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back of a
lorry parked outside. The barrels clattered as they rolled along the road
before disappearing through a hatch in the pavement outside the premises.
Further along was a shop with holiday gifts and buckets and spades, then a
small cafe and a hardware shop that also sold gifts.
    Bruce headed for the hardware shop. A
bell above the door jangled as he entered. Jack trudged in behind him. Just
inside the door, racks stocked with chocolate, sweets, postcards and tacky
souvenirs held Jack’s attention. Beyond these were more shelves filled with
household items. “You’ve picked a nice day for a visit,” the man behind the
counter said. Bruce smiled; usually it looked more like a grimace, but he could
see by his reflection in a seashell-decorated mirror above the counter that
this time, he looked genuinely happy.
    “Actually, we’ve just bought the house
on Millhouse Lane.”
    The man raised his eyebrows. “The old
Johnson place?”
    Bruce frowned. “Yes, that’s the one.”
    “Great. I hope you’ll be very happy. My
name’s Duncan. Duncan Roberts.” He held his hand out and Bruce shook it. “Now
is there anything in particular you’re after?”
    Putting Duncan’s momentary surprised
expression down to the state of the property, Bruce said, “I’m after a new lock
for the house.”
    Duncan stood up from his stool and
walked around the counter. He looked a jovial man with a balding grey pate, a
round face and rosy cheeks. He carried himself as though well accustomed to his
paunch, which didn’t stop him squeezing between the shelves to the rear of the
shop.
    “Here you are. Household locks.” He held
up two locks in dusty plastic cases. “I’ve got your standard mortise lock, or
there’s the five lever deadlock.”
    “I take it you don’t get much call for
locks.”
    “Don’t get much call for anything. It’s
like we’ve dropped off the map since the new resort opened up the road.”
    Bruce recalled the lively, arcade-strewn
promenade a few miles back up the coast. “I’ll take the deadlock, please.”
    Duncan put one of the locks back on the
shelf, then motioned towards Jack. “Is it just the two of you?”
    “Yes.” He made a point not to mention
that his wife had died as it usually elicited fake condolences. He could never
understand why people said ‘I’m sorry’ about someone they never knew.
    “You’ll find it’s quiet around here. Not
much goes on, but we’re a friendly bunch when you get to know us.”
    “I don’t know about that. When we
arrived here there was an old woman in my house ranting and raving.”
    Duncan’s cheeks seemed to go slightly
redder. “Did she have two grey streaks in her hair? Thin old woman?”
    “Yes, that’s her.”
    “I’d pay her no heed. That’s just
Lillian Brown. She’s what you might call the local fruitcake. Some folk say
she’s a witch, but then some folk say I’m a Lothario.” He winked. “I prefer to
think of myself as someone who helps those in need, if you get my meaning. A
man in his prime like me can get a lot of action around here.”
    Bruce couldn’t help but smile. “Is there
anywhere we can get a bite to eat?”
    “We’ve only just met, so don’t get
fresh.” He winked again. “The bar along the road does a nice meal.”
    “That sounds great. How much do I owe
you for the lock?”
    “It’s pretty expensive, I’m afraid.
£30.00.”
    “No problem.”
    They made their way back to the cash
register. Jack was standing by the window staring at a bunch of teenagers over
by the harbour.
    Bruce took out his wallet. As he counted
the money, he noticed the four-leafed clover he kept behind the see-through
plastic pocket. It had turned dry and brittle, but he couldn’t pluck up the
courage to throw it away in case it brought bad luck. Next to the clover there
was an I Ching coin decorated with Chinese symbols and a tiny silver lucky
leprechaun that he’d found on the pavement a few years ago.
    After paying for the