In the picture

Even without a date, you can usually tell the age of a photo from its condition, the print, and style of paper used. This one has a blurred at the edges sun-faded look about it.

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

“You should have got that cataract fixed when you got the chance, Yvonne.”

“I dare say.”

The out of focus picture in question is of three women: one young, the other two middle-aged. It’s taken from a distance; you’d have to squint to see 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.

“There were a lot of people there that day. Maybe someone else took it?” Susie says picking it up again.

“But why would it be in my possession? I’m sure these are all my photos.”

“They’ve not got you in them so they must be.”

Adjusting her specs, Susie examines the photo, before giving up. “I don’t recognise the women either. Could’ve been three female gate crashers. Maybe they couldn’t resist the cheese and cucumber sandwiches. They laid on a nice spread for us that day.”

“I remember the scent of flowers. The community hall was decked in them. Female gate crashers indeed!”

“We’re talking nearly thirty years ago, Yvonne. The shop hadn’t long been open, there was a lot going on – what with that newspaper fella turning up. It was quite something!” 

“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.”

“I do.” 

Susie taps her head several times. “Wait a minute. A bit more’s coming back to me now. Some volunteers came over from one of the other shops to help out. The area manager brought them in his car.”

“You’re right.”

“That’s probably them in the photo.” 

“Possibly,” Yvonne says.

**

It’s a bit daunting at twenty-eight, to be facing a group of mostly older women clustered round a volunteer who was their manager for years. Especially first thing in the morning before I’ve had a chance to grab a coffee. The ladies (no men present with lively banter to muddy the waters on this shift) endlessly coo over photos of past glories.

All in all, a formidable bunch.

Six months in and I’m finding the job a challenge. Not got to grips with it yet. 

**

Luckily, Susie, a long-serving helper took me under her wing a few weeks after I became the shop’s first paid manager. The shop was 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 she only has nicknames for people she likes. She nudges Yvonne in the ribs - probably the only person who’d do that, but Yvonne takes it all in her stride.

“Eee lass… we all look so young! Nearly as young as Lucy Locket here,” Susie exclaims. “I hardly recognise myself. 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,” Yvonne makes a face, and everyone laughs.

**

It’s true. Though I wouldn’t dream of saying so, Susie along with most of the others in the photographs, is barely recognisable. How many of them are even still alive? Susie’s image shines out – all long flowing auburn locks and a figure to die for. Susie whose hair is now a smart faded grey, the passage of time having done nothing to dim those flashing blue eyes and that irrepressible grin. 

Susie jabs at another photo with a pink nail. “That’s got to be the best one I took of you Yvonne. You look strong enough to coach a female football team single-handedly.”

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

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

Why am I not surprised to hear about Yvonne’s sporting prowess? Appreciative clucks all round, I can practically see the cups lined up on wooden stands in some pristine corner of her house.

If only I’d been good at sport!

Studying the photographs, part of me wonders what I’m doing here. Is there anything this woman can’t do? More than twice my age, Yvonne is super fit (she’s recently competed in two marathons) and has been running the shop slightly longer than I’ve been alive. Every day I remind myself I’ve been hired for my retail and merchandising skills. Yvonne may be a great fundraiser and is reported to be an excellent public speaker (the very idea of public speaking makes me shrivel up inside), but under her leadership the shop has always felt a little old-fashioned. She also has an issue with the way technology is changing everything. Susie agrees with this. “It’s fine having mobile phones and all that, but it’s all happening way too fast. Every little thing is recorded no matter how trivial. No one wants to know how many times their neighbour farts. If we’re not careful, there won’t be any shops left at all. Or they’ll just have robots running them.”

Now there’s an idea!

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 says, “and blow out us oldies. Which is where you come in Lucy Lockett.” 

**

Rather than press on with the mountain of emails that I know will be piling up on the back-office computer, I pin on a smile and remain at the sorting table. It would be wrong to begrudge the volunteers their memories – it’s just hard not being part of them. 

It’s quite a revelation seeing yet more pictures taken of Yvonne by Susie. In them, she’s smiling and larking about for the camera. “I took those snaps at the charity rounders event,” Susie explains. “Yvonne 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. I’ve never seen that side of Yvonne, hadn’t known it existed.

But then, she’s always been so serious round me.

Fun over, Yvonne’s lasers in on me. “The shop is due to reach its 2-million-pound mark next month,” she says and it’s strictly back to business.

Unable to access the last five years of trading figures due to some computer blip, I haven’t known about this monumental milestone. Yvonne, of course, has been keeping track of the figures since the shop first 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. Some hope!

***

A month later 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, drew me to one side. 

“I can see you’ve got your work cut out here, but don’t let it get to you. If it’s any comfort, you’re a much-needed breath of fresh air.”

“Thanks Janice. It often feels like I’m treading water and I’m never going to get to the other side.”

***

Buoyed by Janice’s encouraging words, 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 blue and white, 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 dismisses my offer of help and for a minute or two I watch while she attaches the final balloon. Using invisible tape, a series of balloons have been fixed to the ceiling. Some are artfully trailing down the sides of the window. 

“There! I think that will do,” she says. “Oh, you’ll be glad to hear I got my husband to deliver 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. “Thanks for everything you’ve done here.” 

“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.”

“So pleased you like it. We’ve had some great comments already. From passers-by. They can’t wait to get in.”

Spurred on by Shelley’s hard work and enthusiasm, my mood has lifted, only to be deflated when I reach the sorting room. There, spread out on a table covered by a dark blue cloth, are yet more photos of the past. Others have been framed on the wall. I wouldn’t have minded any of this if only I’d been asked. Yvonne is holding forth to a group of volunteers. They include Susie who winks at me.

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

“Nice to see you again, Yvonne,” she says before Yvonne introduces her to me. The mayor gives an 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. (I’ve never seen her in the shop, but it’s nice of her to say it). A reporter and photographer from the local newspaper have come to record the event, a rarity these days – you normally have to take photos yourself and send them from your phone.

After her speech, the mayor makes a toast, and everyone diligently 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 with blue borders. It has the words “Two Million” as its centrepiece. My attempts at cutting out neat slices prove rather inept and I’m relieved when Yvonne offers to put me out of my misery with her 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…

**

By the time the reporter and photographer have left, I’ve a headache coming on, so I head for a breather in one of the shop’s storage rooms. I’ve been thinking of turning it into a small office so I can catch up on the increasing amount of admin without constant interruptions. Hearing voices 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 her partner. 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. It’s what made her get involved in the first place. Fortunately, Lyndsey had enough money for both of them so Yvonne left a good position so she could run the shop — for which she only got an honorarium.”

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

**

Later that day after closing, I find Yvonne seated with her back to me at one of the spare tables where she’s been cashing up. 

I take a deep breath. It’s now or never.

“I need to talk to you.”

“Oh! I didn’t hear you. You made me jump.” She turns round, her composure slipping, but quickly recovering. “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 impossible 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!” It’s then I notice she’s clutching a photograph in one hand. It looks like the one taken at the shop’s first celebration. “I didn’t realise you felt like that. I haven’t meant to tread on your toes.” Her dignity makes me feel bad, but I plough on needing to get things resolved.

“Well, I do, and you are.  I don’t think you mean to but take today. I might as well have not been there. 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. It had 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. Now I see she’s distracted, not her usual self at all.

“Are you alright, Yvonne?” 

“I’m fine. It’s just I’ve finally placed one of the people in the photo that’s been bugging me. The only one that matters. It somehow got in 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’s the reason why I’ve spent half my life involved in raising money for the cause. The treatments we fund helped keep her breast cancer at bay for a while, but in the end... well, things have moved on since then. People tend to live a lot longer now. Providing they get screened and catch it early enough.”

“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! By the time we had our first celebration Julie wasn’t at all well and I wasn’t expecting her to come, but she sneaked in briefly – just to see how things were going.”

“I’m sorry,” I say. Again, it sounds inadequate.

“I think perhaps I didn’t want to remember Julie like that. 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.” She gives me a direct look. “I hear what you’re saying about me stepping back — you’re not the first to say it – but if it’s alright with you I’d like to continue helping here. 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.”

“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 21^st century. We can still respect the traditions of the past. They clearly matter a great deal here.”

“I can see that now.” A sudden twinkle appears in those intelligent grey eyes. “There’s still some wine left in the fridge. You did well to get that supermarket to donate it for our day, even if we weren’t able to share it with the customers like we’d have done in the past.” She raises her eyes. “Health and safety rules everything these days! How about a drop before we leave? To round off the day? I won’t say anything if you don’t.”

As the tension eases, I find myself smiling broadly, happier than I’ve felt for ages. “I’d absolutely love some.”