The Apartment Store #15

Chapter 8, Part 1; in which Lydia finds herself famous

The Apartment Store is the story of Lydia, a little girl who lives in a ramshackle attic apartment, in a ramshackle apartment building, down the ramshackle end of town. All Lydia wants is a proper Christmas, but it doesn't seem likely until a new tenant arrives in their building and changes Christmas for everyone in it.

The Apartment Store is a book length Christmas story of twelve chapters, split into twenty four episodes for Advent.

The next morning Lydia got up to discover her father sitting at the table with coffee and toast and a newspaper. Laid out for her was a fried egg in the shape of a star on top of a piece of toast.

“Breakfast of champions," he said, turning the paper to face her, showing her a photograph of her posing as the Lydian girl underneath the shop sign, “And what a champion. You're famous. Although it’s mostly for being poor, as far as I can tell.”

SHOPPING BEGINS AT HOME

Read the headline and underneath:

‘This is Lydia and this is the Lydian, a whole new approach to retail that they’re calling ‘An Apartment Store’, an idea that could only have come from the inventive mind of a child and could only happen with the mercurial genius of a man like Otto Krampus. Story by Maddie Sharpe, pictures Mitt Wilson.’

“They spelled your name right, at least,” said her father, “They mangled mine.”

“Lydia lives with her father Dour,” read Lydia aloud.

“See?” said her father, “Although they’re not that far off the truth, I guess.”

“Ssh, ‘Lydia lives with her father Dour in one of those run down tenement blocks in a neglected corner of the Old Town, one of those places in our fair city so forgotten and deprived that Dour is reduced to making by hand the toys he can’t afford to buy his daughter.’”

“It’s rubbish,” said Door, “I liked making those toys. I enjoy it. I could afford to buy you toys if I wanted.”

“Then why didn’t you?” said Lydia, “Be quiet, ‘But in a story of ambition and pluck that is so typical of our fair city, Dour and Lydia have turned that fate into their strength and, in the process, created an idea that will change the way we shop forever. All with the help of one man, former department store owner Otto Krampus.’”

“She’s used ‘fair city’ twice,” said Door, “I think she was writing that drunk. Did she seem drunk to you?”

“There’s a picture of me with the Misses Pleasaunce and Mrs Mountjoy at the bottom,” said Lydia, “And there’s loads about the store, this is brilliant.”

“There’s loads about Artie Krampus,” said her father, “But I guess he sells newspapers, along with everything else.”

“But that’s what we need! It’s called word of mouth,” said Lydia.

“It’ll be word of somewhere else if I know Artie,” muttered Door.

“Shut up, don’t spoil it,” said Lydia, “People can’t come if they don’t know we exist, and now they know.”

“They certainly do,” said Door, “There’s a queue outside already.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Lydia sprang up from the table, “We’ve got to get ready!”

“Which is why we’re eating breakfast!” called her father, after her, “Hey, if you don’t want this bagel, I’m eating it.”

But she was gone.

“Definitely eating it, then,” he said.

Outside on the landing Mr Krebs was unscrewing the bell from the dumb waiter.

“Good morning, Mr Krebs,” said Lydia, who was disposed to be nice to everyone this morning, “Did you see? We got in the paper!”

“‘Run down tenement’ they call it,” growled Mr Krebs, “I keep this place working. I keep it nice. It ain’t run down.”

“What’s going on with George Joseph’s bell?” asked Lydia, deciding to change the subject.

“Got to move it down a floor,” said Mr Krebs, “He’s opening one now. Sports. Wants to use his apartment. Wasting my bloody time putting it up, taking it down.”

Lydia was beginning to get the sense that she wasn’t going to be able to change the subject to anything Mr Krebs was going to be happy about.

“All at it now,” he grumbled, “Even Door making toys, it says. Long as he doesn’t start making furniture, that’s all.”

He shot Lydia a sharp glare.

“I shouldn’t think so, have you seen what he makes?” she edged towards the stairs, “No one’s going to want to buy that, are they? I’m going to go and see what’s going on downstairs.”

Even Ivy was already up, Lydia could see her through her open door as she came down the stairs. Ivy was still in her pyjamas, standing in the middle of her living room looking confused.

“Have you lost something, Ivy?” called Lydia.

“Coffee,” said Ivy, fuzzily.

“Did you make it, yet?”

“No,’ said Ivy, unhappily.

“It smells like George Joseph is brewing, why don’t you ask him?”

On the next floor down, Fairuza was putting up a new store directory. It now read:

‘Basement. Furniture

Ground. Groceries, dry goods, supplies, food to go 

Floor 1. Christmas department, food and drink

Floor 2. Art, stationery, cookery, Interiors

Floor 3. Ladies Fashion, Sports and Leisure

Floor 4. Accounts & management’

“We’re growing, Lydia, oh Lydia,” said Fairuza, “And we’ve barely even started. You looked lovely in the newspaper, by the way, George Joseph did a lovely job with your hair. I’ve asked them for a copy.”

“Really?” said Lydia, “Thank you.”

“I was asking for one of the one of John and I anyway,” said Fairuza, “Shame they didn’t use it. She gave us a decent write up at least.”

“She certainly did,” said Lydia, “Dad says there’s a queue already.”

“There a couple of people and a dog,” said Fairuza, “But I guess technically that’s a queue. We’re almost ready, though, if you want to tell Artie to start letting them in.”

There were more than a couple of people waiting when Lydia finally found Artie on the steps of the building. She couldn’t see the dog, though.

“Fairuza says they’re ready,” she said.

“Then so am I,” said Artie, “Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to announce that the Lydian is now open for business. Food hall and Christmas Experience to your right, through the Olympic. Cookery? Straight through the front door, Madam and up to the second floor. Breakfast cooking demonstration should be starting soon and you get to taste the cooking, I promise. Absolutely worth sticking around for. If he’s making croissant this morning you are not going to want to miss it, the man is a master of the oven.”

The people started to file in past them. Two well dressed ladies, a man with a big black beard and dark glasses who Lydia thought might have been the man talking to her father last night. He must have been interested and come back to find out what was going on. Word of mouth, she thought to herself.

“Where are the toys?” asked a woman.

“Toys? I’m afraid we don’t have a toy apartment, madam,” said Artie.

“But the newspaper specifically mentioned it,” said the woman.

“She means my dad,” said Lydia.

“I certainly do,” said the woman, “Such a sweet, kind man.”

Lydia wondered who she was talking about.

“Lydia,” said Artie, “Run down to the Olympic and tell your father to get back to your apartment, toot sweet. Turns out we have a toy department after all.”