The Wanderlust Lady and the Door to Door Salesman - 16

September 12, 2012

I decided when Wednesday turned out to be a pleasant day that I'd wash clothes. I emptied all the stuff from the hamper in the bathroom into the machine, which included the sheets, and added my shirts, underpants, and socks, her sweat pants and sweater and the odd towel. The laundry soap was under the sink. The machine was stuffed pretty full – but that was okay – best to get it all done at once. It probably would rain again tomorrow. The machine was straight forward enough. I set it for cotton, 30° and quick wash, and pressed the button. While I was waiting for it to work I'd look through the rest of the stuff in the filing cabinet.

Talk about a boring life this woman is leading. There wasn't a file that had a bit of interest in it. Gas bills, electric bills, bank statements, council tax details, even her medical history file was boring. There was a personal document section with her birth certificate. Her parents were called John and Mary. How average could you get? Was I pleased when I found out that her birthday was just what I predicted - 5^th January, 1942. As soon as the wash was on the line I was going to make a trip to the bank and try out her bank card. Looking through her bank statements, I saw that she usually takes out no more than £20 on any occasion. I didn't want to rock the boat by making any changes in her life. £20 would do me fine for the time being. I wasn't greedy. But a little bit of meat in my diet would go down a treat. And I thought I might buy some potatoes too. I know how to bake potatoes and with cheese and butter in them, that was a really nice meal for these cooler nights. I thought I might see if I could stretch the budget to include some beer. It cost a mint these days, but was cheaper than going to the pub.

Suddenly another thought hit me. The bins. I should put her bins out. Nothing would look odder to the neighbours that to not see a bin if you expected to see one. Somewhere I'd seen a listing of which bins went out when. I looked through the filing cabinet until I found the right file. Mondays. That should be easy enough to remember. And this next week it was black and green. I wrote myself a note and propped it on the kitchen table so I wouldn't forget.

I was surprised that there wasn't anything about her parents in the filing cabinet. I was curious about them, now that I decided that this had been their house, and no doubt the wealth that I was benefiting from was from them. John Jones probably was the person who'd accumulated all those silver pieces – probably inherited them from his family. Most of the hallmarks were Victorian or Edwardian. I didn't think that much of the riches of the family was accumulated recently. And there was no indication of what Minnie had worked as, if indeed she'd ever worked. She wasn't one for keeping stuff – and any hope of clearing up the mystery of her early days was clearly not going to come from the filing cabinet.

The wash was finally done, so I had the job of pegging it out on the line. I thought twice about whether I should hang my underpants on the line. The back yard was virtually invisible to people from the road – but the next door neighbour could see over the hedge at the back. I thought I'd put on everything but my underpants and socks – because I hadn't yet introduced the idea that I was the boarder. I'd put those on the radiators to dry.

I put on Minnie's hat and coat to hang things on the line, and then went off to do my jobs in Marple – my shopping bag carrying the picture which I hoped I'd be able to get information on from an antiques shop, and a couple of the smaller silver items. I decided that rather than leaving the rest of the silver stuff out in the living room, it would be wise to conceal it – and decided that I'd put it in the empty hamper for the time being.

My luck was in, and when I put Minnie's card into the bank, and pressed the numbers of her birthday, out popped two £10 notes. Thank you Minnie for being so boringly stupid.

I went to the library and signed in on what I now thought of as my computer. Lucky I came this morning, because the Library is closed on Wednesday afternoons. First off I was going to see where the antique shops were. There were loads in Stockport and Bredbury, but only one listed locally – and that was in Marple Bridge. I knew that Marple Bridge was where I caught the bus to Hyde from. I'd make a trip down there later.

I checked the Stockport Times quickly for any new jobs listed – but I didn't really plan to get a job. It was habit rather than anything else.

Next to the Co-op to do my bit of shopping, and then back home.

When I reached home, some instinct told me that something was different. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but I thought there was something not quite right. Then I spotted it – the flower pot was upright – rather than turned upside down. Somebody had not only been to the house, but had looked under the flower pot, and stupidly not replaced it as it had been. No doubt this was Sadie's work. She was the only one who'd had the information about where the key was kept – or used to be kept. Luckily I'd put the silver stuff away before I went out, because she probably would've looked through the windows. My heart was pounding. I wondered if she'd have spotted that there were some of my clothes on the back line. Don't be stupid, I told myself – she wouldn't have known what my clothes looked like. And she couldn't have seen my boxers on the radiator from the front window. She would've just thought that the old lady had done her wash and gone out. I walked all around the house looking to see if anything else had been disturbed, but it hadn't. Then I looked up and saw that the velux window in the attic room was still open. How could I have been so stupid as to leave that open? But anybody who wanted to get in there would've needed a ladder – and as far as I knew, Minnie didn't have one. But if they had got in – that was where the coins were now – and the trunk wasn't locked any more.

I went inside and looked all around to see if there was any evidence of anybody having been inside. But I couldn't see any. And the evidence of dirty dishes and junk lying around would only make it seem likely that Minnie was living there as usual. I had a quick look at the coffee canister - which of course was now empty. That was what Sadie was after – the roll of twenty pound notes that I'd said was there when I wrote that fatal note. Boy, what a dummy I'd been. But on the other hand, I wouldn't have had all this money and potential rich pickings from the silver and gold if it hadn't been for Minnie's plans and for her telling me about the key.

I unpacked my groceries and put the beer in the fridge. I had a cheese sandwich and cup of tea, while I thought what to do next. First of all, I had to go back to the attic and put the silver and coins back in the trunk and lock it again. And shut the window. I'd keep the small pieces of silver out – at least for this afternoon and my trip to the antique shop, but the rest of the stuff had to be as hidden away as soon as possible. That took me a half hour, but when I came back downstairs, I was relieved that my secret was safe.

I took the washing off the line as it appeared to be dry – and put the sheets and pillowcases in the linen chest. Rather than just throw my clothes on a chair, I thought that if Sadie was to come back and go looking in windows, I didn't want her to see anything that she could relate to a man being in the house. I'd told her that Minnie lived alone. So I hung up my clothes in the cupboard, and stuffed the underwear back into the chest of drawers.

Then satisfied that I'd done all I could to make my presence undetectable, I locked the door again, pocketed the key, and made my way down Station Road, and into Marple Bridge.

The antiques shop was closed. There was a sign in the window making it appear as if it was only open by request – and if you spotted something you wanted in the window – you called the person in charge who'd come down and open it up. I made a note of the phone number – but thought that it looked a very small operation – where the owner might well not have the knowledge that I needed. And it would annoy the man to come to open the shop only to find out that rather than buying, I only wanted information. I'd have to delay my quest until next Monday when I took the bus back to Hyde to sign on. There were loads of antique shops in Hyde.

Close by the antique shop was Marple Bridge Post Office. There were notices in the window – so I had a quick look to see if any jobs were pending.

Somebody was looking for a cleaning lady - and another ad was for somebody to do ironing. Not for me, that was for sure. Then I saw, “part time bar staff required”, and the address was the Moorfield Pub, Shiloh Road, and a phone number was given. That might be worth checking out – and it would be something to tell my contact person at the job centre – that I had spotted a likely job and made an effort. I didn't mind if they knocked me back. But working at a pub would probably mean I'd get the odd drink thrown in and maybe meals too. It was sure tempting. Not that I knew anything about mixing drinks – but it couldn't be that hard to learn. I went into the post office, and bought a Kit Kat, with one of the £10 notes, so I would have change for the telephone. I asked the lady where Shiloh Road was, and she told me, beyond Mellor, going towards New Mills, and then you turn left. It sounded miles away. I asked her where the post office was in Marple – and was told that it was on the far side of the town centre – on Stockport Road. I decided that since the library was closed and no antique shops were around, I might as well have a check on the adverts for jobs there.

As I walked up Station Road, I saw the sign that asked for information about the accident had been taken down. They probably found who they were looking for, I thought. Hit and run drivers deserve to be found and prosecuted. I'd only driven a few times – in a friend's car – but I'd like to get a car and pass my test. But more important to me at the moment, would be to get a camera, a computer, a mobile phone. Then, maybe I could think about a car after that, if I got enough money from my stuff. I smiled at that. “My” stuff. How quickly I'd eliminated Minnie from ownership. I was rather planning on her not coming back now. When she does, if she does, I'll have a lot of explaining to do. Maybe when I tell her how much her stuff is worth – she won't mind so much that I've borrowed a bit.

I found Marple post office, and what was more, I found a telephone box. Not many of those around any more. Everybody, except me, has their own phone these days, so boxes are considered irrelevant and lots of the ones that do exist require credit cards which I don't have. But luckily this one took coins.

First I perused the notices on the post office wall. No jobs worth checking out. I quickly decided the pub job was too far away to be worth the effort, but in order to truthfully say I tried for a job – I rang the number. It turned out the vacancy had already been filled anyway. So that was good.

Then I called the number for the people who buy gold. I told them I had one gold half-sovereign – from 1950 – and that it was in very good condition. They said they'd give me £150 for it. I told them I had already been offered £160, by another company, and they relented and offered me that too. I gave them Minnie's address and they said they'd send a prepaid bag for it, and once they received the coin, and confirmed that it was what I'd said it was, I'd get a cheque through the post. But the woman also said that if it wasn't in as good condition as I was saying, or if it turned out to be counterfeit, they'd send less, so I should be prepared for that. I said back, “If you aren't prepared to give me the full amount, I want you to return the coin to me. It's worth every cent of the top price, and more.”

“We'll see,” she said as the conversation ended.

Feeling like I'd done all I could for the day, I retraced my steps back home, putting on Minnie's coat and hat while I was in the little rough road nearby.

“I wonder if Sadie's been again,” I thought. I deliberately had not put the flower pot back upside down – so she wouldn't know if anyone had seen what she'd done or not. I somehow thought that Sadie wasn't going to give up on this potential gold mine without trying again.