I sat in my car, looking at Jazz’s store on the high street, nestled between a hair and beauty shop and a dry cleaners. Ironically, it wasn’t that far away from Pink Moon. Driving past that place for the second time in one day had sent my blood boiling. They were just lucky I had more important things to focus on right then. Like figuring out what Jazz’s angle was on all of this. Why was he so keen to help?

The name of the store, Kulture, was written boldly in gold text on a black background. There were red and green accents as part of the brand, and it looked good. It was contemporary. When I got out of my car, paid for a parking ticket, and approached the shop front, I noticed the burst of colour on display in the shop window. Sleek black mannequins stood dressed in casual clothing with African designs added in some places. A t-shirt with a patterned pocket stitched on the chest. A hoodie with the shape of Africa embellished on the front in another patterned material. I imagined that these colourful materials were the same ones that traditional African clothing was made from, though it was just an assumption.

I pushed the door open and walked inside. The store was bigger than I thought. From the outside it appeared to be one room, but when I walked inside it stretched longways, and I saw a sign pointing towards a dance studio in the back. I could even hear quiet music coming from that direction.

“Hey, Phoenix,” Jazz came to greet me, making his way round from the back of the till. “You’re looking smart.”

Again, I started a little at the sight of him. He looked so similar to his little brother Eddie. The facial structure, his physical build. He was wearing what I guessed was one of his own designs. A black t-shirt with the word Kulture written across the chest in bold white letters.

“Hey,” I shook the hand he was holding out to me. “I didn’t dress like this for you. I had an interview today.”

“And how was it?”

“Shit. They couldn’t dare hire an ex-convict,” I rolled my eyes.

“Right,” Jazz scoffed. “Well, what do you think of this place?”

“A clothing store in the front and a dance studio in the back?” I arched a brow. “First time I’ve seen something like it.”

Jazz chuckled, as if I were giving him a compliment. Or, as if my snide words didn’t affect him in the slightest.

“Yeah, we have dance classes in the back for kids. You know, summer holidays and after school type activities,” he explained, gesturing towards the corridor in the back that led to the dance studio. “And here we have my clothing lines. Mostly men’s fashion, but also unisex and some for children too. Basically, a two in one business.”

“Who runs the other part?” I frowned. I couldn’t imagine him prancing about, teaching kids how to dance.

“My friend,” he said. “They just finished a class about fifteen minutes ago. The children love it. And their parents do too. Gets them out of the house for an hour and keeps them active.”

I nodded as if I was interested by that. Clearly my expression was unconvincing, because Jazz only grinned.

“How…do you remember me?” I had to ask. “We never personally spoke before. Until at the library.”

I’d seen Jazz a few times in the visitor’s rooms on the days when I was seeing Landon and Eddie was seeing Jazz. I hadn’t paid much attention to him and his brother though. I was only interested in my own brother. And I assumed that had been the same for Jazz, so how had he recognised me?

“Eddie spoke about you,” Jazz shrugged. “You were a good cellmate, he’d say. A friend.”

I swallowed hard and dropped my gaze, feeling my hands curl into fists.

“You’re also the only Phoenix I know of,” Jazz continued. “Thought it was a weird name then, still think it’s a weird name now. But it’s memorable.”

I looked back at him then, seeing the teasing smile on his face. Eddie popped back into my mind. I didn’t bother to take offence. Jazz’s name wasn’t exactly a common name either. His nickname, anyway. I didn’t know his real name.

“So,” Jazz rubbed his hands together. “This is where the magic happens.”

“How many employees do you have?” I questioned curiously.

“Just two,” Jazz answered. “Including my friend who runs the dance studio. You would make three.”

“Cosy,” I said. “Did you come up with anything for my role then?”

The way I saw it, the only roles here were either retail assistant or working in the finance side of things. Neither of those things sounded pleasant to me, but I sure as hell wasn’t about to teach dance.

“Well, first you’d be working the shop floor,” Jazz spread a hand out towards the racks of clothing on display. “After a while, you could try printing on some of the clothes. We have our own machine for that.” 

It sounded simple enough. I already knew I’d prefer working in a back room with a machine than on the shop floor with people.

“I might drive your customers away,” I warned him.

“Why?” Jazz sent me a perplexed frown.

I looked back at him blankly, “I’m not the most charismatic person, am I?”

He grinned and rolled his eyes, “You’ll get used to it.”

There was another pause in which I wanted to ask him why he was doing this for me. Why he was helping me out. But I couldn’t find the words. I was grateful, but to say so would feel beneath me. So I asked something else, a question that had popped into my mind earlier. 

“Why did you start, or move, your business here?” I asked. “Surely London is where all the business opportunities are?”

Sure, Dover wasn’t a tiny town, but it wasn’t London. And with a brand like Jazz’s, London felt like a better match. It was more diverse there, with a lot more going on.

“I know,” Jazz agreed, lowering his gaze for a moment. “But things are working well here too. I make it work.”

It wasn’t exactly a detailed answer, but I also wouldn’t have given many details, so I didn’t press.

“Is there a toilet?” I asked, realising I’d come straight here from home and not even bothered to change let alone use the bathroom.

“Yeah,” Jazz turned and pointed towards the corridor that led to the back section of the place. “Down there on the left. You’ll see the sign on the door.”

I nodded and walked towards the music that had been playing in the background. It wasn’t loud. I had a feeling if there was a class going on, it could get a lot louder. But for now it was a gentle drone, a smooth melody and the occasional hum of the bass.

I walked down the short hallway. Straight ahead was a door that opened to the outside. There were a few bins out there, but nothing else that I could see. I noticed the door on the left that led to the toilet, but I was drawn to the open door on the right where the music was coming from. Quietly, I approached.