‘I’ve taken all the photos,’ said Lew, feeling a quiver of excitement brush along his nerve endings. ‘I was just waiting for your expert opinion. Bonnie said you really knew your onions.’
‘I do that,’ replied Jackpot, curling up his hand in front of his mouth as a thick cough came on. It sounded nasty. Behind him Valerie said, ‘Ugh’ loudly before returning to her unit where she was erecting a new shoe rack.
‘You should have that looked at, Jack,’ said Bonnie.
Jackpot waved the suggestion away. ‘It’ll clear up. I’ve been smoking since I were five, so I’m just grateful I’m still here.’
‘Five?’ Bonnie half-laughed, half-gasped.
‘I wouldn’t go to school unless me mam let me have a fag,’ he chuckled.
Now Lew’s jaw dropped.
‘Oh go on, tell him about the lion and the cigarette,’ Valerie called with a bored drawl in her voice as if it was a story she had heard many times before. ‘I bet you’re dying to. Someone who hasn’t heard it before. Those people are so thin on the ground now.’
Not needing any more encouragement, Jackpot grinned and dotted his finger towards Lew. ‘You’ll like this one. Me dad had a lion. Used to guard our scrapyard. Leo, we called it. It used to take a fag out of me dad’s mouth and spit it on the floor.’ He laughed and the ensuing coughing fit made him bend over double.
Lew swivelled his head around to Bonnie who was nodding.
‘It’s true. Jack’s dad Keith did have a lion.’
‘Where did he live?’ asked Lew, expecting the answer to be somewhere more exotic than Burton Street.
‘We had a big cage for him in the back yard where he used to sleep. Broke my dad’s heart when he died,’ said Jack, recovering. ‘Bloody vet gave him too much anaesthetic when he was taking out a hairball.’ Jack’s eyes glazed slightly as he slipped into a poignant memory. ‘I can see me dad now, sitting in the cage and crying like a baby. He nearly wrung the bloody vet’s neck. He never had the same zest for life after Leo died. It took four of us to dig the hole for his lion in the scrapyard. Me dad wanted him buried under where his cage were with the tyre he used to play wi’. We had to dig up a foot of concrete but we wanted it done proper. Me and my brother used to freeze sheep’s heads for Leo, ye know. He used to eat them like a frozen lolly. He’d even go out with my dad in the truck, sit on the back seat with his head over my dad’s shoulder looking out of the front window. He loved me dad did that lion.’ He smiled fondly at the memory for a long moment, then pulled himself out of the past and into the here and now. ‘So, there you are. No idea how we got from me coughing to our Leo but . . . anyway, get them pictures fired over to Christie’s. Whoever you got them bits off will be kicking the’selves. Let me know how you get on, lad. I’d be interested to find out.’ And he clapped Lew on the arm with his meaty paw and went back to rearranging his pieces in his cabinet.
‘I’m all right by myself if you want to do it now,’ smiled Bonnie.
Lew glanced at his watch. ‘It’ll be your lunch in five minutes.’
‘I can hang on,’ said Bonnie. ‘I’m not that hungry yet anyway and I’d rather be in here chatting to Valerie and Jack.’
‘Okay, then, I will,’ said Lew, grinning like a little boy who had just won a conker championship. He had no worries about leaving Bonnie to mind the shop, in the way he would have had misgivings letting Vanda Clegg. She fitted in the Pot of Gold, as if there had been a space waiting for her like a jigsaw with a missing piece, which she completed with her presence. He hoped she felt the same.
Bonnie did. She watched Lew walk into his office and felt as if she had known him for so much longer than she had. After only three days, the Pot of Gold felt as familiar to her as Grimshaw’s. Yet at the same time there was change in the air, she could feel it and it thrilled her. She couldn’t wait to see Starstruck. He’d be in later and she’d tell him that she was going to rent the little house on Rainbow Lane from his daughter.
Lew emerged from the office twenty minutes later with two mugs of coffee. Valerie and Jack had left – together, as they’d always left Grimshaw’s – and the only customers were a man and a woman with a guide dog. Lew put the mugs down on the counter and watched Bonnie interacting with them. She was telling them about the musical box in which they seemed interested and he thought, again, what a lovely manner she had. She held so much information in her head about antiques yet never came across as patronising; she wasn’t pushy but gently persuasive. And she was so likeable with her big curve of smile and bright eyes that people wanted to talk to her, ask her opinion and valued her guidance. He had no reason to believe that what he had seen in the few days since she had been here was not her standard way of operating.
‘I hope it was okay to say he could bring the dog in,’ said Bonnie, approaching the counter so that she could speak quietly to Lew. ‘I recognise them. They used to come into Grimshaw’s. The dog was never any trouble.’
‘Of course,’ said Lew. The dog was a cream Labrador, standing patiently as the woman described something to the man. ‘Beautiful dog.’
‘Lovely, isn’t he?’ Bonnie agreed. ‘Do you have a dog?’
‘No. I wish.’ He’d suggested to Charlotte that they get a dog when a suitable time after her miscarriage had elapsed but she hadn’t been keen. He thought it might have helped heal her, given her something to pour affection into but he hadn’t pressed her in case she thought he was insinuating that a dog was the same as a baby. ‘You?’
‘No. Stephen – my husband – isn’t an animal person.’ She had never suggested they get a pet. She had picked up on his aversion to them listening to things he said about the neighbours’ animals. Cats were merely things that urinated in his garden, dogs carried fleas and filth into houses. Both brought expense. She would have loved another dog. A red, fluffy one, a gentle giant like Bear that sat on her feet in the evenings and enjoyed being by her side, as Bear always had. That place had never warmed up since he vacated it, even after all those years.
‘We had a couple of Alsatians when I was growing up,’ said Lew. ‘I think every kid should have a dog.’
‘We had a greyhound,’ said Bonnie. ‘My dad bought him from a bloke in a pub because he thought the poor thing was starved. Turns out, however much we fed Flash, he always looked as if he hadn’t had a meal in days. Dad was scared to take him out for walks in case people thought he was abused. I never thought I’d love a dog as much as Flash, until I got Bear.’
‘Bear? What sort was he?’ asked Lew, amused by the name. It conjured up an instant picture in his head of something large and furry.
‘We have no idea,’ replied Bonnie, ‘though we reckon he was part-Chow because he had a blue tongue and a big smiley face like a Husky. He was just lovely, whatever he was.’ She coughed away an onslaught of emotion hitting her throat. She had never quite got over losing him. ‘I’ll have another dog one day, I hope.’
‘Oh, me too,’ said Lew. ‘Oh, Bonnie, before I forget, do you think you’d be all right to work next Sunday by yourself? Double pay. Say no if—’
‘That would be great,’ replied Bonnie quickly. ‘Honestly, I’ll do all the overtime you can throw at me.’
‘Saving up for something?’ Lew asked.
‘Yep,’ Bonnie said to him. A life, she said to herself.
She was serving a customer when Starstruck walked in. A woman was prevaricating over two tea services: a Royal Albert Country Roses or a Midwinter Country Garden one. As patient as Bonnie usually was, this customer was driving her up the wall. Bonnie had been halfway through wrapping the Royal Albert one up when she’d changed her mind. She’d changed it again, just as Bonnie had put it all back on the shelf.
‘Oh I don’t know,’ said the customer, tapping her lip. ‘What do you think?’
‘Well it has to be your choice,’ replied Bonnie. ‘I do always recommend you go with your first instinct, if that helps.’
‘That would be the Country Roses then.’
She nodded as if it was a full stop on the decision. ‘Yes, the Country Roses. No . . . wait . . . Let me think about it. You must think I’m daft.’
‘Not at all,’ said Bonnie, convincingly.
‘I’d better leave it,’ said the customer. ‘Yes, yes, until I know for definite.’ She tapped her lip again thoughtfully, made to leave then turned back. ‘You don’t think they’ll be sold before tomorrow, do you?’
‘I would never like to say in this game,’ said Bonnie. ‘We do have quite a high turnover of sales and both tea services are very desirable because they’re complete and in mint condition.’
‘I’ll probably come back tomorrow,’ said the customer. She lingered for effect by the door then walked out of it. Bonnie knew she’d go home and decide she didn’t need either. She could read this sort of customer like a book.
She tried not to race over to Starstruck, who was unpacking a double-signed pic of both Roger Moore and his second wife Dorothy Squires. He held it up in front of him, shook his head and said ‘Poor Dorothy’ on a long-drawn-out sigh.
‘Hello Starstruck,’ said Bonnie. Her whole arms were tingling with anticipation.
‘Hello, Bonnie love. How are you settling in?’
‘Smashing. Starstruck, about your—’
‘I sold the Judy Garland photo, did he tell you?’ He said ‘he’ in a not at all dismissive way about Lew, but a friendly, familiar one.
‘He didn’t, but I’ll ask him about it.’
‘They didn’t even ask for the trade discount.’
‘Great. Listen, Starstruck, about your daughter’s house on Rainbow Lane. I have a friend who would be interest—’
‘Got snapped up straightaway,’ said Starstruck. ‘But then I thought it would at that price.’
Bonnie’s heart froze mid-beat and it felt as if something popped inside her: a little balloon of hope, maybe. There are other houses, said a kind voice in her head, but all her resolve had been tagged on to the one on Rainbow Lane.
‘Oh . . . that’s good,’ said Bonnie, pushing out a smile when she felt tears prickle behind her eyes.
‘Tell your friend I’m sorry and to get up earlier next time,’ asked Starstruck.
‘I will.’
Starstruck’s eyes drifted back to the photo. He kissed Dorothy Squires’s lips and gave another sad sigh. ‘She never got over losing him. Went into a proper spiral after he left her.’
At least Roger Moore had the courage to go, thought Bonnie as she turned from him and walked back to the counter as if her shoulders had suddenly turned to lead. The window of opportunity had closed, the rainbow had melted into the dark clouds as the sun had dropped from sight.
In the Arts and Entertainment section of last week’s Daily Trumpet we mistakenly reported that Beyonce-Jade Smith (12) was playing the role of a courgette in the Kevin Glover Theatre School production of Les Miserables. We should have said that she was playing the role of Cosette. We wish Beyonce-Jane a very successful run.
Chapter 22
‘I don’t know if I mentioned it,’ Bonnie began with a nervous swallow, as they ate dinner that evening, ‘but I won’t be able to give you as much money for bills as I usually do.’ She tried to make it sound as matter-of-fact as she could.
‘What do you mean?’ asked Stephen, after he had finished his obligatory twenty chews on his mouthful of food.
‘My hourly rate will initially be less than it was at Grimshaw’s.’ She hoped she sounded convincing because she was a terrible liar. You only have to remember one truth when you don’t lie, was another of her dad’s sayings.
‘I see,’ he said, with a tone based very much in disapproval. ‘Then it was very remiss to move, wasn’t it?’ He lifted the square of kitchen roll acting as a serviette from his lap and dabbed at the corners of his mouth with it. ‘You’ve been deceitful, haven’t you, Bonita? It’s becoming a habit of yours.’
Bonnie reached for a slice of bread and butter aware that her cheeks were heating up. She was probably acquiring quite a visible blush, though one born of repressed anger and not embarrassment. She hated how he talked to her as if she were a rebellious teenager who needed sending to her room to think about her misdemeanours. He wasn’t a stupid man, even if he was hardly the great intellectual he claimed himself to be but he had a hair-trigger for change and would fight against anything that threatened his establishment. She tried to smooth the edges of her revelation.
‘There’s no deception, Stephen, as I said initially. It’s just for a trial period, a couple of months. I thought I had mentioned it, if I’m honest’ – she hoped her nose wasn’t growing – ‘but the good thing is that there might be the chance of some overtime soon which would make up any shortfall.’
Stephen turned his attention back to his garden peas. ‘Well, I hope for both our sakes that is the case.’
Bonnie felt a sharp stab of annoyance at his weary tone and couldn’t help answering back. ‘We’re hardly on the breadline, are we?’
‘That isn’t the point, Bonit—’
‘I mean, how much exactly do we have in the bank, Stephen?’
‘I beg your pardon,’ he said, as if she’d asked the most impudent question in the world.
‘Well, I give you my money every month to put in our supposed joint savings account and yet I have no idea how much is in there.’
‘That money is for living expenses, not frivolities. It is our safety net. Are you insinuating—’
‘I’m not insinuating anything, Stephen. I just think it’s odd that as a married couple I am not allowed to see what’s in my own account.’
‘Our account,’ he corrected her. ‘Why would you need to know? Do you not see the evidence of what it is being spent on? Food, bills, our yearly holiday. Your contribution alone would not cover a fraction of all the costs in running this house.’
‘What about the money my dad left me?’
‘What?’ His face contorted.
‘The money that was left after all his bills were paid. That’s in there too.’
‘The pittance, you mean.’
His neck was mottled with rising rage; Bonnie thought she had better back off. She wanted him to be aware of a slight financial change in their circumstances, but not lead him to start looking for others. But she was angry. Angry that the chance to leave had dangled in front of her face like a carrot and been snatched away just as her fingers had been about to close around it. More than that, she was angry at herself for not having the guts to change a life she was so unhappy with and make that leap from wishful thinking to actually going for it. Her mother would have done it, so why couldn’t she?
‘Of course, you’re right,’ she said, biting her inner tongue. ‘You handle the money much better than I would. I’ll put some extra in when I’ve completed my trial period and make up any difference, if you’d like to make a note of how much that will be.’
She hoped that would satisfy him, but she noticed that he was breathing hard. Her outburst had rattled him. She didn’t for one minute think he was saving their money and blowing it on prostitutes and horses, but she did know that he was obsessed with feeling safe, secure, in control and would do anything to keep the status quo.
So many times she had laid in bed at night and wondered why she had agreed to marry him and what she had seen in him thirteen and a half years ago that made her say yes when he asked her to be his wife. And she had never come up with an answer. Then her head had been a mess. She was still grieving for Joel when her dad became markedly ill. He started forgetting things, ringing her in a blind panic because he didn’t know where he was, talking to ‘the people in the wallpaper’. Bear was poorly too; the vet had found an inoperable tumour in his young, strong body and she felt as if she were sinking into quicksand. There was nothing in her world but aching uncertainty, doctors, vets, tears, bad news piled upon bad news and then suddenly a man appeared who offered to help her pick all her shopping up when the bottom of the carrier bag burst, sending everything
rolling in the rain.
She couldn’t even remember giving him her telephone number but when he rang to see if she was all right, she agreed to go out for a coffee with him. He was quiet and steady, attentive, sympathetic, everything her battered, bruised heart craved at the time. He said he could offer her companionship and security and help looking after her dad. He was a buoy to cling to in waters that wanted to drown her when it was time to call the vet to end Bear’s suffering and her heart felt as if a pickaxe had pierced the middle of it. Four months after meeting Stephen Brookland she was standing in the registry office in a blue suit holding a posy of pink flowers ready to vow that she would love him and stay with him for ever. But she hadn’t really known him at all when she married him. The him she thought she would spend the rest of her life with was a charming, caring veneer with a soft voice and a gentle manner and it had seduced her with its offer of a peaceful respite from the mad crazy world of pain she was inhabiting. The real him bound her in ropes of banal, boring, beige aspiring middle-class respectability and knotted them so tightly she couldn’t remember the last time she could freely breathe.
*
Over dinner that night, Lew raised the subject of a dog.
Charlotte’s fork stopped on its journey to her mouth.
‘What do you mean, “do you fancy having a dog”? As a pet, you mean?’
‘Well, yes. I didn’t mean for dinner,’ replied Lew with an involuntary snort of amusement.
‘Absolutely no.’ Charlotte delivered the suspended roast potato to her mouth and chewed.
‘I thought it might be company for you.’
‘No, really,’ said Charlotte again after swallowing. ‘I don’t need company. I have friends for company.’
‘We always said we’d have a dog one day.’
‘You always said we’d have a dog one day. But you’ll be working and it would be me who had to take it out and wash it and things.’
The Queen of Wishful Thinking Page 11
