Robin's Fourth Girlfriend, Chapter Two

Enclosed by three walls and up as many steps, the toy-department was a treasure-cave whose stalagmites were boxed playsets piled in pyramidal formations. No tide-eroded rock ever yielded such a vein as the intermingled hues of card-art adorning each vertical face, across whose richness clear plastic bubbles winked like embedded gems. Great chests on the floor spilled more bounty still, and beside them smaller lobster-baskets fanned stickers and transfer-sets.

Robin’s first impression was that he’d probably brought Presh to the wrong store. Always assuming this curious non-existent world obeyed any laws at all, then toys advertised in a comic published this week would be new. This made Robin wonder if they’d have them here, which looked to him more the sort of place you’d happily give over your morning to a good rummage for rarities, and where you exclaimed over items which had quit the high street seasons ago. Chap had been spot-on that old Wodding would have loved it, but Robin wasn’t totes sure Presh was going find her latest range in such a forgotten corner.

Of course, this entire realm was like that, so far as Robin’s understanding of it ran. As forgotten corners went it was a town-sized one, adrift in an emptiness of time and memory. What for example lay behind this little space’s windowless square-shaped border, hung with racks of action figures? No stockroom, Robin guessed. There might have been one at the shop’s historical correlative on Pre-Nottingham Earth, but a boy-Joe wouldn’t have been allowed there. That meant that in a world delimited by Joe’s recollections, the other side of where Robin was simply didn’t exist. He was already at the limit. Beyond subconsciousness was nothing at all. When put like that it became rather frightening the toy-department’s walls looked paper-thin.

Robin snapped out of these thoughts when his thankful eye fell on colour-schemes and a graphical style which corresponded unmistakably with Presh’s comic-ad.

“Ah!” he pronounced, reaching again for her hand. Chap wasn’t exactly resisting the opportunities to do that today. Had there been something in the appleade?

All excitement they hurried to the display, a whole section gleaming gold, vivid with renderings of its encapsulated ranks. Busily Presh began to flick from front to back of each row in turn, working her way through. Robin watched her with a smile, and while he smiled, made at least a token effort to fight back what he felt.

“There’s one here with the same name as you!” Presh giggled.

Finally she extracted her curls from the merchandise, heightened and triumphant. Robin helped her pull out and hold the armful of unwanted action figures which were all that stood in her way. Then Presh dragged free that coveted card, whose gilt sheen was as unto every other in the line but which was alone in boasting decorations of a universal purple and black.

“Power-punch action,” she whispered in awe.

Somehow though, as Robin struggled to push the excess back onto its tree, he couldn’t quite make out what it was Presh saw in that lumpy forbidding physiognomy. Neither the two-dimensional treatment nor the action figure itself were greatly to his tastes, especially since the latter came with just a gun, and a black briefcase which if anything looked more ominous still. Robin couldn’t help voicing his earlier suspicion that Presh was being wooed by a baddie, possibly even the leader of the baddies if appearances were anything to go by.

“Not a baddie, Robin,” Presh replied. Her voice was quiet and thoughtful. “But certainly a leader. It’s just that some believe you can’t be one without being the other.”

She looked to him, radiant. “Where do I go to pay?”

“I think it’s like the comics, Presh,” Robin cautioned, though to tell the truth he was a little lost by now. “That is, you won’t get to keep it after we leave here.”

Heedless Presh strode to an unattended counter, and setting down the action figure atop it proceeded to pool the last of her pocket-change.

If pocket-change it could be called when pockets Presh had none.

Her hand dug deep into the Mini-Flash equivalent, tugging a glimmer of astonishing red into Robin’s view. Already fidgety, this brought him close to a full-on squirm. Nor however had he strength to turn away, much as he railed against his unfaithful heart, she having said such uncalled-for things about Mini-Flash Juniper. Presh dragged the last pennies out from her elastic and clapped them on the counter, then with both thumbs and forefingers took a minute to resettle before continuing. Wretchedly Robin flinched at the sound of that snug little snap.

When however he heard Presh exclaim: “Stupid Earth-money!” as one disconsolate, he was galvanized into immediate action.

“Um,” said he, trotting to her, though both hands gripped the front of his tunic-skirt, “I can totes help you out if you’ve not got enough.”

“You’re so nice!” cried Presh. Then she stood and waited, smiling, expectant.

“Um,” Robin ventured again, tightening his hold on his hemline. “In that case, um – ” his cheeks were prickling, “ – can you not look, for a bit?”

Presh’s smile stayed on. “Like you didn’t?” she inquired sweetly.

Chap couldn’t very well refute evidence which was there right in front of him, Robin supposed. Seemed it wasn’t only his spirit that was weak. Heaving a huge sigh he set about liberating the difference from his own white cotton, all under the arch gaze of Presh, and never had he felt such shame towards her.

Another phantom cashier was by now before the Mini-Flashes. Presh scooped up the thirty-odd pieces, and beaming handed them over.

END OF CHAPTER TWO