Page 59 of Dead Serious: Case 3 Mr Bruce Reyes

“I’ll let you know as soon as I know something useful,” I tell her and she simply nods, not wanting to disturb Bruce. I turn away from them both and climb down from the dais to head toward the exit. Once again, I slip through the wall without difficulty, trying to ignore the implications of that while I make my way back into the shop.

I pull out my phone and shoot Danny a quick message to let him know where I am before I head behind the counter in search of Madame Vivienne.

I tentatively brush aside the swinging, clattering beaded curtains that really no one should have past 1988 and step into a small room I’ve never been in before. In fact, it’s almost more of a large snug or alcove than a room, with no windows, no other door, and the only way in or out being the doorway I’m currently standing in.

“You coming in, then?”

Turning my head, I see Madame Viv sitting in a high-backed armchair which is draped with crocheted blankets and shawls, some of which look pretty old. A TV dinner tray sitting in her lap contains a plate of fish and chips that she’s busily tucking into.

Stepping further into the tiny space, I see another chair beside her, and on its seat is another dinner tray. A portion of chips still wrapped in plain paper sits on a plate, the vinegar already seeping through and making the wrapping soggy, but my mouth waters. I may not have been hungry earlier, but I’ve never been able to resist the scent of chips smothered in salt and vinegar.

“That’s yours.” She nods toward the plate and a small, half-filled bottle of ketchup. “There’s probably something to drink in there.” One bony hand holding a fork indicates a small ancient-looking fridge tucked into the corner.

I cross the room and notice the kettle sitting on top of the fridge. It’s covered in a thick layer of dust and beside it is a jar of instant coffee that’s so old the label is peeling off, and the contents look like they’ve congealed and hardened into a solid lump.

Given the alarming amount of empty gin bottles scattered around the room, I can only assume Viv isn’t much of a coffee drinker anymore.

I open the door and find the fridge more or less empty. There’s another half-full gin bottle laid on its side on the shelf, but shoved right to the back is a can of Lilt and a can of lemonade.

Deciding the lemonade is probably the safer option, I reach in and grab it, checking to make sure it’s still in date before settling into the chair beside Viv and balancing the tray on my lap.

The tiny space is cramped, and next to the fridge is a small sink. There’s a TV on a table near Viv’s chair and on the opposite side of the room is a small camping bed, made up with wrinkled sheets, a pillow, and a blanket.

“Viv.” I frown and set the can of drink at the corner of my tray. Unwrapping my chips, I glance across at her. “You don’t live here, do you?”

She gives a small grunt, then finishes chewing her mouthful and swallows. “I have a flat above the shop on the third floor.” She shrugs. “Sometimes I don’t feel like going up there on my own, so I kip down here. It feels cosier.”

I’m beginning to realise just how little I actually know, not just about the building but about Viv herself.

“I didn’t know there was a flat upstairs.” I empty the contents of the wrapper onto my plate and groan in pleasure as the sharp scent of warm fluffy potatoes covered in vinegar hits my nose. I ball up the paper and drop it into the little bin next to my chair.

“It’s always been there.” Viv chews thoughtfully. “But we didn’t live there when I was a kid. My parents had a house on Newark Street near The Blind Beggar pub. Once it was just me, I sold the house and moved in here.”

“The bookshop was already here?” I pick up my fork and spear a couple of chips. As I take a bite and the flavour bursts across my tongue, I hum in appreciation.

“Yeah. My parents ran it, and my grandmother before that.” She picks up the ketchup and squeezes out a huge blob of it next to her fish in batter. “It’s always been a bookshop, far as I know,” she says. “I used to come by every day after class, and I spent a lot of time here the summer I left school. Mum and Dad had rented out the flat to a musician. He was gorgeous. He was twenty-one and had red hair.” She sighs dreamily. “Had a wild summer with him, I can tell you.”

“How old were you?”

“Seventeen.”

“SEVENTEEN?!’’ I choke on the gulp of lemonade I’d just taken.

“What?” She puts her fork down and leans over to thump me on the back as I cough. “I was legal.”

“What did your parents say?”

“They never really knew what to do with me.” She picks up her fork again and scoops up some of the fish. “My dad said I had a real wild streak. That was… let me see… back in ninety-three.”

“You’re forty-seven?” I pause with my chip-laden fork hovering in front of my mouth and stare at her. I try not to let the surprise leech into my tone. I suppose I’ve never really given any real thought to how old Viv is, but I got the impression she was older.

Viv shrugs. “Why are you asking so many questions anyway? Do you want to watch the telly?Catchphraseis on.”

“Actually, do you mind if we just talk?” I ask after I chew and swallow my mouthful.

“Why?” Her eyes narrow suspiciously.

“I’m curious, about both you and this shop,” I explain. “It’s not even been a year yet since I discovered I can see the dead, and I’m still trying to make sense of it all.”