3. A Treasured Memory
1079 Words
3
A Treasured Memory
Debbie had gone for the booze, promising to bring back ‘something girly’ for Bonnie in addition to whatever black-coloured liquid she planned on getting for herself. Bonnie sat on the sofa, reading the letter over and over, still not believing that it was real, and if it was, what she was going to do about it.
She barely even remembered Uncle Mervin. He was her dad’s older brother, but the most recent occasion she could remember meeting him had been when she was twelve. Not that they’d had much interaction; he had stopped in for a coffee with her mother on his way to somewhere and Bonnie had been called out of her room to say a brief hello.
Forty years ago.
In the years since she didn’t think he’d ever crossed her mind.
By some randomness of fate and family trees, he had died and left her all his worldly possessions.
Well, sort of.
Had he left her a lump sum it might have been useful, but according to the lawyer’s deeds, the most prominent thing he had left her was the remainder of a hundred-year lease on a business.
A shop, to be exact.
The lawyer’s letter was maddening light on detail, providing only basic information. The business was described as retail: confectionary. An address, somewhere in the Lake District. At least the location sounded nice. The details of the lease described the shop as being part of a larger retail park, the lease one that while technically lasting a lifetime, could not be sold, only given away upon its leaseholder’s death.
The door went, Debbie returning. After removing her coat and shoes—she had borrowed a pair of Bonnie’s trainers for the short trip to the corner shop because ‘the coat’ll cover them in the dark’—she marched into the living room and held up a plastic bag.
‘I got you some red.’
‘Wine?’
Debbie grinned. ‘Aftershock. No, only joking, yeah, course it’s wine. It was on special so I got you two bottles. And biscuits. Yours are plain, mine are the dark chocolate chip.’ She started to sit down before noticing the letter. ‘Oh, did you read it? Do tell.’
Bonnie paraphrased the contents. ‘So, basically, a relative I can barely remember has left me a property I’m not allowed to sell.’
‘Sweet. In the Lake District? Do they have pubs up there?’
‘I would imagine so.’
‘Awesome. So, what kind of shop is it?’
‘Confectionary.’
‘Which is what?’
Bonnie held up a chocolate bar. ‘You’re looking at it.’
‘Cool. So, you’re going to quit your job and go and run it?’
Bonnie frowned. She hadn’t yet thought about what she was going to do. She figured that in the morning she would have to call the lawyer and talk over the finer details. Sure, she was in receipt of the property, but did that mean she had to pay rates or taxes on it? What had at first seemed like a surprise windfall was looking more like a monkey on her back. The Lake District was at the other end of the country. She couldn’t just drop everything and drive up there, assuming, of course, her little Metro could even survive the journey. The Old Ragtag prohibited any personal days off between October and Christmas, and the way her shifts were spread out meant she’d have to be up and back in a thirty-six hour window.
Debbie was still staring at her. ‘Well?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t know enough about it to make that kind of decision. The pig I used to be married to left me with a mortgage on this place and nothing in the bank. If I quit my job I’ll lose my house.’
‘You said you had an address, didn’t you? Let’s have a look on the net and see if we can get a bit more info.’
‘All right.’
Bonnie retrieved the old laptop she rarely used from a cupboard and loaded it up. Debbie sniggered as an ancient-looking Windows XP logo appeared.
‘Like watching a calving glacier,’ Debbie said. ‘Are you sure you don’t need to wind it up a bit more?’
After a painstaking age of waiting for the computer to load, during which time Debbie sank two cans of stout and Bonnie a glass and a half of wine, they finally got online. Debbie pulled up a map program and after another age of waiting for everything to load, they found an aerial view of the property.
‘It’s in some kind of theme park,’ Debbie said. ‘Look, that wiggly thing is either a giant snake or a rollercoaster, and I reckon the news would have mentioned a giant snake. Let’s see if we can get a street view. Jesus, if I’d have known it would take six years to load, I would have gone and got my smartphone.’
‘I don’t have much use for technology,’ Bonnie said, giving Debbie a wink. ‘I’m a grandmother, don’t you know?’
‘Ah, you’re doing all right,’ Debbie said. ‘Wow, look at that. Good god, is this some kind of a joke?’
The street view had appeared. A medieval-styled building stood in the foreground, a café premises large enough to have a living area attached. It’s pointed roof, black and white design and faux wooden eaves made both Bonnie and Debbie coo with excitement.
‘That’s totally convertible into a rock club,’ Debbie said.
‘Can you zoom in on the sign over the door?’
‘Hang on a sec.’
The view enlarged. Bonnie let out a chuckle as the sign over the entrance came into focus. The writing was all gothic, but the meaning was not.
Mervin’s Marshmallow Café.
‘What’s that small line over the top?’ Debbie said. ‘Welcome to—’
Bonnie almost dropped her glass, catching it with her other hand and receiving a slosh of wine over her fingers. ‘I don’t believe it,’ she said. ‘All these years … and it did exist after all.’
‘What?’
Bonnie wiped away a tear, thinking of long ago evenings when her dad would tell her stories before bed. Sat in a chair beside her, his hands would gesture wildly as he told her fantastical tales of a place he had claimed was real and would one day take her. It had never happened, her dad dying of cancer when she was twelve. That would have been the reason for Uncle Mervin’s last visit, now that she thought about it; her dad’s funeral. His death had left Bonnie heartbroken; while she treasured the memories she had of him, she had locked them away to keep them safe, in the same way she had let go of the name of the semi-mythical place.
Christmas Land.
- Writer
