Scene: As if by magic

Foreword

With apologies to Mr McKee and written in kindness – although tongue-in-cheek – in memory of your stories & that they sparked the imagination of a young child💖 Yes, I have changed some of the names.

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It is the 1970s, in a quiet suburban road of terraced houses. Children play in the street, retired folk are walking their dogs, and a business man leaves the house. No umbrella today for him today, for although there are clouds, the sun peeks through cheerily.

The front door closes with a soft click and Mr Wenn makes his way across the short path to the garden gate. A football bounces by and he smiles, remembering his more youthful days.

The office has been closed today and he was already for work when the telephone rang. What should he do with his day off? The house was tidy, the laundry done, and he had not brought any work home with him.

Mr Wenn walked down Bestive Road, pondering the idea of visiting a café via the newsagent. A good stroll would prompt an idea, he thought.

Across from the café was the costume shop. Mr Wenn looked at the items in the window. A cowboy outfit, a suit of red armour, and a wizard’s robe decorated with stars and sigils. Mr Wenn smiled to himself; the memories and mementos of early adventures returning to mind.

On the other side of the shop to the left of the door, a new display was partially complete. He could not make out the costumes, for the blinds were lowered, and he could see a glimpse of unknown shapes. Perhaps one more look, thought Mr Wenn, and opened the door. The bell on the frame tinkled gently as he entered.

Cardboard boxes stood to attention behind the till and Mr Wenn noticed the costume stands had been rearranged. To his right, copies of the gladiator outfit and an underwater diver had moved. To his left, new stands were in the process of being assembled. They were slightly shorter and clearly new; the wooden frames recently polished and gleaming in the light.

As if by magic, a shop-keeper appeared.

“Good morning, Mr Wenn. How are you today?” asked the owner. As ever, the man’s waistcoat and trousers were freshly pressed, his moustache groomed, and his fez immaculate.

Mr Wenn bobbed his head and raised his bowler hat to the shop=keeper. In truth, Mr Wenn was slightly in awe of the man’s fez hat. Sadly, having tried one in the shop earlier, he knew only of Mr Cooper who was able to manage it. “I’m well, thank you. I find myself at a lose end, as the office has closed.”

“Perhaps,” said the shop-keeper with a polite smile, “sir would be interested in another adventure?”

Mr Wenn paused for he did not want to insult his friend’s kind offer. He thought of the strange journeys and marvels he had been lucky enough to see – and in some cases, even luckier to survive! But, things always turned out well in the end.

What was bothering Mr Wenn, is that he had tried all of the outfits on before. He thought for a moment on how best to answer the question.

“We have new stock,” suggested the shop-keeper. “Perhaps sir might be interested in something different?”

“You do?” replied Mr Wenn. “Then, perhaps you might pick something out, and surprise me.”

The shop-keeper nodded and Mr Wenn made his way to the changing room. Moments later, he had on his new costume.

It was certainly a look! Mr Wenn sighed, for although the dress was quite beautiful, he felt too old to be at a party. It felt too early in the day to be this glamorous. Furthermore, he worried that he might be involved in a crime mystery from one of his favourite authors. No, as fancy and as sparkly as the costume was, this was not for him.

He slipped off the shoes and reached for his business suit. No, he would pop into the office, collect the outstanding report, and finish the writing in the café.

Lost in thought as he got dressed, Mr Wenn was quite surprised when he went to put on his tie.

His tie had been replaced by a fine necklace. Where his hat had hung on the door, now a smart black leather ladies’ handbag rested. His briefcase has vanished too. Indeed, his trusty and well polished brogues now sported no laces and a higher heel. Mr Wenn risked a look in the mirror. His hair! He had not had hair like this since the sixties!

There were no signs of his clothes and worse, no sign of his keys. Mr Wenn decided to brave stepping out and looked for the shop-keeper.

The shop-keeper did not magically appear.

Indeed, the shop lights had been turned off, and Mr Wenn noticed the “we’re open” sign, had been turned to say “sorry, we’re closed.” Should he wait? His friend was often on cue. But for how long? Mr Wenn was unsure.

He noticed the boxes had gone and the shop was looking bare, almost closed for good.

He risked a look through the window. The street was quiet as it often was. He frowned, realising there were no costumes in the shop window either.

Mr Wenn was very confused. How had the shop been open this morning and now….? Ah, he thought to himself: “this is the adventure.” He took a deep breath, put his now manicured hand on the door, and stepped into the world.

He felt worried, nervous even, and perhaps somewhat vulnerable dressed as he was. Mr Wenn thought of the times he had faced a dragon and then a lion at the zoo. No, that is when he had been afraid. This was nerves. He took another deep breath and he would do what he always did on an adventure: he would look like he belonged.

The walk along the road was more difficult in heels, found Mr Wenn. He had to walk more slowly. He found his hand gripped his handbag, for all his worldly goods remained within it. But what of his keys? Ah, remembered Mr Wenn: he had a spare set at work. If the office was closed for the staff, he could make his way there, get the emergency key from Reception, and collect them before returning home.

Lost in his thoughts, people passed Mr Wenn in the street. No one shouted, no one pointed, and no one laughed. Perhaps, pondered Mr Wenn, the approach of pretending you belonged would see him through after all.

At the bus stop, he found people pushed in front of him. He found the bus inspector tutted as Mr Wenn struggled to find his purse and buy a ticket for the ride. He was not used to this treatment and Mr Wenn began to see the familiar world, through unfamiliar eyes.

The bus reached the centre of the city and Mr Wenn waited to get off. People bustled by him, and he found getting down from the open back of the double decker bus slightly more difficult in a skirt. He made a note to remember to be more patient, next time he took public transport.

The city street was busy with parents & children, workers, and café tables spread over the pavement. Mr Wenn found the uneven flags difficult in his new shoes, and took refuge in a newsagent to buy a paper. He looked at the headlines, sighed, and bought an apple. His new costume was very fitted. Not like the generous waistline of the cowboy jeans & belt, nor the relaxed shape of the wizard’s robe.

Mr Wenn found he had to wait in the line to pay for longer than he would have liked. The newsagent and another customer were talking about various topics. Mr Wenn waited. Then he waited a bit more. Finally, the newsagent, who had certainly spotted Mr Wenn, said: “Sorry, love, didn’t see you there.” Mr Wenn decided to not say anything, paid, and left.

The rest of the walk to the office was uneventful. The only thing out of the ordinary was a workmans’ tent, a warning sign, and a roped off hole in the pavement. Mr Wenn wondered why it was not called a ‘repair team’ or ‘access cover’ rather than manhole. Thoughts for another day, he told himself.

The doors to the office building were open and Mr Wenn found himself waiting – with now somewhat painful feet – as workmen passed through with pipes, wooden tables, and a tray of tea. Mr Wenn found he had to push in and a workman gave him a funny look. Mr Wenn felt uncomfortable. Not at the social redress, but the way the man’s eyes had lingered. He found himself turning away and moving swiftly to the lift.

“What floor, love?” asked the lift attendant.

“Floor six,” replied Mr Wenn. The attendant closed the doors, pulled the lever, and the elevator rose noisily to the upper floors. The attendant wished Mr Wenn a good day and held the doors for him.

The office, it seemed, was not as closed as Mr Wenn had been informed. Mr Wenn checked his watch, a thinner fine silver one, rather than his traditional and heavier pocket-watch. Perhaps his colleagues would be on their elevenses, he thought?

Inside the office Mr Wenn found his desk, took out his spare set of house keys, and popped them into his handbag. His secretary’s typewriter had been moved to his desk, and the first paragraph of his report had been typed up for him.

Mr Wenn paused to read his own words back to himself. No, he thought, this would never do. He did not like what he had written, and he felt cross with himself for wasting Barbara’s time.

Barbara did not work on Wednesday morning, as she had to care for her elderly father. Middle management had been quite cross about this, but Mr Wenn had insisted she be given the option to adjust her hours. He knew the board enjoyed the same privileges, so why not the workers too?

With Barbara away and while his colleagues were out too, he would update the opening paragraph, cross off his notes from the pad next to him, and save her a task. It felt like the kind and efficient thing to do.

As Mr Wenn looked up from the typewriter, he realised the office had become quite busy. Ah, he had lost track of time and had become very involved in the typing. He was surprised how much slightly longer – and equally very pink – nails made typing.

Behind him, colleagues gossiped about the television programmes they’d been watching. The new photocopier hummed as Mr Jenkins from accounts managed to produce sixty blank copies of a report he had had typed.

Mr Wenn smiled, feeling slightly naughty. Barbara was the true wizard of the copier, and she had shown him how to use it. If only Mr Jenkins would accept the kind offer of help. Mr Wenn made a note on the paper pad to review salaries and bring them on parr. No more gaps between Jenkins and Barbara, nor indeed, the office staff, who made the company run.

Mr Wenn’s tummy – not his stomach as he’d thought of it previously – began to gurgle and grumble. It was nearly lunchtime. He realised he had not brought a packed lunch as his trusty briefcase had disappeared. There was certainly no space in his new handbag for his Walkers Friend Cupperware set. No, he would have to go home. Indeed, thought Mr Wenn, getting back to the shop before it’s usual closing time – if indeed this was an adventure, would be wise.

He packed his things, stapled the report, placed it in the in-tray of his desk, and left. His colleagues did not comment and Mr Wenn felt slightly invisible, yet glad to go without being stared at.

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As Mr Wenn reached the corner of Bestive Road, a smile lit up his face: outside of the costume shop was a new sign: “New costumes! Come in and browse.” Mr Wenn chuckled to himself and the painted words included a fine rendition of the shop-keeper’s excellent moustache.

The shop door bell tinkled as he opened it and stepped in, closing it carefully.

“How was your day?” asked the shop-keeper, and Mr Wenn explained.

The shop-keeper listened, nodded, and took an interest. He did not, Mr Wenn noticed, give Mr Wenn ‘the eye’ nor did he seem impatient, but attentive and kind. Mr Wenn made a note of that.

“Perhaps you are ready for home?” opined the shop-keeper.

“You know, I think I am,” replied Mr Wenn. “My feet are killing me – and it’s only lunchtime.”

The shop-keeper smiled and gestured to the changing room. “As is policy, my good friend,” came the shop-keeper’s voice from the till, “I have left you a souvenir to remind you of your travels.”

Mr Wenn thought the gesture was very kind, very kind indeed. The only question was: when would he have the opportunity to wear it?

Mr Wenn put away the fine costume, put on his business suit, and double checked he had his keys. What would the neighbours say otherwise?

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Footnote

Thanks to Susie for the inspiration.

PS: Friday’s post may be a day late due to travel.