Page 2 of Dreams Come True at the Fairytale Museum

‘Mr Mowbray,’ he fills in for me. ‘Yes, dear old chap, not much of a head for business these days though. Berrington Developments have recently purchased the building and given him a nice nest-egg for his impending retirement.’

The knots twisting around in my stomach are accompanied by a severe sinking feeling. I was hoping this was all a misunderstanding and he was simply in the wrong place, but that flicker of hope is instantly snuffed out. He wouldn’t know that about the landlord if this wasn’t legit, would he?

I reluctantly fold my arms, tucking my phone under my armpit because I haven’t quite given up on the idea of calling the police yet.

I’m still hoping there’s some sort of ‘breaking and entering, filling my building with random men’ law he might have flouted, and surely there’s health and safety protocol about the guy on the roof? ‘Why has no one informed me?’

His infuriatingly handsome face contorts in confusion. ‘What do you think I’m doing if not informing you?’

‘I meant in writing. Advance warning, that sort of thing.’

His dark eyebrows furrow. ‘Again, what exactly do you think I’m doing right now? I am your advance warning, right here in front of you. Arguably cheaper than a first-class stamp these days.’

‘Doesn’t the landlord have a responsibility to keep tenants informed of changes like this?

’ I’m clutching at straws, trying to find some loophole that can punch a hole through this ridiculous claim, and we both know it.

I know less than zilch about things like property law, and I’m pretty sure it’s written all over my face.

‘Well, you’ll have to take that up with Mr Mowbray.

You’ll probably find him on a plane, halfway to the Caribbean by now.

Between you and me, he was looking forward to a break.

He’d been struggling to stay on top of his landlordly responsibilities, as I’m sure you know, seeing how you’ve got away with paying such a pitiful amount of rent for so many years.

Any landlord still holding onto all their marbles would’ve increased that years ago.

’ He gives me the most condescending of all smiles.

‘Fortunately, Berrington Developments are nowhere near as lax when it comes to their duty to their tenants and fair use of their properties.’

Developments. A word to strike fear into the heart of any small business owner who works on a quaint, somewhat old-fashioned street where everyone knows everyone else and every business is run with the heart and soul of its owners, and profit is not the most important thing to any of us.

And absolutely no one wears a suit that cost more than my annual takings.

I’m trying not to look at him, but it’s hard not to appreciate the fit of that very smart suit, even though I’m certain that the price tag would make my eyes water.

A company with the word ‘developments’ in its name should be nowhere near a street like this.

Mr Mowbray has always been a hands-off landlord.

He was enchanted by my idea of a museum full of fairytale artefacts, and he stepped back and let me get on with it.

I’ve now got a five-year commercial lease with a guarantee of no rent increases.

That doesn’t expire for another two years, and there’s nothing this guy can do about it.

I hope.

I go to tell him that, but before I’ve managed to stutter out half a sentence about my long-term lease, he interrupts.

‘Oh, yes, your current lease is voided, by the way. New owners – new lease. Rent’s tripled and we’ve added a tiny little redevelopment clause that states you’ll need to vacate the property within six months should we decide to forge ahead with redevelopment plans.

Here you go, here’s the preliminary notice that we are intending to redevelop the site, so I’m officially serving you your six months’ notice.

Advance warning, as requested.’ In one swift move, he bends to open a briefcase next to his feet, slides out some papers and pushes them into my hands with a cheerful tap of his stylus pen, like he’s just given me the latest weather report rather than delivered news that will upend my life.

‘What?’ Every word is like a crash-course in gobble-de-gook. Triple my rent? Evict me in six months? They can’t… surely? ‘You can’t do that.’

‘I assure you, I can.’ His smile could actually be quite nice if he wasn’t in the process of destroying my life.

‘We’re a multinational property acquisitions and development company.

Family run. My mother handles the acquisitions aspect, I handle the development side of the business.

Have done since I left university. We’ve done this hundreds of times. I know my rights – and yours.’

‘I didn’t mean from a legal standpoint, I meant morally.

’ I’m struggling to keep the emotion out of my voice.

There are too many people here, doing things that I didn’t approve, and this guy is telling me that I’m about to be evicted and there’s nothing I can do about it?

It’s all too much. ‘This museum is part of Ever After Street. It’s been here for ten years.

The local council have to approve all plans regarding businesses on this street…

’ I trail off because I am not the biggest fan of our local council and they might describe me as…

a thorn in their side, if they were feeling particularly generous in the descriptive department.

I’ve led protests against their unreasonable demands on more than one occasion.

If they saw a chance to get rid of me, they’d bite the hand off the person who was offering.

‘The local council have no say over private properties. There may be certain conditions for a tenant to meet, but in redevelopment terms, if we can guarantee an increase in revenue and visitors and something that enhances the street, then we’re all set.

We’ve already had preliminary plans approved by the council.

’ He says it in an upbeat, lofty voice, like it’s the best thing that’s happened all week, whereas I feel like the whole world is crumbling around me.

How can they swan in and take over everything?

How can there not be something I can do, some form of retaliation, some right of being a tenant here for so many years?

I mean, maybe there is, and this guy clearly isn’t going to reveal it to me, but if I can get an appointment with the Citizens Advice Bureau, or throw myself at the mercy of the local council and beg them for help…

I can’t be kicked out of Colours of the Wind.

It’s been my whole life for over ten years.

My world is centred here. The idea of losing it leaves me feeling like this is a nightmare that I need to wake up from.

I’ve never been very good at hiding emotions, and something flickers in Warren Berrington’s blue eyes. ‘I sense you’re conflicted.’

‘Conflicted?’ It comes out much louder than I intended and several of the workmen turn to look at me.

‘Conflicted?’ I hiss again, quieter this time as the workmen go back to whatever measurements they were taking and things they were surveying.

‘No, actually, I’m not conflicted at all.

There is no conflict here. I’ve poured years of love and work and hopes and dreams and imagination into this museum.

You cannot simply waltz in and claim it.

There are laws that protect commercial tenants, and I…

I…’ I intend to find out what they are, but I don’t want him to know that I don’t already know what they are, so I square my shoulders and jut my chin out. ‘I intend to use them against you.’

He laughs. I don’t think he means to, but he bursts out laughing.

And I think about what this must look like.

He’s obviously used to being in charge, with his frightfully posh suit, shiny shoes, and fancy tablet, whereas my curly hair is wild, mostly blonde with dark roots coming through, and a rainbow of colours in it from my sister experimenting with foils and coloured highlights a few weeks ago.

I’m wearing dungarees that have come undone at one shoulder, and a long-sleeve top with a hole in one arm and a paint stain on the other.

I’m still clutching my phone like I’m hoping to batter him with it, and I haven’t ungritted my teeth since I walked in.

He probably feels like he’s just been threatened by a poodle.

‘Well, don’t I feel like I’ve just been read my rights upon arrest?

’ He composes himself and stands up straighter.

‘Do you know how much trouble a company like ours would be in if we cut corners? Every line of your tenancy agreement has been gone through by multiple experts. Our contract is watertight. I spend my life looking for loopholes and closing them. Look, Lissa… May I call you Lissa?’

‘I don’t know, may I call you a demonic gerbil with no soul?’

He laughs again, not taking me seriously, even though he almost definitely is demonic and quite… gerbilic.

‘Petty name-calling aside, you would get a lot more out of this if you work with us, not against us.’

‘Work with you to do what?’ His words pique my curiosity. So far he’s made it sound like I have no options, but this makes it sound like there might be a lifeline after all.

‘You and I both want the same thing. You want to save your museum, and I’m here to help save your museum. I know I’ve made that sound unlikely so far.’

I get the impression of a used-car salesman.

A bit of patter, clever marketing phrases, and a charm and affability, with an air of someone who’s done this before.

Many times before, but I go along with it, because being in this position, even thinking about losing the museum and having to save it makes it impossible not to listen.

Five minutes ago, everything was normal.

How can this happen and how can this be the first I’m hearing about it?