Chapter 4 #

While Luna was finishing her shift at Wonderworld, I was busy with my own work here at The Right Place. Restocking shelves. Blending herbs. Selling a book of spells to a woman who insisted I wrap the cover in brown paper so her husband wouldn't see what she was reading.

Oh, and halfway through the afternoon a young woman slipped in without making a sound. She bought a necklace with a heart-shaped rose quartz pendant.

"Looking for love?" I blurted out, with a playful wink.

She shook her head a little too quickly, colour rising in her cheeks as if I'd caught her out. "No, not at all, it just goes nicely with my candyfloss dress. For the festival."

"Ah." I folded a sheet of tissue paper around the necklace, slipped it into a little sachet and handed it to her. She murmured a thank-you and vanished as quietly as she'd come.

After that I bottled my new batch of moonberry liqueur. Finally. The bottles are gleaming on the shelf behind the counter now, deep purple and ready for tomorrow evening's festival.

Lucky's asleep on the windowsill, her white fur warm in a beam of afternoon sun. The shop is empty and quiet. Outside, people drift past, their silhouettes blurred by the stained glass of my window. They don't see me. I see them.

Come. Let's see what our heroine is up to.

I take the velvet pouch from the drawer, let the selenite palm stone slide out into my hand and hold it there. Eyes closed. A deep breath.

There she is.

Luna is sitting at the back of the bus, curled into the window seat. Her forehead rests against the cool glass. Outside, the world slides past in smears of grey and green: trees, lampposts, cars flashing by, everything blurred behind the rain.

Headphones on, she's lost in her audiobook, the voice actor giving it all the suspense and drama he can muster. The bus takes a speed bump too fast. Luna's headphones slip off her ears, the voice cuts out mid-sentence, and she's back on the bus. Back in the real world.

She goes to put the headphones back on, but the bus is already slowing. The story will have to wait.

On the digital display above the driver, orange letters appear: WEST PARK ROAD.

Luna switches off her headphones, tucks them into her backpack and presses the red stop button. Beep. She stands, edges past a woman with shopping bags and makes for the door. The hydraulic brakes sigh, the doors hiss open, and Luna sets one foot on the step.

And then someone shoves his way on. A shoulder slams into hers, hard enough to knock her sideways. Luna stumbles and grabs the pole by the door. A small sound escapes her throat. Her mouth opens to protest, but the words vanish when the man turns to face her.

He's too close. Too big. His eyes are bloodshot, his rain-soaked clothes hang loose from his frame, and his breath reeks of alcohol.

"S'all over now," he slurs, swaying on his feet.

Somewhere towards the back of the bus, someone looks up from a phone. The woman with the shopping bags pulls her bags in closer.

"Whole bloody world's drownin'!" He sways on his feet and lurches towards her. "Ssay your goodbyes, girlie!"

Luna's heart is pounding in her throat. Say goodbye to your liver, more like, she thinks, but she swallows the words and steps back off the bus, out into the rain.

The doors hiss shut and the bus pulls away with a rattle of its engine. Its wheels throw a wave of water over the kerb. Luna steps back, but feels it splash against her ankles anyway.

She is alone at the bus stop. It's raining harder now, fat drops spattering the pavement and her shoulders. In the distance, tower blocks rise against the dark sky: grey rectangles against an even greyer sky.

Her heart is still beating too fast. She shivers, though not from the cold. It is a warm summer evening, close and humid, the kind of weather that sticks to your skin and makes every breath feel heavy.

She holds out her hand and catches a drop on her forefinger. For a moment she studies it: a clear bead on her skin, glistening in the dull light. Then, with a quick glance around to make sure no one's watching, she brings her finger to her mouth and sets the drop on her tongue.

Salty. It tastes of seawater. Her brow furrows. Holy shit.

She stands stock-still for a second, her tongue still pressed to the roof of her mouth, as if to double-check the taste. What… what's happening?

Maybe, she thinks, trying to work the briny taste off her tongue, she really should put the news on tonight. She hasn't kept up with it in weeks. Months, if she's honest. The news is always so depressing. So many problems in the world she can't do anything about, so much misery to carry around in her head without it doing anyone the slightest bit of good. She would rather lose herself in a book.

Luna pulls the hood of her thin summer jacket over her head, folds her arms tight around herself and starts walking towards the tower blocks waiting in the distance like concrete gravestones.

Luna steps in out of the rain and the doors swing shut behind her with a dull thud. The rain still lashes the windows, but in here it is dry. She pushes back her hood. Water drips from her jacket onto the slippery floor, joining the wet footprints of everyone who came in before her.

The lobby is a drab concrete space that smells of old carpet and cleaning fluid. Along one wall hang rows of postboxes, some with rusting locks, others plastered with stickers. Against the other wall stands a withered plant in a plastic pot.

But on the floor, in the middle of this cheerless space, lies a frayed rug, and on it a collection of objects that look as though they've come straight out of a skip: a single boot, men's size, leather, well worn; a teddy bear missing an eye; a box of broken Christmas baubles; an alarm clock with no hands. And a case.

Behind all this, on a plastic stool that has clearly been borrowed from his mother's kitchen, sits Otis. His T-shirt is too big and slipping crookedly off one shoulder, but he surveys his display with excitement in his eyes and his legs swinging.

"Hey, neighbour!" he calls eagerly when he spots Luna. "Want to buy something from me? I've got the best treasure in the whole city!"

Luna is still dripping. A wet strand of hair is plastered to her cheek and her canvas trainers squeak with every step. Despite everything — Vince, the man on the bus, the rain, the long day — the ghost of a smile appears on her face.

"That's an interesting collection, Otis," she says, looking over the junk on display.

"What are you after?" Otis hops off his stool and grabs the boot, holding it up in triumph like a trophy. "Look, a really good boot! Practically new!"

Luna raises an eyebrow. "And what am I supposed to do with one men's boot?"

Otis thinks for a moment. "For your boyfriend?"

"I don't have a one-legged boyfriend," Luna replies with a laugh.

Otis grins, showing his crooked front teeth. "Okay, okay…" He puts the boot back and turns to his collection.

Luna goes over to the postboxes and takes a small key from her pocket. She opens the one marked 907 and pulls out a few envelopes. All addressed to her, Luna Young. She glances at the senders: energy company, health insurance, phone provider. Bills.

"What about this case, then?"

She tucks the post under her arm and looks over her shoulder at Otis, who's holding a case out in front of him.

The case is almost futuristic. Its corners are sharp and precise, and it is made of dark grey metal with a matte sheen under the fluorescent light. Not a single dent or scratch in sight. It looks like the kind of case that holds secret documents in action films, Luna thinks. Interesting. It doesn't belong with the rest of Otis's junk at all.

Luna takes it. Her fingers close around the handle and she frowns.

"It's so light," she murmurs. Luna turns the case over in her hands. No keyhole. No combination lock. Only a thin, almost invisible line down one side. Suddenly she has an idea.

"How much do you want for it?" Luna asks.

Otis's eyes light up. He's got a customer.

"Sweets," Otis says firmly. "But ice cream's fine too. My mum only gives me rice and broccoli 'cause I didn't want to go to that stupid summer camp."

Luna pulls a sympathetic face. "That sounds like a fate worse than death."

"That's what I said!" Otis throws his palms up in the air. "But she won't listen."

Luna looks at the case, tilting her head. There's something about it, something that pulls at her curiosity. A plan is beginning to form in her mind, like a story writing itself.

"All right, I'll take it," she says. "I think I've still got a Cornetto for you."

Otis just about jumps for joy. "Deal!"

"Okay," Luna says, and she can't help smiling at his excitement. "Give me ten minutes."

Otis hands her the case with both hands, as if it were a ceremonial handover. The gleaming material feels cool and smooth under her fingers.

She takes the case in one hand, the post in the other, and walks to the lift. Presses the button. Waits. The lift comes down slowly, as always, as though it might lose the will to live at any moment. The doors slide open with a squeak.

Luna steps in, turns and presses the button marked 9. Otis waves at her from his stool, his grin wide and satisfied.

The doors slide shut.

As the lift groans its way upwards, Luna holds the case against her and turns it over in her hands. Her thumb runs across the smooth surface. No leftover sticker, no luggage tag, no initials. Nothing to give her a clue. Whoever owned this case had left no trace at all. Not on the outside, at least.

But there is bound to be a label somewhere inside. Any minute now she'll open the case and, surely, find a name. Maybe an address, maybe a phone number. The owner will turn out to be fascinating. That's the idea. Someone who has travelled somewhere impossible, or is working on something mysterious, or… maybe it belongs to the man of her dreams. It could be one of those encounters from her books. A story she would later recount to Zoey and Alex in glorious detail.

The corner of Luna's mouth curls up.

Or it's just an empty case belonging to no one. That's possible too. But that would be disappointing.

The lift stops with a jolt. Ninth floor.

The doors slide open.

Luna steps out of the lift onto her floor and walks down the corridor. Her wet trainers squeak on the green linoleum. Outside door 907 she stops, sets the case at her feet and fishes the key from her jacket pocket.

The key slides into the lock. The door swings open.

Home.

The heat hits her like a wall. The studio has no air conditioning (too expensive), and on warm summer days like this the place turns into a sauna. Luna peels off her wet jacket and hangs it on a hook by the front door. Water drips down and forms a puddle on the floor.

Let me have a look around, while I've got the chance.

Luna's studio isn't big. One room, with a corner for the bed, a corner for the kitchen and, in between, everything a single twenty-something could need.

The furniture is second-hand and proud. Chairs, no two alike, all painted by Luna herself in colours that almost match, but not quite. A table covered in scratches and coffee rings, as if it has lived through more stories than she has. A cupboard that goes with nothing and is perfect for exactly that reason.

On the walls hang posters, sketches and paintings, some stuck up with tape, crooked, overlapping.

And books. Books everywhere.

They lie in stacks beside the bed. They stand two rows deep in the overstuffed bookcase, some wedged horizontally across the top of the others. They pile on the floor and on the windowsill beside a cactus growing crookedly towards the light. Fantasy, science fiction and romance. Some of the covers are gorgeous, others frankly kitsch.

Luna walks over to the fridge. It is a small miracle the thing can stay upright under the weight of all the magnets and photos.

At the top is an old photo, yellowed at the edges. Flora and Simon in their garden, years ago. Flora is laughing with her whole face, her hair in a messy bun, paint smudges on her forearms. She's holding a little girl with blonde plaits on her hip: Luna, three or four years old, her head against her mother's shoulder, a secretly picked violet in her hand. Behind them Simon stands beside a half-built birdhouse on a workbench, his gaze not quite on the camera but on something just off to the side. Probably something that needed fixing. The garden behind them is already recognisably Flora's garden: painted flowerpots in a row, a wooden trellis of climbing plants leaning slightly to one side. A snapshot from a life that now feels an eternity ago.

The rest are Polaroids. Luna with Alex and Zoey. Three faces, three grins, in ever-changing combinations. On a sunny terrace with cocktails. In the park in sunglasses. In Luna's own studio, sprawled across the sofa, legs tangled together. Some hang crooked. Some overlap. These are her people, held together with magnets.

Luna sets the post down on the worktop and puts the case beside it. She crouches next to it and turns it over in her hands. There is no visible way to open it. Only that thin, almost invisible line along the edge. A seam suggesting the case can open, if only you know how.

Luna's fingers glide over the seam, searching for a hidden lever or button. Nothing. The material feels strange under her skin, not quite metal, not quite plastic. She tries to force her nails into the gap and prise the two halves apart. Nothing. She tilts the case and shakes it gently. No shifting, no rattling, not the faintest sign that anything is inside.

"How does this thing open?!" she mutters aloud to herself.

She stretches her hand out over the case and waves it in a broad, theatrical gesture, as if she were a sorceress from a fairy tale.

Look at her. She doesn't believe in magic, but when she thinks no one's watching…

"Open Sesame!" she cries, her voice pointedly dramatic. "Reveal your secrets!"

She waits.

The case does nothing.

The fridge hums.

Somewhere behind the wall, the neighbour coughs.

Luna lowers her hand and shrugs. "Suit yourself," she says to the case.

She stands, wipes her hands on her trousers and goes to the fridge. She pulls open the freezer door and a wave of cold air washes over her. A welcome relief in the heat of the studio. She rummages through the pile of frozen things. A pizza. A ready meal whose use-by date is getting dangerously close. Half a bag of ice cubes. And there, right at the back, exactly what she was after: two Cornettos.

She grabs them both, nudges the freezer door shut with her hip and heads back to the front door.

She steps into the corridor, pulls the door shut behind her and returns to the lift with two Cornettos in her hands and an unsolved riddle waiting back in her studio.

The lift carries Luna back down, the two Cornettos already beginning to soften in the warmth. She steps into the lobby, and there is Otis, still sitting on his plastic stool.

His face lights up when he sees her.

"As promised!" Luna says, and holds out an ice cream to him.

Otis snatches it out of her hands as if it were gold. He tears off the paper wrapper with impatient little fingers and starts licking straight away, before the ice cream can melt.

Luna sits down next to him on the edge of the frayed rug, legs crossed. She unwraps her own ice cream and takes a bite of it.

For a moment it's quiet. Just two people eating ice creams in a lobby while, outside, the rain taps against the windows.

"It's a strange case you gave me, though," Luna says after a while. "I can't get it open. Tried everything."

Otis looks at her, cheeks full. He swallows. "Too late! I don't take returns."

He takes another big bite and says, with his mouth full, "I tried too, by the way. Was hoping there'd be loads of money in it!"

"No such luck." Luna gives a shrug. "No wonder someone dumped it on the street. What use is a case that won't open?"

"Dunno." Otis shrugs, his attention already back on his ice cream.

Luna gives him a curious look. "Where did you find it, anyway?"

Otis thinks, eyes turned upwards. "I can't remember exactly where it was. By the public pool, I think. Or no, wait…" He taps a finger against his forehead, as if that might help his brain along. "Near Wonderworld! It was lying in the bushes somewhere. I nearly walked straight past without seeing it."

"Wonderworld?" Luna repeats. She takes another bite of her ice cream and thinks for a moment, her eyes on the rain tapping at the window. "Doesn't really matter. I'll drop it at the lost and found tomorrow. And if no one comes to claim it, it can go to the charity shop. Maybe someone can put legs on it and turn it into a side table."

Otis pulls a face as if he's just bitten into a lemon. "That'd be a really ugly table!”

Luna gives him a playful poke. "Hey! Don't knock my brilliant idea!”

Otis's childish laughter echoes through the lobby.

They finish their ice creams in comfortable silence. Outside, the rain has almost stopped; only a few last drops still tap against the glass.

When Luna's done, she gathers up their crumpled wrappers. She stands and walks to the bin in the corner of the lobby.

"Thanks for the Cornetto!" Otis calls after her.

Luna turns and smiles. "You're welcome. Good luck with your shop."

But Otis has already stopped listening. An elderly man with a dachshund on a lead has just come in, and Otis is instantly back in his element. "Hey, mister! Want to buy something from me? I've got the best treasure in the whole city! Look, a really good boot!"

Luna shakes her head, smiling, and walks back to the lift. It arrives with its usual squeak. Luna steps in and presses 9.

Thanks for reading! #

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