This is love

TWENTY-ONE

“Ms Hayes, what a pleasure to finally meet you!” The broad English accent greets me. He fell into the stereotypical Londoner; a lanky, bald headed man with a slight sway in his step and an ankle grazer pea coat with the collar popped up around his neck. He kisses both cheeks in a friendly welcome. 

“Mr Thomas, the pleasure is all mine.” I smile. 

“Mr Thomas was my old man, I’m Clarke.” He beams, shaking Julian’s hand. He stuffs both hands into his pockets. “I’ve heard so many good reports from across the waters about you. I hope you’re going to do yourself justice here.” 

I flex my fingers around the binder held tightly between my fingers and hugged against my chest. “I hope so too, Sir. I have a lot to go over, a lot of ideas to run by you and Julian here has tons of smaller details that we think will make your store memorable.” 

“Yeah?” He grins. “Well I like the sound of that! Where do we begin?” 

We head to Oxford Street, dressing in neon yellow jackets and white hard hats and the size of the incredibly beautiful building that held hundreds of years worth of valuable stories that Clarke explained to us on the tour. Back in the eighteen hundreds, it was the first bank in London and was tragically attacked years later in a terrorist bombing. The building was the only one left standing and although it was badly damaged, it took decades before it was restored and thus sold to Clarke’s father. 

His intention was to create the Toy Store many, many years ago but with ill health during his late forties, he never got round to creating his dream of multiple stores. While the building had begun to deteriorate again, Clarke had decided that after his father’s death just last year, it was time to make his dad’s dream come true. 

“The only thing I’d ask for, and it’s only because the old man would turn in his grave if he thought for a minute that I wouldn’t hang it, is this.” 

He presents a cream coloured duster bag and retrieves the heavy looking, steel plaque from inside. 

Sir Clarke Thomas SR. OBE. 

Owner Thomas Toy Store 

EST 1969. 

I smiled. “I will make sure it takes pride of place, Sir.” 

He nods and rubs his hands together like an excited child ready to feast on a mountain of candies and chocolates. His eyes sparkled with excitement, revealing his six year old self that had grew up with any child’s dream of endless toys right at his fingertips. His phone rings from inside his pocket and he excuses himself for a brief minute enough to make me turn to Julian with a girly squeal. 

He has been a changed man since last week. The knotted beard was shaved, his hair groomed right back to the sleek quiff and his quirky tartan suit was back. He willingly provided drug tests at his own expense, even going as far as allowing me to be in full control of all his possessions and money - what he had left. 

“Christ he is intimidating.” Julian joked, pulling at his collar that held a small chain from point to point. “So what do you think?” 

“I think this is so surreal.” I breathed and held my hand to my stomach.. “I feel sick with excitement.” Hey, you didn’t have time to copy -” 

He holds a finger and halts me, reaching into the satchel that hangs from his shoulder and retrieves the thick booklet of papers neatly marked with multi coloured sticky notes pegged between the pages. “Sectioned in the order you’ll need them.” 

“You’re a gem.” 

Clarke reappears, stuffing his phone back into the inside pocket of his jacket. “The missus. She’s about to pop any day now so I don’t dare ignore a call from her.”