every finger and the curl of them through the cage made it look like he’d been blessed with an extra set of golden knuckles.
I laughed politely and peered through the holes, trying to see what was for sale, but then a movement behind the cage caught my eye. I peered closer.
Silhouetted by a single, weak, fluorescent light, I saw a small boy. He was in a shadowy corridor that led to the rear of the shop, rocking back and forwards on his heels. He leant forward, into the light, and I caught a glimpse of his face. And even though it was only a glimpse, my body responded instantly: my armpits blotting my shirt, my ribs fractious with air.
I steadied myself against the counter. I was seeing things. I must be.
I forced my attention back to the man.
‘A bottle of …’ But then I couldn’t help myself and my eyes reached over his shoulder, to the boy.
My first instinct was to look for any signs of distress, but he seemed well cared for. Apple-cheeked, his jeans and T-shirt were smart, his blond hair clean and neatly shorn. I tried to work out how old he was. He seemed to be about eight, the same age Barney would’ve been by now. And then, as I always did whenever I calculated Barney’s age, I immediately thought about what age Lauren would be if she were still around.
I realised that the man had followed my gaze to the now-empty doorway. I looked away as quickly as I could and was scrabbling to come up with something that would explain my interest in the back of his shop when he answered a question I hadn’t asked.
‘He’s home sick with a cold.’
The off-licence’s door-siren went and a woman wearing a fake Lacoste jumper pushed a pram up to the counter. Without asking what she wanted, the man hoisted himself off his stool and went to the vodka shelf, his hip jowls escaping from his too-tight Newcastle United shirt as he reached for her favoured brand. The woman placed her money in the metal drawer through which all cash and booze was exchanged and, as he pulled the drawer forward, it made a satisfying ‘shunk-shunk’ noise. The customer snugged her vodka next to the baby, lumpish in his blankets, and directed the pram back out onto the street.
‘A bottle of rosé?’ I said, pretending to scour the shelves. I was desperate for another look, but I wanted to reassure the man that I wasn’t bothered, that the child wasn’t on my radar.
‘Rosé?’ It was as though he’d never heard the word before. ‘Not much call for that kind of thing round here.’ He sniffed. ‘I might have some out the back.’ He headed off towards a small room to the right of the counter.
Feeling calmer, I watched as the boy tiptoed out of the corridor and over to the confectionery. Positioning himself directly beneath the Dairy Milks, he placed a foot on the first display shelf and pulled himself up to the rack. He almost had one of the bars in his grasp when he realised I was watching. He froze, his unsupported leg dangling in mid-air. I gave him a wink, letting him know he was OK. Still, he hesitated, not sure whether I was to be trusted.
‘I knew we had some somewhere.’
It was the man, returning with a dusty bottle of pink Jacob’s Creek.
The boy took his chance, snatched a chocolate bar away from the pile and got down from the shelf unseen. He began to retreat into the corridor, pressing himself flat against the wall. He was almost free and clear when he made the mistake of shoving the chocolate into his jean pocket. The crackle of the wrapper pricked the man’s ears and he turned round, whiplash fast.
‘What are you doing out here? Stealing sweets again?’
The boy shook his head.
‘I don’t believe you,’ said the man. ‘Empty your pockets.’
Slowly, the boy reached his hand towards the pocket containing the chocolate bar.
I didn’t want him to get in trouble so I said the first thing that came into my head.
‘Champagne. The other thing I need is a bottle of champagne.’
The man turned back to me, the boy’s crime forgotten.
‘Champagne?’ He licked his lips. ‘Pricey stuff that.’
I thought about our overdraft. I should change it to something cheaper, but I didn’t want to draw any more attention to myself than necessary.
The boy peeped out from behind the man. His eyes were the same dark