The Little Shop

The Girl in the Shop

The Girl in the Shop, in which we find a small child in a shop and decide to help her out.

IRISH

It wasn't my fault, I promise. The lads and I were minding our own business, keeping a low profile, and I was looking for a new jumper because the flimsy one I'd packed tore straight down the middle and the world decided now would be a great time to drop into freezing temperatures, right when I no longer have a jumper to wear on my way in and out of cars and buildings. 

Here's the thing; none of this would've happened if I'd packed a better jumper. None of it. We wouldn't have met AJ, and we might not have ever finished our tour. Because AJ is the reason we finished it. 

But wait, I'm getting a bit ahead of myself; let's go back to the day this all started. The day the lads and I ducked into the little shop.

I was sure I'd caught a cold, what with all the freezing wind and droplets of freezing rain hitting my bare arms. No amount of huddling with the lads or shrinking into Harry's oversized coat would do me any good in this weather; it only slowed down our walking, trying to stay clinging to each other. No, going into the shop was much easier, and a coat is never a bad investment when it comes to being warm and not catching a cold in the middle of touring Europe. 

"Nialler, I bet you money whoever is working in here is wearing a blue shirt," Zayn challenges, smirking. To prove him wrong, I shake on it. We both know there won't be any money involved because any money he possess is one fifth mine anyway, so it would be like moving money we all share from one side of the room to the other; pointless. The shake was enough to seal the bet.

I was confident in the stylistic choices of people that worked in a store called "Knawed," which seemed like a weird name for a shop, but it was small and had lots of jumpers and coats and scarves in the window display, urging us to enter.

There was a bell above the door that gave out a little jingle when we entered and the lady at the front, wearing a purple shirt, looked up and smiled at us. I grinned back, knowing I've won the bet, and began to scan the racks in search of a jacket. I've always hated shopping for important things, things you wear most days of an enitre season like jackets and boots and sunglasses. If I'm going to have to wear it a whole bunch, I tend to be a bit anxious about buying it.

The lads all trailed behind me, touching everything and laughing and commenting on odd clothes, but otherwise keeping to themselves. Zayn was scowling a bit at the woman's purple shirt, but it looked like he was eyeing her boobs with distaste, and as far as I know, Zayn's a fan of all the female body parts.

By the time I spotted a suitable jacket in the corner near the fitting rooms, I was sure I'd seen enough brown leather to last me a lifetime and was more than glad when I walked over and found that the average, everyday jacket was in my size. It looked a bit big, but that's better because I won't have to buy another new one for a while this way.

"Do you hear that?" Liam asks, freezing like a deer in headlights and holding up his hands in a signal that we should do the same. "Sounds like crying."

"Where's it coming from?" I wonder, turning in a soundless circle in search of the noise.

"The fitting rooms, I think," Louis says, nodding to the doorway. There are two doors just inside, one for the men and another for the women. As if reading my mind, Louis steps through the doorway and presses and ear to each door, listening. "It's the ladies room," he says, sounding slightly distressed.

"Sounds  a lot like a little kid," Zayn comments, taking a step closer. "Maybe we should knock?"

"Better safe than sorry," Liam agrees, stepping forward to do the honour. Lightly, he raps his knuckles against the wooden door with the pristine white paint and shiny silver handel. As if by magic, the crying stops.