Picture This

Picture this. A photo of a celebration, slightly out of focus with a blurred at the edges feel to it.

“That’s strange. I don’t remember taking that photo. And would you believe it, I’ve gone and left my specs at home!”

“Are you sure they’re not in your bag, Rhea?”

“Yes, and no they’re not, Susie.”

The photo is of three women: one young, the other two approaching middle-age. Taken from a distance, it would be easy to miss the three ribbons: tiny, pink, attached to lapels, and worn with pride.

The mystery remains unsolved, and the photo joins the others on the sorting table.

A bit later, Susie returns to the photo. “I know I had to leave early, but there were a lot of people there that day. It doesn’t look like your handiwork, Rhea. Maybe someone else took it?”

“But why would it be in my possession? Apart from the one you took of me; the others are definitely mine. I can tell.”

Adjusting her own specs, Susie examines the photo one last time before admitting defeat. “I don’t recognise the women either. Maybe three female gate crashers who couldn’t resist the cheese and cucumber sandwiches on offer. They laid on a nice spread for us that day.”

“Do you remember the flowers? The community hall was decked in them.”

“I do. Daffodils, roses, and peonies. Wonderful Spring flowers.”

“Female gate crashers! As if…”

“We’re talking over thirty years ago, Rhea. The charity shop hadn’t long been open, and there was a lot going on that day!”

“You’re telling me.”

“Such a lovely gesture of Lyndsey’s. Offering to pay for it.”

“It was her way of saying thank you for the treatment she received. It kept the cancer away for a long time.”

“You must miss her.”

A shadow passes over Rhea’s face. “I do.”

Susie taps her forehead still searching for answers. “Wait a minute while I picture it. It’s coming back to me now. I recall there being volunteers helping out from one of the other shops. The area manager brought them in his car.”

“So, he did.”

“Probably them in that photo.”

“Must be,” Rhea says.

***

At a mere thirty-one, it’s a bit daunting to be facing a group of women who remember post-war rationing, clustered round a volunteer who’s been their manager and mentor for so long. I haven’t even had a chance to grab a coffee. The “ladies” as they call themselves (no men present with lively banter to muddy the waters on this particular shift) are still cooing over Rhea’s photos of past glories.

All in all, a formidable bunch.

Six months into the job and I’ve yet to get to the hang of things.

Luckily, Susie, a long-serving helper, took me under her wing a few weeks after I became the shop’s first paid manager. A shop set up to raise funds for treating and ultimately beating cancer.

“Here, Lucy Locket, love. Come and have a look at these funny old photos.”

Being called something out of a nursery rhyme doesn’t exactly boost my image, but I tell myself Susie only has nicknames for people she likes. She nudges Rhea in the ribs — probably the only person who’d risk doing that, but she takes it all in her stride.

“Eee lass… we all look so young! Nearly as young as Lucy Locket here,” Susie exclaims. “I was a real dish back in the day. No wonder my Norman couldn’t keep his hands off me.”

“Spare us the gruesome details,” Rhea makes a face, and everyone laughs.

***

It’s true that Susie along with most of the others in the photographs, is barely recognisable. How many of them are even still alive? In the pictures, she’s all long flowing auburn locks, with a figure to die for. Even with hair now a smart grey, the passage of time has done nothing to diminish those flashing blue eyes and irrepressible grin.

Susie jabs at another photo with a pink nail. “That’s got to be the best one I snapped of you, Rhea. You look like the captain of a female football team.”

Rhea’s expression is wistful. “Funny you should say that, Susie. I was once asked… well, things were different back then. I did get to coach a netball team for a while though.”

Susie grins like a Cheshire cat. “Good on you, girl!”

Why am I not surprised to hear about Rhea’s sporting prowess? Appreciative clucks all round, I can practically see the trophies lined up on some shelf of her pristine house.

Whereas I was crap at sport!

I really need to get a grip! Studying these old photographs, part of me wonders if there’s anything the woman can’t do! More than twice my age, Rhea is super fit (having competed in the London marathon this time last year) and she’s been running the shop nearly as long as I’ve been alive. Imagine that! Every day I tell myself I’ve been hired for my retail and merchandising skills. Rhea may be a great fundraiser and is reported to be an excellent public speaker (I shrivel up at the very idea of public speaking), but under her leadership the shop has become a little staid. She also has issues with the way technology is changing everything.

Susie agrees wholeheartedly. “It’s happening way too fast. Every little thing is recorded no matter how trivial nowadays. Beats me why anyone would want to share online how many times their neighbour farts! And if we’re not careful, at this rate there won’t be any shops left at all. They’ll just have robots running them.”

Now there’s an idea! Robots would certainly be less argumentative!

***

Flashback to my interview for the job when the area manager told me he wanted the shop to “appeal to a wider demographic.”

“What that means is they want to attract the youngsters,” Susie said when I told her. “And blow what us oldies want. Which is where you come in Lucy Lockett.”

Rather than press on with the mountain of emails piling up on the back-office computer, I pin on a smile and remain at the sorting table. I shouldn’t begrudge these guys their memories, even if it makes me feel the word “outsider” might as well be tagged to my lanyard.

Seeing yet more pictures taken of the indomitable Rhea by Susie is quite a revelation. In them, she’s smiling and larking about for the camera.

“I took those snaps at the charity rounders event,” Susie explains. “Rhea was the captain.” Of course, she was. There she is tearing after the ball, living in the moment. There’s another photo of her goofing around with her partner, Lyndsey. Having never seen that side of Rhea, I hadn’t known it existed.

She’s always been so serious round me.

Fun over, Rhea lasers in. “The shop is due to reach its 2-million-pound mark next month,” she says and with that, we’re strictly back to business.

Unable to access the last five years of trading figures due to some almighty computer blip, I’d been unaware of this impending milestone in the shop’s history. Rhea, of course, has been keeping a paper trail of the figures since the shop opened. “I thought it would be nice to mark the occasion in some way,” she tells me. “When the shop reached its silver anniversary, the area manager took us back to the community hall to celebrate. That time, the charity paid for it. The mayor came, as did the regional manager. They brought us all flowers and we had a brilliant day.”

“Sounds great!” Deep down, I’m thinking, oh shit. I’ve no experience of organising these kind of events (there was no call for it in my previous job), and we are in tough times and supposed to be cutting back on expenses. I’m completely out of my depth. All I want is to be left to run the shop without any fuss.

Slim hope of that here!

***

Fast forward a month and I’m heading to work with my stomach in knots. In a couple of hours, the mayor will be arriving to help us celebrate the Two Million Milestone! A few days earlier, Janice, a volunteer who’d recently joined the crew after retiring from teaching, had drawn me to one side.

“I can see you’ve got your work cut out, Lucy, but don’t let it get to you. For some of us, you’re a much-needed breath of fresh air.”

“Thanks Janice. It sometimes feels like I’m pedalling uphill and getting nowhere fast.”

***

Buoyed by Janice’s encouragement, I let myself into the shop where I’m greeted by Shelley, a talented helper who is putting the final touches to the window display. The theme is white and blue, the shop’s colours, and we’ve been collecting our best items for the occasion. Shelley is another helper who welcomed me when I got the job. She has no qualms about moving with the times and agrees the shop needs a more up to date image. In my opinion, her many skills went under the radar.

Shelley politely dismisses my offer of help and for a minute or two I watch while she attaches the final balloon. Using invisible tape, pink balloons have been fixed to artfully trail down the sides of the window.

“There! I think that will do,” she says. “Oh, by the way Lucy, my husband delivered the cake before he left for work this morning. I hope you like it.”

“I’m sure I will Shelley.” I want to hug her but with Rhea lurking in the background, restrain myself. “Thanks for everything you’ve done here, Shelley.”

“No problem. I’ve enjoyed doing it. Would you mind checking out the cake and seeing what you think?”

“I can’t wait to see it. Fantastic display by the way.”

“Thanks. We’ve had some great comments already. From passers-by. The customers are practically clamouring to get in.”

My good mood evaporates on reaching the sorting room. There, spread out on a table covered by a dark cloth, are all the photos of past successes. Some have been placed on a special pinboard to celebrate today, none of which I’d have minded had I been asked. Rhea is holding forth to a group of volunteers, including Susie who winks at me.

Eventually the mayor makes a grand entrance, chains of office dangling from her neck.

“Nice to see you again, Rhea,” she says while I’m thinking, here we go again.

The mayor gives a surprisingly impassioned speech about the shop being at the heart of the community, how it has touched many people’s lives and how much she enjoys shopping there. A reporter and photographer from the town’s only remaining local newspaper turn up to record the event, a rarity these days. Normally you have to send pictures in from your phone.

After her speech, the mayor makes a toast, and everyone raises their glasses of lemonade and non-alcoholic wine.

“Hurry up and let’s get to the cake,” Susie says loudly.

***

The cake is an impressive sponge square covered in white icing and piped in blue with the words “Two Million” as its centrepiece. My attempts at cutting out neat slices prove rather inept and I’m relieved when Rhea takes takes over with deft strokes.

“Which one is the manager?” the photographer asks.

Good question I think as we obediently pose for group photographs.

Now it’s my turn to make a speech.

Gah…

***

The reporter and photographer having left, I head for a breather in one of the shop’s storage rooms. I intend turning it into an office so I can catch up on the increasing amount of computer work without endless interruptions. Through the half-open door, I catch the tail end of a conversation between Janice and Susie.

“She ought to have stepped back and allowed Lucy to get on with it.”

“She can’t let it go, can she?”

“It must be difficult – what with losing Lyndsey. She was planning to step back a few years ago, but then Lyndsey died, and she was persuaded to come back.”

“She lost her sister to cancer too, didn’t she? Isn’t that what made her get involved in the first place?”

“Yes. Fortunately, Lyndsey had enough money for both of them, so Rhea was able to run the shop — for which she only got an honorarium.”

“Letting go must be hard though! The shop’s been a big part of her life for so long.”

***

Later that day after closing, I find Rhea seated with her back to me cashing up at one of the spare tables.

My mouth is dry, but I take a deep breath. “Erm, I need to talk to you, Rhea.”

“Oh! I didn’t see you there. You made me jump.” She turns round, mask temporarily slipping. “Yes. What is it, Lucy?”

“I need things to change round here. I need you to let go of the shop more than you have. I know you’ve been here since it opened and a lot of the volunteers defer to you, but it’s making it hard for me to do my job. Some of them still ask you what needs doing rather than me. I don’t want the shop to be divided.”

“Oh! I see!”

It’s then I notice she’s clutching a photograph. It looks like the one taken at the shop’s first celebration. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realise you felt like that. I didn’t mean to tread on anyone’s toes.”

Her wounded dignity makes me feel bad, but needing to get things resolved I plough on regardless.

“Well, I do, and you are. I might as well have not been here today. I didn’t feel like the manager. It was embarrassing.”

“I thought your speech went down really well.”

“Did you?” The compliment takes me by surprise. I’d certainly taken long enough preparing it. “Er, thank you.”

“Well, anyway. I hear what you say. I’ll try to do better in future.”

It’s not quite what I meant, but it’s a start. She seems distracted, not her usual self at all. “Are you alright, Rhea?”

“I’m fine. It’s just I’ve finally placed who one of the people is in the photo. It’s been bugging me. It somehow got into my collection, but I couldn’t have taken it. I’ll probably never know who took it now.”

“I recall you saying about it before. Why? Is it important?”

“It is… to me. You see, I’ve just realised one of the women in the picture is my sister. I should say was my sister. She was the reason why I’ve spent half my life in raising money for the cause. The treatments we fund helped keep the breast cancer at bay for a while, but in the end... well, things have moved on since then. Providing they get screened and catch it early enough, the survival rates are good.”

My problems seem trivial in comparison. “I’m so sorry about your sister. What was her name?”

“Her name was Julie. As you can imagine, it was quite a day when the shop opened, and Julie was there too! But by the time we had our first celebration she wasn’t at all well and I wasn’t expecting her. In fact, she sneaked in briefly towards the end – just to see how things were going. I must have forgotten about it.”

Saying sorry sounds inadequate.

“I think perhaps I didn’t want to remember her like that,” she adds. “Not at her best. To me, she was always my beautiful baby sister. She was nothing like me in character – which was maybe why we got on so well. As a child, she was a real girly girl. She was more for playing with dolls while I was out climbing trees and getting into scraps with our brother.”

“You must miss her.”

“Every day of my life. Along with my partner, Lyndsey. Though they are always with me in spirit.” She gives me a direct look. “I hear what you’re saying about me stepping back, but if it’s alright with you I’d like to continue to give my time. I’ve made some great friends over the years. What we do here matters and we have to keep hoping they’ll find a permanent cure to this rotten disease.”

“Let’s hope so.”

Her grin is self-effacing. “You may have noticed… I’m quite a competitive person. It’s hard for me to say this, but to be fair, the takings have increased since you’ve been here and modernised the place. I wasn’t expecting that.”

“I just want to bring the shop more into the 21st century. We can still respect the traditions. They’re clearly important here.”

“Yes, of course.” Opening her bag, Rhea is about to enclose the photograph in one of its compartments.

“How about adding it to the pinboard?” I ask. “Your sister is the reason you got involved in the first place.”“That is, if you’d like to.”

She looks thoughtful. “What a lovely idea. She’s a big part of my story.” Thank you.”

A sudden twinkle appears in those intelligent grey eyes. “I believe there’s still some wine left in the fridge, Lucy. You did well to get that supermarket to donate it, even if we weren’t able to share it with the customers like we’d have done in the past.” She rolls her eyes. “Health and safety gone mad again! But what do you say to a drop before we leave? To round off the day? I won’t say anything if you don’t.”

“Sounds great!”

“How about another less formal toast?” Rhea says unexpectedly.

“That would be good. A toast to what?”

No longer an adversary, she raises her glass and clinks my own. “To friendship and a fresh start.”