The Vintage Shop – Part 1: The Lining

The letter was inside the coat, sewn into the lining with tiny stitches.

Poppy found it by accident. She was twenty-nine, the owner of a vintage clothes shop in the Lanes, with a pink streak in her hair and a vast collection of other people's lives. The coat was camel wool, 1960s, bought at an estate sale. As she ran her fingers over the hem, she felt a stiff little rectangle under the silk.

"Sam!" she called, through the shared wall.

The tailor next door appeared in the doorway, tape measure round his neck. He was thirty-two, quiet, with dark messy hair, a waistcoat and a pencil behind his ear. "What's the emergency?"

"Look."

He unpicked the lining with a seam ripper, thread by thread. Out slid an envelope, yellowed and fragile, addressed in blue ink: To Eleanor, if she'll have me. Inside, a single sheet. Sam read it aloud, slowly, in his soft voice.

"Dear Eleanor, I am no good at speaking. I have sewn this in so that, if I lose my nerve on Saturday, you will find it anyway..."

The shop fell silent. Seagulls cried outside. Poppy's eyes pricked.

"He never gave it to her," she whispered.

"Or she never found it."

"We have to find out."

They spent three weeks on the trail. The estate sale records. The register of the local ballroom. An elderly neighbour with a photo album. In the evenings, after closing, they sat on the shop floor eating chips from paper, pinning notes to a map, laughing at their own sleuthing.

"Can I ask you something?" said Sam.

"Yes."

"Why do you care so much?"

"Because someone wrote this," said Poppy, "and it deserves to be read."

He looked at her, a long moment. "You are the kindest person I know."

"Green?" she said, a little pink.

"Green," said Sam, smiling. "Very green. I think we've found her address."

Continue the story: Part 2 – Delivered.