A December to Remember (31)

“Remember when the cash drawer shot out suddenly and knocked her clean off her stool?” Simone quipped.

“It’s got such huge buttons; it looks more like a slot machine than a cash register.” Star was already pushing down the stiff buttons, which clacked like typewriter keys, as she worked to find the one that would open the drawer.

“We haven’t checked the kitchenette,” suggested Maggie.

“Okay, you do the kitchen and I’ll do the understairs cupboard,” said Simone.

“Watch out for spiders,” Maggie urged, just as Simone pulled open the cupboard door and a thick web plastered itself over her face. She screamed and fell over, and the others stifled their laughter.

Unsurprisingly, the poky kitchenette contained nothing you’d expect to find in a kitchen. One cupboard housed several small wooden and leather chests containing various war medals. Another was full of beautifully hand-painted tea caddies, with designs ranging from Chinese inspired to Victorian floral. Maggie painstakingly checked them all, sifting through buttons, ribbons, thimbles, and even a few gold teeth, which she didn’t want to think too much about, but found no Monopoly house. A loud ting rang through the shop followed by a yelp from Star as the till finally gave up its treasures.

“I’ve got one!” she shouted jubilantly.

Maggie abandoned a cupboard full of painted canvases to join her.

“Good work,” she said. “One more to go.”

Simone backed out of the understairs cupboard and they rushed to divest her clothes and hair of cobwebs and dead spiders.

“We’ll need to pull it all out and go through it if we’re going to search properly. It is absolutely full of crap,” she said, pouring them all more wine. “It’s impossible to find anything in there, let alone a fingernail-sized house.”

Star was tapping her chin. “Where else would an eccentric old codger hide a Monopoly house?”

“Has anyone looked inside the grandfather clock?” Maggie suggested.

They moved as one toward it, a little wavy for the wine. Simone turned the key and opened the door to the front of the old clock. The stilled pendulum felt like a metaphor for the shop. Aside from a surprised field mouse, who quickly scampered out of reach up into the workings, they found nothing of note.

Simone swayed slightly as she relocked the front panel, and Maggie giggled and helped steady her, though she was not much more balanced herself. They both jumped and turned as a loud cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo sound rang out through the shop. Star stood grinning beside the noisy clock on the wall.

“What are you . . .” Simone began, but her words trailed off when she registered that the twig, which repeatedly emerged from the clock, held a blue Monopoly house instead of a wooden bird.

“That’s it! There it is!” said Maggie. “We’ve found them all.”

“More wine!” shouted Simone.





13





An hour later they were each slumped in chairs pulled from various parts of the shop and positioned around the glowing Calor gas fire, wineglasses in hand, three empty bottles lined up on the flagstones.

“You didn’t drink at the funeral,” said Maggie.

Simone shifted in her chair with an expression of deep discomfort, as though someone had waved something unpleasant under her nose. “No.”

Maggie nodded and looked into her glass. “I’m sorry. That’s shit.”

Star looked between them, but neither elaborated. They were all really drunk. She was experiencing that stage of inebriation whereby she felt melded to the chair. It was one of those large wingback affairs, and she imagined she could feel herself seeping into the cracks in the leather like water.

“Am I missing something?” she asked. “Why is Maggie asking about you drinking?”

Maggie’s eyes widened as though she just remembered something. “Bollocks, sorry, Simone. I forgot she doesn’t know. Wine makes me stupid.”

Star looked pointedly at Simone, who looked back at her, resigned.

“If you must know, Evette and I have been trying for a baby. And now my latest and possibly final attempt at IVF has failed.” Her voice was matter-of-fact, but Star could see the pain in her eyes. “It would seem that I am unable to carry a pregnancy.”

Suddenly Star’s chair didn’t feel so accommodating. She dared not blink in case the tears that blurred her vison spilled out. Simone wouldn’t appreciate her crying, not when she was trying so hard to keep her own emotions trussed up. The least she could do was keep her shit together. They were so different, but she understood Simone. She always had. Simone felt things deeply; she was an empath in a suit of medieval armor.

“I’m sorry,” she said when she could trust her voice not to wobble. “How long have you been trying?” She rested her head on her elbow on the chair’s arm.

Simone sat rigidly on a vintage bistro chair. “Four years,” she returned. Her eyes were closed as though she could pretend she wasn’t having this conversation.

“Will you try again?”

Simone let out a long breath. “I don’t know. We’ve used all our savings. And I’ve used up all of Evette’s patience.”

“You’ll get through it,” Maggie soothed.

“I’m not so sure. I’m not the best at opening up about stuff.” She opened one eye and comically looked about, then opened the other.