Every time you make a move

Non-Canon: Curiosity Killed The Cat

Author's Note: This chapter contains content which some readers may find upsetting. Reader discretion is advised. 

Sundae's Ice Cream & Coffee Bar, South Kensington, one morning in January, 1986

"Helen, can you come out here please?"

Helen was in the middle of mopping the floor tiles in the back store room when her manager Nigel, who also happened to be her uncle and the parlour owner, called for her from the front cabinet.

She wrung her wet mop into the bucket as she cried back, "Be right there!"

Uncle Nigel's interruption couldn't have come at a better time, for her arms and back were getting sore from leaning down and mopping the back room first thing in the morning.

Helen stepped back into the main parlour, pulling latex gloves onto her hands, "You called?"

"The Cadbury driver's just called and he says that he can't get parked near here" he zipped up his windbreaker, a little exasperated.

She asked, "You mean the delivery for the stock of flakes, right?"

Her uncle nodded, "Do you think that you could man the shop for about ten or fifteen minutes while I hop out?"

"Sure" Helen nodded confidently. After all, ten minutes wasn't that long.

"Atta girl," Nigel grabbed his metal sack truck, "I'll pay you extra for it, alright?"

Helen nodded and smiled back as her uncle affectionately ruffled her short, red permed hair before wheeling his sack truck outside. The bell on the door tinkled as he let it slam behind him and continued on his errand.

Now it was just Helen, the 1950s and 60s music blaring from the Seeburg jukebox that enhanced the parlour's retro American-diner aesthetic with the red leather seating and chequered flooring, and her uncle's aquatic tank of tropical fish for company. 

"Fancy leaving an ice cream shop open at this time of year... everything in London is cold outside," she leaned against the table nearest the cashier, "Uncle Nigel has to pay the bills I suppose"

She had worked at his parlour for several months since the summer holidays, long enough to know that even if the shop had currnetnly run out of cadbury flakes it was often almost dead in the middle of winter. The only customers that ever came by were customers of convenience, such as families with children visiting the nearby hospital or office workers in need of a hot beverage; in fact, these days Helen found herself making more tea and coffee on the barista machine than preparing ice cream cones. Perhaps that was why she felt so confident to be left solo for a short time today.

"Oh god, not this song again..." she thought aloud under her breath as Del Shannon's Runaway started to play on the jukebox:

She had heard the song countless times, but the 'wa wa wa' bit in the chorus was still an irritating assault to her ears. 

Alas to make it more awkward Helen had customers, and her uncle wasn't even gone for one minute. 

With a jingle of the bell the glass door swung open. Two excitable and giggly small children ran in, a brown-haired boy and a girl with black wavy locks down to her shoulders. 

"Settle down and behave!" A solemn-faced, moustached man wearing a red and black chequered fleece jacket who was a little big around middle quickly followed them both inside.