Roommates (Roger Taylor/Queen)

7. Don't Hold Your Breath

CHAPTER SEVEN
'DON'T HOLD YOUR BREATH'

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THE JOURNEY TO WORK WAS A SHORT ONE AS I GOT THE TUBE TO OXFORD STREET and then walked the rest of the way to my destination - a small, yet quaint, antique shop called Timeless Trinkets. A hoarders idea of heaven, it sold everything - from furniture to paintings, crockery to silverware, records to turntables and even the occasional creepy looking doll. But as bizzare as it was, I rather liked it; so much so that I'd been working there for the last 3 years now, after inquiring about an ad that I'd seen in the newspapers.

I was given menial work, like dusting ornaments, writing prices on price tags, and sometimes - if it was totally necessary - answering phone calls or being in charge of the till, but always under the watchful eyes of my boss, Mr. Bennet. A short, bald-headed man in his late 60s, he was a strange sort of fellow, with a permanent frown upon his face, and who prized his hundreds of antiques like they were of incalculable value, creating a problematic reluctancy to let things go. But over the years I'd managed to earn his seal of approval, even if he never admitted it.

Anyway, being a Monday morning, the shop was quiet, which gave me the chance to do a stock take - something Mr. Bennet made me do probably more compared to other stores, but it put his mind at ease I suppose. However, because of the mountains of stuff on display, it was a near impossible task, and took me right up until noon to get it done. But I can tell you for certain that I was happy when I had.

'Heidi?' I heard the voice of my boss shout throughout the shop.

Climbing down from the step ladder next to the shelf full of clocks I'd finished taking a note of, I replied, 'Yeah?'

Mr. Bennet's head appeared from around the corner at the end of the aisle, 'I'm popping out for a while. Need to go and see a chap up in Camden - says he's got some old jewellery that we might be interested in. I'll be gone some time. Hold the fort, will you?'

'Of course, sir,' I smiled, 'No problem.'

And with a just one simple nod, he shuffled off towards the door, grabbed his coat from the hook before leaving the shop and shutting it behind him, the little bell above ringing slightly as he did.

I was alone - well, apart from Bing Crosby's voice singing through one of the record players, but I still smiled to myself as I knew that I was now in charge. Once I'd finished doing the stock take, I disappeared into the small room at the back of the shop where I retrieved the latest David Bowie album which I'd stashed away in behind a stack of boxes (I may have made a slight detour to work this morning by the record store...)

Taking it back through to the shop, I replaced the current record that was playing with my own, as the sound of the intro to the first song filled the room. Standing back and doing a little dance as I strolled towards the counter, I jumped up and sat myself down on the chair behind it, whistling along to the tune as I did. Searching the little shelf underneath the desk curiously, I pulled out an art magazine and scanned the front cover. Nov. 1970. Bit out of date, but that didn't matter. I'm sure Mr. Bennet wouldn't mind if I took a short break. It's not like we were exactly booming with business, were we?

So I sat there reading the magazine, whilst singing along to the music playing away in the background. By now, we hadn't had a customer in over an hour, and I'd become so comfortable where I was in fact that I'd even propped my feet up on the desk, making myself very at home as I oggled over painting supplies. However, my daydreaming was soon interrupted by the bell above the door ringing out, indicating that someone had walked in.