Stuff (The Bristol Collection) (11 page)

Mas caught Perry’s eye and gave him a grin before moving over to the girl with the pink dreads. “You know, the jade satin would look lovely with your colouring,” he said, reaching for a dress she’d just frowned at and pushed to one side.

“It’s too small,” she said, in a forbidding tone. “All this stuff’s too bloody small. I hate it when shops only stock petite sizes. Do you want to make us all feel like bloaters or what?”

Mas took a quick glance down, noting the slight muffin top and the jeans stretched tightly over her ample thighs. Okay, so she was probably carrying a few extra pounds, but she was hardly obese. “It’s not by choice,” he soothed. “It’s just difficult with vintage clothing. Women back then were malnourished and laced into corsets. It’s no wonder most healthy modern women can’t fit into their clothing. But perhaps there’ll be something here…” He flicked rapidly through the rest of the rack. There wasn’t any rhyme or reason to the organising, as acid-toned ’60s babydoll dresses hung next to sumptuous jacquard evening gowns, but it was clear Perry was sitting on a retro treasure trove right here. “You’re what, a size sixteen?”

She coloured but smiled shyly. “Actually, I’m usually an eighteen.”

“I wouldn’t have guessed. You carry it beautifully with your height. Now, are you looking for an outfit for anything specific? A posh do, or something more everyday?”

“It’s for a wedding. My sister’s. I know she’d probably be happier if I went and bought something boring and flowery at M&S, but that’s just not my style. If I have to wear a dress, I want it to be interesting. I thought maybe something a bit Victorian.”

Finally, Mas located a dress that might just work. “I’m thinking you’d suit something a little more twentieth century. With your curves, you could rock the ’50s look.”

“I don’t know.” She gazed at the mauve polka dot halter-neck with the circle skirt with something akin to lust, but she was holding off. “I don’t think I’ve got the figure for that. It’s very…low cut.”

“You don’t normally show off your cleavage?” Now that he thought about it, she was very well covered up in her long-sleeved, high-necked T-shirt.

She shook her head.

“Baby, how about you try it on. See how you feel?”

She hesitated a moment.

“Come on. What have you got to lose? If you don’t like it, you just take it off again, and we work on finding you something else.”

“How much is it?”

“We’ll talk price once you’ve tried it on, but I’m sure I can work out a special deal for you.”

“Where’s the changing room?”

Mas mentally cursed Perry for not actually having a proper changing room set up, and thought fast. “This way.” He motioned her to follow him. “I’m Mas, by the way.”

“Oh. Layna.”

“Gorgeous name for a gorgeous woman.”

Layna turned scarlet. “Now I know you’re lying.”

The compliment might have come automatically, but when Mas took a really close look, he stood by his assessment. “You have beautiful grey eyes, and when you smile, you’re gorgeous. Now go and try on that dress, and let’s see if it’s going to do you some justice.”

He hustled her through the curtain into the next room of the shop, relieved to see there were no browsers through there. It seemed like Perry was using it purely as a stockroom. It was ridiculous the way he was only using half the available space, but at least it meant there was a makeshift changing room until Mas had sorted something better out. “Here you go. Sorry it’s so dark, but there’s a mirror over on that cabinet. We’re just about to do some remodelling, so things are a bit chaotic in here right now. I’ll leave you try that on. Make sure you show me when you’re changed.”

Mas whisked back to the other side of the curtain before she could have second thoughts, and ran straight into Perry.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Perry hissed.

Uh-oh. “Selling a dress?”

Perry grabbed him by the arm and pulled him to the other side of the now empty shop. “You can’t just do that.”

“And why not, exactly?” Mas drew himself up to his full height, and although Perry was still a good eight inches taller, he visibly flinched. “Give me one good reason why I can’t.”

Chapter Twelve

Perry dropped his voice, but he refused to be intimidated by Mas’s challenge. “She’s come in before, but she never buys anything,” he said. “And now you’ve left her alone in there. Who knows what she could be shoving into that enormous rucksack of hers?”

“She’s not a lifter.”

“How do you know?”

“I just do. I suppose she might if she was desperate. There’s a lot of us who might under those circumstances, but she’s not a klepto or a thrillseeker.”

“But how can you tell for sure? It’s best to just be suspicious of everyone.”

“That’s a pretty shitty way to treat your customers.”

“Yes, but as I was telling you, she’s not a customer. Never bought a thing.”

“Today she will. I’ll make sure of it.” Mas smiled serenely, and Perry wondered what that level of confidence must feel like. Like you could achieve anything you put your mind to.

But maybe Mas could. After all, he’d managed to get the woman to actually try something on, which was probably a step closer to buying something than she’d ever reached before. If she liked it, and if it fit. And even if it didn’t, he had the feeling a talented salesman could probably still persuade her to part with her cash. Just how talented was Mas? “I have a proposition for you,” Perry found himself saying, somewhat against his better judgement.

“Oh yes?” Mas purred and sidled closer. So close Perry caught a waft of scent from him—a surprisingly good cologne again, rather than the cheap, brash body spray he’d have expected from one so young and fashionable. “So you’ve changed your mind about being straight, have you?”

Perry’s cheeks heated. Had Mas noticed him sniffing him out like a pig after truffles? “Not that kind of proposition. A business one. If you can sell ten items of clothing by the end of the day, the job’s yours. We’ll work out all the details later.”

“Ten?” Mas rubbed his hands together, looking around the shop. “Okay, sounds doable. I’m going to need to know some prices, though, seeing as how you haven’t done anything as helpful as actually tag anything.”

“I don’t need tags to remind me. It’s all in here.” He tapped his head.

“You might not need them, but since most people can’t read minds, your customers need a helping hand. I think it might even be the law.”

“Goodness. Do you really think so?” The idea of having broken the law, no matter how unwittingly, filled Perry with horror. What if it got back to his father?

“Hey, it’s all right. I don’t see any Trading Standards officers kicking down your door. But it’s definitely something we need to get sorted. So, let me know what your prices are and how much wiggle room is built in.”

“Wiggle room?” A vision of Mas wriggling around in tight clothing leapt up in Perry’s internal sketchpad.
Begone, tempting vision!

“Yep, you know. How much I can let people haggle it down.”

“Oh. Of course. Well, waistcoats, for instance,” Perry began, tugging on the nearest rack to distract himself from the strangely erotic mental picture. “I charge twenty pounds for these, but if you notice any stains or fraying, then you can certainly knock it down to half that. But you shouldn’t have to, because they’re all in good repair. The stuff that wasn’t is all upstairs or in the back kitchen.”

So Perry showed Mas around the different racks of clothing, giving him the basic prices for each type of garment. Mas asked a few intelligent questions, and when the girl with the awful fuchsia hair came back through wearing the dress, Perry could see Mas’s judgement had been spot-on.

“How do I look?” she asked shyly.

“Radiant,” Mas assured her. “All you need are some killer heels and some bling. Let me see. Do we have any jewellery, Perry?”

“Jewellery? Erm, no. Sorry.”

“That’s okay, I’ve got plenty at home. And I don’t wear heels.” The girl dropped her rucksack to the floor, and Perry eyed it furtively, wondering if it bulged more than it had when she went in.

Mas nudged him in the ribs with a sharp elbow. “Pearls should do it, sweetie. You got any? Don’t need to be real, that’s for sure. And you could team it up with big boots if you wanted.”

Mas somehow got her giggling and twirling on the spot, and kept her talking until her wallet was out, and Perry watched with a growing sense of joy until he saw the plastic card in her hand. He cleared his throat.

Mas looked up, a question in his eyes.

“A quick word?” Perry beckoned him over, and continued sotto voce. “We can’t take cards.”

“You can’t take cards? Why not?”

“I don’t have one of those machines. The bank wanted a small fortune, and it was all so complicated. Besides, what’s wrong with cash or cheques?”

“Nothing, except for the fact most people don’t carry them anymore.”

“There’s a cashpoint down at the Bearpit.”

“And by the time people have walked down there, you really think they’re going to turn right around and walk back again? For fuck’s sake, Perry. What century are you living in?”

“The twentieth. I mean twenty-first. Oh.”

“Point proven. Okay, but it’s not a disaster. Maybe she could transfer money using her phone. Have you got a PayPal account?”

“A what?”

Mas squinted at him. “Do you even have a computer?”

“What’s the point? I don’t need one for anything.”

“It’s okay,” Ms. Pink-hair piped up from the other side of the shop. “I’ve got some cash. If it’s going to be enough.” She frowned into her wallet. “I’ve got twenty-five pounds. Shit, that’s not enough, is it?”

“Dresses start at thirty—”

“For you, my lover, it’s enough,” Mas interrupted. “And I’m going to want to see photos of you looking totally fabulous in it at the wedding. You’ll come back in and show me, right?”

Three minutes later, and after Mas had huffed at Perry’s collection of recycled carrier bags, Ms. Pink-hair was heading out of the door and Perry’s till had more money in it than it usually did at this time of the morning. Mas, however, was looking distinctly unimpressed.

“No cards. No proper carrier bags. No window displays. It’s like you don’t actually want to sell anything.”

“I do. I just… This was never my dream.”

“So why are you even here? Fuck’s sake, if I had the cash to set a place like this up, I’d put my heart and soul into it.”

“It’s complicated,” Perry mumbled. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.” Mas sounded exasperated, but his gaze held more patience than Perry would have expected. Certainly more than his father had when Aunt Betty’s will had been read. However, any trace of patience was likely to evaporate the moment he confessed his poor-little-rich-boy background. Perry’s problems were trifling compared to what Mas was having to deal with right now.

“How about we carry on looking around the shop instead? You’ll need to know where everything is.”

“I need to know where a feather duster is,” Mas murmured, and Perry caught him looking up at the light fitting. “And a few new bulbs.”

“Of course.” Why hadn’t Perry noticed they needed replacing? “I think I might have some out the back.”

“Lead the way, Perrykins.”

Perry halted. He hadn’t gone by that name for years. In fact, no one but Aunt Betty had ever called him that. Oh God, he was about to cry.

“What’s up? Oh hey, what have I gone and done now? Whatever it was, I’m sorry.” Mas reached up and brushed Perry’s cheek so gently, the tears really were in serious danger of falling.

“It wasn’t you. It was just…” Perry sniffed and pulled himself together. “Perrykins. My aunt used to call me that.”

“I won’t do it again if it bothers you. Bad memories, hey?”

He should have taken the out Mas offered, but something inside him gave a pang. “No, I, erm… It’s okay. They were good memories. And I don’t mind you calling me that. I always liked it when Aunt Betty did. You took me by surprise. That’s all.”

Mas gave a lopsided smile, and for once he didn’t ask any awkward questions. Perhaps the man had reserves of tact Perry hadn’t yet encountered. For some reason, that made him all the more endearing than the accidental nickname usage had.

“Come on then, Perrykins. I think you had a shop to show me round.”

After showing Mas around the second room, and Mas insisting on keeping the dividing curtain drawn back, seeing as how there were two of them there now, Perry led the way into the old kitchen. “I think I put the spare bulbs in one of the cupboards…”

“This kitchen all still work?” Mas asked. “Coz it would be great to be able to get a cuppa sometime.”

“I don’t know about this place. I don’t think there’s a working fridge.” Perry hoisted himself up onto the worksurface and began rooting through the top shelf of the wall cupboards, wincing at the random bric-a-brac he’d stashed there. Piles of old cigarette cases. Lead crystal flower vases. A set of hair rollers from the 1950s. All things he’d worried about shoplifters taking if he’d put them out on display in the shop. Then he realised he’d forgotten his manners. “Oh, I’m sorry. I should have offered you a drink. I could bring you one down.”