Sophia Money-Coutts - The Wish List

‘Hello?’

I expected to hear Norris’s voice from downstairs but no reply. Then I noticed the counter. Usually it was tidy. Order book in place, the previous day’s Post-it notes thrown away, pens in the pot, any paperwork that needed to be looked at by Norris in the in-tray. But the till drawer was open and loose papers covered the counter, held down by a motorbike helmet.

I glanced at the rest of the shop. Books had been moved, too. The biography table was a mess and a pile of hardbacks had cascaded to the floor. I stepped towards it and noticed a mug rolled on its side, its contents making a dark pool on the floorboards. ‘Oh my God,’ I murmured. A burglary! This was a crime scene!

I froze as I heard steps behind me.

‘Hello,’ said a male voice.

I spun round to see a stranger looming over me, a mop in one hand and a bucket in the other.

‘Are you a burglar or a new cleaner?’ I asked, confused. He was huge and, in my defence, dressed like someone who operated mostly at night: black T-shirt that stretched across his broad shoulders, black jeans and black Doc Martens boots. He also had wild, curly black hair and black tattoos that snaked down both arms.

‘Neither, as it happens,’ he went on, brushing past me with his cleaning equipment and stepping down into the non-fiction section. ‘But I dropped my coffee while checking this place out so thought I’d better clean it up before Norris gets in.’

How did this giant know Norris?

‘I’m Zach, by the way, nice to meet you.’ He put down the bucket and held out a large hand, forcing me to step towards him and shake it. I felt annoyed at his casual manner. What was this man doing in here throwing coffee?

‘How do you know Norris?’

He started mopping but he was an inefficient mop wringer who transported more water from the bucket to the floor than vice versa, moving it around the floorboards, before dunking the mop back into the bucket and repeating the process. I couldn’t bear it.

‘Give it to me,’ I said, holding my hand out.

‘OK,’ he said, handing the mop over. More dripping on the floorboards. ‘I’m going to make another coffee. Want one?’

‘No thanks. And I hope you don’t think me rude but who are you exactly?’

‘I’m Zach.’

‘Yes, you said. But what do you mean? There isn’t a Zach who works here.’

‘Norris’s nephew,’ he said. ‘Did he not mention me? I’m coming in for a bit. To help with the website. And the social side of things. I’m a photographer but between jobs at the moment and he needed help so, here I am.’ He flung his arms wide as if to demonstrate his physical presence even further.

‘Right,’ I said, as I bent over and tried to get the water from the floorboards back into the bucket. ‘Did you need help with the till?’ I nodded at the counter.

‘Yeah, sorry,’ he said. ‘I was trying to find Norris’s password.’

‘Password?’

‘For his computer, downstairs.’

‘Oh. It’s bottom123.’

‘Bottom?’

I looked up from the mop. ‘It’s the donkey in A Midsummer Night’s Dream , my colleague’s idea of a joke.’

‘You guys sound wild. I’ll be in his office if you need me.’

He headed for the stairs before I could reply and left me mopping with the fury of a woman who’d just found an alien pair of knickers in my marital bed. Such an air of entitlement! And how typical of Norris not to have mentioned him. Improving the shop’s website and social media had been my idea. If this tattooed nephew couldn’t even wield a mop, how was he going to improve our financial situation?

Eugene came through the door minutes later. ‘Good morning, fair colleague,’ he said, sweeping an arm out in front of him. Then he stopped and frowned. ‘What are you doing?’

I wrung out the mop for the last time. ‘Cleaning up after our new colleague.’

‘What new colleague?’

‘Norris’s nephew. Called Zach.’

‘I didn’t know he had a nephew,’ said Eugene, rotating his arm around his neck to unpeel his silk scarf. Then he snapped his fingers at me to get my attention. ‘Maybe he’s related to Shirley?’ he whispered.

‘No idea. Didn’t ask him.’

‘Where is he?’

‘Downstairs.’

‘I might go and say hello.’

I followed him downstairs to stash the mop and bucket back into the cupboard. Zach was hunched over Norris’s computer in his cramped office, muttering at the keyboard.

‘Zach, this is Eugene, Eugene, this is Zach,’ I said, pausing in the office doorway before carrying on towards the windowless basement room that served as both stockroom and staff dining room. On one side of it were boxes and shelves of pristine books, spines uncracked, waiting to go out to customers or replace sold books upstairs. On the other, a rickety wooden table decorated with coffee stains. The loo and cleaning cupboard led off from another door behind the table.

‘Are you joining us full time?’ I heard Eugene say to Zach as I tipped the water into the loo.

‘Not sure, to be honest, mate,’ Zach replied. ‘You don’t happen to know the password into this thing, do you? That girl upstairs said it was to do with a donkey?’

I slammed the cupboard door closed on the bucket and mop while Eugene helped him.

‘Yes, it’s Bottom123 but you need an uppercase “B”.’

‘Ah, thanks, mate, you’re a genius.’

Eugene, the traitor, laughed with pleasure. ‘Not at all. Do you need anything else?’

‘Nah, don’t worry. I’ll wait for my uncle to get here.’

On my way back to the counter, I paused at the office door. ‘I’m going to man the till. Eugene, can you deal with the deliveries?’ Then I looked at Zach. ‘Is that motorbike helmet on the till yours?’

‘Ah, that’s where I left it. Yeah. I’ll come grab it.’

‘You ride a motorbike? That’s very manly,’ said Eugene, in an awed tone.

Oh good, I thought as I climbed the stairs, more testosterone. Just what this place needed.

Norris arrived an hour later as Eugene was telling me about his latest audition for a cross-dressing role as the nurse in Romeo and Juliet.

Eugene opened the door for him. ‘We’ve met Zach.’

Norris looked blank, as if he’d never heard of a Zach.

‘Your nephew,’ I clarified.

‘Oh him,’ Norris replied, unbuttoning his duffel coat. ‘Yes, Zachary. Did I not mention him?’

‘No,’ I replied coolly.

‘He’s very good with computers and all that sort of thing so I asked if he’d help out here. We can all work together on it, of course, but Zach’s a photographer and seemed to have a few ideas so I thought, why not?’

Childishly, I refused to smile back at him as I held out a few envelopes. ‘He’s downstairs having hacked your computer and here’s the post.’

‘Thank you. Everything all right up here?’

‘Absolutely,’ said Eugene, quickly.

‘Grand. Shout if you need me.’

Norris went downstairs and I made a noise of disgust from the back of my throat.

‘I don’t get what’s so bad about him?’ said Eugene, picking up his copy of Romeo and Juliet. ‘He seems nice.’

‘I’m sure he is. It’s just that I’ve been banging on to Norris about the same ideas for months. It’s irritating to have someone else swoop in and take over.’

‘OK, but do you know what I think will help?’

‘A personality transplant?’

‘Maybe, but my suggestion is more immediate.’

‘What?’

‘More rehearsing. We’re about to get to the bit where Shakespeare makes a bawdy penis joke. Come on. It’ll cheer you up.’

‘Go on then.’

We recited lines all morning, breaking off to help the odd customer before getting back into character, then I took first lunch and went downstairs with my Tupperware.