Mirror Man by Jacques Kat (ebook reader with internet browser txt) 📕

raise his head. He exhaled loudly. ‘You don’t need to worry about that, laddie. You just keep repairing them watches. I’ll take care of everything else.’

‘Yes, sir.’

I shook my head as I approached my workbench. I had left it clean and tidy when I finished on Saturday, and now a small box of trinkets sat on it with three watches and a mantel clock, waiting to be repaired.

I lifted the box and placed it with some others tucked away in the corner, then I carefully placed the watches on a small cushion I kept under the bench so I could set up my working area.

I grabbed a duster and gave my mirrors a wipe. I worked in the back of the shop, and Claude had let me position mirrors and reflective surfaces where I saw fit and to make my hours there comfortable. People came from miles around to have their watches repaired by me. I’d also started repairing mantel clocks and would soon progress to bigger ones. Word had spread quickly about my skills; I had fast become the most sought-after horologist around. The knowledge made me feel really special, like I was needed and wanted in some way. I wasn’t needed or accepted anywhere else.

First, I took out a white cloth from my top drawer and placed it on the bench, smoothing out the creases as I did so. Next, I opened the second drawer and removed all my tools and carefully set them out in the order I would be using them. Lastly, I retrieved my loupes from the bottom drawer; these were the magnifying devices I used. Two were given to me by my grandfather, and the other, Claude had given me. I had the white cloth so I could see all the pieces clearly and the parts were easier to find should I drop them with the delicate brass tweezers.

Before I started, I made us both a strong and sweet cup of tea. Claude had four sugars in his, and I had two. There was a mini kitchen in the back next to the storage room with a sink and a hotplate stove. Before the kitchen was the door that led upstairs. Mr Phillips lived alone in the small flat above the shop. His wife Mary had died three years earlier. Mr and Mrs Phillips hadn’t had any children of their own. However, they did have nieces and nephews, though they lived in Australia. He’d never met them in person, but he did get a photo of them every year, which he took pride in showing me.

I made the teas and set Mr Phillips’s mug at the side of his ledger. He didn’t acknowledge my presence; he was engrossed in searching through his Rolodex.

‘Here’s your tea, Mr Phillips,’ I said.

He flinched when he heard my voice, then shook his head. ‘Oh, thanks, John-Michael,’ he said, abandoning his search to shuffle some papers before putting them under the counter so I couldn’t see them.

‘Mr Phillips, I was thinking…’

‘Hmm, what about?’ he said, moving to shut his ledger.

‘Well, we’ve known each other for a long time. How about you call me JC now, if you’d like?’

‘I’d like that,’ he said. I looked towards the mirror nearest to him and saw he was smiling at me.

‘Great.’ I turned to leave but stopped. His jumpiness and the mess of the counter had me curious.

‘Did you have a good meeting, then, Mr Phillips? It must have been pretty important to shut all morning.’ I shuffled my feet on the wooden floor as I spoke. I wasn’t used to questioning him, so I had to proceed with caution.

‘Well, see’n as though you’ve asked… again. A potential buyer wanted to see me about some rare antiquities I’ve got my hands on. But he’s not quite right for them. Plus, I’ve got a collector in mind.’

‘How rare? Is it a watch?’ I titled my head and tapped my lip with my index finger.

‘Never you mind, that’s for me to worry about. Get yourself started on them watches,’ he said, waving me off.

‘But, Mr Phillips, I thought we didn’t have secrets from each other, and you said the other week I needed to start learning more about the business side,’ I said.

‘That’s right, we don’t, lad. But it won’t be around long enough for you to see or concern yourself with. Okay?’

‘Okay…’

I stomped back to my work area and roughly pulled out my chair, banging it on the floor. It frustrated me that no one ever discussed important topics with me, as though they thought me too young to hear what they had to say. How was I meant to learn the business if Claude didn’t share important details with me? And I hated that I was never allowed to take part in adult conversations, like any input from me would be irrelevant. I was an adult now, after all—old enough to drink, vote, work, and have a girlfriend. Just because I acted differently to everyone else didn’t mean I didn’t understand things. I wasn’t stupid.

And no, perhaps I wasn’t normal in their eyes, but what was normal, anyway? Who decided that?

I knew what was going on at home. Grandad was worried about money and how he would continue to keep the roof over our heads without having to sell more of his beloved car collection. I had offered to pay lodge out of my wages, but he refused, said he wouldn’t hear of it. I told him he had heard me, because I’d just told him, but he waved me away.

Sometimes I wish I could have gone into car mechanics like the rest of the men in my family, and maybe Grandad wouldn’t have had to sell his cherished cars. Maybe I could do both? I would have to think about it. I knew my way around a car engine. Of course, I did. So did my sister. But I’d turned away from cars and bikes when Grandad first sat me down and