Ellie was busy in the back working on Erin O’Donovan’s blue goose-feather hat when she heard the shop bell ring. She tucked a few pins into the circle of crêpe and smoothed the blue snippets of feather off her clothes and lap. There must be a customer, she thought as she went to the front. She stopped. The boy was standing there. He’d been watching the place for a day or two from a vantage point across the street. Casing the joint more likely, thought Ellie, preparing to rob her cash or steal her stock. She was lucky she’d heard him sneak in, and her eyes involuntarily flew to the grey steel cash box that lay hidden under the counter.
She wouldn’t give in without a fight, she decided. She wasn’t scared of him.
‘Mrs . . .’
She took a breath. Here it came: the threat, the demand. Funny, he looked a lot younger up close. He might only be twelve or thirteen, his skinny face covered in freckles, his mousy hair standing on end.
‘Mrs?’
‘Yes?’ She tried to appear nonchalant, as if she was used to young thugs coming into her shop every day of the week.
‘Mrs, I want to buy a hat.’
Ellie stopped. Had she misheard him or had he actually said he wanted to buy a hat? Purchase one of her creations? She must have misheard. Perhaps he was trying to trick her, put her off her guard. Send her in the back for something while he made off with her stock or the takings, or both. Kids like him could run as fast as hell.
‘I want to buy a hat,’ he said, more determined. ‘A special hat for someone.’
Ellie was taken aback. He sounded genuine.
‘I have some money,’ he offered.
She shook herself. He was a customer, after all, in search of one of her creations; age and size and the fact that he was a mere schoolboy should not come into it.
‘Have you seen one that you would like?’
The boy shook his head. ‘No,’ he admitted. ‘This hat has got to be made special.’
Ellie’s eyes widened. ‘It might work out quite expensive,’ she said gently.
He stood there, still undeterred. ‘That’s all right.’
She watched as he stuffed his hands in his pockets, his feet shuffling in his trainers. Poor kid. Maybe it was a dare!
‘What kind of hat were you looking for?’
‘I dunno.’ He shrugged. ‘Something big and beautiful, with flowers and all kinds of things on it.’
Ellie wondered was he being serious. ‘Do you mind me asking who this hat is for?’
‘For my granny.’
‘Well, maybe your grandmother could come in here herself and choose a hat,’ suggested Ellie, proffering one of the fancy new cards that had been designed for her.
‘No, she can’t,’ he said firmly. ‘Anyways it’s a surprise for her birthday.’
Ellie was taken aback by his determination.
‘I want a hat like that.’
He was pointing to a broad-brimmed up-brim with a simple wide bandeau of lemon round it.
‘But with all kinds of things on it.’
‘What kind of things?’ Ellie asked, suddenly curious.
‘Things that are special to my gran.’
He suddenly brandished an old sepia photo at her. It was of a young woman wearing a broad-brimmed hat trimmed with roses and ribbon, her dark eyes laughing, her head thrown back, relaxed.
‘What a lovely photograph!’
‘My gran likes hats,’ he said, serious. ‘And she likes all kinds of things.’
Perhaps he was genuine and she could let him have a simple base hat with a few artificial flowers to satisfy him.
‘Hold on a second.’
She darted in the back and rummaged around. There must be one somewhere. She found it and plucked a handful of roses and leaf stems made of nylon, which could easily be mounted on a piece of pale pink ribbon. She’d show him. Her fingers flew as she attached them lightly with pins. There, done. She carried it out.
‘What about this?’ she said, placing it on the hatstand on the counter.
He couldn’t mask the disappointment in his young face.
‘Would your grandmother like this?’
‘No. That’s not it at all. It’s got to be a big hat with all the things my granny cares about on it.’
Ellie was intrigued.
‘I made a list.’
The list was on a folded sheet of school copy-book paper.
‘My granny will be a hundred years old next month,’ he said proudly. ‘So it has to be the best present in the world. My mam says she already has everything she needs, but she’s always loved hats so I thought I might get her a new one.’
‘She’s a hundred years old?’
‘Yeah. She lives in the Charlemont Home. They look after her real well because sometimes she forgets things,’ he confided, ‘but a hat like that might remind her of all the special days in her life. Help her remember.’
Ellie peered at the scrawly writing. He’d jotted down Lillian’s name and age, address, date of her wedding and details of her family. It was a start but it wasn’t enough to document a rich life well lived.
Pulling up the stool from behind the counter, she asked Tommy to sit down for she needed him to tell her more about Lillian Butler, his grandmother.
Later, sitting in the shop and trying to think of a design that would suit such a hat, she laughed to herself. Kim would kill her. This went against all her concepts of a business catering for stylish well-heeled customers. Other designers had privileged customers and wealthy socialites clamouring for their services, while she had a kid determined to buy the best for his centenarian grandmother. It was some challenge.