"Waltz in my Shoes!"

Once upon a time, in the center of a little market town, there was a charity shop. It was a high class establishment, and lots of the local gentry gave their time free of charge to make it work. It dealt mostly with new goods, gained from manufactors and interested parties by the goods raising manager of the shop. Sshe had a feeling that in a market town like theirs, the local poor were interested in looking good, which in our present age, means labels, designs and new!

There was some disent over this, because the local clergy felt that no poor existed in the town. It was always a rich area, rich in work, and in monies. Very few lived on benefits. One particular morning in flew one of the town's real poor, clad in her hippy clothes, and a large necklace. Since her husband had died, she was always alone.

"Hello, have you any shoes?" she asked hesitantly, fingering a soft grey and blue blouse, "In a size 7?"
I'd been putting out the shoes earlier, we'd had a change round after the inventory. "Yes, one pair, I think," I paused to consider, "Just at the back, there's a rack of shoes there." I pointed over to the back.
She nodded, "Thanks," and went over to look.

Two minutes later I had to hold my nose, she had taken off her shoes, an old yellowy pair of trainers, and her socks, thick and stiff, she was endevouring to peel down her heels.
"I could do with sitting down for this," she remarked quietly furious, "Gets harder as you get older."
I wasn't sure how to handle this, "I have a stool, I'll get it from the back."
I gave her the stool and pulled out the air freshner from behind the counter. I really couldn't wait until she left. The air was thick with sweaty shoes, socks and feet that smelt of old cheese.

"These are lovely," she said pushing her feet into a blue high heel, with silver trim, "Ever so pretty!"
"There only £2" I said grudgingly, she really didn't deserve to have them, they should have belonged to a beautiful dancer. "Great for ballroom dancing."
She smiled, "Husband and I used to do that, they don't do it much now." She admired the way the shoes shone at the end of her heavy legs. I noted the swollen ankles in amazement, they neatly lapped the top of the foot.

"Used to win prizes," she annouced, swaying as to some hidden music. "My dresses were phonominenal, I used to sequin them myself." Her eyes twinkled, and she took a few steps. My mouth hung open, just for a moment I saw a younger woman with her hair tied up in a knot and a mid calf much petticoated dress twirl in front of me. When the twirl ended, the blue and silver dress had vanished, and the woman was back, smelly feet and all.

"What happened to your dresses?" I asked, "Dresses like that cost a lot nowadays."
"Indeed, you have to make them yourself, for it to be reasonable," she said, still with the dancing shoes on her feet, "Have you a bin I can put the old ones in?"

I nearly laughed, that meant we kept half the stink, that was our freebie. "I have, here!" I pointed to it, and she threw the old trainers, with socks into it. I resoved to shove it into the bin outside as soon as she left. "Seen the blue dress that matches the shoes?" I asked, wondering if I could get her to chuck the clothes she had on. "Its on the rail behind you."

She moved on to the rail, and pulled out the dress. The colours spun for her, I could tell, "Brand new," I said, "Our manager's dead good at getting people to help with supplies." Well she was our poor and I was going to help her.
"There's a changing room too, at the end of the shoes!" I felt good, this was why I had come to work at the shop, this was reward time. I was helping the poor.

She smiled at my sales tactics, "I will try it on," she said softly, "Just for old times sake."
She came out of the changing room clad in the pale blue dress, it was cut beautifully, the pale silver at the base, just glittered quietly. "It's kind of half ordinary, half more than." she said. I wondered if she was cut to the bone yet.

All that she had couldn't be worth the real price of the dress. She twirled again, and again I saw her younger, she had kept her figure, all it needed was a hairdo, and some make up, she could rival us all. Should I have mentioned the dress?

"How much?" she asked anxiously, "How much for the dress?" I knew then that I had made the sale. "What should I wear it with?"
I pulled out a cardigan, soft angora, a slightly deeper blue, "How about this, makes up for a coat?"
She held it like it was a baby, and smoothed her face against its blueness. "Beautiful!" she said softly, and she put it on.

Then there's these, I said jubilantly, unrepentant, and pulled out the box of hair clips and bands. "Should finish the job nicely, there's some lovely blue ones." We usually sold them to children, with her hair though, it would finish it nicely.
"And, there's a bag to match," Had I gone too far. She was sorting out the grips and bands, into two piles...

"I'll take it," she said hardly looking at the bag.
"All of it?" I asked feeling a tiny bit guilty.
"Yes," she said shortly, "I want to put it on, first," and she went off to the changing room. From inside a muffled voice said happily, "My name is Rowen by the bye."
"Good to meet you," I replied, "I'm Marilyn" It would be on the sales ticket anyway, so she could know that much.
"When I die, I'm leaving you my dresses," she continued, "I have no family now, you see, so..."
I was totally lost, "You can't do that, I mean it's kind of you... Surely you have a friend or two to leave it too?"
"No one who appreciates clothes as much as you do," she said happily, "And sees me properly as you do."

She came out of the changing room as a blue dressed lady, who walked out of the shop looking a million dollars. I went into the changing room to find her old clothes on the back of the chair. I then relized that she had walked away without paying. I picked up her clothes in disgust only to find on the bottom of the chair was a £20 note.

I ran out of the shop, to call her back, she waved at me accross the street, "Come back, you left money."
She came back, "I left it so I'd paid," she said, "I can't wait, I'm meeting someone."
"Thanks, it's too much!" I said quickly, "I'll give you change."
"Give it me next time," she replied smoothly. "We will meet again."

I totalled up and made change and put the change in an envelope with her name on under the counter. It was all there.

Two days later the shop rang, "Marilyn?" the Manager said, "Rowan Tree died, and has left you something, the solicitor has been round to ask you to go fetch your belongings."
"Which one?" I asked nervously, "I didn't know she died."
"Four days ago," replied the Manager. "Apparently. The solicitor is Umbridge & Burnstine, in the Market place."
"I'll go round later on," I said, "I know where that is."

Umbridge & Burnstine turned out to be a large chambers with several solicitors and barristors working in tandem. I mentioned the inheritance and the name and the long suffering clerk crossed me off a list.
"Come this way," she said calmly, "We're glad you came promptly." She handed me a bag at arms length.

"Thank you," I said excitedly, well dance dresses would wash I supposed, in the car I opened the bag, there was the same horrible smell. Two trainers fell out with socks attached inside. "Walk in my shoes!" said the note that came with the bag.