The Turnaround Treasure Shop Read online

  He’d gone. Lily breathed a sigh of relief. Now she wouldn’t have to see him or think about him again until next weekend. Hopefully, he wouldn’t be at the Easter Bunny Ball. Heck, she even got jittery when she saw him across the street. Standing next to him every Saturday and Sunday morning in the restaurant, or occasionally when she met him in the grocer’s or the hardware store, she half hoped, half feared, he’d give her another compliment like the one at last year’s Ball, so she could prove to herself she could handle a man’s interest. A man’s seduction.

  Not that the moment had gone as far as seduction. Not even close.

  She shut her eyes and tried to wash away the memory of her naive response to the gift of his compliment. Not worth agonising over. He probably didn’t remember.

  She opened her eyes and shot a look at the swing doors of the hotel and outside to where he might be getting into his four-wheel drive utility truck, the part-time waitress forgotten.

  ***

  Nick Barton pushed the sleeve of his sweater up his arm, the cool morning air nipping at his skin. He jogged down the steps from the wooden walkway on the shopping side of Main Street to the road, his belly sated from a full Aussie breakfast and that damned empty space around his heart filled with contentment now he’d had his weekend fill of Lily.

  She hadn’t noticed his surreptitious scrutiny of her. She hadn’t noticed for the last 12 months. Years of Special Ops training. Came in useful, even in civvy life.

  She always wore her long, chestnut-coloured hair gathered up on her head, twisted and held in place with a red pencil. How she did that, Nick didn’t know but for a year now he’d wanted to pull the pencil out and watch the mass of hair tumble around her cheeks and onto her shoulders. On special occasions, she let it fly loose, swinging nearly to her waist. Special occasions meaning the two days a week she didn’t work like a Trojan. Or the few times in the year when the townspeople of Swallow’s Fall held one of their customary holiday events like the town fair, Labour Day…or the Easter Bunny Ball.

  Nick eased into his bullet-silver ute, closed the door and took a moment to study Main Street.

  April in Swallow’s Fall. It ought to be the title of a song. A song for Lily.

  He let the colours of autumn — umber reds, brandy oranges and golden yellows — swim in his vision. The leaves from the claret ash trees lining Main Street rustled and shook, the branches swaying in the breeze blowing down the hillside that sheltered the town on the eastern side, causing kids to hang onto their hats and women to take a firm grip of their skirts.

  The ash trees looked flustered. Flustered like Lily. Slim as a wand of willow, hair pulled up and back from her face, features fixed into a polite, waitress-type smile, eyes tired-looking from hard work and worrying too much.

  He put the key into the ignition and fired the engine. Nothing he could do to ease her troubles, even if he thought she’d want him to, and regardless of his apparently undying attraction to her, nothing he’d even start. Some guys were no good for women, and Nick believed he was one of those guys.

  ‘Hey, Nick — wait up.’

  Nick opened the ute window as Charlotte Bradford ran down the steps of the walkway and onto the road. ‘Dan asked if you could you please sharpen these.’ She handed him a slim rectangular metal case through the open window.

  ‘Sure. All part of the service.’

  ‘They’re brilliant, Nick. I’ve never had such quality kitchen knives in my life.’

  Nick smiled. ‘Thanks.’ Always good to get feedback of the effusive and positive kind.

  ‘Got any more orders from the town?’ Charlotte asked him.

  ‘The committee want a set of knives for the Town Hall kitchen, and Mrs Tam wants an ice-cream scoop.’ Which was going to test Nick, because he’d never made an ice-cream scoop but he didn’t want to disappoint a town elder, and sweet Mrs Tam made the best ice-cream in New South Wales. Nick hadn’t intended making kitchen knives either, but he was happy to design and manufacture them. Knives were his thing. His get-away-from-it-all-and-grind-a-blade thing. A hobby he’d had from childhood which had turned into a small but thriving international business over the year he’d been in Swallow’s Fall. Web page, blog — the works. Nick Barton, Custom Knife-Maker, or NBCK, as it was engraved onto the blades.

  Charlotte leaned closer and spoke quietly. ‘Well, if Mrs Tam is getting one, I want one.’

  Nick grimaced, but it was more grin than frown. He sighed with deliberate patience. ‘What colour handle do you want?’ he asked, deepening the grin.

  Charlotte laughed. ‘Pink please.’ She shook her head mock despair. ‘You’re an easy touch, Nick.’

  ‘Aren’t I just?’ He wondered if these people he’d come to like and respect would think he was such an easy touch if they got a glimpse of the Nick from a few years ago.

  He put the metal knife box on the passenger seat. ‘Don’t go spreading the word on the ice-cream scoops, eh?’ he asked Charlotte. ‘I don’t want scoop-making to dominate my world.’

  She gave him a salute — albeit with the wrong hand. ‘You can rely on me, Captain.’

  Nick felt himself colour. ‘You can drop the “Captain” part, Mrs Bradford.’

  Maybe there’d been tension in his tone, or maybe he hadn’t quite made the request jocular and off-hand enough because Charlotte’s eyes widened a little. After a moment, her smile deepened. ‘Aye Aye, Mr Barton.’

  Nick laughed.

  ‘Oh!’ She patted the window frame of the ute. ‘Did you get that message I left for you?’

  ‘Yes I did. Happy to help the committee in whatever way I can. You know that.’

  Charlotte nodded. ‘I do know it. Thanks, Nick. Your help is going to be very special.’

  Some of the town committee members wanted help with something, although Nick wasn’t sure what yet, but it apparently involved heavy lifting. How that could be thought of as special, he had no idea.

  ‘Charlotte!’

  Charlotte turned, and Nick straightened in his seat at the sound of Lily’s voice. He glanced over to the doors of Kookaburra’s where she stood in her short-sleeved white blouse, above-the-knee black skirt, snappy white apron and reasonably high black shoes on the end of her long, slim, tanned legs.

  ‘That new deep-fat thermometer of yours is busting a gut again,’ she called. ‘Better come rescue your donuts.’

  ‘Bugger.’ Charlotte moved towards the hotel, glancing over her shoulder. ‘Thanks, Nick. See you later.’

  Nick lifted his hand in response and as Charlotte rushed up the steps for the walkway, his gaze automatically sought Lily.

  She looked at him. Nick’s breath hitched. He nodded. She had the polite, waitress smile in place. He preferred the spontaneous smile; the one that appeared when she wasn’t thinking or worrying and lit her from the inside out. Nick’s favourite smile.

  She looked away and he didn’t blame her for not wanting to meet his gaze, and since he wasn’t going to do anything about his undying attraction for her, he was glad she hardly ever met it. Those times she did, her hands started flapping, as though she was used to them being tied and they’d been given sudden freedom.

  Charlotte and Lily headed inside Kookaburra’s. Nick put the ute into gear, attempting to forget the moment he’d nearly kissed Lily. Then gave up and settled into the memory.

  He’d only been in town a couple of weeks. Newcomer, and happy to keep to himself in the brick and tile house he’d purchased, a 10-minute drive out of town on All Seasons Road, or to lose himself in the old stables he used as a workshop. Until the townspeople insisted he come out of his cave and join them for the Easter Bunny Ball. He smiled as he recalled his unease about that. Fortunately, there’d been no requirements for him to dress up as a rabbit.

  But he’d never forget the moment he’d nearly kissed Lily, and didn’t want to. How could he dismiss the recollection of the second he almost touched her mouth with his or the taste of her sweet breath as she gasped and stilled?
Like Rapunzel, who’d discovered herself alone in a locked tower with Captain Hook.

  He’d pulled back and apologised. Said something stupid about getting carried away because he hadn’t expected to see such a beautiful woman in town. Then had regretted it instantly as she blushed, blue-green eyes distraught, lips safely fastened. Looking for all the world as though he was the first man ever to make a remark like that.

  It hadn’t taken long, less than a month of careful, casual appreciation and study of her to recognise a number of sensitivities in Lily. He knew she’d been divorced for a number of years, and because of the way she behaved, in that quick-to-blush and ruffled manner, Nick guessed she hadn’t been with a man in a very long time. If he ever got her in a closed room, alone with him and about to be made love to, she’d be shy and tongue-tied, limbs stiffened, eyes blinking.

  Somehow, knowing all that made him want her more.

  Honour and protect. He’d probably never shake the sense of responsibility ingrained in him. But these days he’d been pushing down thoughts of a very different way to honour and protect than the one he’d been trained in. Lily Johnson was ruining his peace.

  But Lily wasn’t ready for him or possibly any man, and Nick ought to be grateful for that because he wasn’t the right man for her. He knew that without doubt.

  Chapter 2

  Later that afternoon, Lily walked along the walkway, head down and with a slight frown on her face as she mentally went through a list of things to do once she got home. Not too many tasks to attend to, but somehow her days were always full. Find internet bill; fold washing for the kids to put away; put another load on. Maybe she’d find a spare 30 minutes to spend time in her workshop before dinner…

  ‘Must be two o’clock then.’

  Lily looked up and smiled at Junior Morelly, the owner of the hardware store. ‘How’s it going, Mr Morelly?’

  ‘Getting too old. Like a lot of folk.’ He said it with a smile but Lily knew he meant it, being five years past retirement age.

  ‘My offer stands,’ Lily said.

  Junior munched on his dentures, eyes narrowed, and Lily held her breath.

  ‘Would only need you two afternoons a week,’ he said. ‘And I wouldn’t be putting the heavy lifting your way; I’ve got someone in mind to do that.’

  Lily nodded, breath still held but mind ticking like a cash machine. Was he going to give her the job? He’d mentioned it a week ago. Two afternoons a week to clean the hardware store’s back rooms and storeroom, once they’d been cleared of accumulated wares. It was well known around town that Junior might be retiring any year now, and that he’d been talking about clearing out the old in order to make room for the new. After the storerooms had been sorted, Lily would only be vacuuming and dusting, mopping floors and getting rid of the occasional spider who might think the empty rooms looked like home.

  It wouldn’t be much money but if she continued scrimping the way she’d become accustomed, the extra dollars could go towards her dream. The Johnson Family Fund. The shop on the corner. Lily Johnson & Children, shop owners. Business people.

  Anticipation of getting this job and all it would mean for her skittered up Lily’s backbone and as though the shop behind her encouraged her hopes, she even heard a bell tinkle. The one she planned on fixing to the doorframe. An old brass one she knew would find its way to her, somehow.

  ‘So?’ she asked.

  ‘When can you start?’

  Lily sighed in gratitude. ‘Thank you, Mr Morelly. I can start tomorrow.’

  Junior smiled. ‘Excellent, but too soon. I need to clear the debris and junk first.’

  ‘Don’t forget me if there’s anything I could use for my hobby. Any bits of furniture or old metal items; I’ll be happy to pay you for them.’

  ‘Nothing in there’s of any use to anyone. Not worth a cent so if you find something you can keep it.’

  ‘I’d rather pay, even if it’s only by cleaning for free for a while.’

  ‘Mule-headed, just like your mother.’ He turned, then swung back. ‘I’ve got that someone I was telling you about lined up to help clear out the junk next week. So you can come along and help out — but no heavy lifting.’

  Lily nodded. ‘Thank you.’ There’d be treasure to find first, and after the storeroom had been cleared, no more than dusting and sweeping involved for Lily. Nothing she didn’t do every day at home.

  ‘You are going to the Ball, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Why would he think she wasn’t?

  ‘Good. Good.’

  Junior turned back to the hardware store and Lily headed down the wooden walkway.

  She turned the key, pushed through the glass-panelled door of the empty corner shop and stepped inside her impossible dream.

  She flicked the overhead light on and a kind of papery-thin, tissue-wrapped eagerness engulfed her, as it always did. One step closer now she had a second paying job. Another year, maybe two — okay three — and this could be hers. What was three years anyway? It had stood empty for nearly eight.

  ‘Hello,’ she said to the bare wooden shelving, the arch above the counter, the alcove and the shady nooks. ‘Here I am again.’ The wonderful shop sparkled in the afternoon light, as though smiling and thanking her for her superb efforts. Ceiling clear of cobwebs; architraves without a spot of dust or mildew; walls washed, floorboards mopped. The shop vacant but not hollow. Unoccupied but full, to Lily’s mind. Its heart simply waiting for someone to decorate it.

  Lily put her hands together, the tips of her fingers on her mouth, and closed her eyes. Please, God, don’t let anyone lease it before me. It’s too small for anybody but me. Don’t forget that, God. Lily had plans and God knew all about them. She didn’t much believe in prayer, but she knew in her heart that something sustained the universe and as she’d been taught respect by her mother, it seemed like a good idea to keep praying — just in case.

  In her mind she saw the shop filled with all the pieces from her hobby. Her pastime; her love. Regenerated furniture, rejuvenated country curios. All given new life by Lily’s hands. Everything nobody else wanted. The pieces people threw out as old and outdated. Chests of drawers, bedheads, stools, garden benches and meat-safes. Unwanted tin wares, metal milk pitchers and candlesticks. Quilts, cushions, throws, lampshades threaded in beads.

  She opened her eyes.

  Turnaround Treasures — Second-Chance Love. What better name could there be for her impossible dream?

  Rituals done, Lily got to work, dragging the old stand-up vacuum from the back storeroom. It might be 30 years old but it worked perfectly, still doing the job it had been intended for.

  There was so much use left in so many neglected items. The junk and unused bits and pieces people put onto rubbish tips made Lily’s heart swell with anticipation. A hard-working life she might lead, but nothing had ever bruised her optimism. Life. Old vacuum cleaners. Unwanted furniture. Curios and country wares. Still loving, still caring was Lily’s motto — about anything, including her family and their future.

  She bent and plugged the vacuum into a wall socket. Only once, nine years ago, had her optimism dimmed to despair. People stigmatised anything second-hand. For a while Lily had felt useless and second-hand. But she’d dragged herself out of that frame of mind. She’d had her children, still young, to care for. She didn’t want them thinking they were less than perfect. Didn’t want them thinking that because they only had a mother they weren’t a real family.

  Real families had fathers, Lily could admit this reality to herself but she’d be forever grateful her children didn’t have to live with their father. He didn’t deserve them, which is why she’d paid to have all their names changed to her maiden name. It was one way of cleaning him out of their lives. Martin Wilson, gambler and giver of black eyes, hadn’t even bothered to fight her on it. He’d signed consent to change his children’s surnames as though he were signing a chit for the 3.30 at Flemington racetrack. They hadn’t seen him s
ince. Fortunately, Lily’s mother had paid for the divorce. Lily had been able to wipe her hands of him and the memories just over a year after she left him. After that, Lily hadn’t accepted money from anyone, even her mother. And she never would again.

  ‘My, don’t you look pretty this afternoon.’

  Lily looked up and smiled as Mrs Tam popped her head around the shop door.

  ‘So do you, Mrs Tam.’ Her mother’s good friend, although a more unlikely association Lily couldn’t think of unless you put a fiery dragon next to a lamb and watched them form a bond. One more openly opinionated than the other, but both with hearts as precious as a golden nugget.

  Mrs Tam’s black hair, balanced in a bun on the top of her head, had strands of silver in it. Her small stature was as solid as the hair-do, as was her community spirit and ingrained gentleness.

  ‘Did you need something?’ Lily asked, resting the vacuum handle against the counter top. ‘Everything all right with the library?’

  ‘Well, I don’t want to put more on your plate, Lily, but I do have a favour to ask.’

  ‘Shoot. What do you need?’

  Mrs Tam tutted. ‘You ought not to accept a proposal before it’s been aired out loud. I might be about to ask you to take over the running of the petrol station.’

  Lily laughed. Mrs Tam had run the petrol station since — Lily didn’t know how long. Before Lily was born, and when there was a Mr Tam. ‘I trust you. What can I do for you?’

  Mrs Tam angled her face and patted her bun. ‘I wouldn’t mind a hand with something at the library…’

  ‘Then I’m the woman for the job,’ Lily said when the old lady paused. ‘I’ve read all the books.’ Apart from the knitting manuals. ‘What do you need?’

  ‘An inventory. I’ve been given 10 boxes of books from a library on the outskirts of Cooma — the donated ones that are double-ups, obviously, and not all the best, untouched ones.’

  ‘If they’re now Swallow’s Fall’s books, then they’re the best to us,’ Lily said. ‘You want me to go through the boxes?’