The Most Fun You Have Ever Had.

“Over here!” – Lou beckoned me over to the jewellery stand, clasping a pair of pearl-drop earrings in her hand. “These are exactly what I was looking for, you were so right about this place.”

I smiled at my sister. Although, really, it was weird having somebody else here with me. Mrs M’s store has always been my place. Most days I don’t buy anything, I just admire the clothes from afar, or perch by the windowsill admiring the never-ending collection of books. No matter how many I get through there always seems to be a stack of new ones waiting for me, hidden away in a different part of the store, as though intentionally placed so I have to explore further. My favourite books are those that make you feel physically transported – almost nostalgic for a time that you didn’t live through. Descriptions of high glamour and debauchery, and images of people passing the night in dingy, smoke-filled bars. I think that is why I love Mrs M’s. It almost has the same feel to it; like the walls have secrets and every day I spend in here I am closer to discovering them. A stark difference to the rest of our town- the pinnacle of suburbia, where the biggest scandal is that one of the café’s has not yet switched to almond milk.

I wasn’t exactly sure who Mrs M was, or when she had or had not lived. It was now run by Brian - a lanky, shy man in his mid-late 20’s, who said that he had taken over when his father passed. Brian didn’t say much, but we had an agreement. He would let me spend hours trying on clothes I had no desire to buy, and do my college work hunched over the fitting room stool. In return…well, maybe it wasn’t an agreement as such, but either way Brian never seemed to mind my being there.

“Okay let’s go. Are you going to buy anything Cori?” My sister asked me as she gently ran her hand across a rail of soft velvet jackets. “No, let’s go.”

“I can’t believe I have never been here before, I am so bringing the girls here after class next week”- I felt my jaw tighten and my stomach clench, though I’m not sure why.

“Oh, crap. Have you got Dad anything for his birthday yet?” Lou continued as we walked over to pay. “I don’t know how many more years I can get away with just buying him socks.” I glanced down at the stool next to me. It was piled with books, and at the top of them sat a china doll with a crack in its leg, and hair that looked like it had just finished a week of partying. I grabbed a notebook that was wedged in the middle of the pile, delicately moving the doll as if not to disturb its hangover. “Yeh” I said. “I’ve got him something”.

Later that night I emptied my bag onto my bedroom floor, scanning my planner to see what classes I had tomorrow. I picked up the gift for my Dad that had fallen with the rest of my things. It was a small black notebook, and the perfect size to fit into his spring trench-coat. Feeling smug about my aversion to add to his sock collection, I pulled the band clasping the book together to write him a birthday note. “Huh” – I frowned. Somebody had beaten me to it. The book was full. Every page mounted with scribbles, shopping lists, and what appeared to be diary entries. Smugness gone. Maybe that was on me for buying him a present from an antique (second-hand) store.

As I flicked through, I noticed one of the pages in the book was loose, slightly sticking out from the bottom as if having been intentionally placed. It read –

“Dear Reader,

How strange that I am writing this to you, but I really have no idea who you are! You could be anyone. Although since you have picked up my little black book, I can presume you have been in my store. And if you have been in my store, you have great taste if nothing else. So, I’ll continue.

As I write this, I am nearing the end. Granted, I have been nearing the end for six years now, but this time feels different. I have had a great time, the best time in fact. So, I don’t want you feeling sorry for me!

The truth is, I need a favour. Although once you hear what it is, I’m sure you won’t mind.

There is some money hidden in my store. Quite a lot of money, actually. Now I know what you’re thinking. Does she not have any family? An important cause that she can donate to? The answer to both those questions is yes. Don’t worry, the former has been taken good care of. As for my family -

My children have made their plans for their inheritance very clear. Thankfully, they are all too idle to deal with the admin of selling my store, so I will rest easier knowing that. I assume they will pass the responsibility on to somebody else at the first chance, but it does not bare thinking about. The money I have hidden in my store is the last they do not know about. If they became aware of it, I’m sure they would spend it on something dire – rent, garden furniture, or worse – put it in a savings account! Can you imagine? Now, reader, I must make this very clear. I have not lived the life I have, seen the things I have seen, for my hard-earned pennies to be spent on a matching kettle and toaster set. That will not be my legacy.

If my maths has not failed me, there should be $20,000 in a brown envelope under one of the floorboards in the store. The instructions of how to find it are on page 43 of this book, you will have to count as its pages are not numbered.

The money is now yours, and yours to spend however you see fit. But, reader, can you promise me something?

However, you spend this money – make it the most fun you have ever had.

With Warmest Regards,

Mrs. McCather”

I let out a sigh, realising I had been holding my breath the whole time I had been reading. I read the letter again. And again. And again. No stamp, or date, or indication of when it was written. Was it a joke? Maybe it had been intentionally placed by an old manager, who wanted to add to the antique feel of the store. $20,000? I suddenly became aware of my palms oozing with sweat, and my throat so dry that if I had tried to speak no words would have come out. I counted to page 43 of the book. Scribbled in the same writing as the letter, I read the instructions of how to find the money.

I felt shy when I walked into the store the next day, the same feeling I had experienced the last time I went trick or treating, when I looked down at my costume and realised I was definitely too old to be there without a child. Brian was sat at the cash register with his head in a book. He gave me a nod as I walked to the back of the store.

I crept into the fitting room. Calling it a fitting room is quite generous. It is a section of the store with a curtain around it and a mirror that was sure to give you tetanus if you got too close. I knelt down. This is ridiculous. I pushed down on the floorboards- nothing. I knocked on the floor to see if it sounded hollow – nothing. This is ridiculous. Even more embarrassed than I had been when I walked in, I placed both hands on the floor to balance myself as I stood up, then, out of the corner of my eye in the reflection of the mirror, I noticed one of the floorboards behind me was slightly crooked. I was the only one in the store, but I crept over on tip toes so as not to make a noise. I pulled the floorboard to see if it would budge. And there it was. An envelope. Just as the letter had promised. Too tense to open it, I stuffed it in my bag and headed home.

I counted the money when I got home, and again after that. I thought about it when I was eating dinner, and when I was clearing the table. I thought about it whilst I watched television with my family, and again when I was brushing my teeth. I thought about the money once more as I lay in my bed that night. The weird thing about $20,000, is that it is only really worth as much as the person who has it. A year’s salary for some people. The price of a holiday for others. I thought about my parents, who would probably use it to pay off their mortgage, or do up the bathroom they have been speaking about since we moved in. I thought about my college tuition fees. I thought about my run-down car. I thought about stories from my friends from their summers spent by the sea, and the fact I had never been further than 50 miles out of our town.

And then, I thought about Mrs M. I thought about her store, and the legacy she had left behind. I thought about her letter. In that moment, I decided. However I spent this money, it was going to lead to something really fucking cool.