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JoMazelis
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linings of expensive coats
and jackets. Amanda had
seen a dark-haired woman
go in there once, twice,
sometimes three times a
week. She carried a large
loose package wrapped
in newspaper and string.
And although the parcel
was big it was easy to
see that it was light; like
a piece of imprisoned air.
The woman had a face
that was very narrow and
pale, with a small pointed
nose and big eyes with
dark shadows under them.
She did not have a winter
coat, just an old shapeless
jacket that she pulled tight
around her thin body. She
wore black lace-up shoes,
no stockings and no socks
either. On her head she
tied a woollen scarf that
might have once been red,
but was now faded to a
mucky uneven pink.
If Monsieur Arbot had
a customer inside the
shop she waited outside,
hugging her newspaper
package and moving from
one foot to the other as
if the pavement burned
the soles of her feet.
When the customer had
gone, she went inside and
laid her bundle on the
counter, then crossed her
arms over her chest and
hugged herself. Monsieur
Arbot stood opposite her
on the other side of his
counter; he had a small
paraffin stove back there
and stayed near it for most
of the day. Carefully, he
unwrapped the package
the woman had brought,
opening it out so that the
artificial flowers lay in a
loose bunch before him.
Usually, when that was
done, he would get a white
bowl from the shelf and
fill it with steaming coffee
from the pot he kept on