He suddenly wished very hard that the hunger never left her. Not the tearing pain that came with it; one could always dispense with that. But it occurred to Brody that maybe the yearning was supposed to evolve into something more positive: passion, drive. Living. Not this awful blank numbness.
Lewis was looking up at Moji adoringly. She bent down to give him a tickle under the chin, then straightened with her usual self-contained grace and looked at Brody expectantly. He realized he hadn’t answered her question as to why he’d knocked on the door instead of leaving the box as he usually did. He shrugged. ‘Seemed ages since I’ve seen you.’
And it had been ages. Maybe six months. He only made these trips every five or six weeks and had got into the habit of sneaking in and out of town before anyone would be about.
‘Let me make you a cup of tea,’ she said.
‘Well, I…’
‘Go on, now you’re here! Only a quick one.’ She retreated inside before he had a chance to argue.
Brody swallowed, then followed her into the small shop, glancing nervously at the partially glazed front door. The sign hanging there read ‘OPEN’, meaning the opposite word was visible from the street. He was grateful for that.
There wasn’t room for both of them in her tiny kitchen, which he expected had once literally been a broom cupboard, so he waited in the shadows at the back of the shop while Moji made the drinks. When she was finished, she handed him a strong tea in a mug that said ‘Booksellers Believe in Them Shelves’. He couldn’t help smiling as he took it.
Moji settled herself onto one of two stools behind the counter and motioned for him to take the other one. ‘Those stacking rings have been selling like hotcakes,’ she said. ‘And the pull-along trains too. Are there any more in that box?’
‘Three of the rings, one train, but I can make more if you want.’
Moji took the train out of the box and handled it, running her fingers over the silky painted wood. ‘Such beautiful workmanship. You have a real gift.’ She then glanced up to the shelf behind the till and Brody knew what was coming next. ‘I don’t suppose…’
He shook his head. Moji was talking about the unpainted, unvarnished figure of a willowy wood elf he’d done last summer, carving on a whim, letting his fingers create without thought. This is what he’d come up with. The delicate figure had flowing skirts and a faraway look in her eyes. She was completely different from anything else he’d ever made,and for some reason that had bothered him, but he’d known that Moji would like her, and for Moji’s friendship (and her lack of judgement about his peculiar ways) he’d made a gift of the elf to her.
‘Lots of people come in wanting to buy her, but I just can’t bear to part with her. However, if you could make me another one… Or maybe even three?’ she said, smiling widely with a naughty glint in her eyes.
Brody chuckled. One of the things he liked about Moji was her tenacity. ‘She’s one of a kind,’ he told her. ‘Like you.’
She punched him on the arm. ‘Oh, you old charmer,’ she said, laughing.
But just then the shop door rattled. Brody stood up, almost sending his stool flying. A middle-aged woman with pasty skin and frizzy hair had her nose pressed up against the window, eyes shielded by her hand. She tried the locked door again.
‘Some people!’ Moji said, smiling good-naturedly all the same. She headed for the shop door. It was a journey of ten steps, maximum, even with Moji’s tiny legs.
‘What are you doing?’ Brody asked, gripping his mug tightly and taking a step back, closer to the wall.
‘I’m going to let her in. It’s only Alison Shaw. She told me last week that she was expecting another grandchild imminently and he must have arrived.’
‘But you’re not open yet.’
‘It’s only another ten minutes and she’s one of my best customers.’
Brody put his mug of tea down on the desk, even though he’d only taken a couple of sips from it and it was still blissfully hot.Lewis, who’d been sitting patiently beside the kitchen-slash-cupboard in case biscuits might appear, cocked his head to one side and his tufty little eyebrows lifted in surprise. ‘I’ll be off then,’ Brody said firmly. ‘I don’t want to get in the way of—’
‘Nonsense! Alison would love to meet you. She nearly always buys those sorting cubes you make when each grandchild gets a little older, really raves about them…’ Moji closed the distance to the door.
That was Brody’s cue. By the time she’d flipped the sign over so ‘OPEN’ faced the street outside, he was in the back yard, a confused-looking and biscuit-deprived Lewis trailing dejectedly beside him.
But Brody didn’t hurry back to his car. He couldn’t. His lungs had given up completely now.
The yard around him became distant and rather fuzzy, as if he was viewing it through a dirty telescope from far away, and the sounds that had been so invasive when he’d first got out of his car were drowned out by the rushing noise in his ears.
Oh, God. This was it. The moment he was going to die. He reached out to the brick wall for support and dropped into a crouching position, head bent towards his knees.
Moji was only a short distance away inside the shop. He could hear her chatting to the woman about her daughter-inlaw’s water birth and might have been able to call out to her, but the thought of opening his mouth and firing words from it only made his head spin faster and his heart pound harder.
He had to get up. He had to get to his car. He had to…
Something warm and rough touched him and he flinched before looking down to find Lewis sitting neatly beside him, quietly licking his hand.
