The hall was made of sandstone. But with the way the light tinted from the ceiling - it radiated a kind of gold. These Victorian bricks, laid by scallywags for the gentlemen of another era, had unsurprisingly stood the test of time. Indeed inside, they'd avoided the soot and smog, and absorbed the wonder of curious children and the frustration of parents who didn't have answers for them.
All manner of exhibits had exhibited themselves over the path of time. Mummified corpses, dinosaurs, rare stuffed birds among other treasures of exotic foreign lands had made their way to the Museum of Everyday Wonders. For those who worked and lived there it was the centre of the universe. Or more specifically, the universe came to it.
In tall hallways were offices of narrow desks with steeply stacked papers, filing cabinets and tinkling telephones. Tringaling-ling. "Amelia speaking, how can I help?". And another item would be on it's way. Another exhibit planned.
Quite frankly there was too much stuff. There were more things than space. More ornaments, artefacts, resources, items, historic documents and niknaks than the public could ever be interested in. It was all about the big exhibits, the big draws, the big headline that brought in the crowds and the ticket sales.
Everything that didn't fit in the permanent collection went to the archives. For the past ten years, the archives were growing downwards. Cratering through the chalk, clay and bedrock under the museum. Buckets of earth would be pulleyed up to the surface and chucked into tipper trucks. Down below the human moles went with their spades and drills. Beads of sweat ached across the lads' faces, as they dashed around with their hard hats, steel toe-cap boots, flourescent jackets and headlamps. The caverns were oozing with the smell of wet soil and testosterone.
Mud was becoming real estate.
Cement was piped down from trucks on the surface. Pumped into frames it was left to set. Wall by wall, corridor by corridor. Step by lowly step, the cement would harden. The digging would restart. Electric wires and pipes would be threaded through the gaps, and the cavernous underground space would grow downwards. Every few months a new floor would be usable. Posh young people on their internships would then push trolleys full of neanderthal's bones into the service lift. Then the squeaking wheels would be pushed along to the item's final resting place. On and on. Coming and going. To and fro. An endless hive of history graduates storing and cataloguing the past.
Some questioned how far the digging would go. Surely at some point it would be too expensive? Or they'd reach some old coal mine and the whole museum's structure would collapse into a large sinkhole. Or maybe they'd dig so deep that the groundwater would be so saturated the concrete wouldn't set? But no matter how expensive the project became, or how deeply they dug, nobody told the grubby faced badgers to stop.
With 22 stories now underground, the Museum was a veritable underground city. It was deeper than the nuclear bunker for the Royals and Prime Minister. It was almost as deep as the city's former telephone exchange.
And it was here in this tomb to old important things, that a human dinosaur was roaming around.
Malcolm Glover was old enough to be an exhibit in museum. He'd fought in 5 wars and escaped 2 prisoner of war camps. But by the strokes of luck and miraculous fortune had found himself on his feet at the ripe age of 88 years old. Just. His new hip gave him some difficulty from time to time and he was lonely.
The thing about being old was nobody was interested in you. He was invisible. Loud middle-eastern women with prams would push pass him in the queue at the bus stop spitting Arabic into their phones. Young people with headphones would look through him as if he were a ghost. Sometimes he welcomed death rather than face the anonymity of the endless sprawling city.
But sometimes, just sometimes, an idea would flash through his mind. A daring adventure. Something rude to shout out. His pulse would race (the doctor wouldn't be happy) and he'd smile at the thought of his derring-do. Then he'd think better of it... he was old enough know better for this sort of thing.
Stealing biscuits from the supermarket. Shouting "Oi Mr Towelhead" to the man who was always making snide comments to his girlfriend on the bus. Taking a watermelon from the grocers and rolling it down the street to trip over the nuns like skittles. All these things had crossed his mischevious mind. He just wanted the world to know he wasn't dead yet! And he'd go screaming and kicking.
The truth is he could probably get away with it. Act in a way he'd lost his marbles. Pretend he hand dementia. Wet himself. Then he'd get the sympathy vote. He was just a pathetic old grandad - that's what he could pull off effortlessly. If he got caught they'd learn he had no relatives or friends, give him a telling off and then he'd be sent home with a leaflet for care homes and social services.
Pfft! A care home. Was all that he was good for? Eating overboiled grey cabbage while playing bingo with a pile of geriatric vegetables. No thank you! He'd rather go skydiving and forget to the pull the parachute. Whoops! Splat.
All these thoughts had crossed his mind as he had made his way to the museum. His over 60s card had got him in for free every day for the past two weeks. He was watching and noticing every minute detail. Who was doing what, what was going where, what were the shifts and routines of various people - he knew he could carry out his plan. And he knew he could probably get away with it.
He'd bought a grey Marks and Spencer's jumper, a hat from a charity shop and bought a lanyard from a printer's shop which he'd changed the photo on. He was Gary Caxton and he was one of the new security guards here. He made his way to the staff entrance, went through the scanner. BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP! It squeeled as a young black man in a suit approached him to pat him down.
"Oh guilty as charged! Ha, oh that'll be my hip. Sorry, it gets me everytime at the airports too! Can't go anywhere these days without being treated with suspicion."
"Sorry grandad, I've gotta scan you wiv dis" he lulled, waving what looked like a lightsaber.
"Alright then... Jamal, but make it snappy, my shift starts in two minutes."
The lightsaber made all kinds of zappy noises at it approached Malcolm's hip.
"There - I told you so young man."
"Alright. See you laterz grandpapz"
So rude these young people. They have no respect for the elderly, not like they used to. Or at least as far back as he could remember. Nevertheless there was no time to waste. He made his way past the staff room and along the corridor to the archive elevator.
Here at the back, the building was far from spectacular. Everything was more practical, sparse, threadbare. At the front where the public went, every stone was polished, every lightbulb replaced, every cabinet was spotless. But behind the scenes here everything was... manically practical. He went past the workers all ferreting around, pushing things here, on their mobiles there. He wished he had a purpose like that. Oh yes he did. He was a security guard. Oh dear, maybe he was losing his marbles.
He pushed the button and young lady with a name badge called Ellie joined him to wait.
"Excuse me young lady. The bosses are having an audit and I was just wondering if you knew where the Mayan collection is in the archive."
She looked him up and down and when she was satisfied she smiled. He reminded him of her own grandad who was much less spry than the man in front of her.
"Erm... I think it's on the sixth floor. Either that or the seventh. I'd love to help but I've already lost half my lunch break and need to get on with this." she was holding a tupperware box of what looked like angry baby owls.
"They don't look too happy about being preserved do they?"
"No," she giggled.
The elevator doors clunked sideways and the pair made their way in.
She pressed the fourth floor, he pressed the big number 6. The doors shut and there was an awkward pause filled with the elevator's hum.
"Truth be told I can't afford to be here." she said, feeling the urge to break the silence.
"I can't afford the city. I can't afford... well they're not paying me for this job. They're supposed to but... we're just young fodder for the bosses at the top. They treat us like mincemeat..."
He looked at her with sympathetic eyes and she continued.
"Sorry, I don't know why I'm saying all this. I just... I'm struggling. I guess. And I don't know what I'm doing with my life. Fuck, I'm playing with dead owls instead of having lunch for god's sake."
She was somewhere between laughing and crying, there were dark rings under her eyes. The door pinged open for the fourth floor. She was about to get out, but instinct told her to stay.
"Could you show me where I'm going?" he said. "You can tell me all about this place."
The doors shut again and they descended another two floors.
"When I was your age I was working in a biscuit factory. Grim grim job, for £2 a week. We had these conveyor belts and we had to make Viennese Whirls. You got a half, then squirted on buttercream, then jam, and took another half. Rinse and repeat."
"It doesn't sound that bad" she replied
"Everything looks better in hindsight. When you're young you worry about everything and think your life's terrible. But when you get to be a wrinkly old git like me, you realise that nothing's that awful and nothing's that brilliant."
"Hmmm..." she sighed the biggest exhale she'd done in months. "Ok I think we want the second door on the right. Is there anything specific you're looking for?"
"The dragonfly brooch" he said. I think that's what it's called.
They walked into the room. Shelves were layered up to the ceiling. Boxes and boxes of history, all bagged, barcoded and forgotten about.
"I'll look it up on the computer for you." she walked to the corner and tapped something in. A moment or two later she shouted "AZ0792"
He walked along the edge of the shelves to look for the range it would appear in. He scouted along one and then exclaimed. "BINGO!"
It was in a polythene bag in a metal tray. What a beauty! A gold frame of a dragon fly with emerald wings and a sapphire body. Even in this harsh fluorescent lighting it glistened and twinkled in his hand. He was about to put it in his pocket when she came closer. Damn! Now he'd made a friend he hadn't wanted.
He put it back in the tray and carried it forwards. "That's amazing. I didn't think there were such incredible things down here. Most of what I see is just bizarre junk." she said, coming close.
"I'd better get off" he said.
"Are you sure? They can wait a while can't they? Lets get some lunch in the canteen."
He pretended to hide his annoyance and frustration. But maybe she could be a friend and ally that he hadn't had. It seemed they both needed to unload.
"Very well. Don't worry, I'll pay."
He carried the small tray and they returned to the elevator and then the ground floor. It was nice to have windows and natural light again. How he missed it down there. It was so empty and soulless in the vaults.
They got the soup of the day - leak and potato, a roll that came with a mini cuboid of butter and a chocolate bar. He paid and they sat down. She had been talking a lot but he wasn't really listening. Boyfriend problems.
"And that's when I learned he was cheating on me with that bitch Jess, what a joke!? So I told him if you're going to be seeing that slag then I won't have anything to do with you."
"So you didn't see him again?"
"Well no. Not until last night. It was 11 o clock and he texted me and I shouldn't have, but you know what it's like."
"I'm afraid my ladyfriends are ancient history." said Malcolm, spooning globdules of the translucent green gunk into his mouth.
"He came over and stayed the night and now he thinks it all back to normal... And it's not... Well maybe it is a bit. But I don't know what I want from him. He's not boyfriend material. He's just a... buddy, you know."
"You want his willy but you don't want him." he said staring at her.
She choked on her soup with laughter. "You're funny. Yeah, I suppose you could say that. What would you do if you were me?"
"I'd have all the fun I could while I still had the chance. Once you're married, you can say goodbye to all the hanky panky." he said wiping his roll around the edge of the bowl.
"Hmmm..." she sighed again. "I suppose you're right."
He didn't expect this exchange to be so one way. Time to see if she could listen or if he'd have to leave.
"Can I let you into a secret?" he muttered
"Yes." she replied between spoonfuls.
"Can I actually trust you, that's what I mean?"
"Probably. What is it? Come on? I've told you my secrets?"
"Pinky promise?" said Malcolm.
"Pinky promise." she replied offering her little finger. They wrapped the two around each other.
"I don't actually work here" he whispered among half a laugh.
Her eyes widened in shock and horror and this was all so surreal. "What???" But you're a security guard or porter or something aren't you?"
"I'm actually a thief."
"Noooooo way" she hissed, looking somewhere between mortified. But from somewhere inside emerged a really cheeky
smile. "Oh no. That's means I'm guilty too."
He smiled a madman smile. A smile that captured his excitement, fear and own disbelief at how far he'd got. This girl was gullible, easily persuadable - posh, somewhat skeptical, but could be talked around, surely.
"Don't worry. Now tell me, how long have you been working at this museum."
"6 months."
"And in those six months, how much have they paid you?"
"Oh come on this isn't the point. You're stealing something. Why shouldn't I shout out and say you're a thief?"
She was more ballsy than he expected. Damn.
"Because one you don't have the guts. And two, I want to help you. Now please answer the question. How much have they paid you?"
"My travel expenses."
"Nothing more?"
"No." she blushed.
"And what is a normal graduate starting salary?"
"Come on, there's more life than money. And if you get caught... no if we get caught we'll both go to prison and then I'll have to face my parents and I... this isn't happening. This isn't happening."
She was going cold. He was losing her. This was a terrible idea. His brain was going ABORT ABORT.
"OK. This is obviously a terrible idea. Here's what I'll do. I'll go down with you and we'll return it to it's place. I leave empty handed, no questions asked. Let's pretend this never happened... if that's what you want."
She chewed the inside of her lip. She was the boss now. Everything in her upbringing was telling her to go ahead with this sensible suggestion of returning the brooch. But she did need the money, those credit cards were nearly maxed out. And it wouldn't be long before she'd have to get a "proper" boring job, and become some dull old secretary in the city that would have to sleep with a slippery overtanned boss called Roger who ran a hedge fund. Ugh no.
But still this was right. She couldn't steal from the museum that had been so good to offer her an internship.
She mulled and mulled as he broke apart the fingers of the chocolate bar.
"Right!" she exclaimed as he finished. "Yes we'll do that. I'm sorry. I would love to go with your plan and I need the money. However, I just can't, it isn't right."
"Fine. If you're sure that's what you want."
She returned the two lunch trays to the tray trolley and nodded towards the exit. He followed and they made the way back down the underground labyrinth.
He was returning the tray containing the brooch on the sixth floor. He looked at her, offered her temptation. She shook her head. "Sorry." she muttered.
"Remember if you change your mind, you know where I am." he winked at her and gave her a piece of paper with his number on it.
She ushered him out briskly, back up the elevator, back to the end of the staff quarters and into the main museum hall. God she was conflicted. He waved her goodbye. She smiled half-heartedly and involuntarily waved back.
She took a deep breath. What a day.