These children didn’t wait for any assistance from Jo, or even ask if they could try the pens. They fell on them, tore the tops off, and chiselled their names in the pad of paper, pens held tight in fists like daggers. Their mother completely ignored them. And the children completely ignored Jo when she tried to show them how to hold the pens. After several minutes, the woman abruptly left the shop with Sholto and Allegra in tow. As Jo cleared up, it gave her a certain twisted pleasure to see that Allegra couldn’t spell her own name. She took a perverse delight in pinning this to her board.
The shop is now quiet and Jo is just beginning to feel the day might get better when she discovers someone has stolen one of her tester pens. It is the scarlet one that Eric liked so much.
She is on her knees, dungareed bottom in the air, poking under the cabinet with a wooden ruler when Eric comes in.
‘Lost something?’
Jo quickly sits back on her heels. She already feels at a disadvantage with Eric the Viking; being found scrabbling around on the floor isn’t helping. ‘Someone’s nicked one of my pens,’ she tells him, sighing and hauling herself toher feet. ‘It’s been a horrible day.’
‘It’ll bring them no luck,’ Eric says philosophically, planting himself on the stool beside the counter.
‘You think that?’ Jo asks, wondering if this is more of it. Not religion but something spiritual – like her sending good thoughts to people. A type of karma? ‘Do you really think bad things happen to bad people – and vice versa?’ she asks.
‘Not really sure. It was just something my grandmother used to say. “They’ll get no luck of it.”’
‘An Icelandic saying?’
‘No,’ Eric grins, ‘she was Scottish. Do you know who stole it?’
Jo tries to remember all the people who have been in the shop since she last saw it. ‘Not a clue,’ she tells him.
Thinking about it only makes her feel worse. Someone she was chatting away to was quietly stealing from her.
‘It happens sometimes with me. Although why anyone would want to nick the glasses we’ve got on display beats me. They’ve all got clear lenses in them.’
‘Perhaps the thieves just want to look more intelligent,’ Jo suggests, sitting down on her side of the counter.
‘Ah, that’s where I’ve been going wrong,’ Eric says, rubbing his chin. ‘Hey, you look done in. Shall I get us some coffee and cake – the café is doing great Christmas cake at the moment.’
‘Go on then,’ Jo says. ‘And thank you.’
As he goes out through the door, Jo puts her head onto the glass of the counter. It is cool against her forehead. Her head aches and she feels abnormally despondent. A thought wheedles in: he’ssonice. She knows people who despise the word ‘nice’ (James, for example); Jo decides she’s not one of them. She lets out a low groan. Why did she spend all those weeks obsessing about that bollox James (Uncle Wilbur was quite right) when this man was walking past her window each day? And now he’s with someone else. And unlike Nickeeey, this ‘someone else’ seems really nice.That word again.
When Eric comes back through the door carrying a cardboard tray containing coffee and cake, he catches her staring off into space. ‘What are you thinking about?’ he asks.
She can’t say,You, so instead tries, ‘Just some of the customers who have been in today. Do people ask you really stupid questions in the optician’s?’
Eric manoeuvres the tray onto the counter. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Oh, it’s just I’ve had quite a few today. Like, “How long will my ink cartridge last?” I guess I can see why they ask, but I get tired of saying, “It really depends on how much you write.”’
Eric grins, ‘It’s a bit like asking someone, “How many days before I need more petrol?”’
‘Exactly!’ Jo says, pleased to find someone who understands.
‘I get patients asking if they can clean their contact lenses with spit.’
‘Yuck!’
It is Eric’s turn to say, ‘Exactly!’
Eric appears to be warming to the theme, ‘Now I think about it, it isn’t so much the questions as the comments we get. Like the number of people who tell me that their glasses were broken when they opened up the case. When it is obvious theyhave sat on them or the dog has chewed them. Sometimes you can even see the teeth marks.’
‘I have people who look at our fountain pen covers and ask me, “Will my pen fit in that?” Again, I kind of know what they mean, but I want to say, “How the hell should I know?”’
‘That, I’d like to hear.’
‘I did say to one woman, “If your pen is smaller than the cover, then yes it will. If it is bigger, then no”,’ Jo confesses, a little guiltily.
