Everything In Its Place

Everything In Its Place

Jack’s Story

I don’t understand. It was just an accident, but everyone keeps acting like accidents have to mean something.

It started when Mum said I should try volunteering at a charity shop because she thought I might enjoy it. Before that, I’d spent a few months in a restaurant kitchen. It was ok at first, but then the chef left. They got a new one who wanted me to change my shifts. Also, everyone was running round like headless chickens. I mean, even more than usual.

When people sent the food back and complained, the chef’s face went all red and the veins stood out like purple cords on his neck. I couldn’t understand why he was swearing and shouting all the time. I mean, shouting doesn’t make the pasta cook any faster.

Then one of the waitresses started crying.

It was too noisy.

Anyway, the first charity shop I came to seemed alright from the outside. There was a big model of a dog with a slot for coins. I put in a few pounds, which was all the spare change I had on me. I like saving coins, especially the ones with Paddington Bear on them. I have Paddington at the palace, St Paul’s Cathedral and at the Tower. I even have Paddington at the station, which is more rare. I would never give that one away because Mum got it for me.

I also like Beanos. They make me laugh.

Putting the shiny £1 coins into the dog collection box was good. I really like dogs. I have one called Murphy who is fourteen months old. Dogs are friendly and easy to be around. They don’t shout and have kind faces.

Inside the shop window, there was a poster. It said:

“We need volunteers. Can you help on Wednesday morning?”

I read it twice — just to make sure.

I saw a woman at the till wearing a blue T-shirt with a dog on it — except she didn’t seem very dog-friendly. Or people friendly. She was talking loudly on her phone and Mum says that’s rude.

There was a “No Dogs Allowed” sign. I read it twice.

I don’t understand why a shop for a dog charity would ban dogs. It’s like having a library banning people who like reading.

I was going to ask about volunteering, but I didn’t think I’d get on with the assistant. I got all itchy.

I don’t understand. If they don’t want volunteers, why put up a notice? People say things that don’t match what they mean.

The next day, I walked Murphy down the high street and found another shop. This shop had a train running round a track in the window. I like trains. My dad got me a Hornby set for my eighteenth birthday. That was 2,912 days ago.

I decided to go inside.

When I asked about volunteering, the Assistant Manager said, “How old are you? We’re not allowed to have people under eighteen.”

“I’m twenty-five,” I said.

She gave me a strange look. “Might be best if you just do the steaming in the back.” Then she went back to scrolling on her phone.

The steamer looked a bit like a Henry hoover. I don’t understand why they didn’t give it a smile.

There was a T-shirt to be steamed that said “I’m with Stupid” with an arrow pointing sideways. I looked at it for a long time, to see if it made sense. It didn’t. If you’re on your own, it just points at nothing.

Then the fire alarm went off.

It wasn’t just noise. It pressed against my head like it wanted to get inside it. I put my fingers in my ears, grabbed my rucksack and left.

The third shop felt different straight away.

Rhea, the manager, asked if I minded checking toys and games to see if all the pieces were there. I said yes. I like making sure things are complete.

But while I was there, the other shop rang.

After the call, Rhea said she was sorry, but she couldn’t have me as a volunteer.

I don’t get it.

I thought this was the one where someone would understand me.

Now Mum says all the light has gone out of me. She says she’s going to ring Rhea and explain.

Also, someone put a Monopoly car in a Cluedo box.

I don’t understand how anyone expects to solve a murder with a sports car.

That’s not what I meant. Why is everything so hard?

A YEAR LATER

Rhea’s Story

A year later, I still remember the first time Jack came into the shop.

From ten o’clock onwards, the donations pile in like there’s no tomorrow. My arms, neck and shoulders ache from lifting heavy bags. That’s why I’m so grateful to have Jack and others like him to take the load off.

“Didn’t you say Jack should be here soon?” asks my new assistant Trace, interrupting my thoughts.

I check my phone. “Barring something unexpected, Jack will be here on the dot of ten.”

“Right.”

“Just make sure Jack has plenty of space at the table,” I tell her. “He likes to work on his own. And have the games ready for him to check.”

Jack is the most careful person we’ve got here, but sometimes a child will open up a game he’s sealed with sellotape and spread it out on the floor while we are busy and the pieces get lost. Or sometimes we don’t have time to check everything, especially when it’s busy or Jack is away.

Only the other day, a man came into the shop all hoity-toity, complaining about missing pieces in a Monopoly game.

“It says it’s complete on the box,” he moaned.

He wanted drama. He wanted to make a song and dance so all the other customers could hear how useless we are.

I don’t understand people like that. It’s a charity shop; we get what we are given.

“Ah, here he is now. Hi Jack.”

A strong-looking lad comes in wearing a hoodie with the shop logo on it.

“Hi Rhea.”

“How’s Murphy? I hope he’s been behaving himself.”

Jack’s face lights up. “Murphy has been good. THIS WEEK. I’ve had to keep him away from the river. My sister Danni GETS CROSS with him.”

He shows me a video of an adorable Labrador.

Before setting about his tasks, Jack rummages in his pocket. He places a shiny 50p coin on top of the shelf next to the sorting table. He gives me a sideways glance.

“That’s mine, isn’t it Rhea? To keep here.”

“Yes.” I exchange a look with Trace. “A good luck charm, isn’t it Jack?”

He nods. “Paddington Bear at the station. It’s from Mum.”

Jack gives equal attention to each game, but he has his favourites. He’s absorbed by Operation — checking all the body parts are there.

If something’s missing, he’ll say, “It isn’t all there, Rhea.”

Then I chuck it in the bin.

He’s worked through eight games and is about to start a two-hundred-piece puzzle when this intermittent bleeping starts. Jack covers his ears and screws up his face.

I feel it too — that sharp little drilling sound that gets behind the eyes.

Trace crouches, pointing at the fire door guard. “I think the noise is coming from here.”

She removes the batteries and the bleeping stops.

The whole room seems to unclench and breathe again.

Jack goes back to his puzzle.

A week later, everything changes.

Jack looks sad. “Erm, I won’t be able to help anymore… I’ve got a job cleaning dishes.”

I try not to show I’m upset. Or how much I’m going to miss him.

It’s been two weeks since Jack left when I get a call.

“Hello. It’s Danni, Jack’s sister. I think I’ve made a mistake encouraging Jack to leave the shop. He’s been really upset about it. They’re willing to let him change shifts at the restaurant so he can still come to the shop — that is, if you still want him.”

“Of course we still want him.”

It’s Wednesday morning when Jack turns up with a great Labrador.

“Hello Murphy! Wow! What a lovely dog!”

Jack rummages in his rucksack, producing two packets of Oreos.

“I’ve brought these in for tomorrow and Danni is baking a cake. It’s my birthday tomorrow. They are for everyone.”

“Thank you, Jack. It hasn’t been the same without you.”

I look at him for a moment longer than I mean to. I’m starting to realise it isn’t that Jack doesn’t understand things. It’s that he notices when they aren’t how they’re meant to be.

Some people make things from scratch. Jack just puts things back together properly.

Some of us learnt younger than others to keep noticing to ourselves.

After Jack leaves, I open a letter that’s been sitting on my desk. It’s an invitation to an event in London to celebrate my time with the company.

Twenty whole years. Some days feel like a lifetime, but on the whole, it’s been enough.

Between the letter and Jack returning, today is proving to be one of the better days.

I glance at the Paddington coin where Jack left it. It catches the light for a moment.

I look at the table where Jack will work tomorrow. Someone has tipped half the contents of a Monopoly set into a Cluedo box.

I don’t understand how some people can be so messy.

But I find myself leaving it there. Just for now.

And tomorrow, with patient hands, Jack will have everything back where it belongs.