Read Online First Person by Eddie McGarrity - Free Book Online Page A

you. Many visitors arrive without luggage, and I have many varieties.”
    He
smiles uneasily, though gratefully. He has straight white teeth, and must say I
find him rather handsome, his bearing agreeable. My time with him will be
enjoyable, I think to myself, though professional courtesy forbids me to treat
him differently from any other customer. I gesture for him to step away from
the pier edge and go further into the town.
    We
walk together, him looking at the pretty little seaside town which greets his
eyes. A terrace of different shaped homes face the sea, each painted in a
different vivid colour. His attention is shared between a dark blue
three-storey building and its neighbour; smaller and yellow. I ask, “You seem
pleased to see this place. Is it similar to one you have visited before?”
    He
stops and I wait next to him. “Not exactly the same. But yes, I am pleased to
be here.”
    “This
way, sir.” I hold out an arm to move him further along. “We must reach my shop
if I am to sell you some bags.”
    “Thank
you,” he says, stepping forward on my lead and giving me a warmer smile this
time. Continuing our journey, we turn the corner at the end of the terrace to
find the High Street. The road is empty save for us, and shop fronts hold
little interest for him. One window, displaying rows of colourful sweetie jars,
barely gets a glance from him. He seems more interested in adjusting his tie.
“I’m not really here to shop.”
    “Of
course not, sir,” I say, “But I’m sure you’ll like my luggage store.”
    We
reach my shop front and I push the door open. A bell above the doorway rings as
I beckon him inside and it rings again when he has entered and the door is
closed. It is cool inside the shop. Away from the sunshine outside he looks
around at the displays. He sees holdalls and handbags but I steer him towards
the luggage section. “I’m not really in the mood for shopping,” he tells me.
    I
agree with him. “You’ve come here to get away from all that.”
    “I’ve
left it all behind,” he says, quite sure of himself in that instant, but the
feeling fades and he goes in on himself again, questioning why he should say
such a thing. I can see it in his eyes. I’m familiar with this reaction. It’s
common after all.
    I
decide to prompt him. “But one must have luggage.”
    Rubbing
the stubble on his chin, he comes to a decision, though he expresses it
half-heartedly. “I suppose.”
    Allowing
him, a customer, the space he needs to decide what he wants, I step back. He
reviews the stand where I keep the big pieces. He touches a few, but it’s clear
that nothing is catching his attention. He’s not yet ready to make the
decision, I suppose. From out of the blue, he says to me, “I’ve got regrets,
you know, about the things I’ve done.”
    I
pause. “Really?”
    He
looks at his tie again. It’s a sort of mustard colour. He smoothes it against
his white shirt and adjusts his collar. In the quietness of the shop, I can
hear the bristles of his chin stubble prickle against the material. “I seem to
have lived a rather ordinary life.” He pauses and looks at me. Confusion flutters
across his face. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”
    I
give him my best smile and don’t move from my position, discreetly away from
him, my customer. “There’s no time for regrets when one is travelling.”
    “I
guess not.” His smile, when it comes, is sad, but I recognise relief there too.
I’ve seen it before in other patrons of this shop. I think he’s ready now. When
I look at the luggage rack, it prompts him to turn his attention back towards
it. He quickly finds a piece and slides it out from the rack. We cross to a
counter where we examine it. It’s convenient to have a large flat space to view
the items in the shop. The customer can move around and look at the piece
without having to hold it up.
    “Good
choice.” I snip the labels off their plastic ties and discard them in the