Marcus dutifully followed, although there were many more things he now remembered he needed to buy, but he was slightly irritated he was the subject of conversation, and wanted to know who it was that was talking freely about him to other residents in the bay.
He opened his mouth, just about to ask that question, when Po put the tin of paint on the counter and turned around to face him.
‘Has Mrs Flownder tried to marry you off yet, young un?’
Marcus’s jaw dropped open. He should have known. Did she have some kind of agenda going on behind his back to get him paired off with one of her sisters?
Po continued, ‘Folk put people on shelves, lad. Trouble is, not everyone belongs on the shelf they’re given.’ He winked.
Marcus shook his head, stunned. Was he alluding to what he thought he was?
‘Shall I ring these up for you?’
Marcus blinked a couple of times. ‘Erm, no, no. I still have a list of things I need to get.’
‘Oh yes? Give it here and I’ll help you find them. It might look like a great big clutter of stuff in here, but I have everything organised and in places where they’ve been stored for years.’
Marcus produced the list he’d spent the last couple of days writing. ‘I’m hoping you have some of these things. I’d rather give you the trade then go out of the bay for it.’
Po took the list and brought it inches from his face, examining it closely. Marcus could hear him mumbling under his breath as he read it.
‘You’re in luck. I’ve had some of these since 1987. Let’s see. That’ll be the tent pegs, clipboards and padlocks. The rest are newer stock, bought from 1996 onwards.’
Marcus had to stifle a laugh.Newer stock. He hoped the rope on the list was brought into the shop more recently, otherwise it might have started to perish. As for the cable ties, marker paint, warning signs, sandbags and bunting hooks, surely they came from the twenty-first century.
Marcus followed Po around the store like a lapdog, holding onto the items after Po had sourced them from different places.
Finally back at the counter, with all of the things from his list stacked into a pile, Po began adding up his purchases with a pen and paper.
‘Righto, that’ll be eighty seven pounds and forty nine pence please. Not far off my age.’
Marcus gasped.
‘Too much money for you, lad?’
Marcus shook his head with a smile. ‘No, that’s a very reasonable price. I’m shocked at how nimble you are.’
Po smiled, his face becoming a sea of lines. ‘A tot of whisky in my tea, but keep that to yourself.’
Marcus laughed and handed Po five crisp twenty pound notes. ‘Can I get a receipt, please, Mr Po?’
‘It will have to be hand written?’
‘That’s fine.’
After tucking his change and receipt into his wallet, Marcus set about filling the sandbags with his purchases.
Old Po tapped the lid of the paint tin with one crooked finger.
‘Remember, lad, no point painting over old flaking wood. Looks pretty for a week, then it all starts peeling again. Best thing is to scrape it back properly first.’
Marcus smiled. ‘Are we still talking about paint?’
Old Po’s eyes twinkled beneath his bushy brows. ‘Usually we are in a hardware shop.’
But Marcus had the oddest feeling they weren’t.
SWEAT DRIPPED DOWNthe back of Marcus’s back as he reached his front door. How he’d made it back home with all the purchases from Old Po’s shop, after such a busy day alone in the parlour, he didn’t know.
