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Glancing at the clock on the wall of the British Museum’s Giftshop, Steven Grant saw the time was 3:22pm, meaning he had eight minutes, give-or-take, until the shop was full of patrons from the 2:30pm tour. It also meant that he had eight-or-so minutes before all the work that he had done restocking shelves, taking inventory, and organizing the plethora of over-priced items the store had to offer, would be ruined and he would have to do it all over again before heading home like the rest of his colleagues.
Upon realizing this, exhaustion settled deep into his bones, suddenly making his entire being feel heavy. From where he was standing at-the-ready at the till, Steven leaned his elbows on the counter, hung his head, ran a hand through his already messed up hair, and sighed.
He feared that it was all beginning to catch up with him: all the sleepless nights, all the mornings spent getting chastised by Donna for this or that, the never-ending disappointment when he would end each day still a clerk and not a tour guide, and the frustration that came with knowing that there was no end in sight to the depressing monotony that was his life.
No, he told himself, you can’t start thinking like that. If he did, he feared he’d go even more mad than he already was.
Besides, life isn’t all that bad, he reminded himself.
After all, there was Gus, his little one-finned wonder, and his mum, of course. There was also the fact that, even though he was stuck selling tchotchkes, the building he was in currently housed some of the most important Ancient Egyptian artifacts ever found.
What else is there? he thought, because surely this wasn’t it. Surely there had to be something that he was forgetting, but as he scoured his brain for the answer, he couldn’t for the life of him think of what it was.
Then he heard it…or rather, he heard you; finishing up with the two-thirty group, leading them towards the gift shop, headed straight towards him. Bollocks, he really must have been exhausted, he thought, to have forgotten about you.
“And there you have it ladies and gents, as they say: all roads lead to home, all drains lead to the ocean, and all museum tours lead to the gift shop,” you repeated the same line you used to end every tour, the words practically muscle memory for your tongue at this point, but Steven didn’t care. To him, it didn’t matter how many times he heard you say the same thing over and over, again and again, each day, he would still think it one of the most incredibly clever sayings he’d ever heard- all because you were the one who had come up with it.
“You have been an absolutely lovely group and I sincerely hope to see you all again. Thank you so much for visiting the British Museum, I hope you all have a wonderful afternoon!”
With the end of your spiel the crowd of ten or so people that you had spent the last hour guiding through the exhibits, dispersed and began to peruse the shelves full of merchandise. One or two tourists hung back to speak with you as was typical, and Steven couldn’t help but hope that they wouldn’t keep you too long.
You had thirty minutes between the end of the two-thirty tour and the beginning of the final tour for the day at 4 o’clock. Normally, tour guides would use those thirty minutes to grab a coffee and hide away in the breakroom before their next group- not you though.
Recently, you had made it a habit to spend your thirty minutes lingering around the gift shop counter, regaling Steven with tales from the tour and, in turn, listening to him ramble on and on about anything and everything; from tales of Egyptian mythology that he was sure you already knew, to complaining about life from behind the till.
Each and every second that you chose to spend with him was sacred to Steven, and he soon found himself walking into the museum each morning hopeful that he would get the chance to speak with you.
Yes, he must be absolutely knackered in order to forget you.
Finishing up the conversation with the few patrons who kept you, you inconspicuously began making your way over to Steven, trying not to draw any more attention from either your patrons or from Donna, who always seemed to be lurking around every corner.
“Well, that was a right pain in the arse,” you said, the bitter words concealed beneath your brilliant smile, “glad it’s over with.”
The corner of Steven’s mouth quirked up as your stilted, professional voice dissipated and gave way to your natural brogue.
“That bad?” Steven asked, eliciting a soft groan from you.
“Just a bunch of wet blankets is all,” you said, “at least with the wee yins you got some excitement to go off of, even if they drive you mental.”
Steven thought back to all the times he’d witnessed you recount the mummification process to groups of school children that had come to the museum on field trips. He could practically hear the exclamations of disgust as you told them about how the ancient Egyptians would pull the brain out through the nose.
“You’re good with the little ‘uns though,” Steven said, “you keep their attention better than anyone else.”
“Well, that’s just ‘cause they haven’t given you a chance yet,” you replied, “trust me, Steven: the moment you get your own tours I’m gonna look like an amateur in comparison.”
Your words were full of such sincerity that it made him want to cry. That you’d actually believe he’d make a good tour guide coupled with the fact that you actually remembered his name made his heart soar.
“No worries about that,” he said a little glumly, “Donna’s already made it very clear she’s never letting me out from behind the counter.”
“Can you blame her? Without you she’d actually be forced to do some of the work herself,” you said, “this place would fall apart without you.”
Steven didn’t know how to respond and, luckily for him, he didn’t have to, since the first wave of customers began to line up, clutching their purchases in their hands.
You sighed, “guess that’s my cue to go,” you said, “but before I do; me and a couple of the others are going out to the pub tonight, you coming?”
For a moment Steven was too shocked to respond and all he could do was stare at you in utter disbelief at your question. Surely you weren’t serious, after all, it was one thing to be kind to him while you were at work- to spend the time you had between tours lingering around the giftshop counter to speak with him, to sit with him on the rare occasions when your lunches aligned because you noticed he was eating alone- where choices of companions during open periods were limited to none. It was an entirely other thing for you to actually choose to spend the time you had away from work to be with him.
No one ever willingly chooses to spend time with him.
“M-me?” Steven asked in shock, pointing to himself in disbelief.
You nodded and your smile grew: “well, yeah,” you said, “who else would I be asking?”
The idea that someone- especially someone as kind, smart, and beautiful as you- would want to spend your precious free time with him made his heart soar.
His elation was short-lived, however, because he soon remembered that Donna had put him on inventory that night as punishment for him arriving late that morning.
His heart sank.
“I-I would love to, honestly,” he said, “but, I can’t. Donna put me on inventory tonight.”
Your smile dropped and Steven immediately felt guilty, he began to wring his hands.
“I could always meet you there once I’m done, although that probably won’t be until midnight or one, but if you’re still out then and want me to come I’d be more than happy to pop in,” Steven began to ramble, “although, fair warning: I’m not sure I’ll be much fun, I’m already dead on my feet, you’d probably be better off taking one of the mummies as company- they’d certainly talk less.”
Steven laughed nervously and you managed to muster up a small grin at his attempt at self-deprecating humor.
“I think you’re great company, Steven,” you said, “what time does inventory start?”
Confused, Steven replied: “as soon as the last customer leaves, why?”
You shrugged and shook your head, “just wondering, I’ll see you then.”
Steven didn’t have time to ask what you meant or respond before you turned and walked off, leaving Steven to deal with the slowly growing line of tourists at the till.
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The pleasant but automated recording of a woman’s voice sounded over the British Museum’s loudspeakers, announcing to everyone that it was now five o’clock and the museum was beginning to cease operations for the rest of the day, kindly informing patrons to- in not so little words- get the hell out.
Steven was just beginning to ring up the last few customers when he spotted you talking with a group of other tour guides. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of longing to be among them, to be a part of that group, even if it was just for the night. He had half a mind to tell Donna to shove it, screw inventory, what did it matter if he skipped it for one night? All he wanted was one night- just one- to feel normal. Was that too much to ask?
As Steven finished ringing up the last customer, he spotted you, out of the corner of his eye, waving bye to your friends, making your way towards the gift shop. Your tote bag slung over your shoulder, pressed tight against your waist. Even exhausted after a long day of work, you still radiated an aura of positivity and excitement; a small smirk graced your face and, even from a distance, it made Steven’s stomach flip.
“Oi, what are you doing here?” Steven asked, “I thought you were leaving for the pub with the others?”
You shook your head, scrunching up your face, “nah,” you replied, “change of plans, actually. I picked up an extra shift.”
“Really?” Steven breathed.
You nodded, shrugging your shoulders nonchalantly, as though this was something you would do for anyone. As though it wasn’t the biggest gesture anyone had ever done for him.
Steven’s eyes were wide with awe, his mouth slightly agape. He looked at you as though you were the most magnificent being he had ever seen. Still, he couldn’t help but feel a tinge of guilt at the thought of you, missing a night out, just to be stuck with him under the harsh fluorescents of the stockroom, most likely sitting in awkward silence beside him, doing monotonous work until the wee hours of the morning.
Steven shook his head, his thoughts swirling around his mind; “you didn’t need to do that,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper.
Again, you shrugged your shoulders nonchalantly: “eh, I could use the money,” you said.
“But…but your mates…” Steven said.
You turned your eyes away from his gaze in a gesture that if he hadn’t known better he would have assumed was bashful.
“Well, it’s like I said earlier,” you replied, “you make great company.”
Steven felt his cheeks widen into a smile. This is it, he realized, finally the universe had decided to send some good his way.
“Well, come on then,” you said, “you gotta teach me the ropes, don’t just want me sitting on my arse all night do you?"
“Oh you wish, I’m putting you to work, missy,” Steven teased, only to be rewarded with the sound of your laughter.
Perhaps inventory wasn’t such a curse after all.