The Mothballed Marriage

Rose had managed to secure the shop on cheap terms.  It had been empty for so long now, that a lot of people could not remember it ever being in use.  Originally, it had been the local Co-op – that was obvious from the aquamarine tiles around the plate glass window.  Then it had been a car spares shop and finally a newsagent.  Then, one Friday afternoon, the window had been whitewashed and filled with newspaper.  A piece of plywood had been nailed over the front door.  Ownership had changed hands several times since, but none of them had used the shop; only the flat above.  The newspaper in the window had turned yellow, and the print sun-bleached into oblivion.  The current landlord offered Rose use of the shop when she had just missed out on another of his properties.  As her business already thrived online the position of the premises was not as important as the large storeroom at the back. 

Rose first arrived on a Sunday morning, armed with voluminous overalls and a comprehensive selection of cleaning products.  The utility area seemed the most sensible place to begin renovations. It contained a kitchenette obviously installed during the 1970s, in fact the cupboards were the same type as those that had been in her family home when she was growing up.  She opened the first cupboard, half prepared to be assaulted by a family of something small and horrid.  It was empty, except for a lining of newspaper.  She pulled out the brittle pages and studied them.  It was an excerpt from the local Telegraph, dated June 1974, the weddings page.  A row of happy couples smiled up at her.  Rose’s own responsive grin faded however, as she saw the second couple’s photograph.    

“Dad?”

She read the entry again, more slowly.  Her father, marrying a woman who was not her mother.  Her father, married before Mum. He had never told her.  Was it deliberate deceit or had there just been no reason to mention it?  Her name was Helen. Where was Helen now?  Rose folded the paper carefully and placed it in her rucksack.  This afternoon’s family Sunday dinner was going to be the most interesting yet.