Tim Dowling: I’m back at the shop where I think I once saw a ghost

A little man wearing a tape measure round his neck appears out of nowhere, or perhaps from the distant past …. There was a story I told a couple of months ago about my oldest son requesting a suit for his 30th birthday. The day before his birthday, my wife and I met him at the mall, where he tried on jacket after jacket. Sometimes, after he had rejected a jacket but before it went back on the hanger, I would try it on myself, thinking: I could also do with a new suit.

After several trips to the changing rooms, we were poised to buy him a dark blue suit, when a little man wearing a tape measure round his neck appeared from nowhere, or out of the distant past. “This is all wrong,” he said, looking my son up and down. He told us to trust him. “Why?” my wife said. “Is this the 42?” the man said, tugging at the jacket’s hem. “He needs the 40.”. He pulled the jacket from my son’s shoulders, strode across the shop floor and came back with a 40 regular in the same colour. My son put it on.

“Perfect,” the man said. “Yes, madam?”. “Yes,” my wife said, through gritted teeth. Then the man disappeared. This episode – along with the idea that I could use a suit of my own – stayed with me. Two months pass, and I find myself alone in the mall – on other business – on a weekday afternoon. After checking that I have the time, I walk into the same outlet, find the same rack and pick out the same suit. The men’s department is eerily quiet. The little man is nowhere to be seen. Maybe, I think, he simply went back to his era.

I decide to try the suit on. The woman in charge of the changing rooms stifles a yawn as I stand in front of the big mirror, twisting this way and that. I make a show of looking in need of advice, but the little man does not appear, confirming my suspicion that he might have been a ghost, perhaps of a former tailor whose small shop was razed to build this giant mall. The suit looks all wrong over a rumpled grey T-shirt – the lapels pucker outward unattractively and the collar rides up on my neck. Also, I look 100 years old. The woman stares into the distance, frowning and saying nothing.

I return to the racks. The remaining suit jackets are all on the wrong hangers, so I have to recheck the size of each before putting them on. Nothing seems to fit. While shrugging on a fourth jacket, I catch sight of myself in another mirror, and become immediately dispirited. This, I think to myself, is a failed errand. “Hello, sir,” says a voice. “Jesus,” I say, turning to find the little man standing directly behind me.

“I was on my break, and now I’ve returned,” he says. “How can I help?”. “Um, so this is the regular,” I say, “But it’s…”. “Let me have a look,” he says, plunging his fist behind the jacket’s done up button. “What is it you do for a living, sir?” I think about this for too long. “I’m a businessman,” I say. “And the suit is for work, yes?”. “To be honest, it’s mostly for funerals,” I say.

Sign up to Inside Saturday. The only way to get a look behind the scenes of the Saturday magazine. Sign up to get the inside story from our top writers as well as all the must-read articles and columns, delivered to your inbox every weekend. after newsletter promotion. “Indulge me sir,” he says. “I’d like to try the 38 on you.”. “38?” I say. “Only my arms are …”. “Please sir,” he says, holding up a flat palm. “This is what I do.”.

The little man asks me a dozen questions, and listens to none of my answers. He measures my neck, provides me with a collared shirt that says NOT FOR RESALE in large letters across the back, and sends me back to the changing rooms. The woman in charge, who ignored me completely before, is now extremely friendly. “Which cubicle?” I say. “Anyone you want, baby,” she says. Finally, the three of us stand before the mirror, with me wearing a 40 regular blue suit.

“This one fits you very well, sir,” says the little man. “You can see that I’m right.”. “It’s much better than the suit you had on when you were here before,” says the woman. I think: this is the suit I had on before. “It is nice,” I say. “You look great, baby,” says the woman. “I’ll take it,” I say. When I come out of the changing rooms, both the woman and the little man have vanished. I take my new suit to the tills, where I find myself alone. I stand there patiently, waiting for someone to come and take my money. No one does.