Page 25 of Dreams Come True at the Fairytale Museum

I see the moment he realises what he’s just said and sheer horror crosses his face and he gets a rabbit-in-headlights look, like he doesn’t know which way to run. His whole body has stiffened, like he’s about to leap up and bolt at any second.

‘It’s okay, I get it,’ I say quickly, because I don’t know what he’s talking about, but I do know that he isn’t ready to explain it right now either, and I’m enjoying getting to know more about him.

The last thing I want him to do is scarper.

‘It can’t be easy working with a parent.

’ I try to smooth things over and let him breathe, because it looks like he’s breathless from spilling all that out.

‘Every child will always be their parents’ child, no matter how old they are.

I can see that making for an interesting working dynamic… ’

I leave the sentence deliberately open-ended, hoping he’ll fill in more if I give him time.

‘The museum is not so much about proving a point but proving that I can do something right,’ he says after an abnormally long pause.

‘I was fascinated when I heard about it and I know other people will be too. It’s important to the community and has local support.

I thought if I could take this concept and turn it around, make it bigger and find investors, show that we can take what’s already here and improve it…

but I never realised how personal it is, and how much you are a force to be reckoned with.

I didn’t expect to come up against someone like you. ’

It’s my turn to blush. Generally I feel ineffectual and invisible, and the last thing I am is a force to be reckoned with, but he makes it sound like a good thing, and I like how I feel in knowing he sees me that way.

‘I admit that I didn’t factor escaping exhibits into my original plan, but the attention they’re bringing will help.

If we can prove this place is worth saving – that it can do just as much for the area and for the company profits as another cinema complex could – then my mother will be forced to approve of something I believe in, and realise the company can move forward in a different way. ’

I feel like he’s both said more than he intended to and still not really answered what I was asking him, because there still aren’t any set goals, any parameters, and maybe that uncertainty is something I have to accept.

‘I should be taking over the company. My mother is seventy-two, she should be thinking about retirement, slowing down, taking time to enjoy her life, but she won’t because she doesn’t think I know what I’m doing.’

‘I doubt it’s just that,’ I say carefully.

‘No, of course not. Berrington Developments was my dad’s thing – his life’s dream.

He worked for so many years to be in a position where he could start his own company, and he did, and later that same year, he died.

I was only fourteen so I was too young, and it wasn’t what Mum wanted to do, but she knew how hard my dad had worked and how badly he’d wanted it, and she couldn’t stand by and let his new company fail, so she took over it.

She grieved through it. She poured every ounce of grief and heartache into his company, she worked every hour imaginable, and she did it.

She made Berrington Developments into a huge success.

She made it into exactly what he dreamed of it being.

No one could fault her for that, but…’ He trails off with a shake of his head, another sentence he doesn’t know how to finish.

‘What about what you dream of it being?’

He fiddles with his water bottle for a long time before he answers. ‘I don’t know, but different to what it is now. I’d like to save buildings, invest with a purpose of preservation rather than just… destruction.’

I can’t help thinking about his wish. If he’s unfulfilled at work, is that why he feels that life is meaningless? I can’t shake the need to prod further. ‘And your mum doesn’t agree with that line of thinking?’

He shakes his head.

‘Maybe it’s not you at all.’

‘No, it’s me, trust me.’

‘But if the company was tied up in your mum’s grief then maybe it’s more connected to that.

Maybe she feels like she keeps your father alive by working.

For as long as she does the job he should have been doing, in a way, he’s still there.

That’s a long time to work so hard, and if she stops, does she have to finally face the fact that your dad is gone? ’

‘He’s been gone for twenty-seven years. I think she’s noticed by now.’

‘I meant metaphorically, obviously. She sounds like someone who worked rather than grieved.’

‘And you sound like a psychologist, not a museum curator,’ he snaps.

‘You already know my mum died when I was twelve and my dad didn’t cope. It’s not the same, but I understand all too well what it’s like to lose a parent at a young age, and how unbearable it can be on the parent left behind.’

His neck is twisted around so he can watch me as I speak, and it looks like the most uncomfortable position, but he makes no attempt to move. ‘I know you mentioned it the other day, but I never expect to meet people and have that sort of thing in common. I’m sorry.’

‘So am I – for you. I didn’t know your company had a story like that behind it.

I thought you were…’ I trail off because it’s not the right moment to add ‘heartless, money-grabbing, evil gerbils’, and instead I shuffle forwards on my elbows so he can untwist his neck because he’s intent on watching my face every time I speak.

‘Oh, I know exactly how that sentence ends and I appreciate you not finishing it.’ He lets out a self-deprecating laugh that turns into a drawn-out groan, and he moves his head around, one hand going to the back of his neck, trying to unkink it.

His brown hair falls forward as he makes a physical effort to relax his tense shoulders, and I have to fight the urge to touch my fingers against his arm again, because it’s such a surprising insight and I didn’t expect him to be that open.

‘I don’t know where that came from,’ he says after a while and moves to sit upright. ‘I should, er, stretch my legs. Bathroom break. Want another cuppa?’

Bathroom! The inspiration comes in a flash. The customer bathroom downstairs has a window that opens to one side of the museum – the opposite side to where we are. It’s perfect, and another cup of tea is the perfect excuse to use it.

‘That’d be great, thank you.’ I give him a genuine smile because it is nice of him to offer, but the second he’s gone up the stairs, I grab my phone and text the shopkeepers’ group to tell them my plan and ask someone to be ready under the window.

When Warren comes back with two mugs, I down mine as quickly as the temperature will allow, and then tell him I need the bathroom and rather than using the staff bathroom upstairs, I make an excuse about double-checking the exhibits while using the customer toilets downstairs, and I run away before waiting to see if he believes me or not.

I’ve spent the past few minutes trying to think of something small enough to fit through a narrow-opening top window, and I’ve come up with Aladdin’s Magic Carpet, which can be rolled up and pushed through, and on my way to extract it from its usual display, I spot Pascal sitting on Rapunzel’s shoulder and shove him in my pocket.

By going through the supply closet door into the Fairytale Homes hall, I can avoid the front half of the lobby altogether and remain out of sight, and I’m holding my breath so hard that I’m panting by the time I make it to the bathroom.

I clamber onto the toilet seat and put one leg up on the cistern behind it, and push the window open.

Sure enough, Mickey and Cleo are standing below and I shove a hand through to wave to them silently, and then push the Magic Carpet through a centimetre at a time, being careful that it doesn’t snag on anything, but also that I don’t make a sound.

There’s a whoosh as it finally falls from the window and drops into Mickey’s waiting arms, and we all freeze for a moment to make sure Warren hasn’t overheard and doesn’t come to investigate, and after a few seconds have passed with no movement from upstairs, I hold Pascal out and drop him down to Cleo.

I do a silent thumbs up and give them a grateful smile that’s obscured by the window before I close it, clamber back down, and flush the chain so Warren doesn’t get suspicious.

Who knew that bringing exhibits to life could be so stressful?