Page 22 of Dreams Come True at the Fairytale Museum

‘Is he climbing in or climbing out?’ a boy of around eight or nine comes up to the front desk and asks me shyly.

‘I don’t know, what do you think?’ I say with a grin. He’s talking about my model of Lumière, who is currently trying to scale the tower of the Ever After Street castle.

‘Maybe he’s trying to rescue Plumette?’

‘Oh, yes, of course, why didn’t I think of that?’ I realise it should be reasonably easy to get a feather duster and do it up in the style of Lumière’s love-interest in Beauty and the Beast, and I wonder why I’ve never thought of it before.

‘Either way, it’s awesome,’ the boy says and goes back to the mum and little sister who are waiting for him.

‘Was that about the candlestick?’ Within moments of the boy walking away, Warren comes down the stairs, his eyes on the Tablet of Gloom in his hand.

‘Do you do nothing but sit up there monitoring social media?’

‘Hmm?’ His eyes were on the screen and I have to repeat myself before he answers.

‘No, I sit up there working. You’re not the only job I’m overseeing at the moment, you know.

I’m choosing to do my usual work from here because it’s easier than commuting.

I got a tip-off from my boss to check the Ever After Street account again. ’

‘Your mother?’

‘One and the same.’

‘That must be strange.’

‘It has its moments.’

It’s typical of Warren’s terse responses in recent days.

Things have been awkward between us. When I got back from catching the others, I told him that no one knew how the exhibits got out, but the other shopkeepers had spotted them and decided to have a bit of fun for social media.

For added flair, I claimed they thought it was me doing it and laughed in my most unhinged manner.

As predicted, he knew I wasn’t telling him everything, whatever respect had built up between us was eroded instantly, and he’s spent almost all his time hunched over his laptop at the kitchen table since then, although he’s stuck to wearing the comfy jumpers rather than going back to the intimidating suits.

‘So, is he climbing in or climbing out?’

‘I don’t know. It’s up for interpretation. Although have you seen that castle? Why would anyone want to get out of it? Lumière and Cogsworth lived in the Beast’s castle in the film, maybe he’s trying to sneak in so they can get back to the comfort they’re accustomed to.’

‘That’s the story you’re sticking to, is it?’ He twists the water bottle around on his finger.

‘I don’t know, Warren. I don’t know how he got there.

Last I saw him, he was on that shelf by the door.

’ I hate how easily the lie rolls off my tongue when the reality is that Sadie tied him to a rope made of knotted fabric scraps and lowered him from the tower window at 1 a.m. last night, while Mickey and I stood in the street and helped her position him perfectly to catch the most eyes, and then took photos as soon as daylight came, and now there’s a post on the Ever After Street socials asking people to comment if they spot anything untoward at the castle today, and to leave their guesses on what the cheeky candelabra is up to.

‘Right. Of course he was.’

I don’t know who’s right – my fellow shopkeepers telling me to keep this from him, or my gut feeling that tells me I should be honest with him, but what I do know is that everything seemed better when it felt like Warren and I were on the same side.

* * *

All I can hear are clattering and scraping noises. It’s after 5 p.m. and now the museum is closed to the public, Warren is up to something upstairs. ‘What are you doing up there?’

No answer.

I go up a few steps and call his name again, and this time, he pops his head around the wall of the landing and looks down at me. ‘Did you say something?’

I repeat myself and he beckons me upwards, and when I reach the second-floor landing, I find he’s cleared a spot beside a statue of Tinkerbell who’s been put up here due to a pair of broken wings, and has dug out my collection of dustsheets and covered the floor with them, and he’s looking exceptionally proud of himself.

I give him a clueless shrug because it requires further explanation.

‘Oh, you have to get down there to see the point.’

I get the sense of that mischievous little boy coming to the surface again because he’s taken his shoes off and is bouncing on the balls of his feet and he’s got that ‘I’m up to something’ glint in his blue eyes, and I indulge him by unzipping my boots and stepping out of them to kneel down in the spot he points out.

It’s behind the baluster posts of the landing banister, looking down the stairs and directly into the lobby from above, towards the main doors, and when I still can’t figure out what he’s getting at, I look up at him questioningly.

‘I’ve found the perfect spot for a stakeout!

’ He looks so pleased with himself that it would be adorable if it wasn’t the worst suggestion ever.

‘I’m going to stay here tonight and keep watch.

This is the ideal hideout – I can see the doors and the lobby, a perfect view of anyone coming in or going out, but no one will ever know I’m here.

Tonight, I will catch whoever it is red-handed. ’

Panic fills my mind and I scramble back to my feet. ‘You can’t do that!’

‘Why not?’

‘You just… er… you can’t…’ I’m on thin ice here. If I protest too much, he’s going to know I’m hiding something, because if I didn’t know, I’d want to find out too, wouldn’t I? What possible objection could I have that wouldn’t be even slightly suspicious?

I can surreptitiously text Mickey and make sure she tells everyone not to do anything tonight and meanwhile, I can reinforce the belief that I don’t know anything either, can’t I?

‘You can’t – on your own!’ I amend my previous sentence as a moment of inspiration strikes. ‘I’ll stay too. I want to know what’s going on just as much as you.’

‘Of course you do.’

I often feel like I’m invisible, but at the moment, I feel like he can see straight through me.

‘Two pairs of eyes are better than one, right? One of us might spot something the other one misses. Besides, I couldn’t possibly leave you alone with the museum ghost, could I?

Yes, this is a good idea.’ I nod sagely.

‘I can’t believe we didn’t think of it sooner. ’

And I can’t believe that we didn’t foresee this as a possibility.

I walk slowly down the stairs until I’m out of his sight and then race down the remaining steps until I can grab my phone from the front desk and quickly text the shopkeepers’ WhatsApp group to warn them to stay far, far away.

I’m still texting when Warren comes down the stairs with his briefcase and his car keys jangling in his hand and I put my phone down quickly. ‘Where are you going?’

‘To change and get something to eat before I settle in for the night, and also to make it look like I’ve gone home in case anyone’s watching the building. When I get back, can you let me in round the back way?’

I nod, surprised by how seriously he’s taking this.

He’s really going to the trouble of returning by going through the forest and scrambling up the hill and over the garden wall at the back?

I feel that guilt again. No one’s watching the building because their ‘inside woman’ is literally spilling the beans right at this second.

‘Can I get you anything?’

‘Oh, I’m okay…’ I trail off, surprised that he’s offered something so thoughtful. I didn’t expect him to consider that although he might’ve been semi-prepared to spend the night here, I’m not. ‘Food, I guess. I’m not fussed, whatever you’re having.’

He nods and loudly says goodnight like he really is expecting that someone’s eavesdropping.

As he leaves, I quickly text the group.

He’s just gone out. I could fetch something out now and stash it somewhere until later…

Mickey’s reply comes through instantly.

Too much of a risk. This could be a trap and he’s watching the building from somewhere to test us.

I laugh out loud to myself about him saying the exact same thing about them not five minutes ago, until another message comes through.

You’ll have to smuggle something out to us later.

It’ll be a dead giveaway if you don’t! Either he catches us in the act or he proves that nothing happens if he’s watching.

The only way to get past this is if something happens right under his nose – while he’s watching!

None of us can get in or out unseen if he’s there.

You’re our only hope of calling his bluff.

They have a point, of course. He’ll either catch who’s really responsible or he’ll know that I’m involved and I’ve forewarned them not to come, but if something was still to escape without him seeing or suspecting anything and then, in the morning, he can’t prove how an exhibit could still have got out then it would be a good thing…

More messages come into the group chat, and I should feel as excited as the others are about this opportunity to beat him at his own game, but I feel like this is going from bad to worse.

Now I’m not only pretending to be on a stakeout with him, but I’ve got to somehow smuggle something outside without him catching me.

How am I ever going to pull that one off when I’m certain that he’s also staking out me tonight, and making sure that I don’t smuggle something out?

It isn’t long before there’s a quiet knock on the back door, and when I open it, Warren ducks in.

He’s wearing a grey T-shirt and black jogging bottoms, carrying a paper bag from a health food shop a couple of streets over, and has what looks like a sleeping bag rolled up and held by a strap over his shoulder.

‘How long have you been planning this?’ I say, at a loss for anything else to say as I lock the door behind him.

‘Only since yesterday. It’s long past time we got to the bottom of this.’