The Emporium of Illusions (2/8) By Andy Bilton

(1/8), (2/8), (3/8), (4/8), (5/8), (6/8), (7/8), (8/8).

Most days I would have to wait for a space to clear. The boys from the local school on their lunch break swarming in front of the shop, pushing and wrestling with each other to get the best view of the window display contents, in much the same way I often thought, as they would be crawling all over each other to see the topless dancers in the cage at the back of the Earl De Grey Pub, when they were older and their school days over. Whilst waiting for a space to clear I kept my patience for I empathised with their feelings of excitement and wonderment. Looking at the window display was like gazing in to some huge glass-fronted treasure chest.

It was crowded, filled to bursting with tricks and jokes and toys and magical apparatus, bright red handkerchiefs, glittering stainless steel rings, shiny black wands with brilliant white ends and boxes of all sizes with gold diamonds painted on the sides.

Yet though it was voluminously stocked, it was ordered, neat and tidy. Below or to the side of each item, was a gold card and on each card in beautiful flowing, fountain pen, handwriting, was the name and price of each product. I knew, though I had never seen her do it, that it was Michelle that had painstakingly scribed each of those elegant price tags. That was the way that she would write. I could see her through a small gap in the display, a portion, no more than six inches square that allowed a perfect view of the face of whoever was standing at the counter inside the shop. It was like watching her framed in my own private, miniature television screen.

She has a look of Jennifer Aniston about her - golden hair parted in the middle to hang shoulder length at either side of her face but flicked slightly and seductively forward at the ends at the front, petite nose and small delicate brown eyes that narrow ever so slightly when she laughs and when she laughs, she does so through a smile, lips closed, showing none of the interior of her mouth - gentle and dainty.

She noticed me noticing her, I knew this for she would cast the occasional glance my way and smile. Originally I was embarrassed by this, felt guilty, like the young boy caught flicking through a copy of Penthouse by his mother and I would look down or to the side or anywhere but straight ahead and sometimes I would just walk off, with the blood rushing to my face so fast I felt I would faint. I would maybe miss a day then, not go to the joke shop or even step in to the arcade. Alter my route. But I couldn't manage this for more than one day and again I would find myself standing outside Binnington's and watching through that six inch space.

Her smiling at me became a regular occurrence and I started to get those feelings that I had got when first chasing Helen and last Wednesday I finally did something about it.

Continued...Next Page (3/8)

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