The task was to write a piece to include ‘naked bouncy fun
times'. I couldn’t do it, so came up with;
DEAD MAN’S SHOES.
The bright yellow shop front failed to stand out from its
posh high street neighbours. A banner-flapping
travel agent, a huge boot-shaped sculpture over the accessories store, the jewellery
splashed pawn shop , and a fragrant patisserie
all competed to draw the passers-by away from Matthew’s charity window display. It might be argued his window could only ever
be as good as the donations but he prided himself on the interest and impact he
created from the stuff he took in.
The yellow paint was the charity’s idea of street presence
but Matthew found it a challenge to arrange things against that corporate
colour clash. He wasn’t that much of an
aesthetic but it was important to him that this job as store manager, his first
role out of uni, was something he could use on his CV to progress. He had been given an empty shop and told to
set it up. Nothing in his arts/business
degree had prepared him for such a blank directive and it seemed sales targets
and turnover were a nicety as far as the charity were concerned. Most income was gained from bequeaths and the
store received little focus from the charity management. He did often wonder what he would do next but
at least for now he had an easy sort of a job.
There were other rewards , the staff of volunteers, if you
could call them staff, were nothing if not interesting and varied. Some so
varied he was now wondering how to stop them volunteering. How do you sack someone who you didn’t hire
and don’t pay? Anyway that was only a part
of it. There were the people who came
and donated, some just wanted to drop and dash, some to explain why , some
needed comfort.
It was Joyce Haden today again, she arrived smiling but with
tear-reddened eyes. Colin, a robust and
cheery fellow well known in town for his own charity works had died in his
chair about four months ago. Since then,
slowly, she had been parting with his clothes and bits and pieces. Every visit she braced herself for the task,
dressed for the occasion and bravely came to the shop to explain again why she
thought Matthew would get a good price for Colin’s items which she could no
longer bear to have at home. Matthew had
learned more about their marriage than he knew of his own family but she was a
dear lady and he was happy to provide comfort by simply listening.
Today there were four pairs of shoes, DocMartin walking
shoes, a pair of patents, some unworn brogues and a much polished and resoled
pair of black shoes.
‘He hardly wore any of these you know. You’lll get a good price for them I’m sure,
you see these? They are Doctor Martins
very expensive and he only wore them around town and in the car. You see?’ She held the soles up so Matthew could rub
his finger over the still sharp pattern of the crystallised sole.
‘Yes Joyce, I am sure the charity will benefit from these. It is very nice of you to be so generous.’
‘Oh that’s alright dear, I can’t use them can I? I am sorry about these old black ones but they
were expensive and Colin did love them . He got them delivered to our Paris Hotel on
our honeymoon, he used to wear them for every work trip he took back to France,
best shoes ever, he said… I used to catch him every now and then sitting on our
bed and just softly buffing them. Sort
of like a pet he loved you know?
‘I am sure I don’t Joyce, but they do look very comfortable,
‘ Matthew guessed she didn’t expect them
displayed for sale, she just couldn’t come at throwing them away. ‘Thank you so much for bringing these all in.’
‘Oh that’s quite alright dear, it’s a bit of therapy for me
I suppose. I get to remember all our, our wonderful times, you know….?
‘I’m sure Joyce, its grand that you have so many lovely
memories.’ Her eyes began to fill and
she made her wishes for good profit and shyly turned and left the shop.
Matthew’s gaze followed her wistfully, and he found himself
smiling gently at the thought of such a long and happy partnership. She was a sweet lady.
He threw the shoes into the sorting basket and turned to
take a sale from a girl holding a 1950’s poppy print dress and a pair of red sun
glasses. Retro was in and the £35 price
tags were no deterrent to fashionistas hunting the high street. Another lady held a couple of jigsaws and four
plastic dinosaurs picked from the 50p each basket, behind her a guy with a bin-liner full of old
jeans waited to donate. The day went on.
Just after the lunch hour rush Matthew grabbed the full sorting
basket to take it upstairs but before he did he delved in to find the old black
shoes and throw them in the wheelie bin.
He grabbed them and paused for a moment, the worn and polished leather
was beautifully soft and, for shoes that were over fifty years old, Matthew was
surprised. He looked inside to see if he
could find a brand and noticed the innersole lifting at the heel. It moved to his touch and there was a plastic
wrapped page tucked beneath. Intrigued, he
slid it out, checked the other shoe and finding no brand, pocketed the paper
and threw the shoes away. He gathered up
the donated clothes, flipped the open sign, closed the door and lugged the
donations upstairs for a sit, a coffee, and a look at that piece of paper.
The smell of coffee was a reward in itself, Matthew had
spent most of his first week’s pay on that espresso machine and he sat now
surrounded by donations and opened the plastic bag to read the page
inside. It was dated about a year ago
and written in a woman’s flowing hand;
‘Mon doux loup,’ it said.
‘My sweet wolf’ translated Matthew automatically. ‘I thank you so much for another
wondrous weekend. Even since 53 years I
am slave to the (naked bouncy fun) times we share in our pied-à-terre. I lose breath waiting for your return to my
side. Hurry back to me, I long to lie spent
and content beside my little wolf pup.
Je t'aime
ta Michele-Louise.
