Harvey. An old film and a ridiculous story some might say, but boy was it good. Something about it spoke to Dodie in a way few modern films ever had. She couldn’t count how many times she’d seen it – twenty, maybe twenty-five. But she still cried as Elwood P. Dowd said goodbye to Harvey in the expectation of leaving forever to care for Dr Chumley, not a flicker of bitterness in the pure, selfless acceptance of his loss. She cried every time she watched it, and she expected that she would cry even on the hundredth viewing. Some things were just like that.
Isla, stalwart friend who’d sat through the old movie with Dodie more times than she cared to recall, or so she kept telling her, rolled her eyes and shoved a box of tissues towards her. ‘I just don’t get it.’
She followed her statement with a solemn slurp of the banana and mango smoothie she’d picked up on the way over.
‘He’s saying goodbye to Harvey,’ Dodie said.
‘I know that. I don’t get why you cry every time. You know it will all work out in the end.’
‘Because at this moment, Elwood doesn’t know it will work out so he’s sad, but he doesn’t make a fuss. It reminds us that life is loss and Elwood accepts this with a quiet dignity. It reminds us that nothing lasts forever.’
‘This bloody film does.’
‘It’s nearly finished.’
‘It’s trite nonsense. An invisible rabbit? Six feet tall? The bloke’s a nutter. This script would never make it past production execs if they tried to get it financed today.’
‘He’s not really a rabbit – that’s just what he looks like to Elwood. He’s a pooka. Pookas appear to people in different forms. And he’s real because the doctor can see him too – that’s why Harvey has agreed to help the doctor find his inner peace.’ Dodie wiped the sleeve of an oversized sweatshirt across her eyes and reached for her cooling tea from the TV table. ‘That’s what Harvey does – he helps outsiders come to terms with their outsideriness.’ She smiled at Isla, as if her statement was the most obvious thing in the world. But then it would be to her, who had spent her twenty-eight years on the earth feeling like an outsider in one way or another.
‘I already know all this – you’ve told me before. I’ll tell you what – I wouldn’t have come over if I’d known you were going to put this on again. As soon as it’s finished we’re having that new Star Trek film on, right? Because if we’re not then I’m going back to my flat to watch it. I feel like you’re dating James Stewart sometimes. I have nightmares that I’m dating James Stewart I see him so often! And that’s just weird… considering he’s dead and everything.’
‘I wish I was dating James Stewart,’ Dodie said wistfully.
‘You’re about sixty years too late.’
‘Fifty maybe.’
‘And maybe you don’t want to say that in front of Ryan, who might not appreciate coming second to a corpse. Quite honestly, I don’t know how you two are still together. It must drive him mad having to compete with dead people all the time.’
‘Ugh.’ Dodie shivered. ‘I don’t like hearing it quite like that. I prefer to think of Jimmy in a non-corpse-like state.’
Isla pulled open a share-size pack of crisps and offered it to Dodie. ‘Chris Pine… Now he’s a man I could happily give my worldly possessions up for.’
‘Who?’
‘Oh yeah, I forgot that you don’t know the names of any actors from after the sixties. He’s in the new Star Trek films.’
‘Is he?’ Dodie asked vaguely, her attention back on the screen of a TV that almost certainly belonged in a museum. It worked just fine, even if it didn’t have the sleek lines of a modern flat screen, and, as Dodie had said to Isla many times when her friend had nagged her to get a new one, or come over bearing news of some special offer in an electronics shop, she liked the cute chunkiness of its old shape. She’d stick with it until it died – and might even be tempted to try to get it fixed after that. The film was at the point where Elwood P. Dowd was discussing the whys and wherefores of Harvey leaving him with Harvey himself. Although to everyone else – characters and viewers alike – he was talking to what was effectively thin air.
Isla let out a sigh of exasperation, and Dodie shot her a crafty grin, prompting Isla to hurl an embroidered cushion at her. ‘Cow! Stop winding me up!’
‘Of course I know who Chris Pine is,’ Dodie said, laughing. ‘I do have some knowledge of the modern world. I just happen to prefer the not-so-modern one.’
‘Figures. CGI must have cost a fortune on this film too,’ Isla said wryly. ‘If you’re going to make all this fuss about a six-foot rabbit at least let us see it.’
‘They didn’t have CGI back then. Their special effects were so bad it was far more effective to rely on the power of your imagination.’
‘What if you don’t have any?’
‘Probably best watching something else then. Like the new Star Trek film.’
‘And that’s why I like my entertainment to be made in the twenty-first century. It’s all there in front of me and I don’t have to imagine what it looks like. If I wanted to imagine it I’d read a book.’
‘Hmm. I prefer the pace of old films. I just like the pace of old times; it feels less stressful and scary than today somehow.’
‘It probably wasn’t if you lived there. They had some pretty scary laws for a start. You couldn’t even be gay in the old days. And everyone had rickets or consumption or something horrible.’
‘Yeah, I know that. But it just seemed gentler, you know?’
‘Tell that to Oscar Wilde.’
‘I never said it was perfect,’ Dodie replied, turning her attention back to the screen. Isla always won theoretical arguments. She soaked up facts about the world like trifle sponges soaked up sherry, and while Dodie spent all her time lost in another age, Isla spent hers reading books on sociology and psychology and just about any other -ology you could name.
‘Speaking of old times, have you seen any improvements in sales since you refurbished the shop?’ Isla asked, reaching to retrieve the crisps.
‘Business is up a bit,’ Dodie said, tucking her legs beneath her and smoothing her bobbed hair behind a pierced ear. ‘I don’t know whether it’s because Christmas is coming but I’m hoping it’s a bit more long term than that. When I take the books to my accountant he’ll be able to do a projection for me; might give me a clue what to expect next year. I hope it’s good news because I’ve sunk every last bit of money into redecorating so it has to work or it’s curtains, if you’ll excuse the pun.’ She paused, her attention on an imaginary spot in the distance. ‘And I’m not even exaggerating when I say that,’ she added quietly.
‘Most of the students from the university go home at Christmas too,’ Isla reminded her, appearing not to have noticed Dodie’s sudden melancholy. ‘I would imagine they’re your main customer demographic so I wouldn’t worry too much, even if you’re slow over Christmas, because it will pick up afterwards.’
‘I was kind of hoping Christmas would save me, actually. I’m not sure after Christmas won’t be a bit too late.’
‘You have to have faith,’ Isla said. ‘I have faith that you can make this work, so you just need to have a little more yourself. This is Bournemouth – packed full of hipsters and bohemian types and the perfect place for vintage and quirky. Once people know about your shop you won’t be able to move for customers.’
She stretched, scratching a fingernail through her tightly braided hair. Dodie had always considered herself to be reasonably decent looking, if perhaps a little ordinary, but Isla was something else. With her half-Nigerian, half-Scottish heritage, she was both exotic like a rare orchid and as hardy and streetwise as a dandelion. It was a potent combination, though Isla had never cared much for her many admirers, preferring to be single and independent. It would take a very special kind of man to steal her heart, and Dodie had often wondered if he even existed.
‘So if you look at it that way,’ Isla continued, ‘it means things should get even better when the new term starts in January. Students love vintage clothes.’
‘You don’t.’
‘Even though I’m technically a student, I’m far too old to be that hip now.’
‘You’re not old; you’re only a couple of months older than me.’
‘Not old, but not young enough to be a hipster either.’
‘Well,’ Dodie added, ‘I’m not a student either but I love vintage.’
‘I think we’ve established you’re weird.’ Isla swept a hand towards the bulky old television. ‘I give you exhibit A.’
Dodie grinned. ‘OK, guilty as charged.’
‘But the town will be swarming with potential customers come the summer, so I reckon you’ll be OK. You’ve only been open six months, and people still have to find you. If I could level one criticism it’s the property you chose to open up in.’
‘The shop is in a bit of a crap spot,’ Dodie agreed. ‘But the rents are ridiculous in the main town, and the seafront would bankrupt me.’
‘I did try to tell you at the time. You’d have been better off inland; Ringwood or Dorchester, or somewhere – at least while you built the business.’
‘But I love it here. And my gran is here too – she loves that she has someone living close by.’
‘Hardly a reason to set up a business in the most expensive seaside town in the world – because your gran’s here.’
‘Bournemouth isn’t the most expensive.’
‘I’ll bet it’s in the top ten,’ Isla said, folding a large crisp into her mouth with a grace that nobody else could possibly achieve doing the same thing. ‘I can barely afford to park outside your place when I come over to visit.’
‘Sorry.’
Isla threw her a sideways look. ‘It’s a good thing I like you, that’s all I can say.’
‘With that in mind…’ Dodie began, turning the volume down on the television, ‘I don’t suppose you fancy swinging by to help me for an hour in the shop tomorrow? I wouldn’t ask, but I’m expecting a crate of stuff I won at auction last week and I need to go through it.’
‘Lucky for you I’m not doing anything tomorrow – lectures have been cancelled because the tutor has flu.’
‘You can stay over at the flat, actually, save you driving back to Dorchester if you like.’
‘I haven’t got any stuff with me.’
‘Borrow my pyjamas – that’s no problem. And I have an unopened toothbrush you can have.’
‘What about clean knickers? I’m not pulling on a pair of sixties nylon Y-fronts from your shop, so you can forget that!’
‘Don’t be daft!’ Dodie giggled. ‘I don’t put the Y-fronts in the shop… I keep them to model to Ryan. Sixties nylon Y-fronts make him so horny.’
‘Oh dear Lord! He’s so normal and you’re so weird – again, how is it you two are together?’
‘I suppose opposites attract. Or maybe he was desperate.’
‘I wouldn’t say that. If anyone was desperate it was you – you’re far too complex for him.’
‘Are you saying he’s basic?’
‘As a single-celled organism.’
‘But—’ Dodie began. Isla held up a hand to stop her.
‘I know – he’s steady and normal and he makes you feel settled and it’s good that you’re so different because two people just like you would end up in a total mess. I didn’t mean to start anything again and you already know my thoughts on him so let’s avoid a disagreement about it now.’ She repositioned herself on the sofa and gave Dodie a sideways smile. ‘I’ll go home and get my own knickers, if it’s all the same to you. It’s no bother to come back in the morning and you don’t need to worry about it – Dorchester is hardly at the ends of the earth.’
‘You’re a star!’ Dodie beamed. ‘Thanks so much!’
Isla gave a vague shrug. ‘It might be fun.’
‘And if you see anything you like, you can have it, free of charge as a reward for helping me.’
‘No offence, but I very much doubt I’ll see something I like. My clothes are strictly first-hand, and that’s how I’m going to keep it.’
‘I bet you’ll be surprised when we go through the delivery.’ Dodie smiled. ‘I bet we find something amazing!’
‘If I end up with something from your delivery of dead people’s clothes I’ll be more than surprised. You’ve been trying to convert me for years and you haven’t succeeded yet so you might as well give up. Much as I love you and want to support your business, I’m not wearing old-lady clothes.’
Dodie laughed. ‘They’re not all that old! I do have some stock from the eighties and nineties and it’s really popular right now.’
‘Oh Lord!’ Isla clapped a melodramatic hand to her brow. ‘Only thirty years old… what is this modern, newfangled witchcraft?’ She looked back at Dodie and grinned. ‘Still old enough to qualify as museum exhibits.’
Dodie folded her arms. ‘I still say you’ll be surprised. You need to give it a chance, have an open mind when you look through, use a bit of imagination. I guarantee you’ll see something you fall in love with in my shop sooner or later, and then I’ll be the first one to say I told you so.’
‘If I find something in your shop, you have my permission to do the world’s longest and most elaborate victory dance.’
‘I might just hold you to that.’
Isla stretched and yawned. ‘Is this film finished yet? I might go and make a sandwich while you watch the rest; I’m losing the will to live here.’
Dodie grinned. ‘You know where the bread is. I’ll get back to daydreaming about Jimmy Stewart and you go and stuff your face.’
Isla unfurled herself from the corner of the throw-covered sofa, limbs lithe and elegant as she poked her feet into a pair of flip-flops that she always kept at Dodie’s flat. ‘Got any decent ham?’
‘In the fridge,’ Dodie said. ‘You’re in luck – it’s Waitrose. On special offer, of course.’
‘Ooooh,’ Isla squeaked. ‘Lovely!’
Dodie turned back to the television as Isla left for the kitchen. Harvey had come back and Elwood was overjoyed to see him. Or at least, that was what the filmmakers would have us believe because nobody else could see him. Dodie smiled fondly at the screen; she’d always imagined, watching the film as she grew up, that Jimmy Stewart himself could see Harvey. But now she thought that he was simply such a good actor he’d convinced himself he could see Harvey. She was certainly convinced he saw something in front of him as he delivered his lines. A growl from her stomach interrupted her thoughts and she called after Isla:
‘All this talk of ham has made me hungry now! While you’re at it you can make me a sandwich too!’
It was Monday morning and Dodie was in a red kind of mood. Perhaps it was the Christmas spirit working its way into her soul – the German markets had hit town and everywhere was a blaze of fairy lights and tinsel, frantic shoppers racing from store to store, those with more time on their hands settling in for the day at the temporary bar in the main square to indulge in Glühwein and mulled cider. As she made her way back from the local café, laden with breakfast muffins and cinnamon-flavoured coffee for her and Isla, the sight of the stallholders setting up for the day made her smile. If only she had a little more time to enjoy the markets herself, rather than working every day from the crack of dawn and into the evening. But the Christmas vibe taking over the seaside town of Bournemouth had ignited something in her and she’d spent an hour the previous Friday evening, once she’d closed the shop, dyeing her hair a vibrant scarlet to match her mood. It meant her whole wardrobe had to be rearranged to work with it, but she was used to working with a new hair colour every so often so it didn’t necessarily bother her. Besides, her shop was filled with sartorial treasures to root through, and if you couldn’t own a vintage clothes shop and treat yourself to the odd indulgence from the stock every now and again, there was really no point in owning one at all. Her chosen fashion era changed almost as often as her hair colour; there was really no particular favourite, only a deep and abiding love for all things past. If she’d thought she could get away with walking along the seafront in a crinoline and bustle she probably would, but today she’d gone with a rockabilly-inspired look that suited her new red bob perfectly. She drew a lot of attention on the high street – some admiring looks, some puzzled – although that wasn’t what she was after. By nature she was something of a wallflower, and Isla had often commented that the dressing up was almost like acting; Dodie pretending to be someone other than who she really was. This made a lot of sense to Dodie, who had always felt that the real Dodie Bright was a boring story that nobody would want to read. But Isla was clever like that, and when she got her psychology degree Dodie was certain the whole world would know it, too.
‘Oi, Dodie! Red today, is it? Nice!’
Dodie looked around to see who’d called her. Sitting on the floor at the entrance to Debenhams was a man with a sleeping bag covering his legs, bundled up in a duffle coat and hat. Most would call him middle-aged, but perhaps it was the grey-flecked beard making him look older. Next to him sat a hefty kitbag that he was using as a makeshift cushion.
‘Alright, Nick?’ Dodie smiled, changing direction to go and talk to him. ‘Watch out – they’ll move you on from there. Remember what happened last time.’
‘Probably,’ Nick agreed. ‘But it’s early yet and the fat git who does security won’t even be out of bed. Besides, I can run faster than that lump of lard.’ He grinned. ‘It’s nice and warm under this heater so I’ll take my chances either way.’
‘You’ve been there all night?’
‘More or less.’
‘You must have been freezing!’
He sniffed. ‘I like it under the stars. Police and social workers and all them religious types keep offering me a bed but I get all claustrophobic indoors. It’s not so bad out here once you get used to it.’
Dodie gave him a patient smile. He always said the same thing, every time she asked him. Always some line about sleeping under the same sky as our ancestors, but our ancestors weren’t usually huddled in shop doorways beneath a grubby blanket being peed on by drunks when they were sleeping outside. Dodie had got to know Nick a little since she’d opened her shop, had even invited him in for a cup of tea in the warm, but he always declined. She suspected that there was more to it than wanting to be outside, some internal conflict he needed to work through, some social anxiety that meant even though he chatted cheerfully enough to anyone on the street who offered a helping hand, he didn’t want to get too close. It was only a theory, of course, and Dodie was no expert.
‘Had your breakfast yet?’ she asked.
‘Expect I’ll get something in a bit.’
Rooting in the paper bag in her arms, she pulled out an egg and bacon muffin and a hash brown. ‘Here.’
‘Aww, I don’t want to take your breakfast, love,’ Nick said, waving away the offer. But Dodie placed it on his lap.
‘There’s plenty in here,’ she said. ‘I’m not saying you need it more than I do but I know my waistline probably would, if it could talk.’
‘I think your waistline is cracking,’ Nick said, taking the muffin and unwrapping it. ‘Not that I look, mind.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll take it as a compliment,’ Dodie laughed. ‘I haven’t got a spare coffee here but if I leave you a couple of quid you can get one when the Christmas stalls open up, can’t you?’
He stuck a thumb in the air. ‘That’d be handsome. You’re a good girl, one of the best.’
‘Nah. I just wish I could do more.’
‘Don’t start that rubbish,’ he chided through a mouthful of muffin. ‘I appreciate everything. What I appreciate most is that we have a nice little chat from time to time. Most people don’t even look at me.’
‘That’s alright; I like our chats.’
She stood for a moment, a quiet smile of understanding passing between them. Then Nick waved his hand to shoo her away. ‘If you don’t get that lot back it’ll be cold.’ He angled his head at the bag in her arms.
‘Oh, yeah…’ Dodie shook herself. ‘My friend is helping me in the shop today; she won’t be happy if I give her cold bacon sandwiches in payment.’
‘She won’t be back, that’s for sure. Take it easy, sweetheart.’
‘You too, Nick. Don’t get too cold out here.’
He gave her a brisk nod and turned his attention back to his muffin as Dodie walked away. Despite having a bag full of rapidly cooling food, she found herself easily distracted by the shop windows, bright and lively with sparkling Christmas displays of toys, jewellery, clothes and cosmetics. She still had her own Christmas gift shopping to finish and she made a mental note of one or two items that might be suitable for people.
As she stared at the pastel window display of a shop selling organic cosmetics, her mobile rang.
‘My stomach thinks my throat’s been cut,’ Isla said.
‘I’m coming now. I thought you said you’d had some toast this morning before you left home?’
‘I did but it’s wearing off. I need bacon and I need it stat.’
‘Right…’ Dodie smiled. ‘I’m ten minutes away, tops. I know you’re hungry but please try not to faint into the seventies rack while I’m missing, won’t you?’
‘I can’t promise it, but I’ll do my best to hang on. Anyway, if I was going to faint into a rack of clothes I’d go for something a bit more stylish than the seventies. Some of it might stick to me and that would just be embarrassing.’
‘I don’t know,’ Dodie said. ‘I could see you rocking a pair of bell-bottoms.’
‘Nobody has ever rocked bell-bottoms,’ Isla replied stuffily and Dodie had to laugh at the note of utter horror in her voice.
‘You wouldn’t have had a choice if it was the seventies; you’d have had to wear them.’
‘It’s not the seventies, and quite frankly, the seventies can stay exactly where they are if that’s the best they’ve got to offer.’
‘Alright, alright… now I really know you’re hungry; you’ve never managed to insult an entire decade before and, as insults go, you’re pretty good at them.’
‘I am not!’ Isla squeaked, and Dodie laughed again. ‘Who do I insult?’
‘See…’ Dodie grinned as she repositioned the phone against her ear, ‘it comes so naturally you don’t even know you’re doing it.’
‘Cheeky cow,’ Isla huffed.
‘No,’ Dodie fired back, ‘that one wasn’t very good at all – you’ve done much better insults than. . .
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