The Storekeeper
Chapter 1
My wife was young and beautiful, perhaps too young but so beautiful I had to marry her before someone else did.
Neither of us knew much about each other; that didn't seem to matter. We soon learnt how to give each other all the love and affection we wanted and that was what mattered. Our life together was wonderful.
The small and adequate flat we rented soon filled up with the things we wanted, the things we didn't really need and the gifts we bought each other. Rosie was an obsessive gift buyer. I loved it, even if sometimes her gifts were a bit expensive or too elaborate for my taste. She thought the bright plaid trousers suited me perfectly for shopping. I knew she'd only bought them so I could be spotted from any distance if I slipped away from her in our busy shopping centre.
I did occasionally slip away from her when I saw a shop with some exotic or sensual undies in the window. She had a body that raised even the assistant's eyes when I went in to buy her something and I told them her measurements.
Toward the end of our first year of marriage, Rosie became a little disillusioned with her job. I'd done quite well in mine and the promotion they'd given me had boosted our household income quite substantially. 'It doesn't matter, darling,' I told Rosie. 'It's my job anyway to bring home the housekeeping, it's yours to spend it.'
Well, it did matter to Rosie; she changed her job. She come home one day quite excited. 'I've been poached.' She announced.
'You do that to eggs,' I told her and got a kiss on the cheek.
'Idiot, not that poached. A man, a customer told me I'd served him so courteously he wants me to work for him.'
'Doing what?' I asked, for some reason my hackles at the ready.
'Serving in his bookshop, darling.'
'Don't you have to know something about books to work in a bookshop?'
'Well, I didn't know much about jewellery when I started in Bonningtons.' She carried on before I could get a word in. 'They still don't think I know much or they'd have given me a decent raise. And this man is going to double my pay.'
Even more money to buy me gifts with, I thought for a moment. 'What bookshop is it?' I asked, putting such thoughts to one side.
'The Samuel Bookshop, it's on the corner of East Street.'
We never went shopping on East Street, in fact, we hardly ever went shopping out of the centre of town and we never went into book shops, except Smiths, and then just for my car magazine and Rosie's women's mag's. They were about her only obsession. 'Sounds Jewish, did he look Jewish?' I asked her.
'No, not at all. He was a tall, very slim man about fifty-five.'
After a couple of weeks, Rosy changed her job and started working in the bookshop. About this time, I started working later in the evening. Part of my promotional responsibilities, I told her. After Rosie had been at the bookshop for nearly a month I came home at the normal time one evening and she wasn't home. She came in half an hour later.
'Where have you been?' I asked.
'Working in the bookshop. We're doing some rearranging and had to finish it before we opened in the morning.'
I couldn't say much, I'd been well over an hour late on several occasions and she hadn't pressed me for an explanation. I made myself a promise to visit her bookshop one day.
Then I was sent away for three days with my boss. Rosie didn't like it but she agreed that it was part of my new promotional responsibilities.
We kissed very fondly when I left. 'I know, darling I'll tell him you were very reluctant to let me go,' I told her.
Rosie was very pleased when I returned; we made love in the evening and then again in the early morning. But I was tired from the late meetings the long flight and the drive home so it didn't surprise me it wasn't as good as usual.
'I'll be late home a couple of evenings each week for the next two or three weeks,' Rosie told me as we sat together after one evening meal. 'We're stocktaking.' She added and left that as her explanation.
Over the next few weeks, I was also very busy, with several late nights. Making love became less frequent, not yet a necessary chore but not the be-all and end-all of our married life together.
Then one month I was sent away on business from Monday until Friday. I left to catch an early flight before Rosie even got up. When I returned late on Friday evening the flat was cold and empty. She knew when I was coming home and the least I expected was for her to be waiting for me with a warm flat and a hot meal.
I thought there was only one place she could still be and getting even angrier I drove to East Street and got out of my car. At nine in the evening, all the shop fronts were dark. Then I walked toward the corner. Just before the corner, there was a shop that had obviously been empty for some time with its name still readable. The Sammael Bookshop. Rosie had told me it was The Samuel Bookshop. But why was it spelt like this? This couldn't be the right place. I checked the road name plaque on the street corner. East Street was clearly displayed.
I drove back home and the house was still empty but this time I went to our bedroom. All her clothes were still in the wardrobe; her bits were still on the bedside table. In the kitchen, it quickly became obvious she hadn't been in the house for at least a couple of days.
I left and drove straight to the police station. The Sergeant looked up. 'Can I help you, sir?'
My wife is missing.' I blurted out and knew immediately I was an unwanted visitor.
'Yes, sir. How long has she been missing?' His hand had stopped writing and hovered over the page.
I told him as much as I knew. 'That shops been empty for five years or more.' He confirmed while giving me a very quizzical look.
'Look,' I told him. 'I want to report my wife missing and I want to see someone in authority.'
'Right sir, please wait there.' I was directed to a hard wooden bench and he disappeared into the back of the building.
Three hours later I was home, alone. I'd eventually convinced them my wife was missing and a couple of officers who'd come home with me confirmed all her clothes were still here and that the house appeared to have been empty for at least two days. They said they'd complete their enquiries tomorrow, probably to confirm I had been in America since Monday.
All night I went over everything Rosie had said and done before I went away. There was no doubt in my mind she had changed her job and she had told me she was working in a bookshop called The Samuel Bookshop. She'd been working there for three months. She had the extra money to prove it. She'd told me bits about it, the old books in part of the shop covered in dust. How knowledgeable the owner was. What was his name, I didn't know his name, come to think of it I don't think she ever told me his name. Thank goodness I had Saturday and Sunday to get some rest before a busy day on Monday. No, I didn't, I had a big report to write before Monday morning. I didn't sleep at all that night.
On Tuesday, although showing some sympathy to my wife leaving me, my boss insisted I spend three days at our other office. Some of the findings in my report needed discussing with them before he could make out his report.
A couple of days later a letter arrived from the landlord's solicitor. Because of a clause in the lease, which neither of us had paid any attention to when we both signed it, as I was now the only occupant I had to vacate the flat within four weeks as the terms of the lease only applied to married couples living together. I took the letter and my copy of the lease to our company solicitor.
'I'm sorry Michael, those are the terms of the lease.' He confirmed. 'You will have to vacate the flat in four weeks or get your wife back.'
'How did the landlord know she wasn't living there with me?' I asked.
'Someone probable noticed she hadn't been living there for the past week.'
I was angry at the way I was being treated; my wife had left me without any reason yet I was becoming the victim. I tried not to vent my anger on the company solicitor. The best place for me right now was somewhere on my own, not surrounded by work colleagues. I told my very unsympathetic boss I was taking the rest of the day off.
Chapter 2
When I moved out of our flat I chose the East Side of town to find somewhere to live. For some reason, I wanted to be near The Sammael Bookshop. I'd found out the meaning of Sammael; it was an ancient word for Lucifer. The Devil.
I took a room that was advertised in a terraced house, one of those that went back for more than its frontage. My landlady was old, her husband was old, and their house that I'd already lodged in for the past three weeks was old. Now I was starting to feel old, and tired. My nights were not peaceful, most of them I dreamt. If only I could dream of Rosie.
The shop front appeared before me again, dark and alone on an unknown street in an unknown silent and windless place. Suddenly the windows were full of light, yellow light that flickered, creating dancing shadows of the window display at my feet. Shadows that beckoned me toward the open door.
I did, yet I didn't want to be in this place. I didn't want to go through that door. That door, that yellow glowing open doorway.
'Uh, no, not again.' My own voice had woken me up. Instantly I knew why I'd woken. I didn't want to go through that door, was my first thought. Not what or where the shop front was or why did I keep seeing it in my dreams.
As I sat down to the breakfast my landlady had cooked for me I knew I'd be asked if I'd had the dream again. 'You had the dream again, didn't you Michael?' She spoke a confirmation not a question. I nodded with a mouth full of bacon. I was left to continue eating until the meal was finished.
'I've told you, you need someone with you, Michael to lead you through the door.' I turned to her husband.
'There's never anyone else there,' I told him for the umpteenth time.
'Then you should create someone.' He suggested.
'How can you suddenly make someone appear in a dream?' My words were patronizing.
