42” Flat Screen Plasma TV £399 or nearest offer (2)

“To be honest if you’re a little strapped I could put it up for you”
A month ago I had ridiculed the sending off I was given by those fat desk bound bastards. The stereotypically warm welcome “up north”, and the ‘part of the community’ line was rolled out at me as if they had blessed and not cursed me but not only had Nick (the proprietor) offered his services, he’d done so without a request.
He was a smallish compact guy with tight greying curly hair sitting atop a ruddy but clear complexion. He wore purple corduroys and a brown V neck cardigan. His voice was quiet yet resonated throughout the shop.
“Taken over from Mr Greenman, have you then?” he asked.
“Yes – Flycure’s – just off the high street”
“I know” he chuckled “I live here”
“Oh, sorry; you had the advantage over me. I thought I was a stranger”
“Well if you don’t introduce yourself lass, that’s how it’ll stay”
“It’s Clair”
“Welcome to our little town Clair”
“Thank you Nick; does everybody know who I am?”
“It’s a small town, but not that small. Those that matter know”
It was a rather sinister overture.
“Who matter?”
“Local businessmen, Chamber of Commerce and so on”
I blushed. Perhaps I need to leave the old City suspicions behind me.
“I see. I was actually going to arrange a meet with…”
“Don’t worry about that Clair. They’ll be in to see you. All you have to worry about is getting the old place going”
“Yes it wasn’t the tidiest estate agents office I’d stepped into”
“You’ll do fine lass”
Despite his congeniality this obliging character was drilling at a raw nerve.
“Nick, I need to be taken seriously within the community…” I paused not quite sure how to phrase it. “…When I worked in London…” but that felt worse.
“It’s just our ways…Clair. There, is that better?”
“You understand. I doubt if all your clients walk in saying ‘Morning lad’, hey?”
“Some of my customers do lass” and he giggled mischievously baring a set of pristine teeth.
I conjoined nervously but sensed that I’d been scolded and warned simultaneously.
“How old?” I felt compelled to reroute the conversation.
“Me or the telly?” he answered. “A year maybe…” he continued before I could reply “… but not quite as old as I am”
I peered further into the premises. Through the inevitable dust swirls the darkness was beginning to unravel and I could perceive a motley arrangement of old furniture, light fittings, books, a case of old vinyl records and a glass cabinet containing little oddities, porcelain figures, rings and brooches.
The haphazard layout created several niches which made one imagine these as hidden doorways into other junk-infested dimensions. It was if the shop had slowly filled up over the years with stuff that was never going to sell and then created other spaces in which to fold it away.
“I have some nice little bits here” I didn’t believe him. He moved into the hinterland and tapped a combination of wood and faded tan leather. “This – cracking little sofa – fit nicely in that flat”
“Yes, it is nice” I lied “But I brought some small pieces with me from London and…”
He continued moving backwards negotiating the numerous trip hazards with ease “Little dresser here. Good for the bits and bobs” He stroked it like a lover would.
“Really…”
“Some pretty things in here” he pointed to the glass cabinet
“I have a box full of…”
“I’m not a good salesman am I Clair?”
“No, no” I wanted to assuage him by saying you can’t sell shit but thought better. Then again I knew some people who could.
“Not as good as you, eh?” he said.
I thought I was until Messrs Blaze, Bales and Buten, the owners of Flycure Estate Agents sent me here. “Hopefully better than Mr Greenman”
“On the contrary Mr Greenwood did a very good job”
“But the office is in a terrible state. The filing is all over the place and there’s no evidence he’s made a single sale this year”
“We don’t judge people with that sort of criteria here lass…Clair”
That stung. If I were any good at DIY I’d have told him to shove his offer of mounting the TV up his arse.
“How did he eat and pay his bills?”
“The slate”
“What?”
“What you would call credit”
“That’s foolish isn’t it? I mean it’s another bill you can’t meet”
“Clair, things that you valued in your old world hold less significance in ours”
“Nick I haven’t just walked back into the Victorian age have I?”
“In our town we look after each other. Mr Greenman took the job and immediately there was a slump in the market. We couldn’t let him starve could we? What sort of neighbours would we be? So we supplied him with food and a grace period on the rent”
This time I really felt ashamed but quite inspired too. Maybe I could lose the yearning to be back amongst the high flyers. Almost without thinking I blurted out: “I’m glad I’ve come here”. Nick smiled.
“You’ll never want to leave”
Don’t get carried away Nick I thought. Then something caught my eye in the cabinet. It was a gold chain with a small jewel in a gold leaf setting hanging from it. It was marked up at a fiver but had to be worth more.
“Could I see that?” I asked Nick.
“Oh yes that would suit you” and he opened up the door, picked up the chain and draped it down from my neck from the front. He turned me around and brought me over to a full length mirror standing in one of those eerie niches. He made a vain attempt at cleaning it with his cardigan sleeve which provided just enough of a reflection for me to see. The jewel was quite an unorthodox colour.
“What is it, an amethyst?”
“Haven’t a clue. It’s almost as old as the shop”
I was suddenly aware that the jewel was swinging lightly between my breast and I could feel Nick’s knuckles rubbing against my chest. I felt uncomfortable and constricted with an urgent compulsion to quit the shop.
“Could I buy it?” I enquired manoeuvring away from Nick
“Wear it now then” he insisted
“Well I perhaps…okay then” and tried to take the chain.
“Allow me Clair”
He was behind me now almost invisible in the mirror. Then two white hands emerged from over my shoulders as if I had a murderer behind me. There was no chain in sight. I shuddered and then the jewel popped out from his right palm as if by sleight of hand. In a matter of seconds it was on, but within that shortest of periods it was as if I’d been ensconced in a freezer.
Gazing at the jewel in the dirty mirror evaporated the nervousness I felt in Nick’s company for a moment. I was entranced by the jewel. At times I appeared blue and then I’d see a glint of red or a flash of green. It was probably a cheap crystal but there wasn’t a smidgeon of colour in the shop to reflect there. Perhaps the original stone was lost, but the chain and leaf setting were certainly worth more than a fiver. You could feel it in the weight alone.
But wait, there was something else there. A shadow or a flaw seemed to appear from nowhere. I hadn’t noticed it before. Maybe it was the angle. The stone was swinging slightly so I leant into the mirror. I gazed until my eyes began to water but the dark splinter never rematerialized.
“Oh Nick…” I said turning around “…it’s just occurred, I don’t have cash or a cheque, only plastic”
“The slate then Clair”
“You don’t mind? Just until I get the blood back into my legs”
“Not at all – I’ll just fetch it” and Nick disappeared into the rear of the shop like Fagin with a neckerchief full of booty.
He returned about a minute later, so spritely negotiating his way through this maze of crap, that he seemed to float. He was carrying what appeared to be a child’s blackboard.
“Here we are Clair”
“What on earth is this?”
“The slate”
“Are you ribbing me Nick because I’m a Southerner?”
“You asked for the slate – here it is”
“What do you expect me to do with it - take it with me?”
“You sign”
“I sign?”
“Yes…the slate; you sign the slate – with this” He pulled a piece of red chalk from his pocket.
I glared at him with impatience but the intensity of his earnestness beat me back. He really fucking meant it.
“Our ways Clair – it’s just our ways”
“This isn’t some form of usury”
“We don’t take any interest – not financially anyway” and grinned.
“So when I pay you I get to ‘wipe the slate clean’ then?”
“Oh course but there’s no rush is there? Go on - sign”
I took the chalk from him and signed Clair Fortuna.
Nick turned the slate so he could read it. “Well Clair with a name like that I won’t have this long, will I?”
“Don’t take too much for granted” I laughed, relived at being able to interject a little light-heartedness. “What will you do with that?”
“Just put it in the back for now” It sounded as if he’d had other plans for it.
“For now?” I asked.
“Until I give you it back”
“Oh I see I get to keep the slate as well”
Nick said nothing but stood there with a smirk on his face that was neither mischievous nor malicious but a smirk nonetheless. He stretched his arms as if too yawn but it was an action to indicate that he had dispersed all the vocabulary he’d for me and it was now time for me to leave.
“I’ll have the TV up this afternoon” he said leading me out of the shop.
“I’ll be at the office. I have a lot of things to do. I’ll call you when I’m ready and I’ll probably have the cash by then”
He looked a little crestfallen as he pushed the door to.