The Emporium was now a record shop. None of that modern new-fangled techno type stuff but good old-fashioned racks of vinyl LPs in alphabetical order lining every wall. There were all the unforgettable bands from every era, the novelty one-offs, and the timeless classics. The middle isle boxes housed the timeless specialities, classical music, opera, the soundtracks from operas and films plus the 45s singles of the hit parade. Right at the back were the soundproof listening booths, plastic bubbles open at the front with a bench seat, specially designed for cuddling, two sets of headphones and a record player. Thrumps idly wondered how many hours young people had spent lost in them over the years.
Clicking his fingers the doors unlocked and the first customer arrived.
He was an elderly gentleman sporting the correct attire for teenagers in the late 40’s, high-waisted jeans, turned up cuffs, white socks and penny loafers with a hand-knitted pullover sweater. His hair was greased and slicked back. Flicking through the top forty singles he eventually settled on In the Mood by Glenn Miller.
“This was number one when I met her.” He said, smiling sadly at Thrumps as he popped the record on the turntable and settled himself wearily onto the seat.
The little bell over the shop door as a new customer arrived distracted Thrumps. When he looked back the man was no longer there, neither was the record.
The lady that had entered looked at first glance as if she was a young, woman about town, dressed in a pencil skirt two-piece suit, a no frills plain white blouse and kitten heel shoes, her hair was quaffed and plastered in lacquer. As she turned towards him Thrumps realised that although dressed in the fashion of the 1950’s, that had been a very long time ago for her.
“Do you have You Belong to Me?” she asked.
“Jo Stafford?” Thumps asked, not knowing how on earth he knew that. She nodded.
“We always had big dreams of one day seeing the pyramids.” She shook her head slowly. “But it was never to be.”
Thrumps handed her the record and watched as she headed to the same booth as the gentleman before. She vanished as soon as the song began.
Neither returned, which Thrumps found a little odd. By now he was used to people simply blinking in and out of existence when in The Emporium, but they did usually come back almost immediately. Not this time though, so it seemed.
Next came a young teenager, sporting a poodle-skirt with a tight-fitting two-piece top, the cardigan draped casually over her shoulders. It was Bill Haley and the Comets that rocked her away. Unchained Melody whisked off a couple so obviously still in love that they never even acknowledged that Thrumps was even there, and a teddy-boy, all bad-ass and moody strutted his stuff to That’ll be the Day as he went wherever it was that they were all going.
By lunchtime neigh on thirty people had vanished.
As the day passed there was a steady procession of people through the doors. Each with their own agenda.
Plucking up a little courage Thrumps tried to engage the final one in a bid to find out what was going on.
“Excuse me,” he said as he handed a recording of Blue Moon to a dapper young man, obviously from the early sixties. “Could you tell me why you are here?”
“To listen to the music.”
The reply was said as if it should be the answer to everything but Thrumps frowned.
“Music takes you back,” the man continued. “You just close your eyes and you are there, right where you were when you first heard it. Back to the magic of the dance, a pretty girl in your arms and not a care in the world. That’s where I want to die.”
Thrumps just stood there and watched him blink out of existence.
He was tempted to see what would happen if he tried. The whole things seemed to focus on the fifties and sixties so carefully selecting I can’t stop loving you, a Ray Charles classic he hesitated only briefly as he slipped it on the turn-table.
‘What would become of The Emporium if he disappeared?’ He thought.
Curiosity won out. He clicked the switch and found himself in a dancehall surrounded by not only all his customers of that day, but also the loved ones they had been so longing to meet up with again.
The DJ smiled at him.
“So,” he drawled, a fag hanging from the corner of his mouth. “Now you know.”
Thrumps wondered briefly if that was it. He looked around but recognised no one that he desperately wanted to be with. The DJ smiled and raised his pint of beer as if in a toast.
Thrumps couldn’t for the life of him remember getting back, but back he was and sitting comfortably in his favourite armchair in front of a roaring fire. Gently playing in the background was It’s not unusual, Thrumps smiled. Well he thought, it might not be unusual for you Tom, but everything always is around here.