, dust the shelves, catalogue everything, and maybe, just maybe, create a social media account to attract some attention.’
Daniel looked at her as though she’d just suggested they open a fire-breathing circus in the back.
‘A social media account? Forthis?’ He gestured at the cluttered antique shop, where items were piled upon each other like a mad professor’s hoard. ‘You keep saying I’m the one who’s deluded… but now you’re talking about us selling this as some sort of… influencer lifestyle?’
Fern grinned mischievously. ‘Oh, I’m talking TikTok, Daniel. You could write little songs for all the different items. I’m sure collectors would love that. You could compose music inspired by the 1800s candlesticks or the 1930s toaster. Who knows? People might go crazy for it.’
Daniel took a step back, horror written all over his face. ‘You’ve lost me. I’m no TikTok sensation.’ He clutched the guitar strap over his shoulder as though it were a lifeline.
Fern arched an eyebrow, clearly amused. ‘Well, if people aren’t going to walk through the door, we’re going to have to bring the door to them. Let’s make it happen. What do you think?’
‘You told me it was best I didn’t think.’
‘You have a month to turn this place around.’
‘Why the change of heart?’
‘Because it’s only a month. Now, fetch the duster and a new logbook.’
He saluted. ‘If marriage is on the cards though, you really have to work on your bossiness.’
Fern shook her head in despair but secretly enjoyed the banter between them. ‘Right, let’s get these dusty old blinds fully open and we need buckets of water. Everything needs a good wash down.’
ChapterTwelve
Daniel strolled back into No. 17 Curiosity Lane from the kitchen, a bucket of water sloshing in one hand and a pile of dusters in the other. But it was the pink rubber gloves stretched up to his elbows that truly completed the picture.
Fern took one look at him and laughed. ‘Nice gloves.’
‘You can laugh all you want,’ he said, placing the dusters on the desk then wiggling his fingers with exaggerated flair. ‘These beauties are the only thing standing between me and the unspeakable horrors lurking in this shop.’
‘You do realise you’re wearing them inside out?’
Daniel glanced down, sighed and began peeling them off to fix them. ‘I was going for dramatic effect.’
Fern stood in the middle of the shop, surveying the absolute mayhem around her. Dust motes swirled in the air, the light filtering through the grimy windows in streaks of golden disapproval. Every available surface was crammed with something: precariously stacked books, mismatched porcelain dolls with unsettlingly vacant stares, a collection of tarnished silverware that may or may not have belonged to an aristocrat or a very dedicated magpie. And spiders. So many spiders.
‘Right,’ she declared, eyeing a cobweb that had taken on the architectural complexity of a small cathedral. ‘We are sorting this place out.’ She looked up at the shelving unit in front of her. ‘There’s a spider the size of a teacup in the corner. That’s not an ecosystem, that’s a horror film waiting to happen. However, he’s about to be evicted.’ She rolled up her sleeves. ‘Along with all his creepy little relatives.’
