An ordinary market again today and contrary to expectations it’s bright and sunny. The market traders have set up almost to the door of the shop which is always good for business.
As it was so warm Harold propped the door open. I advised against it of course. The front door forms a major part of our security at the shop and if it’s propped open shoplifters won’t run the risk of having their organs extracted through their nostrils on the way out. He was prepared to take the risk and drafted in John the imp as a meta-physical security guard with the promise of a bacon butty and an ice-cream.
The Clarkson sisters were there again this morning, though the bench they use was partially obscured by the billowing clouds of a stall selling towels (and I was tempted by a range of pastel bath sheets at a fiver each). I offered to get everyone an order from the butty van just so that I’d have the opportunity to have a closer look at them.
It was Constance I was most interested in. As a concession to the hot day she was wearing an anorak instead of her customary tweeds and an open cardigan over her blouse. She paled when she saw me. She has a gift, you see. A gift of seeing the Denizens. Not the full blown Sight, Constance only sees blurred shadows where Julie or Felicia would see an angel or a demon. It’s enough to spook her, though, as is the sight of her husband, dead by her hand for thirty years but still her constant companion.
He paid me a fortune in premium bonds to make her see him after he died.