Chances. Freya North
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small back garden in the home counties.
Had they seen her? If they had, they didn’t care. If they had, they’d have seen her start to grin, fascinated to see them peck at the unripe pears whilst posturing to each other like rock stars mid-act; looking just as exotic and incongruous as if a band had been perched in the branches. They worked at the pears quite viciously until they fell, then they moved on to another fruit. Well, what a sight! A smorgasbord for parrots! Vita praised the munificence of her very own pear tree as she dressed. She went quietly into the garden but by that time, though still early, the birds had gone. Plundered fruit lay around the ground like delicacies spoilt children had taken just a bite of. Would they come again – and if so, perhaps at just a slightly more civilized hour, please? There were plenty of pears, plenty!
Vita enjoyed trade shows. There were two a year that were essential to attend. Mostly, Tim had gone, justifying that she was a liability because she ordered far too much merchandise purely because she liked chatting to the traders. Then he softened this by saying he was rubbish in the shop. The truth was, he wasn’t rubbish. He just found it boring. He didn’t like customers and he didn’t much like the stuff the shop sold, but that’s why he mastered the trade shows early on – he could select objectively. And he didn’t fall for schmooze partly because it was a tool he used himself to such great advantage. He knew never to buy whilst there but always to show interest, to talk numbers, to take cards and give out his own. He would bring Vita pictures and information, the occasional sample and then he’d sit her down and show her spreadsheets of their stock, their sales, their forecasts. He’d tell her to think about Easter or Christmas or Halloween or Valentine’s. Then Tim would place the orders. He liked hearing the supplier’s surprise – Well! What do you know! That good-looking guy who we spoke to at the show, who wouldn’t commit, whom we swapped cards with? He’s placing an order and a good one at that! This strategy always enabled Tim to secure the lowest unit price.
Double-checking and double-locking, Vita left the house with mixed feelings. She was looking forward to the show – but a text from Tim reminding her not to buy a thing made her wonder if she should go at all.
‘Stapler.’
Living on your own can make you introverted – yet instead of talking to yourself, you say things out loud.
‘Stapler,’ she said again, going back into the house and delving into kitchen drawers, the shoebox in the cupboard under the stairs on which she’d nicely stencilled Bits ’n’ Bobs. No stapler. And then she wondered if she had a stapler of her own, whether the one she’d been using for the last few years had been Tim’s all along and, as such, would have been in a drawer or box at his place bearing a Post-it note saying LEAVE. Momentarily she thought back to those strange dark days of moving out – how, when she’d come to remove her belongings, she’d read those Post-its as notices hounding her to go, rather than marking the items of his which were to stay.
She locked up again and gave herself a quiet talking-to. All of that was last year, remember, and, after Candy’s talk the other night, Vita decided to perform a mental sidestep any time she felt her mind drift off to time gone by, or Tim Gone – Bye! as she was calling it, emblazoning it on Post-its.
Stapler. She needed a stapler before going to London. She went via the shop and left a note for Jodie who’d be opening up in a couple of hours. It was still early.
Jodie – don’t hesitate to call if there’s a prob. I have borrowed one of the caterpillar staplers – have taken a red one as they’re the least popular. Good luck and enjoy, Vita.
PS: Tim says no discounts for friends and family. Sorry.
* * *
Alexandra Palace; that Victorian pantheon of glass domes and grand halls and giant potted palms, straddling an elevated position with far-reaching views over parkland, over the ladders of streets crawling up and down Haringey like zips, to London beyond. The radio mast, rocket-like, proclaiming this place a summit and, as the plaque attests, an apotheosis of communication, with the BBC’s first public television transmissions made from here in 1936. Vita loved the view. She’d never lived in London, had no desire to and hadn’t spent much time there at all but she’d been to this part a few times and when she stood outside the Palace (she’d heard other people call it Ally Pally but she liked to call it the Palace) and soaked in the view, she felt a surge of excitement. Yonder lies my capital city!
The trade show was humming already. The stands were colourful and varied and at odds with the standardized cubicles provided. Most had bowls of sweets, or free biros or useless fluffy things to give away. The scent of stewed coffee and batches of slightly dried-out croissants permeated. Vita couldn’t remember the last time she’d been at a show. And this one was very large and she was suddenly looking forward to her day very much indeed.
‘The beauty of these – Mouse in a House, Ted in a Bed, Mole in a Hole – is that it’s a collection, of course.’ Rick Edwards looked at Vita levelly. ‘Kids love them – and parents do too, because it makes buying birthday presents for other kids so easy.’
‘I see,’ said Vita, wanting to order loads of each but trying to sound like Tim.
‘Look at this little fellow: Dog in a Clog. Isn’t he a superstar?’
‘Adorable,’ said Vita. And then she cleared her throat and said, ‘Interesting.’
‘I did ask the manufacturer if they’d consider Ants in Pants.’
‘I like that,’ said Vita.
‘I was joking – Mrs?’
‘Vita.’
‘Mrs Vita.’
‘No – Vita – Whitbury. Miss.’
‘Richard Edwards. Rick.’ They shook hands. ‘Here.’ He gave her the small plastic house whose hinged roof revealed an open-plan living area with fixed plastic furniture and a small, removable mouse.
‘Thank you!’ Vita inspected it. ‘I will think about it.’
‘Oh, come on,’ Rick said, ‘you love it! How many can I put you down for? Buy at the show and they’ll be in your shop by the weekend. If you’re not reordering by early next week, I’ll give you your next batch at fifty per cent off.’
This made a lot of sense to Vita. She thought, This is the way that Tim does business, surely. She felt slightly flushed, she’d only been in the show for an hour or so and had taken lots of cards and information, using her stapler often.
‘Miss Vita,’ Rick said sternly, ‘you look concerned.’
‘I should pass this by my – business partner.’
‘Bring them over!’
‘He’s not here.’
‘Not here?’ Rick baulked and Vita suddenly thought how Tim was really more of an investor than a partner.
She looked at Rick, she liked his open smile, his dark eyes which were looking at her enquiringly. She liked the way he had a Mole in a Hole in one hand, and a Ted in a Bed in the other. ‘OK,’ she said.
‘Good girl,’ he said and she liked that, she liked it because actually, he looked a fair bit younger than her. He rattled off unit prices and discount bundles and she nodded carefully and tried to do mental maths.
‘I’ll start with ten of each.’
Rick shook his head. ‘That won’t see you through Saturday.’
She wasn’t sure what increments she should advance with. ‘Twenty?’
‘Good.’
‘But I want a good price.’
‘It’s an excellent price,’ said Rick, ‘with my special guarantee too.’
‘I wanted a better price still,’ said Vita, getting into a stride she didn’t know she had. ‘Times are hard – pocket