Flora's Lot

by Katie Fforde

  Flora sighed deeply. 'OK. At your house, at seven. Tomorrow. Sunday morning. When every sensible person is asleep.’

  Flora went to bed extremely early, leaving William washing up downstairs - as the weather was still fine he planned to go and sleep in the woods later. Flora no longer cared what he did. Although mostly she was grateful for his company and more so for his cooking, part of her felt he had unwittingly caused her a lot of work. If Annabelle hadn't spotted his naked antics, Flora might not be contemplating a dinner with a lot of people she didn't know, without a dining table.

  Chapter Eleven

  On Sunday morning Flora dragged herself out of bed at six o'clock and saw that the weather had changed. Instead of the misty dawns that had lit her little garden, the fields and woods beyond with the promise of gold, it was cloudy and looked as if it would rain. She decided to wear jeans and a pair of loafers. Car-boot sales were bound to involve a lot of walking.

  ‘How are the kittens?' asked Edie, the moment she saw Flora. 'Have they opened their eyes yet?'

  ‘Yes. They're quite wide open now, but to begin with they were just little black slits. The book said it would happen at about twelve days and I was terribly worried they wouldn't open them on time' - Flora, listening to herself, had a sudden flash of how neurotic mothers felt - 'but then I woke up one morning and there they were, squinting at me. They're very sweet. You must come and see them.'

  ‘It must be a worry for you, having to leave them alone all day.'

  ‘Mm. It is a bit. But Imelda's a very good mother. She goes straight back to them the moment one of them squeaks.' While she wasn't lying to Edie, really, she felt dishonest, and hoped, once the dinner party was over,that she could be more honest about William's presence and role as co-carer for Imelda.

  ‘Stop gossiping, you two, and get in the car,' said Geoffrey.

  ‘Flora was telling me about the kittens,' said Edie.

  ‘But if you want real gossip, have you heard about the roadshow?' Flora clambered into the back of the car.

  ‘No. What's a roadshow?' asked Geoffrey.

  ‘I can't believe Charles hasn't told you!' she said, when she'd explained. 'You're going to be one of the valuers! Charles said so.'

  ‘Really! I bet that didn't please her ladyship,' said Edie.

  ‘Well, no,' Flora admitted. 'But she did say it would make Geoffrey better value for money and that we probably wouldn't get many people. I think we might, though. I've already got Virginia's daughter to put an ad on the web somehow, as well as to make us a website of our own.'

  ‘Hm. I expect that's a good idea,' said Geoffrey, sounding dubious.

  ‘Oh, it is. Trust me. And can you stop at a cashpoint machine? I need some money if I'm going to buy anything.’

  Flora tapped in her pin number and waited for a balance, trying to remember which day of the month her tenants paid their rent. She had deliberately made it a few days before her standing order to her parents went out. When her balance came up on the screen she frowned and decided she needed to have it printed. Apparently she was within a whisker of exceeding her overdraft limit. How had that happened when she had hardly had a moment to breathe, let alone spend money? Aware of Geoffrey and Edie waiting for her in the car, she couldn't make major financial decisions immediately, and just took out the thirty pounds that she had left before incurring massive charges. When the ATM obligingly gave Flora her card back, she murmured a heartfelt 'Thank you' under her breath. Only when she was confronted by the news in print did she remember how near her limit she had been when she first came down here. That little spending spree with Annabelle had taken her dangerously near the edge of poverty.

  She got back in the car with a sunny smile to cover her dismay. Then she started making frantic plans and rejecting them all, equally frantically. The first, to find something wonderful for nothing at the car-boot sale and put it into the next auction was fine, except there wasn't a sale for some time. It was a long-term plan. Putting up the rent on her flat didn't seem like an option, either. Emptying the contents of the holiday cottage and taking it along to the car-boot sale to see how much she could get for it wouldn't work because she couldn't fit it all in the Land-Rover and the stuff was mostly Annabelle's anyway. Her last idea, which seemed the most impossible, the most unacceptable, was apparently her only option. She would have to ask Charles for the wages she would have earned had she really been an office assistant. He'd said himself that they were crap, but they would have to do.

  If it wasn't for the dinner party, she wouldn't have been so worried. Flora bit her lip. 'I wonder if Mum's got a recipe for rabbit she could give me?' she wondered aloud.

  ‘What's that, dear?' asked Edie from the front of the car. 'Did you say something?'

  ‘No, nothing really. I was just wondering how far away we were.'

  ‘Not long now. You don't feel sick, do you?’

  Flora did, a bit, but she didn't think it was anything to do with the motion of the car. 'I'm fine,' she said breezily, feeling anything but.

  *

  'It's obviously a popular boot sale,' said Geoffrey as they glided to a halt behind the last car in a long string of traffic. 'The change in the weather hasn't put people off.'

  ‘It's not actually raining,' said Edie. 'That does deter them a bit.'

  ‘Well, I hope it's not all just housewives clearing out their bits and pieces,' said Geoffrey.

  ‘What's wrong with that?' asked Flora.

  ‘Nothing wrong with it in itself,' Geoffrey amended, sensing Flora's defence of people wanting to declutter. 'But they tend to have modern stuff, not anything with any antique value. You want the small-time dealers for that, people who pick stuff up at jumble sales for a few pennies and are happy to sell it on for a couple of pounds.’

  Edie sighed. 'Geoffrey says all these programmes about antiques are spoiling it for the professionals. Everyone knows to look on the bottom of things to check for hallmarks and makers' names.’

  As those very programmes were the source of what little knowledge Flora had, she didn't reply.

  The airfield was already bustling with activity by the time they had finally parked the car and walked the long distance to where the action was. 'We have to be methodical,' said Geoffrey. 'Make sure we visit every stall.'

  ‘Good thing I put on comfortable shoes,' muttered Flora, suddenly wishing she could go back to bed.

  The first stall they reached was a burger van selling coffee and tea as well as hot food.

  ‘Let's have a cup of tea now,' said Edie. 'We can drink it while we look.’

  Geoffrey shook his head. 'You can't have a good root through a box if you're holding a cup of coffee.'

  ‘Well, Flora and I will have a cup and you can do what you think best. I know I need a cup of something.’

  Geoffrey made a growling noise, but when Edie got to the front of the queue and looked enquiringly at him, he nodded. Flora was very grateful for her cup of tea. Her anxiety about money was colouring her enjoyment of the day out, and she hoped the tea might help.

  ‘Now come along, Flora,' said Geoffrey, halfway down his cup of tea. 'You're here for your education.’

  Flora wandered over to where a cheerful-looking woman stood behind a table selling, among other things, a climbing frame and a skateboard. Reluctantly, Geoffrey followed.

  ‘Those ramekin dishes look useful,' she said to him. 'Ten pence each,' said the woman quickly. 'There are six.'

  ‘Sixty pence for six ramekin dishes!' said Flora, fishing for her purse. 'That's a bargain!'

  ‘What do you want those for?' asked Geoffrey 'You can't sell them on at the auction.'

  ‘I know, but I've got people coming to dinner. Almost anything looks better in a little dish, doesn't it, Edie?’

  Edie was inspecting an electric grilling machine advertised by a boxer and didn't answer.

  ‘Well, I like food in proper dishes,' grumbled Geoffrey, and moved on.

  Flora paid for the dishes, put
them in her bag and hurried to catch Geoffrey up. Already she was feeling better as her first little hit of retail therapy took effect.

  Then she spotted the most wonderful teapot. She'd almost forgotten about her collection of novelty teapots, which she'd started when she was twelve, and now rarely added to. But this was perfect! It was supposed to be a ball of wool. A coil of it was used to form a base for the pot, the handle was the sleeve of a half-knitted jumper, and the spout was the other half. It was studded with kittens, clawing their way over the wool in a way that was so delightfully vulgar Flora knew that money shortage, or no money shortage, she had to have it.

  ‘Look!' she called to Geoffrey as Edie, who would have appreciated it more, had gone off in search of plants.

  Reluctantly, he came back and saw what she was exclaiming over with such pleasure. 'Hm, not bad. There's a market for kitsch. How much?' he asked the vendor, a businesslike young woman who was mostly selling children's toys.

  ‘That's ten pounds. It's a genuine Carter.’

  Geoffrey sucked his teeth. 'Ooh, I doubt that it is. Doesn't have the quality. I'll give you three for it.’

  ‘Sorry. Can't do that.'

  ‘Four pounds?’

  She shook her head again. Geoffrey sighed and pulled a five-pound note out of his pocket. 'Here you are then. Call it a deal.' He handed the note to the woman in such a way that she had to accept it.

  She sighed, picked up the teapot and started wrapping it in newspaper. 'You've robbed me, but it's not to everyone's taste, I don't suppose.’

  Geoffrey handed Flora the teapot as they walked away. 'Here you are.'

  ‘Hang on, I've got a five-pound note here,' she began. 'Nonsense. It's a present. On a good day it could fetch fifteen quid at auction.'

  ‘Oh, I want to keep it! I collect teapots. Thank you so much.' Privately the thought of how much Charles would hate it made her quite skippy inside.

  ‘It's a pleasure. But I do think you should consider selling it next time we have a sale.’

  Flora stood by Geoffrey as he went through boxes of old tools. She was watching the groups of people as they inspected the bottoms of pots, no doubt still hoping to find an undiscovered Clarice Cliff. Clothes fluttered on rails and she wondered if her own clothes would fetch enough to make any difference to her financial state. While Geoffrey's attention was elsewhere, she took the opportunity to inspect the nearest rail. She found a dark brown suede skirt.

  ‘How much for this?' she asked the stallholder, a young woman who had two small children with her and was obviously not entirely focused.

  ‘Oh, I don't know. Make me an offer.' She looked longingly at the skirt in Flora's hand. 'I loved that skirt. I just don't think I'll ever fit into it again.'

  ‘Of course you will!' said Flora, who instantly rejected the idea of buying it now she knew it was so precious to its owner.

  ‘Give you a couple of quid for it,' said another woman, who obviously lacked not only Flora's sensitive nature, but also her figure.

  The young woman started to take the skirt off its hanger. 'No!' Flora interrupted quickly. 'I'll give you a fiver.’

  The young mother looked hopefully at the woman who had offered two pounds.

  ‘No way,' she said disgustedly and moved away 'She wouldn't have got into it,' muttered Flora, watching her move through the crowd.

  ‘She'd sell it on,' said the skirt's owner. 'Do you really want it for a fiver? I'd like you to have it. I wouldn't feel so bad about selling it if I knew it was going to a good home.’

  Flora found her purse again, cursing her sentimental nature. The ramekins she could justify, but spending five pounds on a skirt she didn't really need, when she was so broke, was just silly. Perhaps she would have to put her teapot into the next sale.

  ‘I don't think I'll bother to sell my clothes,' said Flora as she caught up with Geoffrey, forgetting he was unaware of her financial straits. 'I wouldn't get much for them.'

  ‘Why would you want to?' he asked.

  ‘Oh, I was just wondering, you know, what I might get for them.'

  ‘I think you'd be better off buying than selling, if it's clothes you're interested in. What have you got there?' He indicated the plastic bag containing the skirt.

  ‘Oh, a dear little skirt. It was only a fiver.'

  ‘A fiver! You were robbed, my dear. Did you haggle?’

  ‘Er . . . not really,' Flora admitted. 'I thought it was a good price.'

  ‘You should always haggle. I could have got that for you for no more than a couple of quid.'

  ‘Oh.' Flora smiled, feeling foolish. It wasn't that the skirt wasn't worth what she'd paid for it, it was just that she was unlikely to want to wear it before the autumn and it had cost a sixth of all the money she had in the world at that particular moment. 'I felt sorry for the woman,' she said quietly.

  ‘You're daft, you are,' said Geoffrey. 'Now come along and I'll show you how it's done. There's a tool stall up there. Some of them sell very well at auction, and the sellers aren't always so aware of what's valuable. Ceramics, collectables, people know can be worth a bit. There won't be the margin in it.’

  Geoffrey and Flora walked slowly along the tables. Although Geoffrey was looking for tools he allowed Flora to pick up things and examine them. Some things seemed to be wildly overpriced to Flora, but she had learnt her lesson and didn't let herself get involved with the sellers. 'Who wants an old Tressy doll with no hair?' she asked Geoffrey when they were out of earshot of her owner.

  ‘Some little girl with a few pennies to spend. But if she was in good condition, with her box, she'd be worth money.'

  ‘And what about those ghastly china ornaments?' 'The little ones probably aren't worth a lot, but some of those big heavy horses will fetch quite a bit. They have to be undamaged, though. Ah, here we are.’

  Finding herself quite unable to be interested in a jumble of carpenters' tools, old planes, files, chisels and saws, Flora had a little wander on her own. Her mind was not on the job. She was supposed to be learning her craft but she was too concerned with her financial situation at the moment. Her parents wouldn't let her or Imelda starve, but ever since she'd left home Flora had been extremely independent and wouldn't take subsidies, except in the form of the fare to whatever country her parents were residing in and, of course, free board and lodging while she was there.

  Determined to snap out of her despondent and unhelpful mood she went over to yet another stall run by a young woman who looked vaguely familiar and also rather despondent. She was selling children's toys and clothes, some handbags and a few bags of cakes. She was perched on the tailgate of her car and perked up a little when Flora approached.

  ‘It's Flora, isn't it? I'm Amy, from the choir. Alto.’

  ‘Hello! I thought you looked familiar,' said Flora. 'Do you do this often?'

  ‘Never by myself before. I'm hopeless at it and I forgot to bring anything to eat or drink.'

  ‘Well, I could go and get you something, if you liked.’

  ‘No, it's all right. I'll manage. It's really the chance to have a wander round that I'm missing.’

  Flora glanced up and down the aisle of tables and spotted Geoffrey, deep in conversation with someone. Edie, miles away, appeared to have bought a tree. 'Well, if you like, I could mind your stall while you have a look. My friends - oh, it's Geoffrey and Edie - they seem occupied and wouldn't mind if I was here for a little while. Of course, you don't really know me. You might not trust me.'

  ‘Of course I trust you!' The young woman became enthusiastic. 'Would you mind? I find selling terribly difficult. I'm only here because there are a few things we must make space for, and if my friend had come with me, we'd have made a bit of money. Enough to buy a bit more stuff with, anyway.'

  ‘I thought the idea was to make space, not fill it.'

  ‘It is. It's just different space. Would you really mind my stall for a bit?'

  ‘Sure.' The saleswoman in Flora awoke. Amy would never sell
anything as things were, she needed a bit more enthusiasm for the task. 'Would you mind if I played with the things? I'd quite like to test my selling ability. I want to know if I could ever have a stall at a car-boot sale myself.’

  Amy shrugged. 'Help yourself. I've hardly sold anything so far.'

  ‘You go off then and I'll see if I can sell anything for you. What about prices?'

  ‘Oh, just get what you can for it. I'm hopeless about prices.' Amy hitched her bag over her shoulder and, looking far more cheerful, set off into the crowd.

  Flora set to work, using skills developed during a holiday job in Bond Street when she'd worked for a friend of her mother's.

  She took the toys out of their plastic bags and grouped them together in a way that made them look as if they were already being played with. She forced the Barbies to sit around under a toy umbrella, with outsize cans of lemonade in their hands. A teddy bear she made read a book, miniature to a child, enormous for the teddy. A tea set was set out with plastic cakes and hot dogs and a toy cart was filled with two plastic apples. Everything was the wrong scale, but Flora still enjoyed herself.

  Once the toys were dealt with, she turned her attention to the handbags. Under the dust, she discovered that a couple of them were very good makes. She found the napkin she'd been given with her cup of tea and wiped them down. Then she plumped them up and made a little display of them. Everything that was for sale was regrouped, rearranged and made to look more appealing.

  Her first customer was Geoffrey. 'What are you doing here? I only left you alone for a minute.'

  ‘This is Amy's stall. From choir? She asked me to mind it while she had a cup of coffee and a look round. I thought it would be good practice for me, selling stuff.'

  ‘I have no doubts about your selling abilities, dear. It's whether you know tat from quality that I'm concerned with.'

  ‘Oh, don't worry about that now. I've got plenty of time to learn all that stuff. You go and see if you can pick up some bargains while I look after the stall.’