The Possession of Mr Cave by Matt Haig

Author:Matt Haig
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub, mobi, pdf
Tags: General, Fiction
ISBN: 9781407015910
Publisher: Random House
Published: 2008-09-04T07:00:00+00:00

You had gone to school.

The shop hadn't opened but I was sitting at the counter with some benzene, a clean rag and a dismantled late-Victorian bracket clock. Halfway through cleaning one of the wheels I sensed a presence outside and looked up to see the gargantuan figure of George Weeks behind the glass, his pale face looking in with an intense expression I couldn't quite interpret. How long had he been there? I had no idea, as I had been fully absorbed with the clock for at least ten minutes, but once I had seen him I left it and went over to open the door.

'Hello,' he said, in a voice that seemed to come from somewhere further away than his mouth.

He was smartly dressed, with his neat hair and chequered shirt and his tie, and he quietly apologised for being early. I beckoned him inside, and he listened mutely as I ran through everything.

I concluded by showing him the auction catalogues behind the counter. 'Now, George, do you have anything you want to ask me?'

He nodded and pointed over to the wooden case that housed the percussion pistol. 'What's in there?'

'Oh,' I said. 'Just some old . . . bits and pieces. Sewing things. To help me repair upholstery . . . fabrics . . .'

'Can I look?'

'No,' I said, the word stopping his hand as it reached forward. 'No, George, you can't.'

I was already thinking this was a mistake. The whole thing. I should never have agreed to this. If only Cynthia hadn't gone and acquired herself a hernia. If only Mrs Weeks hadn't had such an effect on me.

In my mind I rehearsed the conversation I would have with his mother ('Mrs Weeks, I truly feel George's talents would be better suited elsewhere'). However, I have to say that these early doubts were slowly erased through the day. Indeed, George showed himself to be a highly interested and capable young man. He handled the till well, proved to have his mother's knowledge on a range of customer-initiated subjects (Royal Worcester, the correct application of French polish, how to identify calf leather) and he even helped clean and repair the bracket clock I had been occupied with that morning.

True, his manner was somewhat awkward, and his heavy breathing certainly disconcerted Higgins, but our takings were up and this was surely a happy omen. Indeed, even his awkwardness began to grow on me. I interpreted his long silences and shifting glances as signs of embarrassment. Symptoms of the shame he felt over his previous behaviour, when he had tripped me over in the field. I even had the confidence to leave him on his own in the shop for twenty minutes while I fetched you from school.

'I can't wait for you to meet my new assistant,' I said, as you pressed your head against the car window.

'Who is it?' you said, with only the most lethargic interest.

'You'll see.'

You kept on looking out at the streets and traffic sliding by and said nothing else.

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