Part 3: The Station Shop

The station shop smelled of paper and coffee from the café next door. A bell rang when I entered. Farah met me at the counter with a folder of sales figures and a list of repairs. She did not begin with a sentimental speech.

“The back room leaks when the rain is heavy,” she said. “We moved the stock, but the ceiling needs attention.”

Her colleague Tomas showed me the children's shelf. Its lowest section was easy to reach, but the aisle beside it was too narrow for some strollers and wheelchairs. Moving a display table would help, although it would reduce space for featured books.

“We can test a different layout,” he said. “We don't know whether it will affect sales.”

I appreciated the honesty. I had heard too many plans that promised every benefit and acknowledged no cost. We measured the aisle and recorded the dimensions. Martin would ask a local accessibility specialist to review the proposed layout before we spent money on it.

Farah also showed me a notebook of customer requests. People wanted evening hours twice a week, a regular book exchange, and a place to collect preordered titles without crossing town. None of those ideas guaranteed profit. Each suggested a reason people might return if we made the shop easier to use.

We agreed on an eight-week trial, subject to the landlord approving a short lease extension. The company would fund a limited repair and marketing budget. Staff hours would be paid, and we would review the results together. If the numbers still did not work, we would discuss alternatives before any closure decision.

Farah looked relieved but cautious. “I don't want the team to think you've promised more than you can.”

“Then tell them exactly what we agreed.”

Outside, I found the old railway clock had stopped at eleven twenty. Sarah had once made a game of asking children what time the clock believed it was. The children always knew it was wrong. They enjoyed being the ones to tell an adult.

On the way home, I called the landlord. He was willing to discuss an extension but wanted evidence that we could pay for the repairs. I sent the documents to our finance team and asked them to prepare a realistic estimate.

The next morning Poppy arrived with Lena after preschool. Her aunt had been delayed, and Martin had confirmed that she could wait in the kitchen. She wore the toy badge over a yellow sweater.

“Is the train shop safe?” she asked.

“It's being checked.”

“Does it have a door handle?”

“Two. One is a little loose.”

She looked concerned. “That needs a list.”

Lena handed her a pencil. Poppy drew a line that represented the handle, then another for the shelf, although she had not visited the shop. I wrote the real items beside her marks: lease, ceiling, aisle. She added a fourth line.

“What is that one?”

“Snacks for the people fixing things.”

It was not the most urgent item, but I left it on the page. The list was better with room for the people doing the work.