Page 3 of Dreams Come True at the Fairytale Museum
‘But fear not, all is not lost. Believe it or not, I am actually here to help. I’m quite taken by your concept. I’ve not heard of anything like it before, and I believe there might be merit in keeping it open.’
I narrow my eyes because I can read between those lines. ‘Profit, you mean?’
‘Yes, profit. A thing that all businesses need to stay afloat. I haven’t had a chance to go over your accounting in depth yet, but it’s blatantly obvious that this place is struggling.’
‘It’s not struggling. At least, it wasn’t until you showed up,’ I snap at him, but if I’m honest, it is struggling a bit, and I’m certainly not going to admit that out loud.
‘It’s hard to get people interested and I could do with more advertising, but the budget is limited, and what little there is has to go towards new exhibits and making Colours of the Wind a world of imagination.
Things like marketing fall further down the list, but it limps onwards, like a zombie shuffling along with the occasional limb falling off.
Okay, every so often, it has to stop and sew an arm back on, but it gets there in the end. ’
‘Where’s it going?’ He pushes at his lower lip with his pen, looking bemused by my comparison.
‘I don’t know. Wherever zombies go. To come back to life.
’ I’ve lost track of my own analogy, and he’s watching my lips as I speak, clearly trying to keep track of it himself and barely suppressing another laugh.
He was probably expecting a suited-up office-dwelling museum curator, and he’s got a multi-coloured poodle yammering about zombies. No wonder he looks confused.
‘While this certainly feels like walking into a horror film, my goal is to help you bring it back to life.’
I scoff in disbelief, because there’s no way a guy like this does something to help anyone other than himself.
He didn’t manage to afford suits like that by helping others, did he?
This is a head-office man accustomed to sitting behind a desk and giving orders, who’s completely out of touch with the real world and what it’s like to run a business on a small budget.
He looks at me for a moment, blue eyes blinking slowly as he considers his next move. ‘May I show you something?’
Without waiting for an answer, he swivels his tablet around so it’s facing me, skims his stylus pen across the screen until an architectural drawing of… a load of geometric shapes on a hill appears in grainy pixels under my nose.
I tilt my head to the side. ‘What is that?’
He quirks a dark eyebrow but doesn’t answer the question, leaving me tilting my head to the other side, trying to figure out what it’s supposed to be.
It looks like someone’s dropped a Rubik’s Cube and the layers have broken apart, and I’m pretty sure that whatever it was he wanted to show me, he’s pressed the wrong buttons and brought up the wrong image.
‘Nope, you’ve lost me. It looks like you’re trying to invent a building block puzzle to confuse a small child.’
His blue eyes flick between my face and the screen. ‘This is what happens in six months’ time, if this place doesn’t demonstrate that it can do a lot better than it’s currently doing.’
‘What?’ I grab the tablet with both hands and snatch it from him, and he yelps because his fingers are through a holding strap on the back and he has to yank them free to avoid them being broken.
I instantly realise what he means. What he’s trying to show me.
The hill. This isn’t a child’s puzzle. It’s here.
It’s this place. It’s what this place is going to become if I don’t do something to stop it.
They’re going to demolish this gorgeous, eccentric old building and rebuild this hideously modern architectural nightmare in its place.
It’s all squares and sharp angles and looks like something from a futuristic sci-fi film where there are robots flying around all over the place and people whizz past on hoverboards.
There has never been anything that would look more out of place on Ever After Street.
The last thing I intended to do was cry, but it’s a gut reaction and tears have welled up in my eyes before I know it. ‘You… can’t… You’re going to knock it down and build this… this… monstrosity in its place?’
He’s shaking his hand like he’s still trying to ease the pain in his fingers.
‘We propose to turn it into a cinema and entertainment complex. Multiple screens for maximum film showings, and indoor bowling, indoor mini golf, wall climbing, an American-style diner, a pizzeria, a doughnut chain, an arcade, and a whole host of other entertainment options that haven’t been settled on yet. ’
‘You can’t do that,’ I repeat, wondering how many times I’m going to plead those words today.
What am I expecting him to say? ‘Oh, yes, you’re quite right, I won’t then.
’ As if. ‘Places like that will put the food shops here out of business. Cleo who runs The Wonderland Teapot, and Ali who owns the 1001 Nights restaurant. They won’t be able to compete with diners and pizza places and doughnuts. ’
‘That wouldn’t be Berrington Developments’ problem.’
‘Of course it wouldn’t,’ I mutter. Did I really expect any different response?
‘And why does everything modern have to be indoors? Wall climbing, golf, bowling. Mostly traditional outdoor activities. Shouldn’t we be encouraging children to spend more time outside and away from screens? Let me guess, not your problem?’
‘I’m a businessman, not a parent. If we give kids – and adults, and families – as many activities as possible that they can do in one place, they spend more time in that one place, and therefore, more money. That’s the only bottom line that matters.’
‘Of course it is.’ I echo the same response as earlier. The businesses and shops, and friends who are going to suffer because of this are irrelevant to his company.
The magnitude of it starts to sink in as I tap his tablet to turn the screen back on and stare at the drawing again.
This is not just about Colours of the Wind.
It isn’t just me who will lose my business if this plan comes to fruition.
This will be the end of Ever After Street as a whole.
If everyone who comes here is going to spend hours glued to a cinema screen, or scoffing pizza, or scrambling up a wall or playing indoor golf, they aren’t going to be visiting the quaint and quirky shops here, like Marnie’s Beauty and the Beast-themed bookshop, Mickey’s curiosity shop, or Imogen’s Once Upon A Dream that specialises in all things cosy, like pyjamas, fancy bedding, and candles.
Small independent shops will fall by the wayside in favour of this under-one-roof approach where customers can spend their entire day…
while the rest of the street stands empty.
The thought makes the emotions rolling through me even stronger, and I turn away and swipe at my eyes, angry at myself for not being able to hide it. I’m trying to pretend I’m not crying, but the unexpected shock of this has undone me.
‘I am here to help…’ He’s looking at me warily, like he’s not sure if I’m going to start wailing or bare my teeth and try to nip him.
‘Why would you help me if this is what you intend to do to my building?’ I jab angrily at the tablet and he reaches over and extracts it from my hands before I do it any damage.
He lets it slide that this isn’t my building – it never was, and it never will be.
My teeth cut through the inside of my lip until I taste blood as I try to stem the tears again.
This museum is the only thing that’s ever given me a sense of stability in my life.
The security of being a mainstay of Ever After Street is gone in an instant, and I don’t know what to do about it.
He taps at the tablet again. ‘This is going to cost a lot of money, and I like the concept of a fairytale museum, it’s interesting and different and could be huge if done right.’
I bristle at the implication that I have not been doing it right for all these years.
‘The way I see it is that it will cost a lot less to invest in this place as it is, bring in some much-needed upgrades and budget fine-tuning, and see where it takes us. My mother was all for immediate demolition, but it was me who put forward this plan and got us this stay of execution. We have until the end of the year to turn this around and prove that it’s better value to keep it as it is – with a few minor adjustments – than it is to build the cinema complex.
My company can put up a cinema complex anywhere – I’ve overseen four already in the past couple of years – but where else are we going to find something as unique as a fairytale museum? ’
My hackles have risen at his way of making it sound like I have some sort of choice, when it’s blindingly clear that I do not. ‘And I will be at your mercy? Constantly waiting for the day you decide you’re going to knock it down anyway and evict me at a moment’s notice?’
‘Six months’ notice.’ He corrects me by tapping his pen on the papers in my hand.
‘And I’ll offer you a deal. If you can prove that this place is worth keeping – that it’s a worthwhile business venture, and it can make us more money than a cinema complex could, and you can cover the increased rent – then we’ll match Mr Mowbray’s terms in the lease.
Five years, and we’ll take out the redevelopment clause. ’
‘And after that?’
‘We’ll reassess, as any good landlord should.’
That bit is fair enough, even Mr Mowbray reassessed every once in a while.
It’s everything else that feels hideously unfair.
How can this man swoop in here and act like he’s trying to help?
‘And what exactly would these “minor adjustments” entail? Is that what all these workmen are doing? Measuring up for your “minor adjustments”?’
‘They’re surveying, getting a feel for—’