The Play House: A Novel

By Mackenzie Belcastro

Ever since Scarlet's mum Nicola fell ill, she imagined the day Nicola would get better, and their lives would get back to normal. Or, at least 'normal' as she knew it: days packed with dress up and play out in the garden and in the Antique Shoppe run by the whimsical Madame Renard. The doctors ha

• Language: English
• Publisher: Adalira Press
• Release date: Apr 13, 2022
• ISBN: 9781778173318

Book preview

cover-image, The Play House

play house

noun. pley-house

(of a child) play at being a family in their home

Chapter 1

England, 2019

The carved, wooden doors of Madame Renard’s Antique Shoppe were difficult to open under normal circumstances. This evening though, they were nearly impossible. I wiped my hand on my dress and pressed my face to the window, holding my breath to avoid clouding the glass.

Nothing but baubles and trinkets and their dusty walnut shelves stared back at me.

I felt my chest tighten. It was a weekday. She wasn’t supposed to be closed.

Fog climbed the glass as I breathed a sigh of relief.

The familiar bundle of silk-wrapped curls had emerged from behind the beaded curtains.

I knocked on the door.

It’s stuck. I motioned as she approached.

"Désolé, she said, beckoning me in, those doors weren’t made for this weather."

No kidding, I thought, wringing the rainwater out of my hair. I could still feel the marks that had been cut into my hands from the jammed crystal knob.

Oh, I said, noticing a table wedged between the front desk and the electric train set. Are you still open?

The small round table was set for tea, and seated at it was a middle aged woman. Strange how I hadn’t seen her when I’d looked through the glass. I noticed now as she turned to me that she had  the same jet black, wide-set eyes as Madame’s, and similar raven curls. Only hers were looser and longer. They fell to her hips.

She watched me without speaking. Just as I’d been about to lift a hand, she turned back to the table, fiddling with a dried rose petal. I looked back at Madame, put off.

Who was she? I wanted to ask.

But I didn’t.

It wasn’t my place to. I may come in here daily, but we weren’t exactly close. 

Madame offered no explanation. Instead, she squinted at her pocket watch.

Yes, she said now. Open for two more hours.

Okay, I nodded. Great.

"We’ll be juste over there, if you need anything," she said, gesturing to the table.

A glint caught my eye.

Thanks. I nodded, seeing it was a stack of gold-trimmed cards. They were cradled in her palm.

The aisles were narrow, numerous, and carpeted in oriental rugs. I turned down the nearest, feeling relief wash over me. Most people in Pendle Hill would think this reaction crazy. There were many unspoken rules in this town, but one of the most prominent was to keep your distance from the offbeat and unnatural Madame Renard. Or, as Jacquie, my grandmother, so eloquently dubbed her, the verifiable nut.

But I didn’t care so much about the rumour mill. Which is all that was. A collection of flimsy rumours circulated by people who’d never even met Madame.

I ran my hands over coloured glass stones, Venetian masks, wooden horses, hand-painted figurines, and papier mâché bowls as I walked.

It was true that I didn’t technically know Madame either, but spending so much time in her Shoppe gave me the feeling that, in an indirect sort of way, I did. And what I’d come to a long time ago was that she was just different.

I assumed it was because she was from Loire Valley, France, for one. And, unlike most immigrants—though admittedly there were few others—she hadn’t let go of her culture. She embraced her misty bohemianism. And it stuck out.

But I thought that was a good thing. Pendle Hill was a sea of stiff blazers and starchy button-ups. And, even if I pretended to be one of those most of the time, the truth was I didn’t think I was. Because, what I’d never told anyone before was, I felt better here in this dimly lit shop. It always smelled like sandalwood and moss, and made me feel more relaxed than when I was anywhere else.

I stopped now in front of a chest. Lined in red satin, it looked like what you’d unearth beneath a large X on a treasure island. Everything from fresh-water pearls, to gem-encrusted brooches, to multi-strand necklaces, and bronze pendants burst from its seams.

Where it had all come from, I often wondered. There must’ve been over a hundred lives echoed in these discarded jewels, and yet I’d never seen anyone come to sell anything off.

I picked up a handheld mirror, tracing the gold filigree with my fingers. It looked older than most of the other pieces; its frame a dark yellow you don’t see so often anymore; and its shape lightly dented. I turned it over in my hand, imagining who it had belonged to—someone with a name that started with an ‘A’ I gathered, as there was a curlicue letter inscribed on the back.

‘A’ for Alastair, I found myself thinking.

I shook my head, placing it back in the chest.

I moved on, past the stacks of puzzles and long-yellowed board games, dollhouses and kaleidoscopes, music boxes and ceramic dishes—home to cloth ribbons and braided leathers. Finally, I ducked beneath the cluster of Chinese lanterns and hurried to my favourite part of the store.

Though the ceilings were high, it was a small room. Only ten feet long, and less than four feet deep. It may have been called a corridor, if it had led somewhere. But, as it stood, it was a destination, decorated with a single, rose armchair. This was nestled in the corner by an arched window, facing the wall of books.

I called this space my sitting room. I’d spent years curled up in here reading, in the way I imagined kids like me, only from normal homes, did in their own sitting rooms. I wasn’t sure what I would’ve done if I’d never discovered it. Sometimes I fantasized about discovering one in my own home, a secret one that Jacquie didn’t know about. But that was only a dream. In reality, if Madame’s ever closed, I’d have to pick between spending my evenings with everyone else at Blue Olive Café, or at home dodging Jacquie. I shivered.

It wasn’t that I was a total recluse. It was more that I took a minimal approach to socialization. Everyone else went to Blue Olive every day after school, Jamie’s every Saturday night, and then Julia’s every Sunday. But I preferred to be on my own schedule, joining in if and when I felt like it, with the only promise being that I’d see them all at school.

They didn’t know this, of course. They thought I was volunteering at the retirement home in the evenings, as that’s what I’d told them. I’ve found it’s much easier to tell a white lie once than to come up with a lie-cum-excuse every day. Especially if that white lie is easy to keep under wraps, as this one was.

After all, it wasn’t as if any of my friends would ever come here. Like everyone else, they thought the store was eerie. And even if by some bizarre chance one of them did wander in, the likelihood of them staying long enough to discover my sitting room here was slim to none.

It had taken me a few years to realize that the store didn’t end where the lanterns did, and then a few months after that to be certain that I was actually allowed back here. Truth be told, I still wasn’t entirely sure that I was. Madame had never told me in so many words that it was okay, but, I figured, she had to have seen me go down the hallway, or at least noticed that I was no longer in either of the two front rooms of the shop.

As for Jacquie, I had no clue where she thought I went after school. Unlike my friends though, she never seemed to care, as long as I was home by midnight on school nights. Jacquie was the antithesis of your stereotypical grandma. She wasn’t soft and plump, nor fragile and tiny. She wasn’t funny, nor warm. And never had she ever baked so much as a single cookie, nor cooked a sole potato. Anything she consumed came from one of three restaurants she approved of, and she nearly always ordered for herself alone. 

Maybe that’s painting her without enough colour though. She wasn’t wicked like the stepmothers in old storybooks. Those don’t tend to leave their posh, London flats, where they’re living happily alone, and swoop into the home of their deceased son to care for his daughter and sick wife. Jacquie did, back when I was a kid.

Still, she didn’t come close to filling Dad’s empty place. He was someone you wanted to be around. Or, at least I did. Mum and him had had some issues, but that was between them. Anyway, Jacquie, she… Well, she was a huge reason this room felt more like my sitting room than the one she’d smartly styled back in my actual house.

I closed my eyes now.

Standing in front of the bookshelf, I breathed in the backroom’s musty, vanilla scent. My fingers fumbled over the grainy cloth of old spines, until they clasped one at random.

This had come to be my little ritual since discovering this space. It was how I’d discovered tons of books I loved—like Sir Worm Wymble, Cenerentola, Orpheus and The Son-in-Law Tests—but wouldn’t normally have picked up based on the lettering engraved on their spines alone.

I cracked open the chosen hardback, murmuring as I read, "The Misadventures of Jean Montin, collected by Charles Deulin."

The pages were very thin, the result of being printed in 1893. With care, I placed it on the windowsill, and shrugged off my damp coat. The rain pelted against the window. I sank into the rose chair. I was just turning to the first page when my phone vibrated against me.

I sighed, reaching into my coat pocket.

Julia calling, it flashed.

I was just with you, I muttered, hitting the red X.

It buzzed again.

Jules, I grumbled. But then I saw it wasn’t her.

Hello? I said, plugging my right ear to drown out the rain.

I need you to go to the pharmacy, Jacquie said.

The pharmacy? I said, squinting as I glanced outside.

Yes, she said.

Her tone was even more clipped than usual.

Why? I said.

Before she could answer me though, I heard a crash followed by a high-pitched shriek.

I swallowed. They didn’t work again?

No, Jacquie said. I could hear her earrings jangle as she shook her head. Doctor Silva’s already called the pharmacy. There’ll be a stronger bottle waiting for you when you get there.

I curled and uncurled my toes.

Scarlet?

I was nodding, I lied. I’ll be there soon.

Good, she said. And then the line went dead.

I pulled on my coat, trying to ignore the churn in my stomach.

So much for reading about your misadventures, Mister Montin, I murmured as I slid the book back into its nook.

In that same moment, the small room was drenched in a wash of white light. Just for a split second, just as lightning cut through the air. In the next, a loud BOOM echoed through the sky, so heavily that, if this were a fairy tale, it would have broken it apart.

Chapter 2

France, 2003

Nicola!

I jumped.

How lovely to see you. Can I help you with— Oh, Ava chuckled, sorry, dear, I didn’t mean to scare you.

It’s fine, I said, dropping my hand from my chest.

She brushed aside a teal dress to create a window in the rack that had been concealing her.

When she’d pushed through it, she said, I just wanted to know if you needed help finding anything.

No thanks, I waved her off. I’m only looking.

I turned toward the nearest makeshift aisle when I heard, For a special occasion?

Yes, I said over my shoulder.

"You may want to check out the rack in the far corner. They’re newly in—from Paris."

Great, I said, lifting a hand, thanks, I will.

There were no real aisles at Abigail’s. Pathways were carved out from between overstuffed racks and heaps of silk and beadery, which may be anything from scarves to headwraps to the odd brooch.

Just let me know if you need anything!

I pressed my lips together to swallow a sigh.

Everyone said it was impossible to dislike Ava—

What a sweet woman!

Oh, yes, always so charitable.

Angelic, really.

I reckon she doesn’t have a bad bone in her body.

That’s what they said. But I disagreed. For one, all her hovering was extremely irritating, especially for someone like me who was just plain not used to it. And for two, I didn’t trust that whole display of over-the-top sweetness. If there’s one thing my upbringing taught me, it’s that everyone has a dark side. And those that showed the world only their lightness tended to have the darkest shadows of them all. 

I pushed through another rack, this time of cream-coloured shifts and lamé blousons.

Ouch, I mumbled, turning to find a lock of my hair caught in a cluster of sequins lining the neck of a dress.

Oh, come on, I said, working to disentangle it.

I tilted my head, and that’s when I saw it.

Indigo with silver bead detailing, sleeveless, and v-neck.

I ran a hand over my hair and moved toward it.

Perfect, I whispered.

The V of the neck plunged low enough to captivate, but not so low that it would get me into too much trouble.

I ran a hand over the bodice. I’d never touched anything like this before. It felt almost like running water, its molecules and motion somehow frozen in time and sewn together.

I reached for the tag, frowning when I saw the size.

Ava, I called. Have you got other—

I jumped for the second time.

I’d thought she’d gone back to the cash, but there she was, at my elbow.

Other sizes, dear? she said.

I nodded.

Do you mind? she asked.

I stepped to the side watching as she took my place before the dress. She lifted the skirt toward her eyes, shaking her head so as to lower her spectacles to the bridge of her nose.

The fabric shimmered beneath her thumb as she rubbed it. A sweet scent was released into the air. It smelled like lavender and vanilla twisted into musk—old perfume that had been pressed into the dress.

Well? I said.

Ava dropped the dress. I’m sorry dear, no.

No?

No, this one here is made-to-measure. One of a ki—

I know what ‘made-to-measure’ means, I said.

Then, Sorry, I added as Ava pulled back. I’m just… disappointed. I’ve been looking for something exactly like this.

I tapped my foot, dropping my gaze.

When I looked back up I said, Would you mind just checking the back?

Oh, dear—

I just want to be one hundred percent sure is all, I said. I’d hate to find out we made a mistake here today.

I added, Please?

Ava pulled her lips into a smile and nodded in a way that may have even been a bow. Of course, of course.

Great, I said, thank you so much, Ava. You’re a jewel, really. I’ll just be waiting up by the front.

Of course, dear. I’ll be back.

I smiled. Ava may have been annoying, but she was easy to manipulate. And she did have the best frocks in town. That was why I kept coming back.

At the checkout desk, I moved the potted plant aside to make space for my purse.

Oh, Ava, I shook my head, putting a finger to the flower.

Its pink petals were shrivelled and its fuzzy leaves wilting. The plant was well beyond its expiration date, but she’d always had a hard time tossing things. That was probably why her and her mother had opened Abigail’s to begin with.

I turned away, looking across the shop. Tulle and lace fanned across racks, and long white feathers stuck up out of buckets in between velvet hats and elbow-length gloves.

The girls at school never understood how I found anything here. I told them vintage shops required a certain eye, which was true. Although, I had to admit, I did seem to have luck on my side. That’s why I wasn’t surprised now when Ava rushed toward me.

Her cheeks were red. The poor old woman was already blushing, embarrassed.

She held out a bed of silver tissue paper when she reached me.

I can’t believe it, she said. I swear this wasn’t back there before. She lifted a hand to her eyebrow, rubbing it. But, hey, I guess we all miss things every now and again. She paused. "Though how I would’ve missed this is beyond me. Very strange. But, anyway, this is good news as, she looked up at me with a half-dazed smile, I do believe this one is exactly your size."

I picked the dress up off the tissue and held it up before myself. Everything from the waist to the hip to the tail looked like it had been tailor made to my measurements.

I curled and uncurled my fingers. It may have been only a coincidence.

Thank you, Ava, I said as I lowered the dress back into her arms. I’ll take it.

Ava gave me her nod-come-half-bow again and scurried around the desk.

Now, was there anything else you were looking for today, dear?

No, I smiled at her, this is perfect.

Wonderful, dear, just wonderful.

Oh, Ava? I said before I reached for the door.

When she met my eye, I said, You’ll want to make sure to water that on a regular basis if you don’t want it to die.

Now she followed my finger to the flower seated on the corner of her desk.

I