A Nightingale in Parkleigh Square

Chapter Seven

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M olly stepped off the bus near their first destination on their tour of the competition: a boutique famous for decorating its store early for the season every year. Bradley followed, his phone in hand and a scarf around his neck that looked like a knockoff of one of Van Stewart's, which he had been eyeing in the new winter catalog.

Molly was wishing she had brought one of her own, puffing some warm air on her hands as the bus pulled away with a gust of cool wind. Wet and cold, might as well be Manhattan Island when the fog drops like a brick , she thought. Don't they decorate windows in the Caribbean?

"What do you think?" asked Bradley. "I see wow factor. The tree, definitely."

The entire window was draped in pink, with a tree covered in pink glass baubles. A panther made of pink diamonds on a rotating platform was circling a bottle of tinted designer perfume.

"Tasteful but over the top," said Molly, stuffing her hands into her pockets. Determination was beating the cold. "I have an urge to watch retro cartoons now."

"I see that," said Bradley. He snapped a photo. "I think Van Stewart's will have a better showing, but that's just me."

"Okay, let's start walking towards the big stuff. I want to see what kind of game the other decorators are bringing," said Molly. "We need to be back at work this afternoon, because I don't want Nina to handle the deliveries alone if they make it."

"Right. Let's hit the bigger department stores in progress, then make our way to the upscale boutiques and see what kind of space they'll be working with," said Bradley, checking the map on his phone. "Is Nina okay with this idea?"

"She's wrapped up in the design part of things as usual, and that's purely what the client says it needs. Somebody else should worry about what we're up against in the city, and that's going to be me," said Molly. "I think the key to making Van Stewart's debut a success is to make sure they're not comparing what we did to anybody else's work."

"How?" said Bradley.

"We should be incomparable," said Molly. "We just have to be enough better or enough different that everybody says 'wow'. Never 'wow...but' — just 'wow.'"

"Wow. I think I'm following your logic, but I'm not really sure," said Bradley.

"You know what I mean," said Molly, confidently.

Standing out was the only way to survive, and the only way to do it was to look at the situation from all sides — including sides that belonged to other people's projects. What if somebody was doing something identical? What if some legendary company had turned a little lazy this year, giving them an advantage? So many factors, so little time to crunch the data to their advantage.

"Selfridge's decor was created by one of the top stagers in the city this year," reported Bradley, reading from his phone's screen. "It looks like they've been in business forever. Like, Paris Printemps at Christmas kind of business."

"Really." Exactly the kind of decor they needed to scout. Bradley was starting to think like her.

Most of the large stores were still works in progress — in Fenwick, large garlands made of shiny baubles were going up under the labor of a very professional-looking crew. A large, beautiful-looking tree had been delivered to Harrods, brought in after hours and in the process of being decorated with hand-blown golden bird ornaments dusted with glitter glass.

Bradley's jaw dropped a little. "That's stunning," he said. "Can we beat that?" He turned to Molly.

"I don't know if we have to meet that standard," said Molly. "But — sure. Yeah. Why not?" Never let it be said that a firm from New York could get dusted in a fight, right? She tossed her head. "We could throw a little extra chrome on the tree, maybe get a star for the top that makes that kind of statement."

"I think those stars might be covered in real gold foil." Near the top of the tree, a decorator hoisted by the hydraulic lift was tucking one end of a garland of polished gold beads into the foliage.

They took a selfie with the large Father Christmas all in white and trimmed in white fur, placed in the middle of a winter woodland scene at one department store's entrance. In the lobby of one of the many museums in transition for the season, Bradley held their cups of hot chocolate as Molly crept between some animatronic elves in a fake children's winter wonderland to photograph a gingerbread cottage occupied by a life-like Snow White.

"There's probably a walking tour for this," said Bradley. "You know, like the Ripper one and the landmark ones the girl on the bus told us about."

"I'll look it up," said Molly, carefully picking her way through the snow again. "Yikes. This stuff wasn't made for boots with heels."

"Ooh, security guard at three o' clock," said Bradley. "Better hustle." He retreated towards the front doors as Molly found her way free again and trotted after him.

"That's the work of the top London window stager, too," she remarked.

"How'd you know?" he asked.

"I saw their logo on some of the crew's jumpsuits. Next year they'll probably have our job at Van Stewart's," she said. "But if we impress, we should have something bigger and better to handle than the store in Madison."

"I liked Madison," said Bradley. "I always thought I'd save up and come if we could tour a cheese factory."

"Yeah, I liked Madison, too, but it wasn't much of a challenge, was it?" said Molly. "We weren't moving up. What's the point of building a solid business that lasts if you can't move up? We were ready, Skyline just didn't see it, so we were always going to be teetering right on the edge, basically surviving if enough boutiques outside Manhattan had the budget to put up some decorations."

"Are you saying this is essential to keep from folding?" Bradley looked horrified. He'd never thought about that aspect of Display by Design, clearly — the part with budget limits and canceled projects, and setbacks with the books that had Val stalling some billings department with creative tactics until they scraped the payment.

"It's not untrue." Molly sighed. "Not as untrue as we'd like. But that's what we're doing here."

"It feels totally different when you put it like that," said Bradley, sounding disappointed.

She hugged his arm. "Come on, I didn't say it to be depressing," she said. "We don't have to think about it now, do we? Things worked out."

"Lucky thing the manager at Van Stewart's changed her mind," he said, with a little smile coming back.

"Thought you'd have to go back to that falafel stand if we folded?"

Designer boutiques were decorated with snow-covered holly and poinsettias, and with sequined baubles forming cone-shaped Christmas trees. Molly took photos of close details, of items that looked both commercial and designer. Her eye could tell the difference between the two — the crystal cat was real, whereas the baubles were simply cheap ones decorated by sequins hand-applied.

Hand-blown antique ornaments from Germany decorated a silver tinsel tree in the window of an antiques dealer. Molly snapped a picture, liking the color factor. It reminded her of something she couldn't put her finger on at the moment.

"We should be going pretty soon," said Bradley, checking his phone. "What time did Nina think she'd be finished?"

"Around one."

"It's past twelve already," he said.

Molly checked her phone, with a groan of realization for the time and the 'low battery' bar. "Tell me I put the recharge device in my pocket today," she said, digging for it. "Thank you fate, I'm saved." She pulled it out and touched it to the phone. Nothing happened.

"Turn it around," suggested Bradley.

"I'm doing it right, I've done it a million times," said Molly, defensively. "Crap, it's broken. That's what I get for ordering cheap."

"Order a replacement with two day shipping," suggested Bradley. "I'd let you use mine, but I'm too poor to afford one."

"I hope the delivery isn't on its way." She tried to check the status of the delivery before utter power failure set in. "There's a cab, let's hustle," she said. She threw her hand in the air, two fingers blasting a whistle that had hailed attention from more than one idling driver in Broadway traffic. Even the day of rideshare and ride apps hadn't made some things obsolete in the city.

As it pulled away with them inside, another person stopped running towards it, a man in a suit and overcoat who had just exited the nearby bank. In the side mirror's reflection, his arm slumped with disappointment.

Molly tapped the driver, and opened the cab door as it rolled to a stop. "Hey!" she shouted. She motioned to the disappointed would-be passenger. "Come on!"

He looked surprised — and a little suspicious — but jogged closer. "Are you certain?" he asked.

"Would we stop if we weren't? Climb in," she said, moving over to make room as Bradley shifted enough to let the stranger squeeze in and close the door.

"Where are you going?" she asked

He named an address she wasn’t familiar with.

"Is that anywhere near Holloway?" Molly asked, as the driver shrugged in a 'could be worse' fashion. "Okay, let's go," she said, and the cab pulled away.

She held out her hand. "Molly," she said. "This is Bradley."

"Tristan." The stranger shook hands with both of them. "Thanks for the ride. I'm rather late as it is."

"Yeah, I could tell by the way you were running," she said. "I've missed a cab or two in my time with regrettable results. Being New Yorkers, we get your pain."

"Work or dental appointment?" joked Bradley.

"Work. I'm a liaison for a wholesale dealer," he said. "I missed my meeting already, I suspect. There was a long queue for the cash machine."

"Feel your pain there, too," said Molly. "But unless you deal in nuclear weapons through some shady mobster at the docks, you can probably reschedule, right?"

He laughed. "Home decor is scarcely a vital negotiation, so yes, the world will not end," he answered. "Only my employer's patience. It's our busy season. You can imagine."

"The name on your bag — is that the business's name?" asked Bradley. "I saw that label on some of the ornament boxes they were using in one of the department stores."

"That would be our busy season in action," replied Tristan. "Nothing very outstanding, just the typical sort that people and business mass purchase. You'll see them all over the city — the same kind that are all over America right now, I should imagine."

"Nothing wrong with that," said Molly. "I like bargains. I'm in the decor business myself, the part where you take the stuff out of the boxes and put it on trees."

"Ah, I've met a few decorators in this business," he said. "You might be the first Americans I've met in the trade, however."

"We got asked in to do a big job," said Molly. "No big deal. It's all in a day's work for us." Her pride puffed slightly, since this was something she'd never been able to say before.

"Congratulations," he said. "Here's my stop." He motioned, and put his hand on the door's lever. "Again, thanks. Let me give you some notes to cover my part of the ride."

"No problem," said Molly, shrugging. "We've got it. Think of it like a Christmas present."

"I'll return the favor someday. Look me up on LinkedIn, I have a profile linked to the company," he said. "Maybe we'll meet again in business someday."

The cab dropped them off at their lane next. Molly checked the status update on the shipment. "Still not here," she said. "It's marked 'delayed' now, so the truck must have other stops to make."

"That buys us time," said Bradley, paying the driver. "We could go shopping for office supplies and pick up those mannequins I saw in the listing," he suggested.

"We do need those, and the prop luggage is ready to be picked up," said Molly. "Let's grab the receipts and check in with Val to make certain the shipping company didn't phone about the delay."

They walked past the pub where some of the regulars were going in for lunch. The boy who was usually digging through the garbage was sitting by one of the bins, peeling the plastic casing off of some wires from a broken alarm clock.

Molly stopped. "Hey," she said. "Got any use for a broken power charge hub?" she asked, taking it out. "Unless you're the wizard who can fix it?" There's always hope , she thought.

He climbed to his feet, and took hold of the device for inspection. "No, it's broken," he said. "There's a crack. See? It overcharged." He pointed to a hairline fracture in the casing.

"Good eye," said Molly. "So you want to keep it?"

"Yeah." He stuck it in the pocket of his short trousers, which were full of pockets like a pair of cargo pants. He didn't say thanks, not that Molly cared.

"Want to see my stuff?" he asked.

She exchanged glances with Bradley. "Okay?" she said. "What kind of stuff are we talking about?" Every kid has a collection. Back home, it was usually video games, and you didn't usually show them to strangers — but maybe stranger danger hadn't caught on in this street, who knows?

"Just stuff," he said. He showed them the way, past some old pallets and a broken television's shell, through a hole which had once been a window, but was now covered by a loose piece of sheet metal. The room had been boarded up, probably because of water damage to its walls and ceiling, furnished with old folding tables and benches built out of crates, some turned upright to be filled with wires, gears, and circuit boards. Some carpentry tools, like a saw and hammer, hung on nails above the work space.

"What do you do in here?" asked Molly, skeptically.

"I make stuff," he said. He pointed. "I made this. And this, too." Devices that looked as if they were built out of welded mechano framework and different gears and blades. "I'll show you."

He flicked a switch, and the blades began spinning, with the framework lifting and lowering, turning in different directions as the gears inserted between some of the frames rolled on slanted spindles. It was actually kind of impressive.

"Cool," said Molly. "What is it?"

"It's just a fan. You can point it any direction or angle you want," he said. "You lock the position in place here." He pointed to some pins in the framework's holes.

"Okay, so it doesn't have to blow on your face or off in the corner," said Molly. "I see the uses."

Bradley looked closer at a robot-like device. "Does this thing actually walk?" he asked. "It has joints."

"Yeah, but I don't have the circuits I need to put censors in so it doesn't walk into walls and things," said the boy. "It needs more power."

He was already disassembling the battery device, inspecting its inner parts. "I can use part of it," he said, shrugging.

"What do you use things like that for?" asked Molly.

"For power. I need lots of batteries. Solar panels are good, too." He pointed to the high window above the table, an old transom with a shelf screwed to the wall below, where several mini solar chargers, like the kind from outdoor twinkle lights, were wired together, and connected to a charging station below. It powered a circuit strip into which several devices were plugged, including a laptop that had been built with parts from several different models.

"You're a genius or something," said Molly. "Look at this, it's like a mad mechanic's lab in here. You look like you can build just about anything."

"Naturally," he answered, shrugging. "I just like doing it. Anything that has a motor or circuit board is easy, if you know how."

"Molly, he built a lighted billboard in miniature out of old light bright frames," said Bradley, bending down to look at the invention under the robot's bench. "It has a remote control, even."

"That was before I built the laptop," said the boy. "Now I use remote software." He tossed the battery into a box filled with them.

"What's your name?" asked Bradley.

"Ki," he answered.

"You're not from around here, are you, Ki?" said Molly.

"No. My mom moved here to get a job. She said my grandmother and me were too much to look after at her old one. We came to England last year." He unscrewed the back of a robotic floor cleaner.

"We're not from around here, either," said Molly. "I'm Molly, by the way."

He made a noise of contempt. "I knew you were from the States," he said. "You can hear yourselves talk."

"Don't be such a wise guy," she said. "I was being sympathetic, all right?"

"Sorry." He removed a circuit board, and put it in the pile.

"Anyway, shouldn't you be in school?" said Molly. "I don't see any other kids around here." It wasn't winter break yet, she knew that much.

His reply was another shrug. "Have you ever been to M.I.T.?" he asked.

"No, sorry," she said. "I think one of their grads probably invented that jump starter disc I just gave you, but that's as close as I've come."

"That place is cool." He put the robot frame into a crate of electronic shells. "That's where I'd like to go someday."

"What all stuff do you use?" asked Bradley, peering into a bucket of aluminum cans.

"Everything," said Ki. "I can build with lots of stuff. I made the robot from smashed cans and some metal casing from a toaster. The roller coaster is old food tins and the track has magnets in the tubing."

He switched it on, and little metal cars began following electromagnets around a miniature course of loops, hills, and barrel rolls. Tiny little plastic figurines were piled around it, and Molly guessed they had been passengers in previous demonstrations. Ki grinned, like this was one of his favorites.

Molly spotted a perpetual motion machine like from her old high school science lab, with two birds endlessly bobbing down to the water. This one was made of old ball bearings and springs.

"I think this is all pretty cool," she said. "Thanks for showing us around."

"Maybe I can build you something someday," he said.

"Do you sell your stuff?" asked Bradley. From the look Ki gave him, the answer was an evident 'no.'

Upstairs, Molly unlocked the door to their studio. "Maybe he should be in one of those schools for kids who are creative thinkers," she said. "My cousin had a kid who went to one, and they spent time building things, learning to take stuff apart, and studied more math in a week than I would want in a lifetime."

"I think he should be in school no matter what kind, since he's obviously ditching," said Bradley. "School's probably boring, but he'll never get into M.I.T. without it."

"Did you want to go to a fancy school?" asked Molly, as the lock finally turned.

"All the elite design schools turned down my applications, so it's not like it mattered," he answered.

Nina was rolling out the decor drape, ticking marks with a sewing pencil at intervals. "You two were running errands forever," she said, without looking up.

"We did some shopping, met with the chrome artist, and greeted the neighbors," said Molly. "All in a day's, you know?" She tossed her coat on the box which formerly contained the fabric. "How was the Van Stewart ice house?"

"Fine. I covered the windows and posted the first day of the countdown, then I came back here to turn the measurements into strips of affordable material for lining them," she said.

"I wish we could have scored a better deal on this stuff," said Molly, working the opposite end. "But the frames were just so ... meh. Who was going to notice Christmas cheer with that paint color?"

"Maybe they'll repaint next year," said Nina. "They're not finished with renovations, I heard the crew saying that the place is due for a complete makeover after the first year. I suppose so they can see if the new branch is successful."

Bradley plugged his phone into the charging station. "Guys, did you realize it's Thanksgiving in less than two weeks?" he said.

"I know, because we're doing the windows ...." Molly's words trailed off. "Yeah. You're right. It's Thanksgiving, and all I was thinking about was work. How crazy is that?"

"We are in England. Technically, they don't care," said Nina.

"Only because the Pilgrims took the best holiday for binge eating and relaxing with them when they sailed from Plymouth or wherever," said Molly. "Am I crazy, or should we do something?"

"Do what?" said Bradley. "Roast a turkey? There's no oven."

"But there could be. One of those tabletop ones," said Molly. "Come on, let's have something, even if it's side dishes from cans and some turkey lunch meat. We could invite some of our neighbors to dinner. What about Ki and his family?"

"Who's Ki?" asked Nina.

"He's the kid who wants our broken electronics, he's a genius with a lab in an old shed downstairs," said Molly. "It could be fun having people over. I know how to make killer mashed potatoes from an instant pack."

"I can make cranberry sauce if it's from a can," said Bradley.

"Wouldn't this be a lot of work?" said Nina.

"We could celebrate on Saturday instead of waiting, when the cleanup crew will be at the Billington," said Molly. "It's our chance to unwind before we unveil the windows to the public."

"It's crazy. I don't know," said Nina, chewing on her fingernail. "I guess ... if it makes you happy, I could make invitations. And something with pumpkin, maybe, if it'll cook in a tiny oven. You know in my family, for Thanksgiving we had carnitas and conchas, not ham and apple pie."

"Maybe traditional is too much to hope for," said Molly. "Like I care. Let's have turkey tetrazzini. I can make pasta, I'm genius at it, if you can make some kind of dessert."

"Fine," said Nina. "But only if it makes you happy."

"How right am I, or how right am I?" said Molly. "It's bringing us closer already." She ignored the looks exchanged by Nina and Bradley. "I'll stop at the supermarket after work tomorrow, and find some stuff. It's not like our fridge in the loft is storing anything but an empty plastic butter compartment."

"Ooh, would they have the stuff to make a green bean casserole?" asked Bradley. "I love those."

"How about flyers instead of invitations?" said Nina, opening the digital design software on her tablet. "Those would be easier to post on people's doors."

When the boy who delivered the bread answered his door, he stared at them with owl eyes. Bradley smiled and held out the sheet of paper. "Thanksgiving dinner invite?" he said.

The boy ran off, yelling for his mother.

Nobody answered the door at the house of the elderly Asian woman, so Molly folded one to slide through the letter flap. They put one in Ki's letterbox also.

"What's this?" the publican asked, looking at the sheet Molly handed him.

"It's an invite to Thanksgiving dinner," she shouted over the jukebox.

"What?"

"It's an American thing," she answered. "Bring a dish. The neighborhood is welcome."